I do not own these characters, only my imagination. I had forgotten how much I loved CSI, and how much I love to write also. I hope this becomes a story I complete, and do not abandon.

It would be appreciated if reviews could be made.

Sara had always been different. She had always burnt bridges.

I have always been different. I like it best this way. I keep to myself and I avoid the questions. I am contented with a book, over people, busy places. I like to write, I love the library. I've always been different, and I've never been afraid to hide it. I just never explored it. A girl lost in her teenage years, confused but proud. Knowing that something was... not wrong, but not the same as all the other kids who surrounded me. I didn't party with the other kids, I didn't cause any trouble in classes, and my homework was always in on time. Independent and strong. I didn't like to get too close to people, so kept myself to myself. Bullies found me, like they always do, and I began withholding myself, my thoughts. The person that I am.

I found some people I grew close too, and then pushed away. I was always burning bridges as a teenager. Bridges of friendship. Id grow to rely on people too much, I'd always become too clingy, needy. Childlike. I found it hard to trust, and I was so terrified of rejection that I often rejected others before they had a chance to hurt me. Vicious cycles formed, where I would grow close to someone, and then ruin it with self doubt, or love, or my innate ability to just... push people away. The people I was closest too, I now never see. I imagine they have all forgotten of my existence.

I was told I was a liar, a cry baby, a twisted, manipulative waste of oxygen. I was thrown out of people's beds, and out of people's lives.

I threw people away too, I torched bridges in fits of rage. Blinded. Burnt bridges I later regretted destroying, and have never been able to rebuild. There was this man, this immature boy, his name was..

It doesn't even matter what his name was. What it is. I thought I was well rid of him. Hurt by his words, and burnt by his actions. Rejected. I rejected him back, I distanced myself from him, and in the process hurt a dear friend of mine, Unsupported. Lost.

My life now, after hiccups, false starts, and bad endings, is now back on track. Years have passed, and I have been able to let go of the damaged foundations. San Francisco was a long time ago; the men were a long time ago. Even the evil she-bitch no longer haunts me. Las Vegas, my city of dreams. Crime Scene Investigator, Level 3. Possibility of promotion. A nice home, a lovely house. My mind is stable. Happy.

I progressed through many things, and have been able to become truthful and honest in myself. The thoughts and images, obsessions, that had ran through my head at a younger age, had flowed more freely, and the thoughts of 'What if?' I think I'm gay, at least bisexual, had allowed themselves to be explored. Limited interest in men when younger, had died away, and the stronger, prouder, bolder me, had flourished and grown. I met a woman, and she confirmed it. I was gay, and I was happy. Opportunities, urges, and loneliness had once again taken hold of me, and I had been sitting on the fence again for a while. All it let to was heartache.

I was gay, so why did I still sleep with men. Comfort? In the end, it didn't matter. I lost all contact with the men I had once been sharing a bed with, and my confidence grew. I didn't need the bridges, or the limited comfort they had given me, so I walked away.

Last night, something changed. After a long day in the Nevada desert, processing yet another crime scene, and going over and over in my mind the evidence I had to present next week in court. I had gone back to the lab, to shower, and to pick up my belongings. Walking out of the locker room, with intentions of going home to bed, I heard Sonya over the intercom.

''Sara Sidle, You have a visitor, Miss Sidle a visitor at reception.''

Confused I headed over to see who it was, and why they were calling so later..or early..Working on the graveyard shift often meant that days were turned upside down.

Walking around the corner, I saw no other than Hank Peddigrew, and I felt sick.

My stomach began to churn, and my hands clenched themselves into tight fists. My knuckles must have been pretty white.

''Hank? What are you doing here?'' I spat out quietly, trying not to cause a scene. Despite my shower I was still pretty tense, and a knot had formed in my shoulder. Occupational hazard it seemed.

''I just wanted to see how you are..umm..'' Hank mumbled, now realising his mistake in coming too see me, and today of all days.

My hands clenched tighter, and my throat tightened. I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes. I saw Catherine walk around the corner, and I hoped that she would see me. I needed her too see me, and not ignore me. We had recently had another fight, a clash of opinions and superiority. As luck would have it, as Catherine was engrossed in a file, she hadn't seen Hank at all, until she walked straight into him. Somehow this made me smile a little on the inside. Seems he should have stayed away, stayed invisible and forgotten.

''Hank...?'' Catherine asked, unsure of his name ''What are you doing here?'' Catherine glanced towards me, following his eye line, and saw my intense uncomfortableness.