A Minor Incident
Summary: A small annoyance yields big surprises. Sara-centered story. My entry to the Unbound Improv Challenge. First and last lines are provided, with a 1,000 word limit. A prequel to "Minor Revelations".
A/N: Brief mention of the S4 finale. Thanks to Ann for being a great beta.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I still don't own CSI or anything to do with it, and I'm sure the folks at CBS are happy about that.

Sara read her journal, ignoring the pouting figure seated opposite of her. The angry blue eyes continued glaring while she plotted her revenge on Brass. It would have to be something special – he'd crossed a major line.

She knew after her drinking incident the police captain would have something to say about it, and Sara knew she'd deserve whatever he said. Her behavior had been accidental, but that didn't change how stupid it was. So on her first night back to work, Brass had summoned her, and she willingly went to get her punishment.

But this? This was too much. No one should be subjected to spending hours with the latest unwilling inhabitant of the police station.

"You'll hurt your foot," was all she said when her companion began kicking the table leg repeatedly.

"I'm not kicking. You are!"

Sara lifted her eyes over the top of the forensic journal to stare down her opponent. Unflinching, the scruffy troublemaker continued to kick the table leg.

"Why don't you tell me where you live, Damien?"

"My name isn't Damien," he hissed.

But it suits, she thought to herself, easily envisioning him as the poster child for tricycle-riding demon-spawn everywhere. How can so much trouble be concentrated in a body under four-feet tall?

Their little John Doe had been picked up earlier at a movie theater. Ushers had caught him stealing food from other customers and cornered him in an alcove. When asked who he was, he refused to answer, instead stomping the manager's foot hard enough to leave the grown man limping.

The police had been called at that point. Little Damien still refused to give his name, but he had landed Officer Fromansky in the hospital for booster shots after biting his hand hard enough to draw blood. It took three grown – and somewhat nervous – officers to get him into the cruiser.

And Brass had sealed his fate by assigning Sara the task of demon-sitting him until Child Services arrived. I know Brass keeps a bottle of Scotch in his desk. I wonder if I can top it off with that nuclear hot sauce Nick keeps in the break room?

"Look, Damien, you aren't making things any easier on yourself," Sara said calmly when he began kicking with both legs.

"I told you my name isn't Damien."

"And I told you I'm going to keep calling you that until you tell me your real name."

"I'm gonna hold my breath until I pass out!"

"Knock yourself out," Sara quipped, turning to a more interesting article.

"I'm serious!"

"So am I. Even if you can do it, breathing is autonomous. You'll start again as soon as you pass out."

"No, I won't!"

"Try it," she urged. It was cold, but he couldn't yell while holding his breath or unconscious.

Damien took a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks dramatically. Sara continued reading her journal while his face wrinkled, eventually turning red with effort. She gave him a brief 'I told you so' look when he finally exhaled loudly.

"You're mean!"

Sara sighed, rolling her eyes as she moved to the next article. What exactly did Brass think he was doing with this? She was terrible with kids, but that didn't mean she'd get along with a terrible kid. If she ever needed additional confirmation she made the right choice avoiding a family, tonight was providing it. Not like I had any real chance of having one.

A brief sniffle caught Sara's attention. Looking up, she noticed Damien wrapping his arms around his stomach before he defiantly straightened up when he saw her watching. A flicker of … something … made its way into her brain. He was skinny. He'd been stealing food.

"Are you hungry? I can get you something from the machines."

"I'm not supposed to take food from strangers."

"That's a good rule, but you're in a police station. You can trust us. And the food is coming from a machine. When we find your parents, I'll tell them."

What she thought would be comforting caused the little boy – and he really wasn't all that big – to start crying softly.

"Uhh. Look, if you tell me your name and where you live, we can have an officer take you home right away. The police will explain what happened," a frazzled Sara said, her shoulders dropping as the boy began crying louder. She stood up, looking through the glass walls, hoping for reinforcements. Where's Child Services? I'm going to kill you, Brass.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Damien darting for the door. He was moving quickly, but her longer legs decided the contest. Dropping to her knees, she grabbed him, leaning her head away from his swinging fists.

"Let me go! Let me go! I gotta leave! I gotta!"

When the officers rushed in, Sara nodded them out, finally yelling at them to leave. The boy's actions got more frantic the closer the police got to him. She saw one of them pulling out a cell phone, and she hoped he was calling Child Services. She was seriously out of her league. What did she know about kids?

Damien's struggles grew weaker until he finally collapsed against Sara in defeat and exhaustion. She moved to wrap her arms around him, but he tensed as soon as her hands reached his back.

Oh, God.

"Damien, uh, sorry, kid. Did you run away from home? Did someone hurt you?"

The little boy looked at her with imploring eyes, but he wouldn't answer.

"If someone is hurting you, I can help."

"I don't want to go to the bad place," he whimpered.

"What bad place?"

"My Mommy's boyfriend – he told me if I went to the police, they'd take me to a bad place for being a bad boy. And they'd do the nasty stuff to me all the time."

"No they won't. No one here will hurt you. Trust me. And you aren't a bad boy," she said gently. "You're not. Grownups aren't supposed to hurt kids. The ones who do are the bad people. Do you understand? Okay," she said when he nodded slightly. "Can you turn around for me? No, no, I won't hurt you. I just want to look at your back, okay? I won't even touch you. Lift up your sweatshirt for me, okay."

Dammit. The boy's back was crisscrossed with welts, clearly made by a belt. Burns marred the skin as well.

"Okay, in a little bit some people from a place called Child Services will be here," Sara said hoarsely. "You're going to have to tell them what you told me. I know you don't want to, but you have to tell them everything."

"They won't send me to a bad place?"

"No, honey, they won't. They'll take you where your mother's boyfriend can never hurt you again." I hope. God, too many cases slip through the cracks. Those scars look fresh. Hopefully this hasn't been going on very long. It's been too long already. 'The nasty stuff' – please don't be what I think that is.

Where the hell is Child Services? I don't know what to do. What do I tell him? He needs professional help.

The boy panicked when the door opened to a trio of men. "It's okay. The officers are going to stand outside. The other guy is a friend of mine. He won't hurt you," she said, turning to Grissom. "Do you have a camera?"

"I'll go get it."

"Bring the ultraviolet flash," she said, watching as Grissom closed his eyes in anger. He nodded to her before leaving silently. "Grissom? Could you bring some food, too?"

"Of course."

"When he gets back, we're going to take some special pictures. It won't hurt, kid."

"Sammy," a soft voice said.

"Okay, Sammy. My name is Sara. That hairy guy who left? His name is Grissom."

"That's a weird name."

"It suits him," she joked.

"You won't leave me, will you?"

"No, I won't," she said, feeling a warmth run through her as the boy moved to lean against her tentatively. He flinched when she moved her arm around, but he did let her rest a hand on his elbow.

That was easier than Sara thought it would be.

Continued in "Minor Revelations".