Disclaimer: I still don't own CSI

AN: Being sick isn't fun. Neither is taking medication that makes you worse before the wellness comes.


Two girls sat on a bench in the middle of a hallway, deathly quiet. The redhead kept a tight grip on the brunette's hand, brushing a thumb over her wrist. Every few moments the smaller girl would glance over at her friend and smile hesitantly.

They both looked nervous, though the older one seemed more concerned with how her companion was handling things, and would glare at anyone who spared them a second glance.

A few minutes passed with neither of them saying anything. Finally the redhead sighed and turned to speak with her friend. The younger girl slowly relaxed as she listened to her friend's voice, and soon they were both participating in a lively conversation.

The tension returned, though, when a young woman with a gold badge walked over to them. She knelt down and smiled sadly at the brunette, telling her that it was her turn. Both girls stood up, and the redhead hugged her friend fiercely before the girl left with the detective.

The trial wasn't bad. Mom didn't say anything- she didn't even look at me. She just stared at the table in front of her. I could almost believe that she felt guilty. But I remembered how she laughed while she killed Dad. I decided that she had just realized what was going to happen to her, and was too shocked to intimidate me.

"Rough night?"

Damn it. I fell asleep in the break room again. This has to stop. I have issues. Bringing them to work will cause nothing but problems I can't deal with.

I shake my head and force myself to look at Catherine.

"Yeah. I had a lot of trouble sleeping." I fight back the guilt the lie stirs up. I didn't even bother trying to fall asleep. I had nightmares constantly when I cut myself. All of that blood was sure to bring them back. I'm impressed I got through without one on the break room couch.

I check my watch and sigh. Twenty minutes. That would explain the lack of nightmares. Though the dream about the trial was probably leading up to something interesting. I'm still amazed at how smoothly it went. My brain came up with all sorts of scenarios beforehand; most of which involved Mom assaulting me.

"On the plus side, Detective Scotts might've been allowed to shoot her if she had done that."

"Too bad you couldn't take that couch home. You seem to sleep just fine on it."

I roll my eyes and look down at the floor. I'm not in the mood to have any sort of a conversation with anyone. Especially with Catherine. We've been getting along lately, but she notices immediately when something's worse than usual with me.

From the corner of my eye, I see her reaching out towards me, and my body stiffens automatically. I hear her sigh in disappointment while her hand drops back to her side. I think it hurts her that I shy away from her touch, though I have no idea why. I've been avoiding contact with other people for months, not counting Grissom. It shouldn't bother her as much as it does.

"Warrick's looking for you. He has a few questions about the vic- Ruth's family."

I nod slowly. I have some idea of what he needs to know. Ruth's next of kin is probably still her father. Mr. Mitchell's in jail for killing his arresting officer. Riley will have to take care of funeral arrangements and such. Warrick has no idea where Riley is. I doubt he even knows that Ruth has a brother.

Wait. If Warrick's looking for me, odds are he knows Mr. Mitchell's in jail. He'll have looked at Mr. Mitchell's criminal record. He knows what the original charges were. He knows what happened to Riley and I. Maybe just Riley. Oh God. He knows.

"Deep breaths, Dreamer."

I swallow around the lump in my throat and stand up from the couch. Okay. Maybe Warrick doesn't know everything. He probably found out about Riley, but that doesn't mean he knows that I went through that too.

My hands are shaking and the cut on my arm starts to itch. Not good. I can't do this at work. I need to calm down. Warrick and I aren't that close. Even if he knows, he probably won't want to talk about it. I might have to deal with him giving me the Look for a while, but I can handle that.

"Sara… hey."

I lift my head to meet Warrick's eyes, but he's avoiding looking at me. I ignore the jolt of pain that goes through my chest. He does know.

"I was wondering if you know where the victim's brother lives."

I close my eyes and breathe slowly through my nose. "Monterey, California. I'll get you his number."

"Okay."

An awkward silence fills the hallway, and I open my eyes and look at him again. He's staring at the floor. I don't think he has any idea how to talk to me. After a few tense moments, he meets my gaze with a sympathetic look. For a second I think he'll say something, but he just shakes his head and heads down the hallway.

"As pleasant as that was… It could have been much worse."

I take a deep breath and shake the unpleasant memories away from my mind. I'm at work. I can self-destruct later, when bleach showers are available.