Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.

AN: Hm... I should probably update I Already Knew soon.


I don't follow Riley into the morgue. I've seen her once, and that's more than I needed. Riley doesn't look too enthusiastic about seeing Ruth either. He barely spoke over breakfast. Well, what qualifies as breakfast. We made pancakes. Him not speaking isn't unusual, but the way his eyes were glazed over scared me a little. It reminded me of the expression I see in the mirror every day.

He didn't even drive the way he normally does. I never figured out why, but he seems to have a thing for breaking as many traffic laws as possible. This time he didn't even break the speed limit. He was too caught up in his thoughts to drive recklessly. It really is scary to see him so out of sorts.

I remember the first time I had to go down to the police station to pick him up. I had just finished some modifications on his car the day before, and had already set out some money that could be used for bail. The officer who arrested him said that Riley had been going 70 in a 25 mph zone. And he didn't have his license on hand.

"I'm pretty sure he was supposed to be the sane one out of the three of us."

I don't know how I'd handle myself if my brother showed up on Doc Robbins table. Part of me hates him for leaving me with Mom and Dad- and for not telling me that our lifestyle wasn't… customary. The other part… I remember how he used to pick me up and tuck me in to bed at night. Whenever Mom and Dad hit me hard enough to keep me on the floor, he'd be there. The more romantic part of me believes that he was my guardian angel. He took me to the beach. The park. He would forge Dad's signature so I could go on field trips. He was the one who named me while Mom was passed out from drugs and exhaustion.

But he left me. He left me there, knowing what they would do. I can't count the number of times I nearly died. He was always the one who convinced Mom and Dad that a trip to the hospital was necessary. I never managed to stay conscious long enough to explain how badly I needed a doctor.

I'm glad my brother's not in there. I think I still love him. Not the way I loved him when we were children- I'll never feel that overwhelming sense of devotion towards him again- but I care about him. The thought of him dead scares me. It's a bit ridiculous. I haven't seen him since I was nine, yet I'm still attached to him.

I'm not sure if Riley feels the same way about his sister. Ruth. Their relationship… I never really understood how close they were. She would pick him up and hug him, yes, but she was a touchy-feely person. Riley never talked about it. Not to me, at least. He might've mentioned something to someone else. For about a month after Mom killed Dad, we couldn't look meet each other's eyes.

The sound of footsteps brings me out of my thoughts and I look up at Riley. He's pale. And his hands are shaking. He looks… I guess he looks confused. Lost. I don't think he knows how he should be feeling right now.

I walk over and sling an arm around his shoulders. I don't hug him, though he looks like he could use one. As much as he needs the comfort, physical contact isn't the best way to give it to him. Even having my arm loosely around him is a little much.

"I think some of Greg's coffee is already in the break room. Something warm to drink is probably a good idea right now." He doesn't like coffee. When he needs caffeine, he drinks a soda. If he wants something warm he gets hot chocolate and caffeine pills. Never coffee. Oh well. I'm not waiting until we get back to my apartment to snap him out of his thoughts.


"He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole."

Riley's sitting next to me on the break room couch. He's staring into his cup of coffee with a blank expression on his face. He's taken a few sips, and besides rolling his eyes at the first taste, he hasn't done anything to complain. When he gets around to opening his mouth, we're probably going to end up having one of our serious discussions. Which I hate.

"Have you ever thought about what it would be like to talk to one of them?" I watch as his grip on the coffee cup threatens to crumple the styrofoam. He hates these discussions too. Too bad both of us realize that they're more than necessary.

I consider his question. I've thought about talking to Mom. I've thought about asking her why the drugs meant more to her than her husband's life. I've thought about asking her if she would have been a good mother if it weren't for her addictions. I've thought about asking why her children deserved so much pain. Mostly, though, I've thought about yelling at her. Screaming my lungs out until I ran out of things to say.

I never visited her in prison. I came close a few times, but I always had a panic attack before seeing her. I suppose I just wasn't tough enough to go through with it. Not surprising. If Dad was the one in prison, I could probably see him. He beat the crap out of me and violated me in the worst possible way, but he didn't talk the way she did. Mom preferred to use words. I felt more secure when she took out that damn knife of hers. At least then I had some idea of what would happen.

"Yeah."

He smiles at my monosyllabic response before going back to contemplating his coffee. His grip has loosened, at least. That's good. The less tense he is, the better. I'm not very good at dealing with a tense Riley. He's too much like me.

"Difficult. Both of you."

"I thought about what I would have said to my mother for years, you know. She would have been out of jail pretty quickly if she had lived through rehabilitation. I thought about visiting Dad a lot, too. I thought about what I would say; how he would react; whether or not the guard would have to break the two of us up…" He pauses. I think I can see the beginning of tears in his eyes. "I never thought about talking to my sister. Not one damn time. I just… no matter how many times I thought about her, I never thought about talking to her. I figured… if we ever met up… I would just turn around and walk the other way. I never considered actually talking to her. And now she's dead! How the hell am I supposed to feel? I was ten the last time we communicated! She abandoned me… left me with those… people…" Riley trails off and starts shaking his head.

I sigh and take Riley's coffee from him before he burns himself. The cup's about to fall apart. I don't know what to say to him. I really wish Amy could be here right now. Riley and I really are too similar. Amy… Amy always knew how to deal with us. No matter what.

"Jacob didn't even know he had an aunt! I never bothered to tell him about- damn it! He never bothered to ask why he only met his mother's parents and siblings… now he's asking about his aunt. Ruth. He wants to know why I never talked to him about my family. I don't have any idea what I'm supposed to say to him."

I flinch. Jacob's probably not too thrilled right now. He's staying with his mother because the aunt he's never even heard of was murdered. He'll want his father to give him some answers when they're both back home. I don't know how Riley's going to handle it. I don't think I could deal with something like that.

"Uh- Mr. Mitchell?" Warrick's standing in the doorway with a file in hand. I don't have to see the words to know that it's Ruth's file. Riley looks up at the new person and shifts awkwardly. He squeezes my hand gently before standing up to greet Warrick.

"Yeah. I understand you want to ask me a few questions, Mr. Brown?" He has a small smile on his face that doesn't seem entirely forced.

"Right. Would you follow me please?"

Riley nods, the odd little smile still in place. "Sure. Sara, you can head back to your apartment if you want to. I could just take a cab back. I don't want to cause you any trouble."

"You're kidding, right? I'm staying here until you're done." No matter what Warrick asks, Riley's going to be reminded of his childhood. I doubt he'll be thinking well enough to call a cab after that.

After Warrick and Riley leave I lean into the back of the couch and sigh. I'm glad that Riley's going to be around for awhile. Really. But sometimes it's just… difficult to have him around.

"Says you."