Disclaimer: CSI trademarked product, no infringement meant or implied.

Author: GreatnessInTragedy

Title: Kingdom of Heaven

Rating: R for subject matter.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at a fanfic... I truly apologize if it sucks, seems terribly out of character, drags on, or makes you angry/dissatisfied in any way. I'll continue to post chapters every Saturday, starting today. If I get positive feedback, I may try and write another. If not, I'll probably just leave this story to rot and continue to lurk around and leave this to the professionals.
Note possible Season 5 spoilers

heart Cat



Chapter 1

Monday March 7th, 2005
Unidentified Location

I've only ever admitted the truth behind my past to one other person in my entire adult life.
When I was young, I was forced to admit it, over and over and over again. To keep me safe, they said.

But once I was safe, I buried it all deep within me, somewhere far away where it could never be found again.
Every now and then, it creeps up from within me, spilling over and out in the form of unstoppable tears and incredulous vomit.
Even now, I just can't seem to believe what happened to me.
And at such a young age.

It's disgusting what people can do to one another.
Why do we do it? Is it a learned trait?
Is it genetic? Passed on from our parents, so no matter how long or how hard you fight it, it will still overwhelm you?
Leaving you broken and weeping at your knees, begging for mercy and pleading insanity in the courtroom.

If it is genetic, I'm fucked.
Seriously, honestly, and truly fucked.
Look at my genes. I've got a father who liked to molest his own daughter, and a mother who took the law into her own hands, in the form of a sharpened kitchen knife.
My mother was no more psychologically stable than my father.
She got so angry at what he had done; I'm surprised she didn't kill me.

I'm still not entirely sure just why she got so angry.
Did she view me as a victim, or as competition?
Fuck. I still can't understand her.

She sent my brother and me out for the afternoon.
He took me for ice cream. Just plain vanilla, I was never a big fan of all those fancy flavours and strangely-combined ingredients.
As we headed home, I sang a song I had learned from a friend of mine at the playground earlier, and I skipped and played tag and solved math equations for my brother.
It was a long walk to the ice cream truck and back.

When we came home, all I could see was red.
Everywhere.
The blood of my father, cast-off, all over.
It smelled as though there were a million pennies shining beneath my shoes.
The smell was so strong, I could taste it.
I was choking on it; drowning in it.
And there was my father, in the middle of it all.

There was something burning in his eyes.
A mixture of anger, fear, disbelief… and something else.
Maybe I just wished I saw it there, floating behind his glassy eyes, but I think I saw it.
Lurking below his brown irises, floating within his pupils.
Guilt. Remorse.

He knew that he was at fault for what had happened to him.
And he knew why he had been disciplined.