Disclaimer: Not mine…but someday Jerry Bruckheimer…Someday.
Author's note: Song fic to Martina McBride's Concrete Angel. All time fav song, though it's sad.
Key: bold: disclaimers and author's notes.
Italics: lyrics to song.
Normal: plot line.
She walks to school with a lunch she packed.
Nobody knows what she's holding back.
Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday.
She hides the bruises with the linen and lace.
Sara Sidle watched a girl about ten walk down the street to school. She carried a brown paper bag, her face completely blank. The little girl and her family lived next door to Sara, and the CSI often saw the girl walking to her school as she came home from work. It was only recently that Sara had noticed the little girl had been wearing the same dress over and over. Yet when the investigator tried to talk to the child, the girl remained silent, giving her a blank look that seemed very familiar, yet couldn't place it. So Sara just watched as her neighbor walked slowly down the sidewalk, avoiding all the other children her age. Something bugged her about the girl, and Sara couldn't leave it alone. Yet Sara wasn't the only curious one.
The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask.
It's hard to see the pain behind the mask.
Bearing the burden of a secret storm,
Sometimes she wishes she was never born.
Sara went to the girls' school, intensely curious. She knew she couldn't investigate this legally, there were no reports of anything wrong. But the haunted look on the poor girls' face tugged at her heart. Sara found the teacher who taught the neighbor girl, and asked subtle questions. The teacher also wondered, but never asked. Some children, she claimed, were just shy and took time to get used to the school surroundings. Sara watched the girl who lived next door during the kids' recess, but she just sat in one spot, staring at the ground in front of her. The girl seemed to carry a huge burden on her little shoulders, but refused to share with anybody. Still Sara knew that there was something that was all too familiar with this poor girl, but she still could not place it.
Through the wind, and the rain, she stands hard as a stone.
In a world, that she can't rise above.
But her dreams, give her wings, and she flies to a place where she's loved.
Concrete Angel.
The wind picked up some as Sara turned away from the classroom window, and noticed that the girl seemed to perk up some, and a ghost of a smile graced the little face. A tiny bit of hope seemed to glimmer in the little girls' eyes as she got up and ran around with the dancing leaves. The sight put a smile on Sara's face, but could tell that there was still something wrong.
Somebody cries in the middle of the night.
The neighbors hear, but they turn out the light.
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate.
When morning comes it'll be too late.
Sara went to work that night with only half her mind on her work. The rest was with the little neighbor girl. Her cell phone ringing brought her out of her thoughts, and she answered with a calm voice. Grissom was on the other end, saying that she had a DB at 738 Walnut Avenue, apartment 3C. It sounded familiar. The street was hers, the apartment was next door to hers. Brass met Sara at the door of the apartment, his face grim. All the officer said was a girl body beaten, and Sara knew. The look on the little girls' face became known, for Sara had the same look when she was little. When her father beat her mother, her, and her brother, Sara had the same haunted look. She entered the crime scene with a blank face, but couldn't keep the disgust from her face as she looked at the young child's parents, who obviously had no remorse for their actions. In a child like bedroom, the girl whom Sara had watched, lay lifeless on the floor. Bruises marred the child's skin, some were old, others newer.
Through the wind, and the rain, she stands hard as a stone.
In a world, that she can't rise above.
But her dreams give her wings, and she flies to a place where she's loved.
Concrete Angel.
After David took the girl away, Brass came into the room Sara was looking at. He told her that the parents confessed to beating their child to death. She looked at the cop with a heavy heart, and knew that they had beaten their child as she walked through. Sara said nothing, but silently packed up her kit and headed out feeling slightly depressed. She returned to the Crime Lab, and ran into Nick Stokes, her Texan colleague. He seemed to know something was wrong right off, and just hugged her tightly. In his safe embrace, Sara let her tears fall. For the little girl who had died that night thinking no one loved her, and for the little girl that Sara had once been, wishing she were dead at the age of 10. Nick rubbed her back in slow circles, whispering words of nonsense and comfort. There she stood, wrapped in the arms of her best friend, crying for a girl that she didn't know, yet knew so well.
A statue stands in a shaded place.
An angel girl with an upturned face.
Her name is written on a polished rock.
A broken heart that the world forgot.
Sara and Nick attended a small memorial for the deceased girl. There were only a few people, just one grandparent, the pastor, the girl's teacher, Sara, and Nick. Sara was the only one to shed a large amount of tears on the child's behalf. Nick teared up as well, but none fell. The pastor spoke only a couple words, and Sara laid down the bouquet of flowers she had brought, knowing that the grave wouldn't look quite so forlorn. After the service, Sara stood at the small grave for a few moments longer, and could have sworn that she saw the little girl, smiling as she played in the wind. Sara stood at the grave, her eyes closed, smiling as she spun around with her arms outstretched, once more a little girl. As the wind died down, Sara slowed her spinning, and eventually stopped, giggling like a little girl.
Through the wind, and the rain, she stands hard as a stone.
In a world that she can't rise above.
But her dreams give her wings, and she flies to a place where she's loved.
Concrete Angel.
Sara walked back to where Nick stood waiting for her, and hugged him tightly. Thanking him for everything, she snuggled into his chest, breathing a sigh of relief. Glad that she got out when she did, that she didn't turn out like her father. Climbing slowly into the Denali, Sara watched Nick as he started the car, and smiled a genuine smile. Nick, relieved that she was in a decent mood, he carefully pulled out of the graveyard, and he himself saw the ghostly figure of a little girl, finally free of the bonds of her torturous life.
FIN
A/N: So, good, bad, iffy? I thought it was okay…but that's just me. Please R&R!
