Author's Notes: I know you're probably thinking I'm insane for beginning a new story when I've neglected my old ones as much as I have...but never fear, I never leave a story incomplete, and as a matter a fact, a few of my older ones are coming to a close, so we need to get something new in it's place. Actually, this idea came to me while sitting in my Criminal Law class...so I decided to run with it. I love to know what you're thinking, and if there's an interest, I'll continue. For those who read my other stories, I'll try to have all of them updated by this time next week.

I absolutely adored CSI last night, which is probably the biggest motivator in getting me back into a writing frame of mind...and I have a LOT of ideas working right now, so don't be too surprised to see a lot from me in the near future.

Dedicated to Emmithar, since she told me I had to post something today. :D.

Jenny

Trial by Jury:

Chapter One:

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"I do."

"You may be seated."

It wasn't always like this. I once had an exhilarating job, a loving boyfriend, a nearly perfect life...well, adult life...Now, I have nothing.

"Miss Sidle, when was the last time you saw Dr. Gilbert Grissom?"

"December 17, 2006. The night before his death."

I had known it was a mistake to start dating my boss, let alone sleep with him, but at the time I felt so lonely, so depressed that I would have taken any offer that came along. It was something one of my sisters, from my foster care days, had called a "May-September Romance", a relationship that lasted only through the hot, restless summer nights. High summer crime rates had kept us busy and apart, otherwise we may not have even lasted that long.

"His condition at that point?"

"Alive?"

I had never been one to partake in secret romantic rendezvous, and as the nights grew cooler, I could feel the distance growing exponentially farther between us. I started spending more time with my friends, I stopped accepting his breakfast invitations, and eventually, we agreed to break it off. I had never been more relieved in my entire life.

"Alive? Can you possibly be more descriptive?"

"Rhythmic breathing, pink-lively cheeks, alert and responsive eyes, control and usage of his extremities."

I always had a knack for sarcasm. When you've hit bottom, sometimes it is all you have left. It is the basis of my attraction to Greg...aside from his charming, good looks. No matter how sad or angry I may be, he is able to make me smile. Even now, in this wretched predicament, he is the one ray of sunshine through the clouds. It probably looks bad that we were together from the moment Grissom and I ended--technically, three hours before--but even though the faithful part of my relationship with Grissom, it had always been Greg my heart longed for.

"His demeanor, Miss Sidle?"

"Stoic."

The prosecutor is giving me angry looks, but I don't flinch. Stoic describes Grissom perfectly. If I had used any other adjective, I would have been lying. Far be it from me to lie under oath. At his best, Grissom was pensive and quiet, at his worst, stone cold. We definitely had problems between us, but that night, we had both been cool and mature.

"Stoic?"

"Look, Grissom was the silent type. He rarely got angry or volatile. When I saw him, he was the same as always, quiet and...there."

I really didn't know what he expected me to say, we had been over this dozens of times. I didn't do it. I wasn't there. Just because I have a flimsy alibi doesn't make me guilty of anything other than not having a life.

"Miss Sidle, did you murder Dr. Grissom?"

"No."

Of course not. I can barely kill a spider, much less a human, a friend, a mentor.

"Were you with Dr. Grissom at the time of his death?"

"No."

If I did know who did this, would I really be taking the blame? Losing my job, my friends, my life? What kind of question was that?

"Did you want him dead?"

"What? Of course not!"

Tears filled my eyes, and as hard as I tried to control them, I couldn't make them disappear. I clenched my eyes shut tightly, willing myself to calm down. This was not the time for a breakdown. I had to be strong, I had to focus, or risk being held responsible for a reprehensible act I did not commit.

"Did you have any contact with Dr. Grissom after his death?"

"No."

I couldn't keep the strain out of my voice as I bit back tears. We may have had our problems, but how could anyone think I could have done such a thing?

"Then can you explain why your DNA was found at the crime scene?"

"No."

My voice cracked and I was unable to stop the sobs that overtook my body. I was being framed, someone had to have planted the evidence. I definitely did not kill Grissom. He always preached that the evidence "doesn't lie", but this time it was telling a nightmare of a tale. It only took me a few minutes to regain my composure, and as I wiped my eyes on my pale blue correctional facility jumpsuit sleeves, the prosecutor came back to the stand.

"So you're telling me, Miss Sidle, that you have no idea how Dr. Grissom received his fatal injuries?"

The photographs were laid out onto the stand, one by one, showing the horrific wounds inflicted on my ex-lover, my boss, my friend. My first instinct was to gag, but my body barely had time to flinch as I felt myself go numb and succumb to the welcoming darkness.

--

"I don't think it is necessary for you to be here, my client is already upset enough as it is, this is a matter the detective and the prosecutor can handle alone."

"I've invited Miss Willows with me as support personnel for our case."

"Are you telling me it takes two people now to bring forth new evidence--"

As I walked into the room, I felt the tension grow to a suffocating level. All conversation stopped, and I was met with three pairs of expectant eyes. I felt my heart skip a beat, my body turning ice cold as Catherine's blue eyes met my own dull brown ones. Why was she here? What was she going to say to me? Was this really necessary? Hadn't I been ripped apart enough on the stand, did she have to personally come down to the prison to make things worse?

"Sara, have a seat. District Attorney Charles, Detective Curtis and CSI Willows wanted to meet with us regarding some new evidence in your case."

I sat as I was told, my eyes blurred with tears as my head began to throb painfully. How could they keep finding this evidence on me when I had done nothing wrong? Our department had never fabricated evidence before, and I highly doubted we'd be starting now...but was this some sort of vindictive revenge on Catherine or Ecklie's part? How could they possibly keep finding things on me? I was nowhere near the man! I could feel Sophia and Catherine's eyes on me, but I kept my eyes focused on the metal table in front of me, trying to keep my breathing steady and my tears at bay. I wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

"Miss Sidle, you are aware that perjury is a felony, correct?"

Imagine that, I wasn't the only one who took criminal law in college.

"Yes sir."

I glanced at the D.A., wanting nothing more than to wipe the smug smile off of his face. I wasn't an idiot, some common criminal that they could intimidate and frighten. I was a Harvard Graduate, Summa Cum Laude. I had worked with law enforcement for years, I wasn't some punk off the street, too cracked out to know the difference between up and down. It was insulting to be treated this way. I let my gaze travel from the DA to Sophia, who looked superbly uncomfortable, to Catherine, who was staring at me with disappointment. Could this day get any worse?

"Then you are aware, Miss Sidle, that your testimony was filled with lies that will only lengthen your prison sentence?"

Just as I was about to rip into DA Charles, Sophia held up her hand and stopped the man in his tracks. There was never any love lost between Sophia and I, but she wasn't that bad of a person. Right now, she was rapidly climbing the ladder to a short list of people who I even slightly respected within my old circle of friends and colleagues.

"Miss Sidle, we have new evidence to prove you were not only with Mr. Grissom at the time of his death, but also several hours prior to his death, which directly opposes your testimony."

Oh, wait, Sophia. Would you like that knife back? I'm sure you have some others you'd like to stab with it, the moment they turn around.

"I was not with Grissom when he died, nor was I with him before he died. You will find nothing to prove otherwise, because it had been at least 18 hours from the time I left his townhouse to the time he was murdered."

How many times did I have to go through this? I rubbed my left temple gently, knowing fighting this headache was pointless, but unable to think with the pounding echoing through my weary head.

"We are not here to badger my client. Show us what you have."

"My team and I recovered several drops of blood at the crime scene which belonged to Sara Sidle. At the time, we used DNA testing to place Miss Sidle at the crime scene. Miss Sidle countered that the blood must have been from a previous visit to Grissom's penthouse, and we used other evidence to build the case against her. It wasn't until my CSIs were reviewing the evidence that we found photographs taken of the blood drops, which were not yet dry when we arrived at the crime scene. For the blood to still be wet, it is impossible that 18 or more hours had passed since Miss Sidle was at his home and obtained some sort of injury."

I had always disliked Catherine. Now, I was growing to really hate her. How on earth could my blood be found, wet, at a crime scene where I had not been? This was impossible. I was going to be framed for something I had not done. I was going to go to jail for a crime I did not commit. This was it, this was the end. It wasn't until this very moment that I realized just how screwed I was. My life was already ruined, I had lost my friends, my job, my home. What else was there? I am no better off sitting in this jail cell, waiting to get my rights torn away as I would be if I were dead. After spending all of my teenage years trying to not be like my mother, here I am, preparing to rot away in a jail cell just as she had done. The death penalty was rare, but after conviction, maybe my lawyer could swing it for me...

"Can you really tell from a photograph whether or not the blood was wet? Beyond a reasonable doubt?"

My head shot to my lawyer, and I suddenly found myself doubting her competence. Of course you could.

"We are confident in our results."

Smug Catherine shot me another look, and I felt the room wobble slightly. I squeezed my eyes shut as I prayed that I wouldn't pass out again. I had never felt so alone in my entire life.

"Everyone take cover!"

I was vaguely aware of the guard's voice reverberating through the room as my lawyer pulled me to my feet and pushed me beneath the table, where she and the district attorney had both ducked. It was only then that I realized that it wasn't just my nerves making me unsteady, the room was literally shaking. I could feel the tension grow as the motion intensified, and I briefly wondered about Greg. Was he feeling this in his house? Did he know we were having an earthquake? What about Catherine's daughter? Was she safe? Would Grissom's gravestone be damaged by the violent shearing of land? Was is really wise for a cop, two lawyers, and a crime scene investigator to be trapped with a supposed murderer, even if she was innocent?

I squeezed my eyes shut as something from the ceiling crashed onto the table above us, and in a quiet whisper I wished for everything to end and for us to escape unscathed. The shaking intensified and someone, I'm assuming it was Catherine, screamed. Another crash was heard directly over my head as another piece of the ceiling crumbled. Had I been in my cell, I would be perfectly safe, the walls were reinforced and protected to keep the prisoners where they were supposed to be. In the questioning room, it was a whole other ballgame. Through the rumbling and crashing, I was vaguely aware of sirens wailing through the building's walls. My stomach grew queasy with worry as the table began to creak once more, and I struggled to move my chained hands to protect myself from the inevitable pain that would result once the metal legs gave way.

The motion ceased, my eyes blurry with unshed tears as my heart raced. Believe it or not, even growing up in California, this was my first earthquake. All thoughts were pushed aside, however, as the weight of the table came crashing down on me with a sickening crack. I felt a burning sensation take over my body as I struggled to look over my shoulder and check on the other occupants of the dusty, debris littered room. I opened my mouth to speak as someone called my name, but as my head grew heavy, I could only close my eyes and welcome the darkness that was eager to surround me.

TBC