DISCLAIMER: The Author does not, nor does she claim to, own the television show CSI. All characters, affiliated symbols and recognizable content belong to the rightful creators and the television networks that they are contracted to. No financial gain from the production or public distribution of this story.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A wheelbarrow load of thanks to my beta, HoneyLynx86, for fixing my many many mistakes.
CHALLENGE: Written as part of the 1001 Nights Challenge - mother and daughter.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Like Mother, Like Daughter
By RebelByrdie


Wendy swore she got her hips and her borderline obsession with Days of Our Lives from her mother.

Catherine often mused that she had inherited her bad taste in men from her mother.

Anyone could see that Lindsey had inherited her mother's beauty and stubborn streak.

When she looked in the mirror, Sara could see Laura's eyes and Laura's nose. She could see her mother in the length of her limbs and the curls in her hair. She had also gotten her temper, her surly, smart-ass mouth, from her mother. That scared her. As hard as she tried to keep it buried deep down, the anger sometimes just burst out. Like the time she had told Catherine that she used her sexuality, or when she had pushed a guilty-as-sin suspect on the scene. Or when she lost it when she was cut off in traffic. Or when she stomped on the floor at two a.m. in retaliation against the Green Day her downstairs' neighbors blasted at noon, waking her up. Hundreds and hundreds of little such incidents. She was waiting, in terror, for the day that she truly lost it. She had gone some thirty years without completely losing it. Then again, so had her mother.

Sofia didn't understand. How could she? She figured that she had inherited her mother's aim. She would never understand and that was a good thing. It was a necessary thing. Like her mother, she was destined to hurt someone, to scar them. God help her, she had the potential and the bloody background to be a murderess-in-the-making. She was damaged goods, unworthy of Sofia's attention, and - dare she even think it - the woman's love. She could see it coming. The way Sofia stayed in her proximity, the way they bantered. The way her entire body came to life when the Detective was in the room. Sofia was interested and she was interested right back. It wasn't the flash-and-fade lust she felt for Catherine. It wasn't the detached feelings of admiration she felt for Grissom. It wasn't the friendly, brother-sister feelings she had for the guys. What she felt for Sofia had a good chance of blooming into can't-eat, can't-sleep, can't-live-without-her love. She couldn't let that happen. Love just wasn't in her genetics. She had watched her parents destroy each other by inches with never-ending bouts. She had seen the final result of her mother's love for her father. She couldn't let that happen to her, she wouldn't let that happen to Sofia.

"Sara?" She looked up from the slides she'd been staring at through the microscope. She'd been at it for an hour so when she straightened, her back protested. "Your shift has been over for three hours." She checked her watch; the other woman was right. She only shrugged. Sofia, dressed in head-to-toe black, smiled. The warmth of the other woman's smile shot straight to her heart. "I was wondering..." Uncharacteristically nervous, Sofia toyed with the silver chain around her neck. "If you would like to get some breakfast with me."

She wanted to; oh, she wanted to so bad it almost hurt. That's what scared her the most. She wanted Sofia more than she had ever wanted anything. She wanted her with a passion that boiled in her violently, screaming for a release.

"I'm sorry, I can't."

Sofia's face, almost indescribably beautiful, fell and her own heart thumped almost painfully inside her chest. "I see."

She didn't; she really didn't. "Some other time, then."

The sigh emptied all the breath out of her. "Sofia."

The woman turned on her heel. She could see the lines in her face. The blonde was determined not to look hopeful. "It's not you, it's me."

She could see pain and disbelief glaze over the bright blue eyes. "I understand."

No, she didn't, she never could and Sara had to keep it that way. She watched Sofia leave. Gone was the strut that had caught her eye time, and time again. Gone was the slow, confident stride. All of her strength fled with Sofia. When the woman had rounded the corner, she dropped her head onto her hands and let the tears that had been burning at the back of her eyes spill out. Murder gene or not, it was in her blood. Like mother, like daughter; no matter what she did, she would hurt anyone and everyone she loved.

The End

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