DISCLAIMER: Not mine. I promise I'm only borrowing them and will return them to their rightful owners whenever they ask for them back. My imagination took a flight of fancy.....my bank account stayed empty. (Seriously, the cast of CSI belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer and Alliance Atlantis and I'm only borrowing them for some free daydreaming that I wrote down).
SPOILERS: None specifically, although good knowledge of what happens in general is required. There will be the occasional reference to a case seen on the show, with any eps up to the end of Season 3 regarded as fair game. It is from this point that the AU occurs, although back story from the show (such as Nesting Dolls in s5 most obviously) will be incorporated where relevant/appropriate.
SERIES/SEQUEL: This piece is a standalone piece in its own right, but there is a
companion piece of the same name in the L&O: SVU fandom (coming soon).
These two fics will combine to be a crossover......eventually
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Cold Feet, Cold Case, Warm Hearts
By ncruuk
Part Nine
Entering the break room an hour before Thursday's shift started, Sara headed straight for the coffee pot, only to be intercepted by Nick, who held her mug in his hand.
"Black, no sugar, right?" he asked, proffering the mug.
"Right" Sara smiled at him as she took the mug and sipped from it, unsurprised to see Nick waiting for her.
"Freshly made too" she commented, causing Nick to smile nervously. Eying her colleague, she asked, amused,
"What do you want Nick?"
"Want? Nothing, I just thought I'd ask…." began Nick, colouring slightly. To cover her amusement, Sara took another sip of her coffee.
"To go on call for the first half of shift so you can go watch the basketball?" asked Sara, when she'd regained control of her smile.
"Wait, how did you know?" asked Nick, all attempts of innocent forgotten. Ignoring the shouts of 'Busted' from Warrick and Greg, who had obviously felt the need to come in early, Sara said jokingly,
"Telepathy. You can go and watch the game…" she couldn't help but smile as she saw Nick's face light up with delight, before continuing seriously,
"You take a Tahoe and your pager. You do not watch it in a bar and, if you're called in and it takes you more than 20 minutes to get back here, you're taking a breath test."
"You got it," agreed Nick calmly, understanding that Sara wasn't joking. After a long pause, during which even Greg and Warrick became uncomfortable at the intensity of the look Sara was levelling at Nick, the silence was broken.
"Get out of here," teased Sara, taking another sip of her coffee, amused at how excitable the big Texan seemed to be, watching as he dumped his own mug in the sink. As he strode from the room, Warrick called out,
"Be back before midnight, don't want to turn into a pumpkin!" before he and Greg collapsed into laughter….
"What'd I miss?" asked Catherine, coming into the room a minute later.
"Nick being cute" summarised Sara, smiling at her.
"That basketball game?" asked Catherine, remembering what Sara had told her before she came in earlier.
"Yeah. Even made me fresh coffee," recounted Sara, smiling broadly, waiting to see how Catherine would react.
"Really? Should I be worried?" asked Catherine pointedly, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere.
Placing her mug on the table, Sara canted her head to one side, as if giving the question some serious thought, before declaring evenly,
"Nick's coffee sucks," prompting Warrick and Greg to collapse into laughter once more.
Accepting the fresh mug that Catherine passed to her, along with a brief kiss, Sara tucked the travel mug in her lap before returning to her office until it was time to hand out assignments, leaving her friends to amuse themselves for a while…
Entering the break room for a second time that night, Sara once more headed towards the coffee pot. As she got nearer, she saw that it was virtually empty, with whatever was left obviously nearly stewed. Bypassing the pot, she continued to the fridge, helping herself to a bottle of mineral water. Cracking open the bottle, she took a long drink before saying,
"Ok guys? Let's start the shift…" only to get no response.
Paying closer attention to her colleagues, she discovered the reason why they had ignored her….Warrick and Greg were playing some Football game on the console system, their eyes glued to the screen as they focussed on the game only they could hear, courtesy of the headphones they were wearing….and Catherine, she too was wearing headphones which Sara quickly spotted as being connected to a portable CD player. Judging by her expression, which could only really be described as anguished, despite the closed eyes, Sara summarised that Catherine was performing her 'motherly' duty of checking that the latest CD Lindsey had wanted wasn't inciting violence, homophobia or anything else that Catherine deemed 'unsuitable' or 'inappropriate'. Opening the sports cap of her water bottle, Sara moved over towards Warrick and Greg, her wheelchair moving virtually silently across the floor and her seated position meaning she didn't cast any shadows on the TV screen. When she was about 4 feet away, she stopped and, squeezing her water bottle, took aim, using it like a water pistol…
"HEY!" protested Warrick loudly, jumping up when he felt the cold water hit him squarely in the back of the neck.
"Time for work boys," stated Sara seriously.
Resignedly, Warrick turned off the screen and returned the headphones and controllers to their rightful place. He didn't mind the interruption all that much, not when somehow Greg managed to be beating him for the first time since, well, since Warrick stopped playing against him using only one hand whilst the guy learnt how to play! Greg on the other hand, was more upset. Turning to Sara, he protested,
"Two more minutes!"
"Two more minutes what?"
"Two more minutes and I'd have won!" Greg was almost sounding petulant. Amused, Sara made her feelings known, taking discreet aim with her water bottle once more.
"HEY!" Greg's shout alerted Catherine, who opened her eyes and removed her headphones, only to start laughing.
"It's not funny!" Greg was right, for him, it wasn't. For everyone else though….Sara's aim was perfect. After a minute, Sara brought their attention back to their work.
"Assignments. Catherine…" Sara held out a slip towards her lover, before continuing,
"Abandoned car at the bus station, animal control will meet you there."
"Animal control?" Catherine raised her eyebrow, a request for more information.
"Wherever the driver went, they didn't take pooch with them," explained Sara, smiling at Catherine.
"Great."
"Warrick, Greg? Double up on this one please?" asked Sara, handing them a slip and making to set off back to her office, knowing from Catherine's body language that she would be wanting words with her lover soon.
"Double up, why?" asked Warrick, looking quizzically at Sara.
"Dead body, interesting circumstances, and Greg? Don't worry about changing your pants just yet. You'll enjoy it guys!" before she headed out of the break room, as expected, Catherine following her closely.
Entering her office, she waited for Catherine to close the door, before saying,
"No Catherine, I'm not giving you that case." Rarely did they argue about assignments, Catherine understanding and respecting Sara too much, but sometimes, more usually during the slower midweek shifts, Catherine liked to express her displeasure. Usually, Sara was happy to listen, confident that her reasons for doing the assignments were fair. This time, however, Sara decided she didn't want to hear Catherine's protesting first.
"An abandoned car?" asked Catherine in disbelief.
"Yes. An abandoned car at the bus station."
"And they get the body in interesting circumstances?" asked Catherine, willing herself not to loose her temper, although right now, she was seeing injustice all around.
"I lied."
"Excuse me?"
"The interesting circumstances? I should have said unusual."
"So give it to me."
"Fine, you want the case? Take it, but don't expect me to come near you at the end of shift."
"WHAT?" Sighing, Sara looked at her lover in frustration, before saying,
"The body? It's in the sewer." Catherine's expression was the perfect visualisation of 'Ew'.
"Do you still want Warrick's case?" asked Sara patiently.
"No" admitted Catherine quietly, embarrassed.
"Trust me?" asked Sara quietly.
"I'm sorry." Catherine crouched down by Sara, taking her hand in hers.
"You're forgiven" said Sara lightly, stroking Catherine's hair.
"You should go to your scene," she said finally.
"What about you?"
"Me? Paperwork"
"I love you" whispered Catherine, straightening up.
In response, Sara smiled what Catherine regarded as 'her' smile, the one that showed her Sara's love for her was unquestionable. Pressing a kiss to Sara's forehead, Catherine turned to open the door.
"Call me if you need to" she said, understanding what paperwork Sara would really be doing, before she disappeared into the hallway, heading to grab her kit.
"Hmm." The sound of someone clearing their throat forced Sara to look up from the report she was studying. Force of habit meant that, even as she lifted her head, her hands were gathering in the photographs so that whoever it was who was wanting her was spared their gruesome detail.
"Jim" greeted Sara neutrally, surprised and yet not surprised to see him.
The often gruff, experienced Jersey Captain looked almost haggard, with hints of stubble shadowing on his jaw, his soft shirt and casual pants suggesting he wasn't here 'on duty'.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure…." Sara pushed herself back from her desk and headed for a corner, opening a little cupboard.
"Soda?" she offered politely, grabbing a can for herself.
"Huh?"
"My secret stash…when I came to Vegas I was giving up cigarettes. Now soda's my vice. You want one?" Sara canted her head quizzically at Brass as he considered the offer.
Opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, as if tasting something, Brass contemplated Sara's words. He could almost taste the alcohol, the scotch he craved to mix with the soda. But almost tasting was different to drinking, and craving was different to yielding. He hadn't known Sara once smoked, hadn't known she'd been giving up when he first met her, although that perhaps now explained why she chewed gum so much then. He'd quit cigarettes long ago as well, but she was right, this was exactly the moment he could have craved a smoke. Instead, she was offering him a soda, a hitherto unconsidered vice, something he'd never thought of as being a forbidden fruit. Pondering why it could be such a thing, he could only come up with one conclusion: whatever was the real reason, it wasn't always the case, it could only be due to one thing; he remembered her drinking soda, years ago. Its contraband status was a recent development…recent as in connected with the shooting….he wanted a smoke, he wanted a drink, he wanted to kick something….he wasn't the only one.
"Sure" he agreed easily, smiling tightly as he crossed the room towards Sara.
"Cola or Orange?"
"Cola, thanks" he said, accepting the proffered can and opening it distractedly.
Sara opened her own can and took a sip from it, eying Brass as she did so, studying for hints or clues as to what brought him to her office in the early hours of the morning. Just when she was thinking she could guess, he spoke.
"It's my night off."
"Couldn't sleep?" asked Sara, heading across to near the chair, hoping he'd follow her and instinctively sit down, which he did.
"I was watching the news…the highway's reopen."
"Two hours ago" confirmed Sara unhurriedly.
"You called it?" asked Jim gruffly, focussing on the condensation patterns on his soda can. Sara didn't need to ask what 'it' was.
"Yes. Case closed."
"That's it?" Brass looked up at her forlornly, no longer looking like the world-weary, cynical homicide detective he'd been for so long, but instead like a father, something he hadn't been for so long following Annie's choices.
"It's over Jim."
"But I haven't arrested anyone. How can you close it when you haven't given me a suspect yet?"
Smiling sadly, Sara shoved the immediate wish and desire that Catherine was with her down deep inside her, before saying
"You know as well as I do, there isn't always a suspect."
"But what about all that crap Gil used to go on about? That you guys speak for the victims…what about those kids on the basketball team?" Brass stood up as his frustration grew.
"It's not crap. We do" stated Sara calmly yet firmly.
"So what do they tell you this time?" asked Brass, turning and looking at Sara accusingly.
"That the tanker did it."
"The tanker did it?" Brass' tone was full of incredulity, not anticipating or, perhaps more accurately, not wanting to hear such an impersonal 'suspect'.
"There was a fault in the steering of the hydrogen tanker. The steering failed, causing the crash," explained Sara neutrally, watching her friend as he stood by the filing cabinet.
"THUMP" the silence of the room was broken by the duel sounds of Brass' fist and foot pounding the filing cabinet.
"Jim…."
"Where's the justice you lot are always chasing?"
"Jim…."
"The JUSTICE Sara, where is it? Did you find it?"
"It's not my job…" began Sara, her tone of voice having a definite edge to it.
"What do you mean?" asked Brass, turning to her in a slight daze.
"What do you mean, it's not your job. Don't tell me what your job is, I used to be the
CSI Boss, remember? Oh, wait, you were the one who helped get me fired"
"I remember…" Sara ignored the comment about the circumstances surrounding Brass' 'demotion' back to Captain in Homicide. "It's not my job to find the justice for the victims of this crash. It's my job to find the truth about this crash. That's been found."
"So where's the justice then?" asked Brass bitterly.
"For many victims, it's in the capture of the perpetrator. Jim, you can't arrest a tanker or a person because I can't give you one. It was an accident, a horrible accident. I've closed the case because I've found the truth, but I'm just a criminalist."
"Meaning?" asked Jim, whilst maybe not calm yet, at least looking at Sara and listening to her now.
"Meaning there's more to justice than criminal convictions. There was a faulty part, a weak piece of plastic and a bad piece of metal. That's what caused the crash. I'm a criminalist, but there are civil cases. I don't work those, but they still bring justice."
"A civil case?" asked Brass, curious.
"Ah, not my thing, but I think something to do with corporate negligence and product liability…the manufacturer's gonna be sued to high heaven." Sara felt herself offering a tentative smile at the thought that at least some restitution would be made.
"And big fat checks are a kind of justice?"
"It's a kind of punishment" corrected Sara, trying to keep the weariness from her voice.
"It doesn't bring those kids back."
"No, but neither does sending someone to the needle," responded Sara pragmatically, understanding Jim's turmoil but already at some sort of peace with herself.
"How can you be so calm?" He was struggling to understand where Sara was getting her perspective from, remembering as he saw it, her crusades for the victims and justice all too clearly.
"Same way you're gonna be," responded Sara, pressing a couple of buttons on her desk phone and placing a couple of files on her lap.
"What's that?"
"You're gonna come down to the garage and look at the tanker that's there."
"And that makes me calm? That gives me peace?"
"No. But getting on a dolly and looking at the piece of plastic that's weak and the metal that's bad, that will, one day, help you sleep," suggested Sara sadly, putting her soda can in the trash and heading for the door, waiting for Brass to follow.
"I don't get it," despite his scepticism, Jim crossed to the doorway, turning out the light, before stepping into the hall, understanding now that if he was angry and upset and wanting to lash out at someone, this amazingly determined, seemingly invincible woman was not the target.
"We see the worst that human beings can do to each other. It still amazes me how many different ways one man can wilfully choose to hurt another, to take life. How can I be calm? Because I can look at that plastic and metal and know that, despite all the sickness and horror I've seen people to be capable of, despite all that, no one was sick enough to do this deliberately. It was an accident, and there's no suspect to arrest." Sara locked her office door, the key sounding extra loud in the quiet hallway as Brass contemplated what she was saying.
"Would you really feel any better if you could look at a person through a one way mirror and know they had caused all that death deliberately?"
"Didn't you feel better when I showed you Tommy Rodriguez?" challenged Brass hoarsely, his 'tough cop' persona struggling to appear.
Sara turned so that she could look at her friend, her face and posture showing no emotion at the mention of the man who fired the bullet that paralysed her.
"Better? No. Knowing who he was didn't bring back my legs. But seeing him confirmed the truth about that night. Knowing the truth made me feel better, knowing what had happened and why made me feel better. Knowing that what happened to me wouldn't happen to someone else like that made me feel better. That's justice. Tommy Rodriguez is in prison, that's his punishment."
There was a long pause as Jim absorbed and considered what Sara had said.
"I'm sorry" he said simply, no longer talking about the crash.
"It's not your fault."
"It was my case…"
"Your case was two DBs dumped in the living room at 4106 Henderson. My scene was 4106 Henderson. Tommy Rodriguez was a guy with a gun in an SUV on the street." Summarised Sara succinctly, wondering if Jim would draw the parallel.
"It was an accident?"
"I didn't stand on the step expecting to be shot; Grissom didn't send me to the scene expecting me to be shot; you didn't leave the cross street open especially so that I could be shot; Tommy Rodriguez didn't fire that gun, expecting to shoot me or even wanting to shoot me. But he did, and you arrested him and he went to prison. Collectively, that's truth and justice."
"Knowing that Tommy Rodriguez didn't wake up that day determined to shoot you, that was what made you feel better?" asked Brass, using Sara's own phrasing.
"Better it be that than knowing that someone deliberately set out to harm me, yes," admitted Sara honestly, the topic no longer holding any immediate emotional turmoil for her, having come to terms with her situation a long time previously.
"And it's the same with the crash…."
"Find the truth and let that lead to justice. Justice can't always be an arrest," agreed Sara smiling slightly, glad that Jim was understanding and calming down, not only about the crash, but also about her shooting, something she had perhaps erroneously assumed he was fine about.
"You ok?" asked Sara finally.
"Sure" smiled Brass, still thinking about things.
"You want to go look at this tanker?"
"Yeah, I'd like that" agreed Jim, setting off slowly with Sara up the fortunately empty hall.
"You know something?"
"What?" Sara was intrigued by his pensive tone.
"I don't think I ever got it."
"It?"
"Truth, that it's special on its own. When I was running CSI, I was thinking like a cop, wanting CSIs to find me perps, give me guys to chase and send to prison."
"Most times we do," observed Sara pragmatically, entering the elevator that would take them down to the garage level.
"But that's not your job" observed Brass as he selected the garage floor.
"No, that's not my job, but it's a hell of a perk!" Sara's broad grin was infectious, and, despite everything, Brass couldn't help a smile and a brief burst of a 'happy sigh' as opposed to the sorrowful ones he'd been heaving since hearing that the highway had been reopening. As the elevator set off towards its destination, their collective mood was becoming brighter again as positives were found from negatives. Their work was invariably gruesome, their dreams often troubled, but their spirits….their spirits were buoyant, fuelled by belief in what they did and how important it was.
And SVU Part 3