DISCLAIMER: CSI is the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
So Sure We Were On To Something
By L.
PROLOGUE
“Bell was between me and the suspect. I was shooting over his cover which is a violation of policy... I was... I was just trying to stay alive, but if I did it...”
“Grissom, hey, I have a question... Sofia? You're on administrative leave.”
“I know.”
“You should not be in this building."
“I was just talking to a friend. If I can't talk to a friend who the hell am I supposed to talk to?”
“Any friend outside this department.”
“And how many friends outside work do you have, Sara? Oh, maybe I should leave and talk to my mother? Oh no, I forgot: she's a cop too.”
“I can recommend a departmental psychologist.”
“All right. Um, this was a very bad idea.”
ONE
Sara had been obsessing over that little exchange all day.
Little Miss Formality breached protocol? It was unheard of.
And then recommending a shrink? Why not give the woman your fucking diary at the same time.
So she made up her mind, it had to stop.
But when Sofia at last opened her door, looking disheveled, messy even, in a t-shirt and sweats with her hair bundeled up top, Sara suddenly lost her nerve.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
“I was thinking? Obviously, you don’t have that many friends... And we both know I don’t have any," she was rewarded with a small smirk. "So I figured... A movie and some food and beer?"
Sofia was still leaning in the door, chain on, small crack allowed peeking out.
"What movie?"
"'Beyond the Valley of the Dolls'."
"What's it about?"
"Eh, it's a classic."
"What's it about?"
"It's a... an all-girl band? Trying to make it in Hollywood?"
Sofia slammed the door shut and rattled off the security chain, then the door bounced open and Sara walked in.
"Sounds lame."
"Yeah, well, you have to see it to believe it."
Sara took a few careful steps, trying really hard not to gaze around. Trying hard to be a normal person checking up on a friend, not an investigator working a case.
Sofia was studying her, with her arms crossed.
“In my car on the way home before, they played that song, you know ‘Fix you’?”
“Oh, please..." Sara snorted, "I hate that band. Nerdy-art-school-rock-wannabes."
"No, tell me what you really think."
"I think their music's... cold. Designed."
“Oh yeah? Well, you need to have a heart of stone not to be moved by it.”
“I KNOW. That’s the point: it’s so... calculated. You’re supposed, expected really, to feel that way, and frankly, I hate that... I hate being guided, no steered, pushed. I hate being told what to do."
"Really? You could've fooled me."
Sara's arms were beginning to sag, hard not to when you're carrying two large paper bags stuffed with food and three kinds of beer.
"I think it’s because they think too much, and don't...”
She dared a look around to see if there was somewhere she could get rid of the bags.
“I can relate to that..." Sofia shook her head tiredly and added, "And not only because I’m not married to Gwyneth Paltrow..." She pointed to Sara's right, to the kitchen. "What?”
“There’s like 10 jokes in there, I don’t know which one to pick.”
“You mentioned food?”
“Uhu, how’s this sound: mexilhoes com salsa picante and sardinhas assadas? And since you eat meat," she froze. "You eat meat right?”
“Yeah.”
Sara went to the kitchen and started putting onions, potatoes, and tiny jars on the counter.
“Excellent. I’ll also make carne de porco à Alentejana. I won't be eating it myself, but I enjoy cooking it.”
She held out a Sol which Sofia accepted, and stuffed the rest of the beer in the fridge.
“OK... Mexican?”
“Beer, yup. Food, nope. Portugese. Next month, it’ll be Hungarian; last month was Welsh, now that was terrible. I eat seafood and fish? But try to be a vegetarian and -”
“OK, Sara? You’re babbling and it's starting to scare me a little.”
“Oh, sorry. It's just... ”
A moment's hesitation, but Sofia shrugged with a smile.
“Yeah, me too," she backed out of her kitchen. "Well, you look like... you'll find your way around here. I’ll just go finish my...” She waved towards the bedroom.
“I was interrupting something.”
“Just ironing.”
“Oh. You use starch, right?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Wild guess.”
TWO
Some time later Sofia was cleared, Brass wasn’t all that lucky. But then again, neither was Bell.
The two of them were waiting at a scene when Grissom, Greg, and Sara pulled up.
Brass was looking tired, and somewhat gruff. His usually fast and intelligent eyes were wary. If only people realized how tough he really is, nobody would ever break the law.
Meanwhile, Sofia was doing her best looking tough too. But she looked as if she thought she was a little tougher than she was.
She had to, though.
The CSIs walked up to them as Sofia moved some hair from her eyes with a quick gesture, ten thousand years of practice behind it.
“What do you got?”
“White male, in his thirties, shot twice in the chest.”
“David’s been here yet?”
“Nope.”
Sara turned to Greg.
“Doesn’t sound like much, does it? But actually, it tells a whole lot: When the race of the murder victim is known, about half are white, and about half are black."
"And homicide is generally intraracial," Sofia interjected.
"When information on the victim/offender relationship is available," Sara continued, "guess how many of of the offenders were known to the victim?"
Greg shook his head, "No idea."
"76%. While 24% were strangers to the victim. Firearms are used in the majority of murders -"
A sideways glance to Sofia.
"71%."
"And the offenders are most often male: 90%."
"Ouch."
"And most often adults, 92%," Sofia grinned. "So you're off the hook Saunders."
"Double-ouch."
"Arguments is the most often cited circumstance leading to murder."
"28%."
"Homicides occurr in connection with another felony..."
"Such as rape, robbery, or arson in 17% of incidents."
Greg's head bounced left-right, right-left, like he was watching a tennis match.
"You guys must have practised this little routine for weeks."
“You're making me dizzy," Grissom interrupted. "Sara, Greg, you work the perimeter, I’ll handle the body.”
"I'll start knocking doors," Sofia said with a smile and turned and walked away.
THREE
As they were working this scene, and then others, later as time went by, Sara would look up only to find Sofia's eyes on her. Watching, assessing, estimating... something.
It was starting to piss her off.
She knew she'd started something, that something had shifted. She just hadn't predicted this. She didn't expect this. And the truly annoying thing was that she didn't quite know what this was, she could only rely on what she knows is true:
Forces occur in pairs equal in magnitude and opposite in direction.
And that didn't help much.
It sure as hell didn't explain her being increasingly nervous.
Newton's third states that for every force applied on a body A by a body B, body B receives an equal force in the exact opposite direction. You cannot manipulate physics.
You cannot manipulate Sara Sidle. You shouldn't even try.
There are no spontaneous forces. Sara knew for certain, or as certain as anyone ever can be, that something must be set in motion.
Even if only by accident, if just dropped. Or dumped.
Forces may be equal, but only because of the second law, not because of the third.
"What have you got for us for tonight?"
"'Molly and Lawless John'"
Sofia laughed, and started to punch in a number on her cell, "Where do you find these... masterpieces?"
That smile didn't help at all.
"Amazon," Sara shrugged. "You know, had this movie been made a dozen years earlier, it might have found an audience. By 1973, however, the Hollywood western was riding into the sunset and the studio hardly bothered even releasing it."
Sara climbed into her car and started the engine. She was flustered, a little breathless, and she didn't understand what the fuck was going on and she hated it.
What she hated even more was that Sofia was so calm about it, as if she knew exactly what was happening and how they'd got there.
To make matters worse, she leaned in through Sara's rolled down car window, and rested her chin on her folded arms.
"It's probably a whole lotta fun, your choices usually are."
She reached in and oh so gently tucked some hair behind Sara's ear, brushing her fingers as she retreated.
Green apples, grass, and fresh laundry.
Sofia watched Sara close her eyes.
She knew exactly what she was doing and she loved it.
FOUR
"I've been waiting for you."
"Sorry. I headed out as soon as I got your page."
"Really? Cause... I left a voice mail several hours ago."
"What's up?"
"The anonymous call was traced to this phone booth. I figured you wanted to process."
"There is finger print powder on the phone?"
"Yeah, I got bored waiting. I thought you might need some help... No usable prints, but check out the floor."
FIVE
"You can do this," Sara mumbled. "Just do your job."
The various types of bloodstains indicate how the blood was projected from the body via several factors: type of injuries, the order in which the wounds were received. Whose blood it is.
Whose blood is it?
Take pictures, snap pictures.
What type of weapon caused the injuries? Was the victim in motion or lying still when the injury was inflicted? Was the victim moved after the injury was inflicted?
The victim had not been moved.
How far did the blood drops fall before hitting the surface where they were found?
"Focus on blood, focus on Catherine. Do your job."
"You say something, Sara?"
"No, Cath, thinking out loud, that's all."
"Curtis is rubbing off on you, huh?"
Drops, on a horizontal surface. Splashes, from blood flying through the air and hitting a surface at an angle. Pools, around the body, which can show if it's been dragged, it hasn't.
Drops
Splashes
Pools
Spurts from a major artery.
Smears left by movement of a bleeding person.
Man, this job is truly sick at times.
"What next, Catherine?"
"Any of these can be traced back to their converging point by considering such factors as the surface on which it fell, the angle it hit, and the distance it traveled."
"Cool."
The shooting that killed the suspect stemmed from a domestic disturbance call.
Metro officers respond to dozens of domestic abuse calls everyday, It can be dangerous because officers are often confronting violent suspects and trying to bring their emotions under control.
Unfortunately, Wednesday's call turned deadly.
Ask Detective Curtis, she was there. She held the gun.
Don't ask CSI Sidle, she's processing the scene.
SIX
"Are you gonna make me that fried diced thingie again?"
"Nope. Today I'll make different Greek mezedhes: melintzanosalata, barnies, piperies, and kolokasi. And you my friend will also have kleftiko!"
"Whoopieakapapados."
Sofia was slouched down in her couch with a glass of undrinkable warm wine reeking of resin.
She rose to pour it out and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
On her way back, she stopped and turned to look at Sara. To look at Sara chopping garlic expertly in her kitchen.
She looked down, perusing herself: tank, draw-string pants, bare feet. She wiggle-waggled her toes.
She sniffed and realized she hadn't taken a shower since before shift, 32 hours ago.
Amazed, she watched her hands: they were trembling.
Sara stilled, she realized the room had gone all quiet, too quiet.
"Sofia?"
Sofia took three soundless steps, and silently pressed up against Sara, bony hips pushed into softness. Placing her hands on Sara's, removing the knife, putting it to rest.
"Please, let me do this."
Sara sighed and hung her head for a moment. Then she straightened and reached back, cupped Sofia and whispered, "No, I'll do it".
Then slowly, backwards, akward, not very gently slipped inside the pants, no underwear, inside Sofia.
Sofia moaned and rocked against the hand.
"God," she thought, "this is so sad."
And then she came, but it was a little bit too late and not enough.
"You OK now," Sara snapped her hand back, wiping it off, still with her back turned. "You done?"
"Sara, please."
"What?"
"Just... let's... can't we just -"
"What?"
"God, I'm going to go nuts thinking about this."
"Yeah, well... Me too." She resumed the chopping. "Go, take a shower. It'll be OK."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
SEVEN
There are no spontaneous forces.
Forces result from interactions.
Detectives Curtis and Brass noted the name and position of the person who had notified them, and the time of notification. Upon their arrival at the scene, they had recorded the date, their arrival time, and the weather conditions.
If an injured person had been on the scene, they'd arranged for medical attention, identification, and removal.
If the scene had not been fully protected, the detectives would've ensured its protection by using security police or other responsible persons to keep curious persons away and to keep witnesses and suspects from disturbing the scene.
Brass and Grissom moved away from the body, studying something, a track of some kind, leading off from the house.
"You weren't kidding, were you?" Sofia said.
Sara was crouching next to the victim, picking at something with a pair of tweezers.
"When?"
"About fixing me, you're not trying to fix me."
"I wouldn't know the first thing about fixing anyone..."
Sofia stepped to the side for preliminary questioning of witnesses to determine, in general, the extent of the incident. Soon though, she returned to Sara's side.
"I was so sure we were on to something..." Sofia flipped back and forth, aimlessely in her notepad. "I was supposed to..."
"You can't write a script for this, you know."
"I know, but still..."
"One cannot rush into these things."
Sara gave particular attention to fragile trace evidence that might be destroyed or altered if not collected immediately. She treated everything as evidence until it was proven otherwise.
"According to Newton," Sara suddenly said with a tiny smirk, "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Consider for example, what happens if we step off a boat onto the bank of a lake? As we move in the direction of the shore, the boat tends to move in the opposite direction."
"Consider what happens if you stop hiding behind that science BS?"
"Or, consider what happens if you stop hiding behind that macho crap?"
Sara carefully photographed an impression and made a mold.
She then noted stains, spots, and pools of liquid and treated them as evidence. Also noted was any peculiar odors.
Sofia stood back, watching quitely.
"Seems I keep getting this story twisted," she said to no one in particular. "'The golden hair, the bedroom eyes, the firm young body. All are available for a price...'"
The End