Prologue
*"Oh, I see we're off on yet another exciting area of criminology." – Dr. Larry Fleinhardt.
Season 1, episode 8: Identity Crisis*
Upon entering the tiny café, Assistant Director Nick Callaghan grimaced with distaste as the overwhelming stench of oil and fat assaulted his sensitive nostrils and brought back repressed memories of greasy fry-ups and sour milkshakes. He couldn't remember the last time he had visited such an establishment but that wasn't surprising, he had only been a kid at the time and his childhood was not a place he liked to visit often…not because he had been abused or anything like that, but because it often brought back feelings of misplaced anger and regret.
Feeling annoyed for letting his mind wonder to such uncomfortable places, Nick flicked up the collar of his coat and shuffled angrily through the maze of mismatched tables to a dark corner in the back where he hoped to meet his contact unnoticed; an impossible feat considering there were so few customers.
"What can I get ya lovey?" A tired looking waitress asked kindly as she pulled a small notebook from the pocket of her stained apron and pulled a pencil from the back of her head where it was wedged in her ponytail.
Looking around the badly lit café, Nick thought about refusing to order, he would rather die than eat anything that came out of the small, slime covered kitchen that he had passed on his way to his table, but then thought better of it. Refusing to order would come across as suspicious and draw more attention than he was already getting from some of the other, less savoury, looking customers. So it was with a heavy heart and great trepidation that Nick forced his mouth to open and just about pushed the word "Coffee," past gritted teeth.
"Please," He added as an afterthought as he forced a small boyish smile on his face to placate the waitress, she really did look rundown and Nick wondered how many hours she had been working for. He knew from experience that beggars couldn't be choosers and an extra shift or two could make all the difference when you were poor and had a young boy to feed...
"Can I get ya anythin' else?" The waitress asked casually, breaking into Nick's troubled thoughts, as she pocketed her notepad and pencil and pulled out a damp cloth to wipe down the table, mistaking his downcast frown as a look of disgust, when really if he was disgusted with anything it was with himself and not the dirty table.
He couldn't help it though; looking at the waitress was like looking at his mother. The similarities were uncanny; they both had the same haggard expression and the same stained apron and Nick felt his stomach twist with remorse. Guilt wasn't an emotion Nick was used to feeling and the thought made him uncomfortable.
"No that's everything thank you," Nick assured her with a brief nod and a forced smile and was relieved when she eventually walked away.
Several hours and two coffees gingerly sipped later and Nick began to get a sinking feeling that he'd been stood up…that or he was in the wrong greasy spoon. Annoyed and frustrated, Nick stood up and pulled his wallet out. At least the coffee was cheap!
Throwing a couple of five dollar bills down on the table, Nick made his way back through the maze of mismatched tables to the exit where the waitress was sat on her break reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. Nick noted that the mug was special and different from the one's the customers were given; it appeared that not even the waitress trusted the café's crockery.
"Hav' a nice night honey," The waitress smiled as he passed, saluting him with her mug, which he could see now was inscribed 'World's best mum'. Nick didn't know if this was true or not but found that the sentiment had him reaching once more for his wallet only this time he pulled out a hundred dollar bill. It was the last of his cash; he was going to have to go to an ATM at some point.
"Thank you," Nick smiled as he held a hand out to shake hers and slipped her the tip, careful that the cook, and Nick assumed owner, didn't see before walking away leaving the waitress stunned.
"Thank you Benjamin!" The waitress called after him, referring to the portrait of Benjamin Franklin on the face of the bill. It was only then, as he pulled back the café door that Nick realised he had been so 'on edge' that hadn't even bothered to look at her name badge.
Sighing to himself as he hugged his thick woollen coat closer to his body for warmth, Nick started quickly along the block, trying to avoid the attention of the night workers across the street and their pimp in the alleyway next door.
Perhaps it was because he was paying too much attention to the people he could see that he forgot to worry about the ones he couldn't. Pulled back roughly by the scruff of his coat collar and thrown into the dark alley, Nick's attacker was upon him before he even had a chance to draw his gun.
Head pounding from the rough landing and chest winded from the person sitting on top of him, all Nick really could tell about his attacker was that he had bad breath and was quite a large man and then there was only pain as his attacker used the butt of a gun to repeatedly hit him over the face, splitting both his eyebrow and lip.
Groaning, Nick wasn't sure what he was saying and was sure it wasn't intelligible to the person on top of him either, all he knew was he had to get up, get away…unfortunately the man on top of him had his legs pinned as well as his arms and in Nick's dazed state he really didn't have much strength left in him to fight…
Laughing, that's what Nick remembered as the black choked his vision and the pounding in his head intensified, laughing and snorting and then finally the click of a gun cocking.
1
*Charlie Eppes: "What do you think we should do now?"
Don Eppes: "The same thing when I was in school and didn't know the answer – Fake it".
Season 1, Episode 4: Prime Suspect*
It had been a long hard day and the night was only getting longer for Special Agent In Charge, SAIC, Don Eppes. If the stack of files next to him was any indication, he wouldn't be leaving the office again anytime soon.
Flicking his gaze guiltily to his watch Don realises that the time was a lot later than he had anticipated; there just never seemed to be enough hours in the day or night anymore and the little dent he had made in his paperwork tonight would inevitably never be enough.
He wanted to go home. He felt it like a pull in his heart as his gaze drifts guiltily from his watch to the framed photo of his family that was proudly propped against the stack of files on his desk. It seemed appropriate to see the two balancing against each other because that was how it felt to Don at the moment.
His life in general was a balancing act as he and his wife Robin juggled high ranking positions in the FBI and Department of Justice and their three children at the same time. One had been hard enough but three! It was no wonder Don felt like he never had time to breathe let alone get everything he needed to done. Not that he would trade his family for anything. In that department he really was a lucky man.
Sighing heavily, Don grabs a hand full of files off of the top of the pile and stuffs them into his battered leather shoulder bag. There really was no reason he had to read them in his dark lonely office; he just found that there were generally less distractions at his desk than at home but right now a good distraction was something he desperately needed to save him from the mind numbing reports that awaited him on his desk and now in his bag.
"Scarlett? You're still here?" Don asks surprised as he leaves his office to find his secretary typing furiously away at her desk in the small antechamber outside his office. "I thought I told you to go home hours ago?"
"I was just sorting out your calendar for next week," She smiles slyly back as she stops typing and swivels around in her chair to give Don her full attention and full view of her cleavage in her tight pale pink dress. Either it was really cold in the small chamber or Scarlett wasn't wearing her bra anymore…
"Is there much left to do?" Don asks hesitantly as Scarlett crosses and uncrosses her long slender legs, before slowly crossing them again.
"All done now," She simpers huskily as Don quickly turns away and closes his office door behind him before pulling out his keys and locking it. "I don't suppose you fancy going for a quick drink…you know to unwind?" She smiles assuredly at Don as he turns around to regard her properly once more.
"As nice as that would be," Don coughs embarrassedly, his neck turning crimson as he blushes under the suggestive fluttering of her eyelashes. "My family are probably already worried and I'd hate to have them worry…ah…unnecessarily…"
"That's a shame," She pouts prettily stopping Don in his tracks as he attempts to edge away towards the exit. "I was really looking forward to a long hard pull from a stiff one." If Don had been drinking, he would have just spat it out; he was so surprised by her comment that for a moment it was all he could do not to laugh at her cheek. She had to be at least twenty four, less than half his age!
"Really…" He replies more calmly than he's feeling as he watches Scarlett put on her green swede jacket and matching handbag. "If anyone is going to have a long hard pull from a stiff one it will be my wife and any further comment on the matter and we might need to rethink your future within this department. Understood?"
"Understood," She replies quietly. "I just thought..."
"Well you shouldn't have," Don replies firmly but not unkindly. "Look…it's late. How about I walk you to your car…"
"Thanks," She nods slowly as she and Don make their way over to the tiny lift across the large open plan room that housed the agents that Don, as SAIC, was in charge of managing. He was surprised to see that some were still at their desks, heads buried in their work. "Mr Eppes?" Scarlett asks shyly once they are both alone in the small lift.
"Yes?" Don replies hesitantly as he pushes for the ground floor and watches warily as the doors close, trapping them both alone together for the next few awkward minutes.
"I'm sorry about before…"
"Let's not mention it again."
"Ok," She whispers quietly, making Don turn to face her briefly. She looked pained, vulnerable…young and yet still…desirable with her long chocolate locks and pale skin wrapped tightly in pink…she looked like a sweet in a shiny wrapper tempting him from across the lift…turning quickly away Don thanks the lords as the lift doors ping open and he's finally able to put some real space between them.
"Where are you parked?" Don asks roughly as he holds open the front door to the main entrance and lobby to the FBI building in LA.
"Just over there," She points to the right, her hand gesturing at a car park that was blocked partially by the human sized statue of Lady Justice that had been erected when J Edgar Hoover had died back in 1972.
Don had never paid much attention to the statue before. It looked like every other statue of Lady Justice, scales in one hand, sword thrusting out in the other. Only this time Don was paying attention to the statue as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and the cold wind sent a shiver scurrying up his spine. At least he thought it was the wind…and not the large pool of dark red blood that seemed to be dripping down the front of the statue, splashing past her feet and down the front steps of the FBI building.
"What the…?" Don asks shocked as he watches Scarlett's face turn and scrunch up as she spots the blood and lets out an ear piercing scream when both she and Don make their way around to the front of the statue to see a man stood, impaled on the bloody sword of justice.
"Is that…?" Scarlett cries as she points up at the statue and the body lifelessly propped up against it.
"N…Nick," Don stutters disbelievingly.
"Oh my God…oh my god," Scarlett repeats over and over to herself as she begins to freak out beside him, letting out a deafening sob of grief…only it sounded more like it was coming from him…How odd, he thought disconnectedly as his gaze moved from the Assistant Director Nick Callaghan's bruised and cut face to the sword jutting out of a wide open wound in his chest. "DON!" Scarlett shakes his arm as she points to the statues left hand, more specifically to the scales.
Fuck, Don thinks loudly to himself…just holy fuck…because the scales that Scarlett's unsteady hand is waving erratically at are not empty…on one side is a gun, presumably Nick's…and in the other is a red lump that looks disgustingly like a human heart. "Get help." Don whispers quietly first then shouts it again as he grabs both of Scarlett's cheeks and pins her gaze with his. "Get help…NOW!"
Turning back to the statue and his friend, Don resists the temptation to pull his friend down from the statue's deadly embrace. But that was just it…there was no doubt in Don's mind that Nick was dead and he wasn't going to be the one who fucks up the crime scene and lets the killer slip away on a technicality…
How long he stood there gazing up at the body of his boss, his best friend…the godfather to his eldest son…Don didn't know. Probably not as long as it felt and it had felt like a lifetime for sure. It didn't matter though, he would have waited forever if he had needed too because whilst he might not have been there in time to save his friend he would be damned if he would leave him hanging there alone.
"Don?"
"Robin?" Don turns around surprised at the sound of his wife's soft voice. "Rob?" His voice cracks as she pulls him against her and lets him sob angrily against the soft skin where her neck meets her shoulder until his legs can hold him no longer and he falls to his knees.
"I know," She whispers several times, as she slowly kneels down next to him and cradles his shaking body against hers. "I know."