This was written for the Song Fic challenge at Talk CSI. The song was Radiohead's Karma Police, and the limit was 2000 words (although this is revised to include more ;) ).
The usual disclaimers apply, etc. Enjoy!
"Catherine! Hey, Cat – wait!"
Wearily, Catherine Willows turned around to find Nick Stokes walking briskly toward her. She had been just leaving the police department, where she'd been trying to pull details out of a particularly tight-lipped suspect with Captain Brass. It was early in the evening, but she was already aggravated, and Nick could see it in her features as he approached.
This was a look he'd seen on Catherine for much too long. Her new responsibilities as supervisor, the longer hours, coaching Langston, and the usual stresses of their job really seemed to be taking a toll on her lately. She missed Grissom more than she would admit, even though Nick knew that she was happy for him.
As supervisor, she had been forced to delegate some of the things that she most loved about being a CSI in order to perform management tasks. Catherine was good at handling difficult people and was a natural leader, but what really drew her to her work was the challenge of solving a puzzle and the thrill of catching the bad guy. If people and paperwork were going to be the extent of her job, Nick knew she would quickly become frustrated.
Nick also knew that Catherine was as resilient a person as people came, but a casual conversation the day before had made him a little nervous. Greg, an expert on all things Vegas and an unapologetic gossip, knew that Sam Braun's will had recently been settled and had speculated that the casino mogul had likely left his daughter with a very nice parting gift. If this were true, then Catherine's paycheck wouldn't be an anchor to her job anymore. There wasn't much that Nick could do about this, but he could try to relieve some of her stress. Catherine loved to laugh, so humor usually worked, and though it was a rare commodity, he figured he had at least a little to share.
"What is it, Nick?" she asked with a sigh, dropping her posture.
"Can you observe this interview for me?" He gestured down the hall.
Catherine scowled. "What, are you a rookie all of a sudden?" she snapped. "I don't need to hold your hand – do it yourself."
He held up a hand. "I just need you to observe, Cat," he said, trying a calm, soothing tone. "There's something with this guy's story that's not quite right. I don't know what it is, but maybe you can help me figure it out."
She sighed. "Will it take long?"
"No," he assured her. "Just a few minutes."
She acquiesced, and he led her to an interrogation room while he explained the situation. "Guy says his wife is missin'. He kinda looks beat up."
"Can't an officer handle it?"
Nick shook his head. "PD's pretty swamped; we have extra officers on duty for a convention tonight. Vartann grabbed me on my way out and asked if I'd handle it, and there's really no where else to go with this guy."
"What about Mitch?" she asked, gesturing to Officer Mitchell, who was standing just outside the door of the interrogation room. "It's just a missing persons report."
"Mitch doesn't do paperwork," replied Mitchell frankly.
As Catherine sneered at Mitchell, which the officer did not take seriously, Nick put his hand on her upper arm. "Just a few minutes – I just need your impressions, that's all. You read people well and I need that right now."
Catherine nodded impatiently. "Yeah, all right – let's just get it done. I'm all ears."
Nick nodded and patted her shoulder. "Thanks, Cat." She rolled her eyes and ducked into the observation room as Nick smirked at Officer Mitchell and nodded as he opened the interrogation room door. Nick smiled politely at the man inside, and Catherine heard the familiar, calming drawl of his voice.
"Hello, sir," he began. "I'm Nick Stokes from the crime lab; one of the detectives said you've got a missing persons report to file?"
"That's right. My wife abandoned me and our four kids. I got no idea where she is."
Nick looked Walter Pendergrass over while he spelled his name and recited his address and phone number. His jeans were dirty, and when Nick had seen him walk earlier it was with a limp. He had a few scratches on his face, which appeared to be from a cat, and on his balding head was a lump. Nick didn't much like the tone of his voice, which was more angry than upset. "When was the last time you saw your wife, Mr. Pendergrass?"
"Well, I'd just gotten home from work, and my wife didn't have any dinner ready. It makes me mad when she doesn't have it ready when I get home. It's not like she's got so much to do . . . play with a couple of babies and keep the house clean."
Writing on the form which Vartann had given him with the pencil Judy had offered, Nick nodded and asked, "How many children do you have, sir?"
"Four."
"And how old are they?"
"The twins are about six months old, Pearl is two, and Jack is three."
Nick noted this on the form. "Who's got the kids right now, sir?"
"Well, the neighbor does. She's only ten and her mom wasn't home when I dropped 'em off, but my wife's had her over before so she knows the kids."
Nick doubted that was a good idea, however well-intentioned the ten year old neighbor was, and he kept his eyes on the paper so that Walter wouldn't see them roll.
Walter looked away and shook his head. "She whines all the time about bein' tired, she doesn't want any more, she's so busy . . . but what do they do? They just play all day. And those babies – she complains about havin' to nurse them. She's just gotta sit there and let 'em suck, for cryin' out loud. She's so damn lazy."
Nick was not amused and knew that Catherine, observing in the other room, would throttle him for making her watch the interview unless it went the right way. "Sir . . . you were saying?"
"Yeah – so I got home, and no dinner. Naturally I got angry. And usually, I just tell her what's what, and she straightens out. She needs that . . . sometimes women need that, you know."
Nick quirked an eyebrow. Catherine was, no doubt, becoming more and more livid with every word Walter uttered. "So what happened?"
"Well," replied the brow-beaten suspect, "my boy Jack, I guess he didn't like me yellin' at his mom, and he whacked me in the knee with his tee-ball bat. I got a bum knee, see, so it hurt, and I got angry with him and I took it away. Only when I pulled it out of Jack's hand, it kind of swung around and hit the cat."
Nick allowed a smirk. "Is that how you got that scratch on your face?"
Embarrassed, Walter scowled. "No need for you to smirk at that, Tex," he spat. "It ain't funny. Damn thing came flyin' at me like it was possessed. I pulled it off my face and threw it across the room." He paused to shake his head. "And then Pearlie thought I was trying to hurt her kitty so she picked up the bat and swung it at my knee again." Walter looked away.
Nick, trying not to smile, prodded him to continue. "Sir?"
"Well then I bent down, you know . . . and out of the blue she whacked me on the head." He indicated the knot in his temple.
Nick covered his snigger with a cough. He took a cursory look at Walter's head and shrugged. "Doesn't look too serious."
"Yeah . . . well, then I really tore into my wife. I mean, for Christ's sake, I come home from a long day of work, I get attacked by a couple of toddlers and a cat and there's no dinner. And on top of that, I tripped over a rug and dumped a big potted plant on the floor, and it got my jeans all dirty. It ain't like she washes clothes like the dry-cleaner and can have 'em done in an hour."
"Is that when your wife left?" Nick prodded.
"Just let me tell my damn story," snapped Walter. "You Southern boys talk too much."
Nick was annoyed, but nodded. "I apologize, sir. Go on."
"So anyway," replied Walter huffily, "I can't stand up too quick, because my knee is achin', and while I'm trying, Pearl and Jack came over to play in the dirt and they got it everywhere. So now I'm even more pissed off and I tell my wife if she don't find a way to control them damn kids I'd find someone to do it for her."
Nick looked up slowly at Walter. "You threatened to take her children away?"
"Damn straight. Woman doesn't know how good she's got it."
Keeping eye contact with Walter, Nick tilted his chin downward in an expression of disbelief. "And that was the last time you saw her?"
Walter nodded, and Nick thought with astonishment that he genuinely looked offended. "That's right. She said she'd had enough, she was leavin' and I could spend the next few hours findin' out what it was like to be alone with four kids under four."
Taking a breath, Nick turned his eyes back to the form. "And how long ago was that?"
"'Bout two hours ago."
Again, Nick looked slowly up at Walter. "Sir, have you tried to contact her on her cell phone?"
"No," replied Walter, "and I ain't gonna. Far as I'm concerned, she abandoned her children, and now I need Las Vegas's finest to track her fat ass down and bring her back home where she belongs."
Nick scowled. "Sir, unless there are extenuating circumstances people aren't usually considered missing for twenty-four hours. Sounds like she just wants you to realize what she's dealin' with every day. A couple hours . . . probably just needs a break."
"A break? Boy, what the hell are you talkin' about?"
Nick smirked as he quirked an eyebrow at Walter. "Mr. Pendergrass, my mama raised seven kids and had a successful career," he said as he bent his head to complete the paperwork. "She didn't do it alone. Your wife just needs a helping hand every once in a while."
"It's a woman's job to keep a house and raise her family," spat Walter, annoyed with Nick's mirth. "If she couldn't do it alone she had no business havin' any children and I don't care what she did, she didn't belong in the workplace."
Nick raised his head to give Walter a stern look, which Walter returned.
"Your mama is what's wrong with this country."
The pencil broke in Nick's hand and he rose, nostrils flaring, to glare down at Walter. He paused only long enough to keep his knuckles from connecting with Walter's jaw and then said, "Mitch."
Officer Mitchell opened the door, one hand on his cuffs. "Yeah, Nick?"
"Would you take Mr. Pendergrass into custody, please?"
"What the hell for?" stormed Walter, who rose but did not come close to meeting Nick's stature.
"Child abandonment," replied Nick coolly. "You left four kids under four with a ten year old."
"So what?" demanded Walter as he struggled, futilely, against Officer Mitchell. "That's not illegal; you can't arrest me!"
Nick smirked again. "Yes, I can, Mr. Pendergrass. Ten year olds can barely care for themselves. Now, don't you worry – we'll send a family services agent to your neighbor's house to collect the children and contact your wife."
"Hey, I told you when I got here that I left them with the neighbor!" Walter was now furious, one hand cuffed, and still struggling against Officer Mitchell. "That was an hour ago!"
"An hour ago we thought your wife was missing and you were desperate," returned Nick. "Turns out you're just a jackass."
"Your supervisor's gonna hear about this!" threatened Walter. Then he got a good kick in on Mitchell, who responded by using real force to shove Walter face-down onto the table.
"Hold still, sir."
When he was cuffed, no longer resisting but beet red, and upright again, Nick smirked at him. "I'm sure she will be happy to take your complaint," Nick offered. "Have a nice day, Mr. Pendergrass."
Nick turned to exit the room as Officer Mitchell escorted Walter out behind him.
"What the hell is that guy's problem?" he heard Walter mumble to the veteran officer.
"You don't insult a Southern boy's mama," Mitchell said, the disdain in his voice palpable. It made Nick smile.
When things at PD were settled, Nick headed back to the lab to seek out Catherine. He found her in her office, glasses perched on her nose, filling out some paperwork.
"Hey, Cat," he said, sitting down. "What's up?"
"Budget time," she replied as she looked up. "Fun stuff."
"I bet." He met her eyes across her desk. "You might get a complaint about me."
Catherine smiled, and Nick thought that even the insult to his mama was worth seeing his friend smile. "I didn't hear you call anyone a jackass."
Nick smirked. "Didja get a chuckle out of it?"
"Yeah, I did," she replied, her eyes dancing at the memory. "Thanks, Nicky . . . I needed that."
He nodded. "What goes around comes around, right?"
"Let's hope that guy gets it back in a big way."
"If his wife's reaction to the news that her babies were with a ten year old and her husband was in custody is any indication, it will," Nick reassured her. As Catherine winked at him, the smile melted from his face and he looked away briefly.
She tilted her head. "You okay, Nicky?"
He nodded and met her eyes again. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. 'Slong as you are, I'm good."
Her brow creased. "You sure?"
"Yeah," he said again. "I just . . . can't handle any more change, you know? Just tryin' to take care of what I got."
Catherine smiled at him fully in understanding. "You got me, Nicky."
"Yeah?"
She nodded confidently. "Yeah."
Nick mimicked her. "Good."
(c) 2009 J. H. Thompson