A/N: I was torturing myself by watching "Knockout" last night. A single scene inspired this little one-shot. You'll know which one once you finish reading. Trust me.
Disclaimer: Andrew Marlowe and Terri Miller are throwing a small dinner party at their house in Los Angeles right now. I'm laying in bed with a cold in my dorm room in Rhode Island. You can figure out that we are not the same - we're a well-trained fandom of detectives.
"Hey Samuelson."
"Montgomery," the older man said in response.
Lieutenant Roy Montgomery gave Samuelson a nod as he flashed his badge and ID to get into the room. It was half past ten and he was tired, but still running on the fumes of coffee from earlier in the day. Just needed to grab this old file, toss it on his desk, and call it a night.
Archives was a maze, one that Montgomery had learned to navigate after spending too many days lost among the shelves of banker's boxes. Now he prided himself on finding the exact location of the needed file and getting out of that maze in no time. He swung around one of the tall shelves, walking to the end, then turned onto another aisle, his eyes on the ends of the shelves that told him the range of case numbers located there.
In the dim lighting, Montgomery found himself squinting at the numbers. He side-stepped down an aisle and caught a glimpse of a brighter light. File forgotten, he looked down the aisle.
There, sitting on the grimy floor, was a young woman. She was wearing a neatly pressed uniform, her cap on the ground next to her, her hair untied from the required bun and falling in loose curls over her shoulders. A banker's box was open next to her, files and crime scene photos strewn around her. She had a tiny Maglite between her teeth as she flipped through a file.
"What're you doing down here?"
The woman jumped, catching the file before it could tumble out of her hands but not grabbing the flashlight in time. It fell, clattering to the cement floor. She scrambled to her feet, a photo skittering across the floor toward him. "Uh, sir, I was just…"
"Just what?" Montgomery asked, keeping his voice stern. "Uniforms aren't allowed back here."
"I know that, sir."
He was impressed. Instead of sheepishly averting her eyes, the woman held his gaze. She was taking responsibility in a way he hadn't seen from a uniform in all his days on the force. Montgomery didn't move from the entrance of the aisle, leaning a shoulder lightly against the shelf.
"So? What're you doing?" he pushed.
The woman tucked her hair behind her ear. "Looking at a cold case, sir." The file was clutched against her chest.
"Why?"
Montgomery saw the woman take a deep breath, but her hands still trembled a little. "My mother's. Sir, I know it's not within protocol, but I've found some things. Things that don't add up."
He glanced down and saw the photo that had slid toward him in her attempt to get up. And felt his stomach drop to his feet. He knew that woman. The brown hair with neatly cut bangs that brushed the shoulders of her khaki jacket. A pale blue dress shirt tucked into a navy blue skirt with flowers printed over it, the red of the blood creating another blossom on her chest. Her body slumped against the wall of the alley.
"What did you say your name was?" he questioned, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to push the slow-motion replay of that night out of his head.
"Beckett."
He sighed, uncrossing his arms and pushing away from the shelf. "How long you been doing this?"
She swallowed, but didn't look away. "Almost eight months, sir."
"Your mother?"
"Murdered three years ago."
Montgomery nearly said that he knew everything. He knew exactly why Johanna Beckett was in that alley to begin with. He knew what had happened in that alley before that lawyer stepped foot in Washington Heights. He knew who was responsible for her death seven years after he and his two mentors ran away from what they had done.
"And you've been coming here, against protocol, for eight months, Officer?" She nodded, just once. "How long have you been on the force?"
"Nine months, sir."
"Quite a risk to be taking that early in your career." He saw her little shrug and had to admire her guts. "I'll pretend I didn't see you here, Officer Beckett. Have a good night."
"Thank you. You too, sir."
Montgomery walked toward the back of the room, turning down the aisle with the case he needed. Two minutes later, he had the manila folder in his hand as he passed Beckett's aisle. The woman was back on the ground, the photo pulled closer to her as she nibbled on her lower lip. She didn't look up when he passed by.
"Got everything you need, Lieu?" Samuelson asked.
Montgomery held up the folder. "Sure do." He paused. "The uniform back there. She come by often?"
Samuelson looked conflicted. It wasn't until Montgomery said this would be off the record that the other man spoke. "Every night, right after her shift is done. Sometimes on days off. Stays for hours on end with that one case."
"That's dedication."
"Sure is. Have a good night, Samuelson."
He took the stairs back up to the Homicide floor, giving himself time to think. He had heard rumblings of an Officer Beckett who was quickly endearing herself to the rank and file. But she wasn't in his squad, vaguely remembering she was assigned to Vice right out of the Academy – pretty uniforms were always needed there.
Montgomery did not simply toss the file onto his desk, pull on his coat, and leave for the night. Instead, he sat in his chair and rested his head in his hands. Of course he didn't put the two together; Beckett was a common last name and he had shoved the repercussions of his, Raglan's, and McAllister's actions so far into the back of his mind that he hadn't expected the connection. He had thought it was over, that he could carry the guilt of that night without worrying about anyone else finding out. Until he ran into that pretty uniform down in Archives who was digging too deeply into the case.
Secretly, he wanted her to find the truth. He knew she would eventually; he could see that drive in her eyes as he held contact with him as he interrogated her. Now he had a decision to make in the case he never wanted to think about again. Giving his head a little shake, Montgomery pushed the file off to the side and pulled up the inter-department system to start trying to transfer Beckett up to Homicide.
They needed her tenacity and commitment to the victims and he could keep an eye on her obsession with the case that defined both of them.
A/N: So, what do you all think? I think it's quite good, but I'm biased. I'll trust you to review and give me your true feelings - I can handle con-crit (I actually love these reviews more than just "I love it." Give me something to work on).