Disclaimer: Don't own CSI. Nup.
A/N: Spoiler-y if you haven't read my CSI fanfics. If you don't know Val, this won't make any sense to you. Dont read this unless you've read Desperate and Tunnel Vision.
Dammit.
What the hell was I thinking?
This is a job. I'm supposed to be professional. Like the damn suit I'm damn well wearing. I've been flown in to help solve Vegas's crimes, not get involved with the CSI team here.
What the hell was I thinking?
The breeze picks up, a moment of cool in this hot desert town. I should go find myself a machine, play the slots until my mind is numbed by the lights and the noise of the casino toys. Or maybe I should find a green oasis of a blackjack table and play until my eyes get bloodshot. I don't need to think anymore; I'm off-shift. And Vegas is the biggest casino in the world. So I might as well play.
One thing I can't afford to play with is another man's heart.
The great thing about being a CSI is it's all scientific. There are no people involved. There are just specimens and the 'human element'. Everything else is science. There are no people. Science I can deal with. I like its predicability. You could say it's what I take refuge in.
It's easier than watching people die.
Mom was so proud when I got my doctorate. But she was the only one who understood what I was going through when I put down my scalpel and said 'no more'. She was the only one who supported me when I turned from the operating table to bedside manner…
And now, I'm back at the tables. But the bodies on it aren't alive this time.
Dead people are easy to deal with. You just have to process them, analyse them, find out what you need to know from them. Specimens don't need you to save their lives. Specimens don't call for you in the middle of the night. Specimens don't die with your name on their lips.
Dammit.
I can't do this. Not again. And this time, it isn't about me. It's about them. The boys. The people who notice me. The ones who care about me. I can't keep playing with them. I have to stop. I don't know what possessed me to give out my phone number in the first place. Greg? It was a joke, sort of… And a way of making Nick notice me. Pay a little closer attention. And Nick? I gave my number to Nick as an apology. I'd been such a bitch. A lousy partner.
No, no, no…
I wanted him to notice me more. I practically pushed my number at him. I was flirting.
Valerie Wilks was flirting.
I swore I would never do that again. Not after Daniel. Not after I lost him.
I can still remember… The look on his face before I passed out. I can still remember my blood on his hands and face as he tried to keep me alive. I can still remember his voice, his accent. He took me to see Braveheart on our first date. It was a bit of a joke. The kiss wasn't.
Everyone noticed. It was hard not to. We were like school-kids, holding hands, passing love-notes, sneaking glances. We made sure everyone noticed, then feigned innocence whenever confronted. It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful…
But then, that night in the warehouse, it all changed. All that blood around me was mine, but Daniel was the one to die.
Holding hands, smiling, whispering at each other in the corridors… It was just a game to me, a high-school thing. But it wasn't for Daniel. I knew that. But I couldn't make that connection. I never made it in time.
But did I love him? I knew the answer to that. At least, I knew the lie. But the lie and the truth is so tangled now. And with one of us dead, I'll never, ever, be able to tell for sure.
I don't pity them, the ones who had to clean up what was left of him. The ones who had to process their old colleague and friend like a specimen. Like he wasn't human anymore.
And he wasn't. He was gone. He was… dead.
That left a hole in me like cold steel could not. Daniel was gone. The one who called told me who I really was. The only thing that kept me sane when body after body was brought in an analysed, strangers I knew only my names on toe-tags. Daniel was the only one who gave me strength to keep going, the only one who kept my faith in people alive when everything else was crashing down.
I put a thistle on his grave. No-one else understood. Why put a weed on the grave of the man you loved? He was Scottish. And I gave him one after we saw Braveheart. A joke. A lover's joke.
I wasn't laughing when I kissed his cool cold headstone. I hadn't even been there to say goodbye. They buried him and mourned him long before I was out of hospital. A gaping hole, like an open grave, is all I had left in my heart in place of my dear sweet Daniel.
It was never going to happen again. I swore it. So what am I playing at? Can't I learn to leave well enough alone? Nick is a CSI partner, a colleague. Nothing more. No matter how his smile warms me, or how he watches me when he thinks I'm not looking. I can smile at his jokes and needle him and it doesn't mean a thing.
I have to stop flirting. I swore I would.
Dammit.
No. No, I'm not going to fall in love. For his sake and mine. Daniel is dead because of me. I won't let Nick be hurt because of me. I won't let myself be hurt again.
I'm just going to do my job, and go home. That is all.
A taxi swerves across three lanes to spin to a stop in front of me. I get in.
"Where you goin'?" The driver asks me.
Somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. Away from the Las Vegas Crime Lab, into the bright lights and the noise of Sin City. Away from Nick and Greg, away from the Las Vegas Criminalists, away from everything I don't want to put them through. Away from my little indulgent daydreams. Away from my bloody mistakes and my even bloodier past. Away from people.
"The Monaco Hotel," I tell the driver. "And step on it, if you don't mind."