Title: Life Sentence
Author: Serena Bancroft
Summary: An ex-con shoots up the lab, and it stirs up long forgotten demons for Jess; and Don just needs to know that she's okay.
Disclaimer: Don't own CSI:NY. Never have, and probably never will. However, I do own Paige Moore, the lab tech.
A/N: Mmm. Out of canon, yet again. I couldn't help it. I liked this episode immensely, and wished fiercely that Jess was in it. And now she is. By the way, I switched up a wee bit of the dialogue because... well, that's how it goes when there's another character ;) Enjoy :)
Your tears don't fall, they crash around me
Her conscious calls, the guilty to come home
The moments died, I hear no screaming
The visions left inside me are slowly fading
Would she hear me, if I called her name?
-Bullet For My Valentine 'Tears Don't Fall'
Jessica Flack walked into the crime lab, searching for a lab tech. She spotted the woman she was looking for. Paige Moore's back was turned to the detective, examining something Jess couldn't see. Her neat blonde hair tied in a flawless ponytail at the back of her neck. Jess liked Paige- and let Mac know numerous times that when there was an opening for a new CSI, that the young woman should be promoted. She had an eye for detail, very precise, extremely smart, and (in Jess's eyes it was a plus) a fantastic sense of humor.
"Paige," Jess called. The woman turned, brown eyes lighting up with a smile behind lab goggles.
"Detective," Paige answered.
"Got my DNA results back yet?"
She turned back to her microscope, "Nope."
Sudden annoyance flashed through Jess, "What? Paige I left those with you yesterday. Did I mention to put a rush on it?"
Paige glanced back at the detective behind her. "Look, I'm sorry. I've had about 20 rush DNAs from yesterday. Yours was sort of halfway through the stack."
Jess immediately felt bad, "Man, Paige, I'm sorry for jumping on you like that."
A lopsided smile from the tech, "Whatever. Jeremy felt like playin' hookie today so hurray, I got dumped with all of his DNA." She paused a moment, "Hey, that rhymed. Maybe I should become a poet?"
"Don't quit your day job, sport," Jess joked.
Jess didn't hear her response when her world exploded. The cacophony of gunfire and breaking glass filled the air.
She had a sudden flashback to Tillery's. The semi drives through the front of the diner. Jess feels a burning in her shoulder. Now her stomach. And now she's on the ground, the pain so complete and overwhelming. The world is growing darker... Why does he sound so afraid?
A hail of glass rained down on her as the windows to Paige's lab were shattered. Jess hit the floor out of reflex.
Paige screamed, and Jess was frozen. The next one is going to hit me. Its going to hit me, and I won't see Don tonight, won't get to tell him I love him...
A bullet zoomed dangerously close to Jess's ear, ricocheting off the floor and away from her. That kicked her instincts into high gear. You've got to move. She snapped herself out of her trance, rolling onto her knees scrambling towards the nearest cover, which was underneath Paige's desk. The sound of shattering glass was constant. "Paige, get out!" Jess screamed. If the tech ran out, Jess didn't notice.
She went through her tactical training for this sort of situation. Secure civilians. As much as was possible for Jess to do was done. Determine where shooter(s) originate. The bullets were coming from the east, the direction of Mac's office. Find cover. Return fire if possible. Her current spot was threadbare, to say the least, as another bullet sped by her left elbow. She found a solid looking wall, hiding herself behind it. Her hand flew to her piece on her hip, only to find... nothing. Damn it. She looked to see it on the floor where she'd previously been. She must've accidentally dislodged it when she rolled. She checked her ankle holster, knowing full well her .22 was on the kitchen table at home. "Shit," she said aloud, although she couldn't even hear herself. Gunfire and breaking glass were the only things she could hear.
She got down low to the ground, hoping to reach her gun and get back before anything happened. Her hand was on it when she felt a bullet graze her neck. She gasped sharply, the semi-impact and her own shock knocking her on her back. She felt a familiar burning sensation along the right side of her neck. She felt the warm blood oozing out of the wound. For a panic filled second, she thought she'd been hit. No, not the neck. I won't survive. I'll die. I don't want to die. I need to see Don one more time... Relief filled her as she grasped her gun with her left hand putting pressure on the wound with her right, realizing it was only a graze. Staying low, as gunfire still resounded around her, Jess dragged herself with her right elbow, wincing at the pain it caused her neck, but she got back to her hiding place without further scathing.
She was breathing hard, adrenaline racing through her veins. She was sure that once it wore off, her neck would hurt like hell, but she didn't think about that now. Not now.
She pulled her knees up, her left arm laid across them. She pulled her right hand away from her neck-the blood was red, not black, much to her relief; the bullet that grazed her hadn't severed anything critical. She'd be fine. Just fine.
She couldn't help but notice her hand shaking, minute tremors that went from her hand, down her arm, to her shoulder, until Jess realized her entire body was trembling. It seemed to go on forever, the bullets and the breaking glass and the fear. Especially the fear. The fear that was so palpable she could almost taste it, bitter and numbing like Novocaine on her tongue.
She put her hand back on he wound as the lab fell silent. She waited three seconds, counting aloud, but barely above a whisper, before moving out from her place. Her knees wobbled dangerously as she stood, seeing devastation as she walked away. Most of the glass walls of the labs were shattered, lab techs lying on the ground. Jess was afraid she would be walking through a graveyard, but everyone seemed to be okay- just shaken up. Her breathing was still labored. She stumbled out into the main hallway, glass crunching under her feet. Many were starting to stand, yelling for colleagues and friends. Choruses of 'Are you okay?' and 'Are you hurt?' were paramount. Jess walked, not saying anything until she saw Paige on the floor, blood coming from a wound on her arm. "Paige!"
She was shaking slightly, trying to sit up, but her teeth were gritted in pain. "J, I'm not doing so good," Paige moaned, managing a shaky smile. "But imagine all the men I can get saying I've been shot before."
Jess laughed weakly, out of relief more than anything else. She had to put pressure on Paige's gunshot wound, but she couldn't take her hand off her own wound; and she couldn't bring herself to loosen her white-knuckled grip on her gun. She placed her knee on Paige's arm, "This is gonna hurt, Paige." She pressed her weight into Paige's arm, receiving a hiss from the blonde woman on the floor.
"Understatement... of the century, J," Paige managed to gasp. Jess looked up, searching for help.
She saw Hawkes, looking as bewildered and shell-shocked as the rest of the lab, stumbling down the hall, presumably looking for anyone who might be injured. "Doc!" Jess yelled, voice hoarse. He looked towards her, and she gestured to Paige, "She's hit," she yelled again, and he ran towards them.
"Angell, you gotta move," Hawkes said, voice deadly serious.
"No, I have to keep the pressure on..." Jess said, voice wavering.
Hawkes looked at her, probably deciphering what was going on, "It's okay. You can move." Jess carefully moved off of Paige's arm. The doctor examined it quickly before saying, "It doesn't look serious," he said to Paige.
"So there's no chance of searching for men with gunshot fetishes tonight?"
Hawkes chuckled, waving down some people nearby. "No, probably not. Adam! Kendall! Get Paige to the paramedics." The pair helped Paige up, whisking her onto the elevator.
Hawkes turned his focus on Jess. "Angell, are you okay?" He peered at her neck, "What the hell happened?"
She was still breathing hard, despite the time that had passed and although her whole body had stopped its quaking, but her hands still shook violently. She replaced her gun back in its holster with wobbling hands. "I... I'm fine. I'm fine...it's just a graze..." I'm fine, she said to herself.
He reached towards her, "Just let me-"
"Hawkes, don't touch me. I'm fine. I can... I can take care of myself."
She walked away from him then, despite his protests which she only half-heard. The fear still pulsed through her, fresh and invigorating. She went to track down a first aid kit, the only thing she was thinking being I'm not helpless.
. . . . . . .
"Yeah. Gotcha." Don Flack said as he hung up the phone. His voice was tight, worried. He hadn't seen his wife since this morning, but he knew he was coming here to pick up some DNA results. Jo had told him earlier that no one was killed, but he still needed to know where she was.
"Tell me they found Harris."
"ESU canvassed the boarding house he was supposed to be staying at. No sign. He didn't report to the warehouse he's been workin' at the pat couple of weeks," Don answered before succinctly observing, "God, damn, look at this place." Seeing it for himself, he wanted to find Jess more than ever. "Have you seen Jess anywhere?"
"I'm sorry, Don, I haven't seen her today," Mac sympathized. He could imagine the panic and worry that were possessing Don's mind at the moment. "I need you to find every friend that Raymond Harris ever had. Get his photo out to every roll call, TV stations, newspapers..."
"I'm all over it." Don answered, "As soon as I find Jess, I'll get with his PO. We're gonna find this guy, Mac."
Don turned away heading back towards the stairs which he and Mac had come from. He was about to start heading down when he saw her. In a small, relatively undamaged corridor, she was desperately trying to open a package of gauze with her left hand and teeth. Her gun was grasped in tandem with the gauze in her left hand. He did not miss her right hand, soaked with blood, covering the side of her neck. Oh, no. "Jess!" Don called out to her, his voice panicked. He was trying to get her to look at him, confirm that she was okay. He ran as fast as he could to her, a few bits of glass crunching beneath his feet. It looked almost like she didn't hear him. As he neared her, he could see her hands shaking. Oh, no.
"Jess," he finally said, voice slow, "Are you okay?" It was obvious she wasn't, but he was not attempting to gather information.
She eyes raised to his, sparkling as though she wanted to cry but couldn't find the capacity. He gently eased the gauze package from her trembling hands. "I'm hit," she said, voice panicked. "I'm hit. God damn it, I'm hit."
He gently pulled on her wrist, moving her hand away from the wound. The relief that flooded him when he saw that it was just a graze nearly knocked him off his feet. "No, Jess, you're not hit. It's a graze." He opened the package of gauze and pressed it against her neck with his much larger hand, which completely covered her entire wound. He then began the tricky task of getting her to let go of her gun. "I need you to let go of your gun, sweetheart," he said as gently as possible. He was sure to flick on the safety before slowly peeling her fingers away from the black handle. He replaced her gun in its proper holster (he knew that she'd give him hell later if he hadn't), but never took his eyes off her face.
"I'm hit, baby, I'm hit. I never got to tell you... never got to say..." Her knees began to drop out from under her, but Don's free arm caught her.
"Jess, listen to me. You're not hit. You. Are. Okay."
For the first time, she looked like she'd heard him. "I'm not hit?"
"No, you're not. Come on, we need to get you to the paramedics," Don said, guiding her to the elevator. He held her tight to his side, more for himself than for her.
They began the slow decent down some 30 floors where the medics would be waiting. Jess's quivering slowly began to subside with Don's arm around her. "I love you," she murmured. I told him, and it's okay now... She finally relaxed into his embrace, slumping into his chest.
He kissed her hair, "I love you too, Jess... but are you okay?"
The elevator pinged, signaling their arrival at the ground floor and interrupting whatever conversation could've been. Don hustled her to the nearest paramedics who took Jess to fix her up. To fix her. Physically, not mentally. Don sat next to her as the EMT stitched up the graze, absently answering questions about any allergies to medications, but Jess's eyes... they were almost empty. Like she was somewhere else.
. . . . . . .
Flack was back at the precinct, after Jess had been ordered home by Sinclair himself. She'd been looked at and stitched up by the paramedics, and then tried to come back to work. It concerned Flack quite a bit, and he'd let her know so.
They were in the locker room, alone. (That always seemed to happen...) when Don approached her. He froze up slightly when he noticed that she had shucked her shirt, and was now carefully examining the collar. No matter how many times he'd seen her naked, he didn't think he'd ever get used to the sight of his wife's perfect body. His lusty thoughts were derailed when he saw the gauze square patching up her neck. There was blood on the collar of her shirt. He heard her swear in French under her breath as she examined it.
"You can stop staring, babe. We are married, you know," Jess said without turning towards him, eyes never flicking away from the bloodied collar.
He chuckled, approaching her from the left. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him, and nearly crushing her in a hug against his chest. His hands gently caressing the bare skin of her back as he placed a kiss on her head. "I was so worried about you," he murmured.
She sighed, pulling away from him, digging up another shirt from her locker, putting the bloodied shirt inside of an evidence bag. She knew the crime lab would need to analyze it for any evidence pertinent to their investigation- she doubted they'd find much, but it was still protocol. "Don, I'm fine. I can take care of myself." She slung the shirt around her shoulders, beginning to button it up.
"Jess, you are definitely not fine. Physically, sure. But when I found you, you were nearly catatonic."
She paused in her buttoning. "That's an exaggeration," she said, looking back up at him. It wasn't a denial.
Don sighed. "Go home, Jess."
"Don-"
"Look, Jess, you nearly got shot again today. I saw the damage. It looked exactly like Tillery's." He heard the sharp intake of breath from Jess as he said that. "When I found you, you kept saying, I'm hit. Over and over again... you know, we never actually talked about what happened..."
She paused in her buttoning again, her hands beginning to shake again. "I just... I've been in other shootouts since then, you know? But this one... with the glass and... I was totally defenseless... I felt like I was there again. That I was there, and you weren't, and I never got the chance to tell you that I loved you."
"You have it now," Don said with a smile.
She turned towards him. "That I do," she said with a typical smirk on her face before pulling him down for a brief, but passionate kiss. "I love you."
"And I love you," Don answered.
She finished redressing and the pair headed for the door. "But, I'm not going home."
Don sighed, "I had a feeling it was pointless to ask. Just be careful?"
"Right back at you," she said with a wink.
She was about to leave when he grasped her hand. "This conversation's not over." Later was their unspoken agreement. Once they were home, away from the violence of the city, they'd talk. In each others arms, the days events would be erased, as usual. Burned away with the pleasure of reuniting after a day of not seeing each other, or forgotten with the comfort found by closeness with another human being.
. . . . . . .
Sinclair himself ordered Jess to go home; Don had shot her a sympathetic look before she gathered up her paperwork, a little annoyed, and then left. Almost directly after she stalked out the front doors, Raymond Harris sashayed in, looking like a man who was playing a game, yet he was the only one who had the rulebook.
Flack was surprised- the guy had balls, coming into the precinct to place a complaint about some guy dragging him into an alley and beat him up. Flack felt like giving that assailant a medal. He himself had the urge to sock this guy, witnesses be damned, for the psychological hell Harris had (unintentionally) wrought on Don's wife.
"Lemme ask you something. How'd you get that AK into the Conway building?" Flack asked.
"Guy pulled a gun on me detective. Put it in my mouth," Harris said, ignoring Don's question all together.
"You got a lot of nerve waltzin' in here to make a complaint. I'll give you that," Don said, voicing his earlier thoughts.
"Slim-nosed .38," Harris ignored him yet again, describing a nickel plated gun with a Mother of Pearl handle. It almost seemed to be a challenge from the ex-con's tone of voice. "Shouldn't you be writin' this down?"
"Look at me right now. I was there the day you stole Mac Taylor's wallet."
"I'm just here to report a crime."
"I know you got a beef with him."
"If its a conflict of interest for you, maybe I should go to another precinct."
Don was getting impatient, and was already more than a little pissed off. "And I also know you put about a hundred rounds into our crime lab not 6 hours ago. And one of those rounds nearly killed my wife." Exaggeration, but true enough. If that bullet had been any closer to her neck... he didn't want to think about it.
"No idea what you're talkin' about." Harris had one hell of a poker face. Flack felt the urge to beat the hell out of him, yet again. After a short muse on the pros and cons of that option, he dismissed it. The guy wasn't worth the trouble, or worth giving up his badge. He could've killed Jess this morning. And he didn't care. Of course, Don was sure Harris didn't really care who he killed, as long as he killed Mac.
"So you wouldn't mind submitting to a gunshot residue test? A DNA swab? See, I get pretty eager to put someone away when they shoot at my wife."
Perhaps there was a flash of sympathy in his eyes at the mention of Don's wife. Envy, maybe? The enigma that was Raymond Harris would not be figured out that easily, the flash gone quicker than it had come. "I'd like to finish my statement... Guy who attacked me looked like a cop who arrested me a bunch of years ago. Name's Bill Hunt. Put him in a lineup, I'd be happy to ID him." Still going with the innocent angle. This man was a good liar, but his guilt was so obvious, Flack didn't even know why Harris bothered.
"What exactly are you after?" Flack saw Harris focus on someone behind him. He turned to see Mac Taylor standing there.
"Justice."
. . . . . .
"Jess?" Don called out as he entered the apartment. He closed it gently before pacing over to the closet, where Don and Jess kept their gun box. He removed his holster, placing it next to Jess's inside the box. That's when he realized it wasn't there. "Shit," he murmured quietly.
He didn't think for a second Jess would do anything irrational. He still worried. Her knew that she was fragile right now, and sometimes, his wife's mind spun in directions he couldn't keep up with. Granted, these weren't often, and always in the aftermath of all the trauma she'd experienced since what went down at the diner.
Don walked into their bedroom, and saw Jess's sleeping form on the bed. He noticed her holster still attached to her hip, her gun on her bedside table. Quietly, as not to wake her, Don took her gun, moving it to the windowsill where she wouldn't be able to reach it. He breathed out before moving to her side of their bed.
"Jess," he murmured quietly. When she didn't stir, he reached out to touch her shoulder. "Jess, wake up-"
The breaking glass. The semi. The panic. The terror. The pain. So much pain. Images flicker, black tinging the edges.
His voice, so far away. He sounds afraid. The distinct feeling of slipping away...
Jess jolted awake as soon as he touched her shoulder. She gasped, reaching for her gun, feeling panic as she realized it wasn't there. "No!" Where's my gun? I need it. I need my gun. I can't be defenseless. I need it...
She was aware of arms surrounding her, and she tried to resist, trying to break away. I need my gun. I need my gun...
"Jess, hey babe! It's okay! It's just me!" he exclaimed, trying to bring her out of whatever trance she seemed to be under.
Don was very aware of his wife's sleeping habits. Jess had always been a light sleeper, needing to be alert, able to catch the soft noise of her cell heralding her to the precinct. Of course, when the opportunity arose, like when she was off the clock, she'd descend into a deeper slumber. Days like today, which Sinclair had given her off, plus tomorrow. (Sinclair was being a little less stingy about days off in their case. Jess often joked he was developing a soft spot for them.) It had shocked him, scared him even, that she was sleeping so light. That only happened when she was feeling particularly emotionally-frayed. Or when she was having nightmares. That possibility chilled him to the bone.
She still thrashed in his arms, but they were growing more and more feeble. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay..." Don kept murmuring sweet nothings into her hair as she slowly stilled. He realized as his wife became still and sagged into him, silent tears poured from her eyes. Cupping her cheeks, he forced her to look him in the eye. "You're... just... fine," he said, punctuating each word with a kiss to her salty cheeks, finally her lips.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice quiet. She disentangled herself from his arms, rolling over so that he could have room on the bed. He crawled next to her, but didn't lie down as she was. Instead, he sat, leaning his back against the headboard.
He gently brushed her bangs out of her eyes before saying, "Jess, stop apologizing." He fingered his wedding band, "For better or for worse, right? You've always been there for me when I've needed you..." he trailed off.
Jess sighed. Pulling herself up so that she was in the same position that her husband was. "I know, it's just... I feel like I'm not being a very good wife right now. I mean, ever since I got shot, I've been so messed up. Like my mind's got a screw loose. And I just can't figure out how to screw it back."
"I felt like that too, right after the bomb. It takes time, Jess. You've been through a lot of hell, more than any one person should have to go through in a lifetime. That stuff doesn't just go away," he snapped his fingers, "like that. Takes time."
"Wouldn't that be nice," she said with a short laugh.
"Yeah, I know," he said, pulling her against his side.
"I'm sorry," Jess said. She could tell Don was about to protest again, but she shook her head. "Just hear me out?" He nodded. "I feel like you're the rock in this relationship. My life is just falling down around me, and... I'm not holding up my end of the deal." she looked down and sighed in frustration. "I'm not making sense, am I?"
"Not really, but I understand anyway," Don chuckled. He kissed her temple before pulling back, saying in a near whisper, "There's no deal, no pressure. Just me and you. That's honestly all I've ever wanted, and now we've got it. Like I said, we took vows, Jess. I take those seriously, and I know you do too."
She half-smiled, playing with a wayward string of his shirt, "I just feel like I don't deserve you."
"You're crazy. It's the opposite, actually."
"Mmm, I think you're the one who's crazy."
"Well, we're both crazy."
"Both happy?"
"Hell yes," Don said playfully, artfully pulling her on top of him and shimmying them down so that they both lay down on their bed.
"I like this train of thought," Jess said, her voice suddenly sultry and sexy. She leaned down and kissed him, her tongue playing along his lips. He was about to grant her access to his mouth when he brought up his hand to her neck. His fingers, despite being gentle, brushed along the gauze, sending a short spasm of pain in her neck. She flinched, and cursed in her mind when Don stilled under her eager lips.
Another frustrated sigh. "What?"
Don pulled up and away from her, returning to his sitting position. Jess sat up as well, sitting between Don's legs, her own crooked near his sides. "We never actually talked bout what happened, you know." She cocked her head in question. "The shooting at Tillery's. The shooting today..."
Jess bit her lip. "We've always been good at skirting around the tough stuff, haven't we?" A soft 'yeah' was Don's only response. "Tillery Diner... I felt so defenseless, you know? Just so, so defenseless. Helpless. As soon as I saw that semi come in, I knew I was dead. I knew it, but I didn't realize it, so I just started to shoot. I think... I think I hit someone, but that... was after I was shot? It's hard to remember some details, but the others are crystal clear. Like the pain... the fear... mostly the fear."
"Of?" Don prompted.
"Dying, but not... not as much as not being able to see you again. Not being able to tell you I love you. All of the things we weren't going to experience, the things we wouldn't do... I don't know. Then everything started to fade, and then death came to the forefront of my mind."
He could've made a joke about killing the mood. He didn't.
"The only thing I really remember was the distinct feeling of slipping away. Nothing to hold onto, just slipping away..." He was surprised at the calmness of her voice.
"I remember that too. The slipping," I mean," he added when she sent him a questioning look. "Sad part was I couldn't come up with a reason to fight it."
"I'd like to hope that you do now," Jess said, in a voice that was dancing on the edge of shy.
He kissed her again, "Of course I do, Jess." He brushed her cheek. "Tell me about today."
She sighed again. "I was defenseless again. I couldn't stop anything... anything that happened. When I nearly got hit, I felt like I failed again... and I couldn't let go of my gun. I needed to stop the bleeding," she murmured, absentmindedly touching the gauze on her neck, "but I just couldn't let go of my gun. I literally could not move my fingers."
He hugged her to him then, fingers digging into her flesh with a fierceness that was almost painful; but more than anything, it made her feel safe.
He nuzzled his face into her neck before desperately kissing any part of her skin he could reach- her neck, her jaw, her chin, the delicate skin before her ear which made her gasp in surprise before he settled on her lips. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?" Don asked rhetorically. "Because I do. So damn much."
"I love you too," she said, what felt like the hundredth time that night, but nowhere near conveyed just how much she felt for him.
Neither of them pushed to make things more physical. It was an unspoken agreement that tonight would be purely intimacy in the form of closeness. They wound up spooned together, Jess's back against Don's chest. As much as she loved looking at his face, Jess had to admit she felt so safe in his arms like this- without any space between them. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart, his warm breath on the nape of her neck. The silent and comforting reminders that he was still alive finally lulled her racing mind to a standstill, eyes finally closing after a day when they wouldn't close.
It was the small things. The small things that made her feel safe.
Pretty angsty, yes. I've been writing a lot of fickle bits of fluff lately, and I needed this :P And I am not exactly happy with this piece. There just seems to be... I don't know, something amiss. Am I imagining things? Anyhoodles, not completely happy with this, but I liked it enough to share it with the world :) If you would like to make suggestions, I might edit if I think your ideas would work well.
About the song lyrics: was listening to Bullet For My Valentine and realized how fantastic these lyrics sounded with this episode and how I wrote it. I'm not big on songfics or whatnot.
About the rest of Warmness on the Soul: I'm trying to do as many as possible in the limited time that I have. This week I just barely managed to post this. Volleyball is keeping things hectic... oh yeah, and that little thing called school. Anyhoodles, please stick with me :)
Review? :)