Rating: M
Summary: "He was trying to figure out not only what six murders had in common, but why the link between them was Sam Puckett. Why was she at the scene of these murders? What did all these six people have in common? And if Sam really did murder all of them, then why?" Freddie's a cop and Sam may or may not be a criminal that he may or may not be attracted to.
A/N: Future!Fic, AU. I hope you guys enjoy this. And please be honest in your review. Because I have quite a few plans for this fic and I'd love to know what you guys think. So, that's it. Thanks for reading.
"Benson!"
Freddie looked up from the paper he had been scribbling on at the sound of his name being called. "Yeah?"
"We've got your favorite hottie ready for ya in Interview B," Jensen said with a grin.
Freddie smirked. "Ah, I was wondering when they'd have her ready. Our dates together are the highlight of my life."
"I bet," Jensen smirked back before walking away.
Freddie looked down at the paper in front of him. He'd been writing out his report of what had happened - it was already a page long. What could he say, he was a very detailed person. He'd have to save it for later.
Standing up, Freddie holstered his gun and then got the file on his oh so favorite hottie, as Jensen liked to call his frequent prisoner.
Shaking his head as he made the beeline to Interview Room B, Freddie opened the file - just for a quick refresher on what they had on his lovely little hottie.
He was still looking at it when he opened the door and stepped in, only sparing his lovely date of the evening one glance before going back to her not-so-extensive file.
"Mmm, just the man I've been waiting for," She said, quirking her lips up slightly and leaning back in her chair and holding up her hands. "I knew you were into the rough shit, baby, but you mind taking these off? They kinda itch," she said, rattling the handcuffs on her wrists roughly, loudly.
Freddie barked out a short laugh. "Afraid not."
"Aw, you're no fun," She pouted, sticking out her lower lip and widening her eyes.
"Comes with the job," Freddie said shortly, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down, tossing the open file down on table in the process. "Samantha Puckett," he said as he then spouted off the Miranda Rights. "At this point you choose not to have legal council, is that correct?"
"Correct," Sam said.
Freddie shuffled some papers around before closing the file.
"I see you brought the usual," She said, flicking a glance at the file before looking up at him.
"You know me. I'm not much one for change."
"That's boring," She said with a raised eyebrow.
Freddie just shrugged, not really giving a shit if he was boring or not. All he cared about was his job - and she just so happened to be a part of his job at the moment.
"So." Freddie said simply, staring at her.
She only smirked at him in response, sitting there almost comfortably, as if she wasn't currently facing a murder charge. Freddie took a moment to take in her wild blonde hair, the reckless curls, the sharp arch of her eyebrows, her slightly parted plump lips that were shining with lip gloss, her soft cheek bones, and her sparking, but sharp blue eyes - and wondered why the fuck she was involved in shit like this. Like murder.
"Shall we get to the point then, Puckett?" Freddie said, leaning forward while she moved farther back in her seat.
"We always do."
"Puckett -"
"Yes?" She said in an innocent tone while that smirk she shot him was anything but.
"Want to tell me why you were seen fleeing the apartment of Bruce Holland around the time of death?"
"I wasn't fleeing. I was walking," Sam said with that same smirk, but this time a tilt of her head accompanied it.
"Mhmm," Freddie said with a raised eyebrow, pushing her file aside aside - her eyes followed the movement - and leaning forward to clasp his hands, threading his fingers together at the same time. "Now's not the time to be a smart ass, Puckett."
"I'd say my ass is more soft and perky than smart."
Freddie pursed his lips, clenching his teeth together and standing, unclasping his hands and leaning forward, resting his palms on the table as he got close. "I wouldn't be so fucking smug if I were you, Puckett. You're facing a murder charge. It isn't a fucking B & E," He said hotly, glaring at her.
She just tilted her head up - and there was only a few inches between their faces now - and glared right back. Then she relaxed her features and there was that damn smirk. "You should work on your intimidation tactics. They don't really work."
"Just tell me why you were seen at the building where Bruce Holland was murdered tonight at around 7 P.M." Freddie spat out, voice rising.
"I was fucking my boyfriend," Sam spat right back, sitting up in her seat so that their faces were even closer together now.
"You don't have a boyfriend," Freddie snorted, moving back and standing. He glanced briefly at the two-way glass that was behind where he had been sitting and directly across from Sam where he knew his Captain was watching.
"How the fuck would you know?" Sam spat, looking up at him. "What do you do, stalk me? Fucking pervert, aren't you? Why do they let a fucking pervert on the force?"
Freddie rolled his eyes. "Okay, so you somehow got a boyfriend between the last time you were here and now."
"I hear the skepticism in your voice, Detective," Sam said as she leaned back in her chair again, looking at him from under her eyelashes. "Do you not believe me?"
Freddie tilted his head. "What do you think?"
Sam sighed and looked down as she started to twiddle her thumbs together. "He's very sweet to me. He treats me so wonderfully and no one's ever looked at me the way he does. When I'm with him...I just...I feel so special," She looked up from her hands, looking straight at Freddie and he just raised an eyebrow. He saw her lips twitch and he knew she was fighting off that fucking smirk of hers. He was surprised. She was usually so good at acting. Then the twitch went away and he looked into her eyes. He saw the tears. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. And there were those nifty little acting skills she had. "I-I love him and he won't...he's so emotionally constipated. I mean, I've told him how much I love him and he just won't say it back. What's so wrong with me that no one will love me?"
Freddie almost bought it. Almost. The tears sliding down her cheeks were a nice touch.
"And your boyfriend just so happens to live in the same building as our murder victim," Freddie said dryly.
"I-I guess," she said with a shrug, looking ever so bewildered.
"It's funny how you've just coincidently been at the scene of five other crime scenes, isn't it?" Freddie said as he came back to sit in his chair, leaning forward again. Only this time, she leaned forward too, looking him straight in the eye.
"It is."
"What is?"
"A coincidence," She said sharply, never blinking, never looking away from him.
"Sure," Freddie said disbelievingly.
"Look, Detective," Sam snapped, things seeming to have finally got to her as she seemed to lose her patience. "I didn't have anything to do with any of those fucking murders. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time and I don't fucking appreciate being arrested and accused of murders I didn't commit. And seeing as you don't have any fucking evidence, you might as well just let me go and leave me the fuck alone." She had leaned so far over the table by now that their faces were close again. She glared at him and Freddie could swear he saw her eyes darken with her rising anger.
And this anger? This was real. This wasn't acting. She always seemed to be the most real when she was angry.
Freddie stood up and turned his back to her, running his hands down his face in his frustration. "I'm never going to get anything out of you, am I?" He said as he turned back around, looking at her.
"There's nothing to get out of me, Detective," she said simply, raising a single eyebrow at him when he just stood there and stared at her. "Now, can you get me out of these handcuffs? I already told you they itch a little," she shook her wrists, making the handcuffs rattle against the metal table.
Freddie pursed his lips and then walked over to the table, taking the file. "Someone will be along to let you go soon," is all he said before he turned around and walked to the door, yanking it open. He ignored her parting shot.
"I really love seeing your backside, Detective."
Freddie was back at his desk, scribbling away on the report. Arresting Puckett had been a challenge - then again, it was always a challenge. She was tough as nails and liked to throw punches left and right. Freddie unconsciously rubbed at his left side where she had gotten a good punch in while he was trying to pin her to the ground to cuff her earlier that evening. He was able to ignore it for the most part, though. He was used to the punches and kicks from the blonde spitfire by now.
The sound of a rough laugh made him look up from his paper. Jensen was taking the handcuffs off of Sam. He was looking at her stonily, but she was all smiles and laughter. She must have thought his tough guy act was funny. She found Freddie's funny too.
"Always a pleasure," Freddie heard Sam say before she winked at Jensen and stroked his arm for a moment, who just rolled his eyes and turned away - but Freddie caught the faint blush on his cheeks as he walked by his desk and Freddie rolled his eyes at him.
"Shut it, Benson," Jenson hissed and cuffed him on the back of the head.
"Hey! I didn't say anything," Freddie said, trying to hold in a laugh.
Jensen just grunted and glared at him before walking away.
Freddie was laughing as he watched his good friend walk away before turning back around to get back to his paper - and jumped in surprise when a certain blonde spitfire was standing in front of his desk, leaning down with her palms on the surface - like he had done not too long ago while he was interrogating her.
She smirked at the shock on his face and the little jump he gave. "Aren't cops supposed to be aware of their surroundings at all times or some shit like that?"
"Aren't you supposed to leave now?" Freddie fired back. She had never stayed after she was released.
She just smirked and leaned forward - and Freddie didn't miss the way her loose red shirt hung loosely off her chest, exposing her very...nice cleavage. He looked into her eyes steadily.
"I just wanted to tell you what nice eyes you have," She said and the smirk was gone as she said it, keeping her eyes on his.
"What?" Freddie said flatly. He didn't know what her point was, what she was trying to accomplish, but whatever it was she was trying to do, she was going to fail.
"You're very sexy," She said in a serious tone - he caught the laughter in her tone, of course. He was a cop, after all. It was his job to catch it.
"And I think you should leave," Freddie said tightly.
"You wouldn't want to go on a date with me, would you?" She asked, all faux-innocent-like as she leaned forward even more, exposing more of her chest. And Freddie was quite aware of the stares he - or rather she - was getting. Except for the women cops. Although, he could swear he saw Alcott give Sam a once over out of the corner of his eye before she turned back to her desk.
"I though you had a boyfriend," Freddie said with a raised eyebrow after a moment of silence between them. He was staring very, very intensely into her eyes. Very. And nowhere else. Yep. He was.
Sam shrugged. "I do. But...what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?" She said, blinking her eyes rapidly in that faux-innocent way of hers as she leaned so far forward that her fucking lips were inches from his. He could not only feel the stares directed his way, but he heard the voices now. If he didn't put a stop to this now his Captain would be coming out and he would be in deep shit.
He glared at her, ready to haul her out of the precinct when she let out a breath of air, leaning forward close to his lips and he let out an involuntary shiver as her minty-fresh breath washed over his lips. He felt his glare soften and then his eyelids were drooping.
His mind was screaming at him, What the fuck are you doing? She's a fucking criminal! A murder suspect!
But his body wasn't doing anything about those reminders. The voices of his fellow cops were now just an annoying buzz as he lifted his eyes to hers. She was staring at him, their eyes were locked and he tried to read what the fuck she was trying to say to him, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder and he was yanked back sharply and he was pulled out of whatever trance her close presence had put him in.
"Benson, what the fuck are you doing?"
Jensen was right at his shoulder, glaring down at him. Freddie blinked rapidly. Sam was still in the same spot. She was just staring at him blankly before a slow smile spread across her face.
"Is that a yes?"
"A yes to what? Puckett, get your ass out of here," Jensen said.
"I was just asking him a que-"
"No," Freddie said and his voice was hard. He couldn't believe she had had such an affect on him - in fact, he couldn't believe she had any affect on him at all. "No, you weren't. And you're leaving," Freddie sprang up from his chair, ignored Jensen's look of inquiry and walked around his desk, taking Sam by the arm.
"Hey! Hey, hands off!" She was struggling, of course she was.
"I thought you wanted my hands on you?" Freddie said as he dragged her out of the bull pen, ignoring the looks he got along the way.
"Not this way, baby," Sam said with a chuckle. Freddie turned and glared at her. She just smirked that same fucking smirk. It was really starting to get on his fucking nerves.
"I don't know what you're playing at, Puckett, but it isn't working, whatever it is," Freddie dragged her over to the elevators and punched the down button several times quite angrily before stepping back. He still kept a hold of her arm, though.
"Are you sure about that?" Her voice was smug.
He didn't answer, just glared at the down button on the elevator. He felt her shift closer to him and immediately shifted away.
"Aw, don't be like that," he could hear the pout in her voice.
"Puckett," He said through clenched teeth, ready for a verbal battle, but was saved by the ding of the elevator, the doors sliding open. A few people stepped out, barely sparing them a glance, and for that he was grateful. "Now go," Freddie said, pushing Sam into the now empty elevator.
"All right, all right, no need to get rough," Sam said, turning around to face forward. But then she smirked that goddamn smirk. Did she ever have any other facial expressions? What the fuck? "I'll be seeing you."
"I hope not," Freddie said as the elevator doors started to close.
"Oh," She said, a full blown smile gracing her features. "Don't worry, you will be."
And then the metal doors close and she's gone. Freddie stood there and thought about what she had said, what the words so obviously meant and then let out a shaky breath, turning and walking back into the bull pen.
Freddie really wished that despite her words, he really wouldn't have to see Sam Puckett ever again. He was starting to actually believe he wouldn't as a week went by and she was never at the scene of any murder he was called to.
He was also starting to get badgered by his Captain more and more as the days went by. He kept saying that his interrogation of one Samantha Puckett would have gone a lot better if he had had a partner with him.
He knew that he should most likely have a partner, but he was happy doing it on his own. He didn't need a partner. Which is why he always - politely - declined when his Captain suggested, actually more kind of offered, to get him a partner on more than one occasion.
"The streets of New York City are tough, Detective Benson. And the people that live here are even tougher. You need a partner," his Captain would argue.
Still, he declined.
Instead, when he wasn't tying up easy-to-solve murder cases, he was trying to figure out not only what six murders had in common, but why the link between them was Sam Puckett. Why was she at the scene of these murders? What did all these six people have in common? And if Sam really did murder all of them, then why?
It was still his case.
A couple days after the whole Sam Puckett almost kissing him in front of all his fellow detectives, he was approached by another woman. Although, this woman was showing a lot less skin, was dressed properly and classy, and had a bright smile instead of that arrogant, smug smirk. She was also a brunette. Not that that mattered.
Also, he knew her.
"Hey, Freddie," she said with a bright smile, leaning over to give him a hug.
"Uh, hey...Carly," Freddie said awkwardly, reaching up to give her a one-armed hug in return.
"How have you been? I haven't seen you in what feels like forever," She said, stepping back.
"Uh, good. Same ol', same ol'," Freddie sighed.
"How's your mom?" She asked tentatively, and her brown eyes softened, her plump lips dipping in a frown of pity.
Freddie hated pity.
"Fine, fine," He said quickly as he looked away from her, trying to focus on his work so he wouldn't snap at her. She was a nice girl, and she really was just concerned, even if she also pitied him at the same time.
"Do you know when she's getting out of the hospital?" Her voice was soft and hesitant and that just made Freddie grind his teeth together.
Carly, he knew, was about the same age as him, was the assistant to one of the best known fashion designers in the world, and one of the happiest people he had ever met, even with what her father did for a living. He knew she knew pain - his Captain never talked about his wife's death, ever - but still, being a happy person was who she was and that tone in her voice...it was as if she was trying to be understanding, but she was falling just short of the mark, and was ending up right in that world of pity.
He fucking hated pity.
"Uh, no...no I don't."
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice still soft.
"Yeah," Freddie nodded, hoping she would just move past his desk, go to her father's office for a visit, and leave him the fuck alone.
"Well, I hope she gets better," She gave his shoulder a light pat.
Freddie had to order himself not to tense. He wasn't much one for being touched. At all. Unless he was blowing off some steam with a one night stand.
He watched her walk away, and vaguely thought that he might have asked her out when he first met her if she hadn't been the Captain's daughter. She was definitely beautiful.
He had met Carly not too long after becoming a detective, so he'd known her for about two years now. He'd even socialized with her at dinner events the Captain's wife had thrown when she'd been alive.
There hadn't been a dinner event in over a year.
"Benson." Freddie jumped slightly and then relaxed when he saw Jensen sitting down in his visitors chair. "Why are you so buddy-buddy with the Captain's daughter?"
"Huh?" Freddie had no idea what he was talking about.
"Dude, she was all over you and you seemed just fine with that," Jensen grumbled.
"It was a hug. She's not even a friend. Just a friendly acquaintance," Freddie said with a roll of his eyes.
"And the patting of the shoulder, what was that about?"
Freddie gave him a long look. Jensen started to shift in his chair. Freddie took in his posture, the look on his face, his squirming, and like the good cop he was, put two and two together. "What?" Jensen asked at the look of realization on Freddie's face.
"Fuck man, you're totally crushing on the Captain's daughter," Freddie hissed, leaning close so the other's wouldn't hear.
"What? Pfft! No! Why would you - no!" Jensen actually blushed.
"Oh, you so are!" Freddie laughed, leaning away and shifting though papers, looking at the report of the first murder.
"Shut up, I am so not!"
"Are," Freddie said smugly.
"As if I would ever like a fucking fashion designer, and a perky one at that," Jensen said, trying to save himself. He was completely failing, by the way.
"Up and coming fashion designer," Freddie said, his tone light and teasing. Oh, this was good. Jensen had been a detective longer than him, had been at the 6th precinct longer than he, and thus had known Carly longer than he. He was guessing it was a slow-build. Then a though occurred to him. "Wait...you aren't like...in love with her or something, are you?" Freddie asked, looking over at Jensen.
Jensen might have paled, his face might have fallen, before he flushed and started denying that as well.
"Matt," Freddie said finally, using his first name, which Freddie rarely used. He just liked using Jensen better.
Jensen stopped blabbering, shutting his mouth and sighing, looking down. "Yeah. Fuck, yeah, I'm in love with her."
"Well..." Freddie paused. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't good with these things. You know, things like feelings. "At least her dad likes you," Freddie shrugged and he just got a blank look from Jensen.
"Yeah," Jensen said slowly, glaring at him. "I highly doubt he'll like me if he ever finds out I want to bone his daughter."
"I'm sure you want to do more than that," Freddie rolled his eyes.
"That's besides the point," Jensen snapped. Freddie laughed again. "Shut up!"
Freddie stopped laughing, sobering and making his face look as neutral as he could. "Look, man. I'm no expert with this stuff, so I don't know what to say to help you."
"I don't want any help. I just..." Jensen sighed, looking toward the glass doors of Captain Shay's office, where Carly's back was currently facing them. "I don't even know if she feels anything for me."
"You could...ask her?" Freddie shrugged once more.
Jensen gave him a deadpan look. "Dude, have you ever liked a girl?"
"Of course," Freddie said defensively. Back in high school he did and once while he was in the academy, but still.
"Then you know you don't just go up to a girl and outright ask her if she likes you!"
"I do?" Freddie asked. All the girls he had liked had come up to him first and asked him if he liked them. When he said yes, they asked him out. Then he said yes. It had been that simple for him. He had a few girls ask him out that he didn't like that way and he would always politely decline. Even some of the girls he had one night stands with. He usually left right after he - hopefully - nicely rejected them.
Jensen gave him a long look. "Well, what about Puckett?"
"What about Puckett?" Freddie asked as casually as he could as he tensed, his grip on his pen tightening. Jensen eyes fell to his grip on the pen.
"Oh...nothing," Jensen said with a smirk and stood up. "Have fun with those reports," he pointed to the papers very, ha, pointedly, then walked away.
"Fucking Jensen," Freddie muttered under his breath.
Freddie sighed as he walked down the hallway of Mount Sinai Hospital, holding flowers in his hand. His mother loved when he brought her flowers.
Of course, the only way he knew that was by the slight lift of lips on the left side of her face, the working side of her face.
Having a stoke that paralyzed the right side of your face was not a fun thing to experience, Freddie imagined.
His mother had been in the hospital for close to a month now, and most of his fellow detectives, Carly and even his Captain had come to see her in that time.
She was well respected amongst his colleagues, obviously.
Although, he never told any of them that his insane mother had moved out to New York the minute he graduated from the Police Academy and got a job at the 6th precinct as a lowly rookie officer. He had tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. At least he had stopped her from living with him. That would have been too much for him. Even though moving to New York so she could keep an eye on him was too much already.
Not that he didn't love his mother. He did. And he had panicked and feared the worse when he had gotten a call telling him his mother had had a stroke. But she was quite...intense, for lack of a better word.
He has always just assumed she was the way she was because of his father dying when he eleven. But, he still remembers her being intense at times before his father died, so he wasn't completely sure why she was the way she was.
Not that she was ever like that around his fellow detectives. She was almost normal around them - which was always weird to see - so they all liked her.
Knocking softly on the open door, Freddie sighed quietly as his mother turned to look at him from where she had been staring at the wall in front of her. He noticed that the television was on in the corner, the volume low.
He had no idea why the nurses even tried to get his mother to watch the television. She never did. She always would just stare blankly at the walls, every time. She couldn't exactly talk at this point, and she was stuck in a bed all day...what else could she do?
Suddenly Freddie imagined being stuck in his head all day, with no outlet - couldn't talk, couldn't move, couldn't read, couldn't write - with only a wall to stare at, and he felt his gut twisting at how lonely he would be, how absolutely insane he would feel. There were always ways to escape from your head, always distractions when you needed them, but his mother didn't have any at the moment.
"Hey, Mom," Freddie said, walking over to her bedside and setting the flowers down next to the bed on the small nightstand. He saw her lips lift a little upon seeing the flowers. Well, she didn't only have herself for company. She had her son. "Got you your favorite kind," Freddie pointed uselessly to the yellow roses he had bought his mother at a flower shop around the corner.
Sighing, Freddie sat in the visitors chair next to the best and laid his hand over his mothers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Sorry I haven't been able to make it the past few days. Things have been a bit...hectic," Freddie hoped she understood. She hadn't had any memory loss with the stroke, which he had been thankful for, so she knew exactly who he was, so she might have been extremely worried when he didn't stop by for three days.
But, she had to understand his job. While she had been in no way happy that he had chosen to go with homicide, she had always been supportive of him being a cop. She would always say, "I'm so proud of you, Freddiekins, protecting the citizens of America and giving them justice! Such a hero!"
For the past three days he had snagged a murder, investigated it, brought in the suspects, questioned them, cracked the case open, almost got shot, and caught the motherfucker who had killed a fifteen-year-old girl and left her in an alleyway. He'd barely had any time to work on what was now dubbed the "six circle murders" as all six of the victims had been found with a circle cut into them by a knife around their heart with the killing blow right in the middle of the circles in their heart.
He had a hard time believing Sam Puckett could do such a thing, but he had to be objective and professional and not let his own personal opinion get in the way. And also, despite her six little visits in the interrogation room, he didn't even really know her. Not really. She was a complete mystery.
He also really fucking hated that.
The only way he knew her name is because she had willingly given it. She was that good at covering up her past and present. She was that good at covering up exactly who she was.
Feeling a soft pressure on his right hand, Freddie jumped, snapping out of his thoughts and looking at his mother, who had just squeezed his hand with her left, working hand.
"Sorry, um...sorry," Freddie stammered, shaking his head and collecting himself. "It's just...we've got this big case." Freddie sighed. "I won't give you the details. I know how much you don't like hearing about murder."
She blinked at him in response and by now he knew that meant she was agreeing with him.
"But...people are being killed. It's the same exact pattern each time. We have a definite serial killer on our hands, and they are good, whoever they are. Really, really good. People have died while my stupid brain hasn't been able to figure it out."
He felt his mother squeeze his hand again, and he was guessing it was her show of concern. The left side of her face showed as much, anyway.
"I just...this might be my hardest case yet." He looked up at his mother, drawing comfort from her gentle hold on his hand. She might be intense in her mothering, but he has always been able to depend on her, always been able to get her unwavering support. She was the only permanent, steady thing in his life.
She was all he had, really.
And wasn't that just a little bit sad?
The seventh murder came as a shock to him, because it had been so long since the last one that he had thought the murderer had stopped at six. With the first six, they had all happened within a week. This one happened two weeks after the six one. He had been busy with other cases throughout that time, but whenever he was home late at night, sitting on his couch, alone, he would pour over everything, over the cases, the evidence, the statements, the reports. Everything.
And he still had no fucking clue who did it.
The only lead he had was Sam fucking Puckett. Who he hadn't seen since the night he had arrested her for the sixth time, had interrogated her for the sixth time, had released for the sixth time, and who had tried to kiss him for the first time.
And only time, of course.
He still hadn't figured out what she had been playing at, what had been her purpose, her motive, for almost kissing him in front of many other detectives, in the precinct she had been brought into for questioning. There had to be a reason, a valid reason other than anything stupid like possible "attraction."
She didn't want him and he didn't want her. She had only done it for herself, to get something out of him, from him. What, he didn't know. Yet.
The day before he got dispatched to the seventh crime scene, he had been busy at his desk when three men in suits walked into the precinct, all secret service-like, with sunglasses and all. They walked right by his desk, and he swore one of them looked at him, and straight into Captain Shay's office.
They were in there for quite a while.
Every detective and officer looked toward toward the Captain's office when they heard him shout loudly, "She's what?"
Freddie kept staring even when everyone looked away. He saw one of the three men move to the glass door - and he wasn't quite sure because the man still hadn't taken his fucking sunglasses off - and look at him, closing the blinds, blocking his view inside the office.
Well wasn't that just really fucking mysterious.
"Isn't this surprising," Freddie drawled, gun pointed at her pretty blonde head.
Sam turned around. And there it was, that smirk. "Hey there, handsome."
"Handsome? That's a new one."
"Well..." She shrugged, holding out her wrists. "Cuff me, big guy."
"Why did you run into this alley when you knew you wouldn't be able to go anywhere and would definitely get caught?" Freddie asked, inching forward but not lowering his weapon.
She shrugged, not saying anything. She looked up at him and their eyes caught, and he felt as if they were in a silent battle of sorts. Eventually she rolled her eyes and dropped her hands. "Well, are you going to arrest me or not?"
Freddie narrowed his eyes. "Why are you so willing to be arrested this time?"
"I don't have to tell you," Sam said, lifting her chin defiantly.
"Very true," Freddie said, somewhat bitterly. "All right, turn around and put your hands behind your head."
"Ooh, dirty," Sam smirked, turning around and doing just that.
Freddie glared at the back of her head and lowered his gun, holstering it and taking out his handcuffs, grabbing her left wrist, then her right and snapping on the handcuffs.
"Easy, darling," Sam practically purred when he swung her around toward the opening of the alley a little too roughly.
Freddie had to bite his lip to stop himself from replying.
"And here we are again," Freddie said with his own smirk as he sat down in the chair. He read off the Miranda Rights, confirmed that she did not want any legal council at this time. "So."
"So," Sam sat back in her chair.
"Want to tell me why you were at the crime scene, Puckett?"
"Nope."
That was new. "Why is that?"
She just shrugged.
"Why so quiet?" He tilted his head.
"Maybe I plead the fifth," and there was her trademark smirk.
"Do you? Plead the fifth?"
Sam looked over his shoulder at the two-way glass. He had no idea why she would. Not only does she have no idea who exactly is behind that glass, but even if she did, she wouldn't be able to see their expression, if they were saying anything, if they were talking to someone, to her. He didn't understand what she was doing.
Then there was a knock on the two-way glass that made Freddie jump. Fuck, he hated doing that. He was a goddamn homicide detective. He wasn't supposed to jump at little noises, at anything.
Sam looked away from the glass, smiling as if that knock had been an answer that she had needed. To what, though?
"I plead the fifth." And that smirk was very much present as she spoke.
Well, fuck.
When Freddie stepped out of the room, those three men in dark suits and those fucking sunglasses were there. But when he saw them, they took them off. All at once. What the...
"Can I help you?" Freddie asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Yes, you can release Ms. Puckett."
Freddie furrowed his brows. These men were here for...her? What?
"Excuse me?"
"Bring her out here, release her," the man in the middle said, narrowing his eyes at him.
"Okay...why?"
"That's none of your business, Detective," the man on the right said in a very creepy, soft voice. Freddie fought off a shiver.
"She's my suspect. It is very much my business," Freddie said through gritted teeth.
"Detective Benson."
Freddie whipped his head around, automatically unfolding his arms and straightening as Captain Shay stepped out of the observation room. "Sir?"
"Release Puckett."
"May I ask why?" Freddie tried to keep his tone as respectful as possible.
"I will tell you once you release her," and at Freddie's skeptical look, "I promise you. All will be explained once she is released."
Freddie twisted his mouth in annoyance, looking over at the three men, who were staring at him steadily, and might he add, a little creepily as well.
"All right. Okay," he sighed as he gave in, turning around and opening the door, closing it behind him. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to have closed the door, but it was too late now.
"Back so soon?"
"Do you happen to know three men in suits with sunglasses?" Freddie asks.
"Well, there are quite a few men in suits with sunglasses in the world. You'll have to be more specific, I'm afraid."
"Ah, sarcasm. Fun." She didn't reply to that, only raised an eyebrow. "Well, you are free to go," Freddie said tightly, walking over to her and taking her by the arm, pulling her toward the door.
"I know."
"Of course you do," Freddie snapped. He was really confused as to what the hell was going on and he hated being confused. Which was probably why this case was so damn frustrating.
Opening the door, Freddie stepped out, pulling Sam along.
His three favorite men in the world were still standing where had left them. Yay. His Captain was still there too, but he had at least looked like he moved even slightly.
Freddie didn't miss the way all three pair of eyes moved to Sam when they came out. He took out the keys to the handcuffs and took her wrists. He undid the handcuffs and took them once they slid off her wrists.
She rubbed them slightly as she looked at him, for some reason.
"Well, Detective Benson," Captain Shay said, stepping forward and resting a hand on his shoulder. "You know how you've been declining a partner since the moment you became a detective?"
"Yes," Freddie said warily, glancing over at the three men. Did they ever fucking move?
"Well, you can't do that anymore."
"Huh?" He asked stupidly, not quite understanding. Captain Shay just raised his eyebrows and inclined his head toward Sam. Freddie flicked his gaze to Sam.
Her face was blank, her stance looking very stiff and professional.
Oh no.
"Detective Benson, meet CIA Agent Samantha Puckett."
"Nice to meet you." She stuck out her hand, face still completely blank.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."