A/N: This is another idea that has been kicking around in my head… I hope you all like it!
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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Title: The Bank
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"Mommy, I don't wanna go in there!" five-year old Timothy Fitzsimmons told his mother, stamping his foot on the ground, and glaring at the First National Bank. "I don't wanna, and you can't make me!"
"Come on, Timothy," Lonnie sighed, shaking her head. "I need to make a deposit, honey. We won't be in there for very long, I promise. And after we go to the bank, we'll go out for lunch. You still want to go to McDonalds, right…?" she asked her son, trying not to lose her patience.
"Uh-huh," Timothy told her. "But I wanna go to McDonalds right now!" he yelled, crossing his tiny arms across his chest, and frowning. "Right now, mommy, and I mean it!" he added, almost ready to throw himself on the ground, in order to better kick and scream.
"I've had enough of this, Timothy Richard Fitzsimmons! You march yourself into that bank with me right now, and I'm not joking!" she told him, finally losing her temper. Reaching down and grabbing one of his arms, she firmly walked him into the bank, her deposit slip in her hand.
"I hate you!" Timothy mumbled to his mother, staring straight ahead. "We never get to do what I want to do, even when you tell me that we can! It's not fair! It's not fair! It's not fair!"
Lonnie bit back a retort, ignoring the expressions from the people around her. She was used to Timothy's temper tantrums, and she realized that most parents also experienced embarrassment stemming from their child's behavior, at least once or twice in their life time. Although she understood that her son shouting in the bank was annoying and inappropriate, she also recognized the fact that children sometimes acted up, when they did not get what they wanted.
"Did you hear me?" Timothy tried again. "I hate you!"
"Yes, Timothy, I heard what you said," Lonnie quietly replied. The words hurt, but…what else could she say? He was angry… she knew that, and could even understand it. "And I am sorry that you feel that way."
"Then can we go to McDonald's now?"
"Telling me that you hate me won't get you your lunch any faster, Timothy," she told him. "And in fact, your behavior might just get you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, rather than a Happy Meal."
"THAT'S NOT FAIR!" Timothy yelled, pouting.
"Sorry, Tim," she simply said, moving forward in line.
"Ma'am?" a tall security guard coughed, clearing his throat. Slowly walking towards her, he sighed. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to control your son… this is a place of business…" he pointed out. "Not a playground…"
Lonnie glanced down at her son, frowning. He was now completely ignoring her, staring at the ground. "I don't think that there will be any more shouting," she told the guard, pointing to her son. "But I'm sorry for the disturbance, sir," she added.
The guard merely nodded, before walking away.
Timothy turned his head to glare at his mother, before once again facing forward. After a couple of moments of silence, however, his eyes suddenly widened, and he tugged on the hem of his mother's shirt.
"What is it, Tim…?" she tiredly asked him.
Staring at the woman in front of him, he grinned. "Mommy, look! I know that person!" he whispered.
"Who?" Lonnie mumbled, looking around the crowded bank.
"That woman!" he pointed to the person in front of them. "The lady in the strange looking vest, and the baseball hat!"
Lonnie raised an eyebrow, before shrugging. "I don't know her, Timothy, I'm sorry…" she trailed off.
"Miss? Miss, do I know you?" he asked, leaning forward, and tapping her on the back with one of his tiny fingers. "Do I know you?" he repeated, "'Cause you look very familiar to me!"
"Timothy, leave her alone," his mother hissed, yanking his hand away before the woman could say anything.
"Who… me?" the lady asked, turning around to look at the little boy.
"Uh-huh! Who are you? I think I know you! Are you on television?" he asked. "Blues Clues? Or the Power Rangers?"
"Uh… no…" she quietly replied, trying to hide the amused expression on her face. I work for the Las Vegas Crime Lab," she told him.
"The crime lab…? There's a lab that makes crimes?" Timothy incredulously asked her, his eyes once again widening. "What kind of crimes do you make…?" he questioned the woman.
The lady chuckled, looking down at the little boy. "I help solve crimes," she explained. "Not commit them…"
"OH!" Timothy smiled. "Well that's good… my mommy says that it is bad to commit crimes. Right, mommy?" he turned to look at his mother.
"Right, Timothy. Committing crimes is bad… look, ma'am, please ignore my son. He's just having a bad day…I'm sorry that he's bothering you."
"My name is Tim," Timothy told the woman, ignoring his mother. "What's yours…?"
"It's alright," she smiled at his mother. "And my name is Sara," she added, looking down at him.
"I have a boo-boo on my arm, Sara!" Tim pointed to his cast, which was already covered with several signatures and pictures. "I broke it today, falling off of my bike!"
Sara grimaced, as she moved closer to the bank teller. "Well that must have hurt…" she trailed off.
"Uh-huh! But I'm a big boy, so I didn't cry for very long!" he explained to her.
Sara just smiled.
"Big boys don't cry, did you know that…?" he continued, being very serious.
Sara glanced over at his mother, who gave a half smile. "I know a lot of big boys who cry," she finally told him. "Crying is normal…"
"That's not what my daddy says!" Timothy grinned. "But that's okay. Look, Sara, it's your turn!" he smiled, pointing to the bank teller.
"Thank you, Timothy," Sara replied, as she turned back around, and moved forward.
"You're welco—" Timothy started to say, before the lights in the bank went out.
"Huh…?" Sara mumbled to herself, puzzled. "Are we having a power outage…? This can't be good…"
All of a sudden, a loud voice penetrated the darkness. "NOBODY MOVE, OR WE'LL SHOOT!"
Hearing the sounds of guns cocking, Sara immediately froze.
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TO BE CONTINUED