Canadian Winter

Chapter Two

Letters to No One

Nick lead Sam past the numerous offices in the Crime Lab; walking past the officers was somewhat daunting for Sam. Even though there had been a lot more of them back in Chicago, he always felt uneasy in their presence.

They came to a stop outside one of the rooms, when Nick turned to Sam.

"So," he said, eyeing Sam up a little bit. "This is our little slice of Heaven."

He widened his arms, and Sams eyes traced the glass walls, tiled flooring and smooth, bare walls. It was certainly a lot more different than that of Chicago, that was for sure. He noted the numerous people walking past, busy with their files, eyeing pieces of collected evidence, goggles on their foreheads. They seemed to work as a well-oiled machine, not like Chicago.

"Oh," said Nick, distracting Sam's train of thought. "I'll introduce you to Greg, too. He's our 'shut-in', he's usually always here, but I don't see him. Must've slept in late, again."

"Okay." replied Sam, following Nick into the cooled lab in front of them, but not before eyeing up the corridor one more time.

"I'm not gonna impede your intelligence by naming each of these machines," said Nick, standing one side of the table in the middle of the room, and removing what little evidence they did have onto its surface. "You've worked in CSI before, so you'll know all this stuff anyway."

Sam, however, was a little too busy staring at Nick, taking in his well-built frame, his strong jawbone, his muscular arms. He then wrenched himself out of the thoughts.

'No,' he thought to himself. 'Not here, this is how you got into trouble in the first place.'

"You okay?" asked Nick, looking up, surveying Sam's increasingly introverted stance.

"Yeah," said Sam, shuffling forward a little. "Yeah, I'm fine." He ambled over to the table, surveying the six separate fingerprints they had collected. "Not much going on here, is there?" he said, in an all-too eager way of shifting the subject.

Nick didn't respond for a second, almost about to ask Sam why he was acting kind of strangely, but thought the better of it and scooped the prints up.

"No," he said finally, putting the prints down next to a complicated-looking machine. "Our best bet is to ID these prints, see what comes up."

Sam stood next to Nick as he scanned a print into the machine, watching the screen flicker to life and begin analysing the print. It took a few minutes of awkward silence between them before the machine 'pinged', telling them it had found a positive match on the print.

Sam's eyes narrowed as the data for the print was brought up. Nick contemplated the information in front of him for a few seconds, before turning to Sam.

"I think it'd be best if we question every person who these prints belong to," he said, taking a tentative glance at Sam, whose eyes had not left the monitor. "It's our only chance of actually knowing where these guys were."

"Yeah," replied Sam, it came out almost monotonously. "I think so too. It's the only way we can eliminate each guy, because for now, all of them are suspects."

"Are you okay?" asked Nick, raising the topic once more. He couldn't help but feel that Sam was somehow uncomfortable to be with him.

Sam looked up at Nick, his eyes widened to that of a deer in headlights briefly, before he regained control, however, his cheeks flushed very red. "Yeah," he said, blinking slowly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"I just get the impression you're not comfortable around me." replied Nick, folding his arms, his eyes narrowing slightly. "If you want, I can get you reassigned?"

"No, no!" exclaimed Sam, almost rushing forward. "No, it's not like that! It's.. It's just weird being here. I was so used to being in Chicago that this is somewhat of a culture shock to me. I've never worked in a place where I've been greeted so, so warmly."

At that moment, Sam felt his eyes well up. 'Damn it!' he thought to himself, wiping his eyes on his T-shirt. 'Fucking perfect, crying on the first day of the job, pull yourself together!'

Nick hadn't mistook the sign. "What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly getting closer to Sam.

Sam looked up at Nick's face, his eyes glowing with almost sadness.

"Sorry," replied Sam, wiping his eyes a final time. "I, I just never had 'friends' in Chicago. No one really wanted to have anything to do with me after what I did."

'Shit! That was far too much information!' Sam could've slapped himself.

Nick saw the twinge in Sam's face after he said his last sentence, and quickly changed the topic back to work, and the man who had been positively identified on the computer.

"So, this guy, Herbert Brown," he said, focusing on the screen, and not at Sam, who wiped a solitary tear from his face. "Previous conviction of DUI, and possession of Class A. I say we reel him in."

"Yeah," replied Sam, clearing his throat. "Yeah, but let's check everyone else's first."

They then ran the rest of the fingerprints into the machine, it's pinging the only noise to break the silence that had grown between them.

Sam really wished he had not begun to cry like he did. He didn't want to look weak in front of Nick, nor anyone else for that matter. He wanted them to think he was strong enough to fight his own battles, whether he won them or not.

After three hours, the computer had finally completed all six fingerprints, and the conversation between Sam and Nick hadn't gotten much further. If they were going to work on this case together, Sam had to be sure he knew Nick in and out, as well as the other members of the team.

"So," began Sam, almost catching himself by surprise at the words escaping from his mouth. "Tell me about yourself? I think it best we get to know each other a little better whilst working on this case."

Sam soon found out that Nick was the son of a judge and lawyer, Bill and Jillian Stokes, and that he was the youngest of seven siblings. He was in his 30's, 33 to be specific, and he was born in Texas.

"So what about you?" asked Nick, an hour later as they sat in the dark room, developing the photographs Sam had taken of the crime scene.

Sam was somewhat reluctant to share details about himself, but something in Nick's expression told him he wouldn't judge,

"Well," started Sam, looking at the floor, before moving a photograph from the tray and hanging it on the line above them. "I'm 22, I was born in London, but moved to New York with my parents when I was four.. I studied Criminal Law at New York University. I'm an only child, my parents weren't too fond of having a lot of children around."

"Did you join the fraternity at NYU?" asked Nick interestedly, having been part of a fraternity himself at college. He took more photos out of the developing fluid.

"Me? Oh, no." Sam said, chuckling slightly. "I wasn't 'jock' enough to join the fraternity, so I just didn't bother. Plus, heavy drinking and sleeping around with other members is just, sorta not my thing."

"You? Not jock enough?" asked Nick an eyebrow raised, whilst pegging another photo up. "You're built like a house, how could they say no to you?"

"Trust me," said Sam, taking the final photo out of the fluid. "I was not like this at NYU. Not at all." His sentence ended almost abruptly, as he realised he'd brushed Nick's hand almost flirtingly.

Nick seemed to have noticed, too. By the look on his face, he seemed taken aback, almost shocked at the gesture.

"S-Sorry!" said Sam, retracting his hand as quickly as it had touched Nick's. "It's far too cramped in this room."

"It's okay," said Nick, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Don't worry about it."

'I am so glad this light is red,' thought Sam, feeling his cheeks, which were extremely hot. 'Otherwise he'd see me like this! Jeez..'

"C'mon," said Nick, removing his gloves. "Let's get a coffee whilst we wait for these to dry."

"O-Okay," replied Sam, almost rushing forward out of the room. A cooling sensation wafted at his face as he left the dark room, thank goodness for air conditioning.

Nick led them to one of the coffee machines in a small break room. The walls here, too, were bare and smooth.

They sat at the only table in the room, which was empty except for them. Nick handed Sam a cup from the machine, and sat and sipped his own, resting an arm on the back of his chair, staring hard out of the window.

Sam thought about the case he was working on. They had little to no evidence whatsoever, besides a few prints that may or may not be linked to the case at all, and he guessed the latter. And also a set of tyre tracks that too, may not be linked at all. It was a far cry from Chicago, where cases were much easier to work through, as suspects seemed to be a lot clumsier there, leaving heaps of evidence behind them, mostly unintentionally.

Sam was about to talk when a man in a white lab coat came bursting through the doors, panting, out of breath.

"T-There you are!" he said, clutching his side, where a stitch had formed.

"What're you talking about, Greg?" asked Nick, placing his coffee down on the table.

"G-Grissom told me to come look for you." Greg replied, shaking his head. "Said your body's here, needs to be properly ID'd by you."

"Oh, okay then," said Nick, turning to Sam. "Looks like break's over."

Sam nodded, placing his empty cup into the bin before getting up and standing beside Nick. He eyed Greg up and down, his MP3 dangling freely from his jeans' pocket, the earphones draped around his neck, the cheerful grin upon his face.

"Oh, sorry!" said Nick, shaking his head slightly. "Sam, this is Greg, our lab technician. Greg, this is Sam, he joined yesterday."

"Nice to meet you," said Greg, reaching out his hand, which Sam accepted and shook.

"And you," replied Sam, releasing his grip and returning his hand to his side, a friendly grin on his face.

"Well, we'd better go," said Nick, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "See you, Greg." he added, patting him on the back.

Nick kept his hand on Sam's shoulder the entire way to the morgue. Sam made sure that his face was not seen by Nick, which seemed impossible to Sam, as he could swear his face must resemble a red traffic light at in the dead of night.

Finally, they reached the morgue. They opened the door, and a wave of cold rolled over them like a tidal wave. Sam had always hated the morgue for this reason. It was always so cold in them, and it seemed this was no exception.

"Hey, Doc," said Nick, giving a friendly smile, his hand still upon Sam's shoulder.

"Ah, hello Nick, and friend," the man said, eyeing Sam.

"This is Sam," Nick said, removing the hand on Sam's shoulder, before replacing it there with a pat, and keeping it there still. "He just joined us."

"Ah, well, welcome Sam!" replied the man, holding out a hand, which Sam shook. "I'm Albert Robbins, but people here call me either Al or simply Doc. I think you should say Doc, assuming you're bad at remembering names, it'll save us an awkward silence."

"Anyway," said Nick, raising an eyebrow before walking with Sam over to a table, a white sheet covering it. "Is this our vic?"

"Man found in trash can?" asked Al, replacing his latex gloves with a new pair. "Yes, yes it is. I just need you to let me know it is him, and I can go into details about injuries."

Al then proceeded to remove the sheet a little, showing the deceased man's face. His was disfigured slightly, the man's eyes closed, mouth slightly open. He was still slightly blue.

"This him?" asked Al, after a few seconds.

"We never saw his face it was covered in plastic wrap," said Sam, looking at the body, the warmth of Nick's hand still firmly on his shoulder. "Can we see the stomach?"

"Certainly, young Sam," replied Al, taking the sheet even lower, revealing the torso and stomach. The word "QUEeR" still etched into it.

"Yup," said Nick, letting out a small sigh. "That's our guy."

Sam nodded slowly, taking in the horrific details once more. Nick's hand finally left Sam's shoulder, and almost slowly drifted down his back. Same could've sworn... No, it couldn't have been. Must've been an accident... Or did Nick just cop a feel of his ass?

Nick then got out a fingerprint sampler. "Do you mind?" he asked, looking at Al.

"Go ahead," replied Al, nodding his head.

Nick then got a fingerprint from the victim's hand. He sealed it up and placed it into his pocket. "Now we'll know if our victim was alive when he was thrown into the trash can," he said, a somewhat wider smile than should be on his face.

Sam nodded, looking back at the victim. "Can you tell us what caused these wounds?" he asked, looking from the body, to Al, and back again.

"Yes," said Al, an eyebrow raised in scepticism. "I had a little trouble at first, because the wounds all seemed to be different. But I can say with certainty that these wounds were caused by a Stanley knife."

"A Stanley knife?" exclaimed Sam, utter shock etched onto his face. He then surveyed the wounds once more.

"Yes, and my estimation is, this guy's been dead at least three days." said Al, looking from Sam to Nick.

They stood in silence for a few moments. Sam felt the feeling of tears come upon him once more, but he forced himself not to, and instead just focused on the body in front of him.

"Another interesting thing is," began Al once more, breaking the silence. "The writing on the victim's stomach."

"What about it?" asked Nick, leaning in to the letters etched onto the man's stomach.

"Well, it was written by two different people," said Al, pointing to the letters.

"Are you sure?" asked Sam, now looking closer at the stomach.

"Positive," replied Al. "If you look here, the Q, U, and first E were written by one person, and the second e and R were written by someone else. I've had the handwriting analysed."

"So, the killer had an accomplice," said Nick, a dark tone in his voice.

"Yeah, it seems so," replied Sam, eyeing the letters once more, fear suddenly taking over. How could someone have done this?

(A/N: Another chapter done! Hope you enjoyed it. I'm certainly on a role here! I'm in the mood to continue, so hopefully another chapter will be up soon!)