Here's chapter four, guys! Thanks for reading and reviewing! Also, thanks to my lovely beta Katy, and to Harper for her assistance in this chapter. If you're looking for an awesome CSI read, I truly recommend Se Salva. It's amazing work, folks.
Also, due to some recent events, I would like to change my disclaimer. While the characters, locations, and CSI franchise are property of Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS, the idea behind this story, dialogue, and script belong to me. Under no circumstances have I ever allowed someone to plagiarize my work, nor will I ever. If I EVER catch another person stealing my story or dialogue, they too will be reported to . It's called PLAGARISM, my friend, and it's illegal. And now onto Chapter four!
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She stared in the mirror critically, her eyes collecting her reflection. She couldn't help but be concerned with the gaze staring back at her. The eyes told a story, or so she had been told, and her eyes were haunted…at least that's what she was thinking. There were shadows under her eyes, the area under her right eye bruised and swollen, looking worse than before if that was even possible, and the normally blue of her irises a cloudy gray rimmed with red from exhaustion.
Catherine ran her fingers through her hair, grimacing slightly at the feel of her hair. It was greasy after working in the Vegas heat the day before, and she had the urge to suddenly go wash her hair multiple times.
She had more important things to deal with at the moment, though.
Sighing, Catherine reached in her locker, grabbing a brush and running it through her hair, shakily pulling her long blonde hair into a ponytail. She felt somewhat better after eating a good breakfast, but she was close to being awake for twenty-four hours. The caffeine and adrenaline was quickly wearing off, and she wanted nothing more than to get this interview with Cena over with so she could go home and just go to bed. Quickly, she shed her shirt, folding it and pulling a clean one from her locker, tugging it over her head. She had already changed into a pair of jeans and running shoes. While she wanted to appear professional, she had felt gross in the same pants and heels from the previous day, and the jeans and sneakers were the only thing that she had. Catherine made a mental note to grab a spare pair of dress pants and shoes before heading to work tonight.
Catherine looked in her mirror again. She still looked exhausted, but at least she felt somewhat refreshed in clean clothes, and ready to face Cena again. This time, he wasn't going to be able to try to attack her, as he had agreed to be handcuffed to the table, which was the only way he was going to get Catherine alone in the interrogation room.
Slamming her locker shut, she clipped her ID badge to her jeans pocket, bent over and grabbed her case file from the bench next to her and exited the locker room, squaring her shoulders and determinedly making her way to the interrogation room, praying that she looked confident and not terrified like she feared she did. Brass met her gaze as he talked to Ecklie, making his way over to Catherine after excusing himself from the conversation.
"Cath…are you sure about this? He tried to attack you earlier," Brass said softly, his hand resting on her shoulder as he searched her expression for any indication that she didn't want to go through with this.
Leave it to Brass to see right through her…
Catherine looked up at Brass, emotion filling her eyes. She swallowed back a lump, wondering briefly if it was hormones or exhaustion creeping up to her. "I'm fine, Jim. Nothing is going to happen to me," she answered in what she hoped was a relaxed tone. Catherine glanced through the mirror, her anger rising slightly as she stared at the nonchalant man in the center of the room. Seeing the Captain's skeptical look, she smiled slightly. "It's alright, Jim. I'll be okay. I need the closure for Jane Smelders."
"Okay, Catherine. But if he even looks at you funny, we're coming in there," Brass warned.
"I'd expect nothing less," Catherine answered.
She smoothed her shirt, glancing at her reflection in the see through mirror. Catherine was as prepared as she could be at the moment, and with a calming breath, she opened the door.
Cena sat at the interrogation table, looking at her as the door opened. His lips held a tiny smirk as Catherine made her way into the room, the supervisor hoping that her strides exuded the confidence that she hoped that she was displaying at the moment. She didn't speak as she walked to the table, tossing her folder casually down and lifting the table slightly to see its weight in case Cena somehow managed to push it at her or something.
This didn't go unnoticed by Cena, as he smiled and looked over at Catherine. "Scared?" he asked, leaning back in his chair as far as he could given his hands were cuffed to the table.
Warily, Catherine's eyes involuntarily trailed to the handcuffs. Cena had huge wrists, and for a second she was almost scared that he could snap them off his wrists if he wanted to. She cleared her throat, meeting his smile with one of her own. "Of you?" she asked slyly, taking a seat across from him. "Not a chance."
"Really?" Cena asked casually. "Cause the look on your face earlier today told another story. You were scared."
Catherine bit her tongue, wanting nothing more than to tell him that he was full of it, that she wasn't afraid of him. However…she remembered a psychology seminar that she and Gil had been forced to take a year or two ago…
Let them think that they have control. By doing so, you can manipulate them into telling you what you need to know.
The words of the instructor rang in Catherine's ears as she leaned back in her chair, clasping her hands on the table in front of her as she crossed her legs. "You did make me a little nervous," she finally stated. "What happened, James? Why did you try to attack me?"
"You pissed me off," Cena said simply, with a shrug. "You got in my face and I felt as if I was being threatened. I reacted to that."
"You felt threatened by me?" Catherine couldn't help but scoff. "I don't believe you."
"Not by you," Cena answered with a slight laugh, his gaze making Catherine shudder inwardly as he looked over her body. "Of what you could do to me."
"What could I do to you, James?" Catherine asked, slightly confused.
Cena leaned forward, making sure that he had Catherine's full attention. "You can send me back there," he said.
Catherine looked back at him, not understanding what he was saying before realizing what he meant. "To prison?" she asked.
"Yeah," Cena confirmed. "I didn't murder anyone. But I know how you people are. High profile case, you need a conviction, and the fact that her wallet had my prints on it is enough for you people to frame me. Just like you people framed me for the rape of Nina James."
"No one framed you for that, James," Catherine told him patiently. "An eyewitness heard you attacking Nina, and police caught you leaving the scene."
"There was no semen in her," Cena replied.
"You used a condom, James," Catherine answered.
"It wasn't me!" Cena exclaimed angrily, leaning forward as far as possible. "I was framed then, and I'm gonna be framed now!"
Catherine flinched slightly as he leaned, reminding herself that she was safe, that Cena couldn't hurt her. "No one is framing you, James," Catherine said softly, relieved that he hadn't noticed her flinch. "If you want to clear yourself, then all you have to do is give us a sample of your DNA."
Cena stared back at Catherine. "Why?" he asked, his façade breaking slightly.
"Here's the fun part, James," Catherine answered. "There was a hair found on the body of Jane Smelders. If you let us take a DNA sample, then we can clear you of this whole mess."
Cena stared at Catherine, at a loss for words for the first time since he had been brought in. "No," he finally stated, shaking his head firmly. "You're going to frame me."
"It's not in the nature of the lab to frame people, Mr. Cena," Catherine said as patiently as she could. "We are the top crime lab in the country, and we have only the best technicians working in DNA." She settled back, noticing that Cena was taken aback, finally unsure of himself. You just don't want to give up your DNA and get nailed for the crime, you bastard, is what Catherine really wanted to yell across the table at him.
"No, I'm not letting you people frame me!" Cena exclaimed suddenly, trying to remain calm. "You did last time!"
"Oh, everyone's innocent!" Catherine scoffed. Forget letting him think that he's in control, she thought. This is my show, not some bullshit role playing seminar. "I'm sure that if we asked EVERY person in the world if they murdered Jane Smelders or raped Nina James then EVERYONE would be innocent!"
"I'm not everyone," Cena replied through gritted teeth. "I paid time for Nina that I shouldn't have had to, and I'm still paying for it by being on the sex offender's registry. I will NOT pay again for a crime that I didn't commit!"
"I can easily get a court order," Catherine told him, hoping her irritation wasn't showing through. Her lack of sleep was starting to get to her even worse than before, and her patience was wearing very thin. If Cena wanted to talk to her just so he could deny murdering Nina, then so be it. She just wished that he would have waited until she had some sleep and was fully coherent. "Given your past, whether you say it is true or not, gives probable cause to get a warrant," she finished, uncrossing her legs as she turned her body towards his.
"I'll refuse," Cena immediately stated. "You can't force me to give you my DNA."
"Oh, believe me, I can easily get your DNA right now if I wanted," Catherine answered with a smirk, nodding her head to his handcuffed wrists. "It's up to you whether you want to do it the easy way or the hard way."
Cena glared at Catherine, knowing that she had the advantage. "If you touch me, I will kill you," he said lowly.
She blinked, taken aback by his statement. She heard the door start to open, and she held up a hand, signaling to Brass to stay back, keeping her gaze on Cena. Catherine waited until she heard the door click shut before stating, "Threatening an officer of the law is a felony, James."
"Oh, fuck the law!" Cena yelled suddenly, making Catherine jump slightly. "This is bullshit! You people can't hold me here! I want to get out of here!"
Catherine crossed her arms, staring at the man in front of her. "All you have to do, Mr. Cena, is give a DNA sample. Then we can clear you," she told him. Their gazes met, and Catherine knew that she was looking into the face of a man who knew that he was screwed. He was guilty, and giving a DNA sample would prove that.
"You want a DNA sample?" Cena finally snarled, leaning across the table as far as he could.
"Yes," Catherine answered. Is he that freaking dense?
She barely had time to react as Cena tilted his head back. Catherine realized a second too late what he was planning, and she didn't have time to move.
James Cena spit in her face.
"There's your fucking DNA sample!" Cena yelled, pulling up on the table. It lifted a few inches, and Catherine involuntarily slid backwards, out of harm's way. She felt as if she was watching from outside her body as Brass and another officer made their way into the room, the two working to restrain Cena as he flailed about.
Catherine swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched the scene before her, raising her arm and trailing her sleeve along her face, wiping away the saliva from her face. Of all the things that had happened to her as a CSI…being accused by Gil of ethically damaging the lab…being attacked by a murderer…nearly losing Sara…watching Keppler die…losing Warrick…losing Gil…this was probably the most insulting, disgusting thing that had ever happened to her. Never had someone actually SPIT in her face.
Before they could stop her, Catherine shot up and out of her seat and fled past the struggling suspect and officers, making her way to the hallway. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she fought to keep her emotions under control as she made her way to the lady's room, turning the water on full force.
Using her hands, she cupped water into them and splashed it on her face, not caring that she was soaking her shirt and the floor in the process. She repeated the action, splashing her face with the cool liquid once again.
Her tears mingled with the water as she leaned over the sink, scrubbing her face for several long moments. Finally, she looked in the mirror, seeing Ecklie staring at her, concerned.
"This isn't the time for one of your speeches, Conrad," Catherine snapped, shutting off the water and reaching for the paper towels. Her senses were returning to her, and the fact that her shirt was damp in the cold restroom was becoming painfully obvious. She wiped her face, fighting to keep the sob back from her throat as she attempted to gain her bearings.
"I'm not here for a speech," Ecklie answered as he watched Catherine wipe hastily at her face. "I…want to make sure you're okay."
"Do I look okay, Conrad?!" Catherine snapped, whirling around to face him. "I'm exhausted, overworked, and a suspect just SPIT in my FACE!"
"I know, Catherine," Ecklie replied in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "And I'm sorry-"
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Catherine cut him off. "The bastard wanted me, and he got me." She swiped again at her face, still feeling as if his saliva was on her face. The urge to shower suddenly increased ten fold. Catherine had to stop herself from turning back to the sink and washing her face again. Instead, she chose to add, "In more ways then one."
"Look, Catherine…go home. Get some sleep, take tonight off-"
"I don't need time off," she snapped. "I'll be in tonight."
"Catherine-"
"Ecklie, I'm coming in. We're short Sanders and Hodges, and I can't afford for my shift to be short the supervisor too!" Catherine exclaimed, her voice rising as her temper rose.
Ecklie stared back at her, reading the defiance on her face. There was no way that he was letting her work tonight. She was a loose cannon ready to blow. "Willows, if you show up here tonight, I will have you escorted off the property. CSI Stokes will be in charge of the grave shift tonight," he finally told her.
Catherine glared at him, openmouthed, as she processed what he was telling her. "I'm suspended?" she asked him.
"Suspending you would involve paperwork, and an official review," Ecklie answered. "Consider it a vacation day."
Catherine shook her head, pushing past Ecklie. "This is bullshit," she growled, pushing the door open.
Ecklie followed her out the door, watching as she made her way to the locker room. "I'll see you tomorrow night, Catherine," he called.
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Catherine placed her palms against her shower wall, letting the hot water run down her back. The water dripped from her face as she stared at the drain. It did nothing for the tension in her shoulders, as she felt worse after this long shower than she did before. Sighing, she reached for her washcloth again, pouring a generous amount of soap onto the cloth and scrubbing her face for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. She wasn't sure if it was pain from her initial injury, the fact that she had rubbed her face over and over, or the fact that her tears were continuously flowing, but her face was actually beginning to ache, her throat raw and scratchy. There was even a little bit of blood on her washcloth. She wondered if it was from the cut along the side of her nose, or whether she had actually washed her face so many times that it made her bleed.
With shaking hands, Catherine wrung out the excess soap from her washcloth, hanging it on the faucet before reaching down and shutting off the water, leaning her head against the glass door, beads of water from her body mixing with the condensation on the glass. She shivered slightly as the warmth quickly faded from the bathroom. She grabbed a towel, drying off her wet body as fast as possible.
Catherine dressed in the comfortable boxers and t-shirt that she often wore to bed, running a brush through her hair. She let the damp stands fall down her shoulders, not even bothering to dry it. What was the point if she wasn't going to work tonight?
She made her way out into the kitchen, grabbing a wine glass and filling it to the brim with her favorite white wine. Catherine glanced at the time on the microwave, smirking when she saw it was only 2:00. What the hell, it's five o'clock somewhere…
Catherine made her way to the living room, settling down on the couch and tucking her legs underneath her. She stared at the blank television, sipping her wine as she mentally made a checklist of the things that had happened to her in the last couple days….being knocked out and ending up with a black eye, fighting with her best friend, sparring with a murder suspect, getting spit in the face, and being suspended…wait, I wasn't 'suspended,' I was given a vacation day. Catherine sat there and just stared, an occasional tear falling down her face as she sat there, sipping her wine periodically.
She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there, but Lindsay came in the house, jumping a little when she saw her mom sitting there. She wasn't used to her mom being up at this time, as Catherine was usually fast asleep by the time her daughter came home from school. Lindsay was able to compose herself as Catherine turned her tear stained face to her daughter.
"What's wrong, mom?" she asked, alarmed. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. Something had happened to her grandmother…or Gil…or her mom was hurt seriously or ill. Catherine rarely cried, let alone in front of Lindsay. Her daughter had a brief flashback to several years ago…
Her dad had died, and she had heard noises coming from her mom's room. Curiosity got the better of the younger Willows, and she padded down the hallway to see her mother lying in bed, her back to the door, her body shaking from the strong sobs that were overtaking her frame.
Lindsay's first instinct was to leave the room, to never let her mother know that she had seen her crying. She hated to see adults cry, and the fact that it was her strong and powerful mother just made it that much more difficult. However…something clicked in her and she padded into the room, crawling into bed with her mother. "It's okay, mommy," she had soothed, rubbing her hand on her shoulder. "It's okay."
Catherine sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Nothing, Linds, I just had a horrible night at work," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Lindsay nodded slowly, gazing at her mother sympathetically. Setting her bag on the ground, she made her way to the couch, sitting next to her mother. Lindsay tugged the empty wine glass out of Catherine's loose grip, setting it on the table next to her. She wrapped her arms around Catherine, pulling her mother close to her.
Catherine buried her face in Lindsay's shoulder, her hands grasping her daughter's shirt. She cried, her tears dripping on the younger Willows' shirt. Lindsay held her mother close, rocking her gently and whispering what she hoped was soothing words into her mother's ear. Lindsay couldn't help but think how ironic it was that after seventeen years of Catherine comforting her daughter, the roles had somehow switched within the last couple of days. Her mother was vulnerable, showing Lindsay that years of hurt were finally catching up to her. They sat like that for several minutes before Catherine finally pulled back. "I'm sorry, Linds, I shouldn't bring my work home with me," she said softly.
"It's okay, mom," Lindsay soothed, pulling back and leaving a hand on her mom's shoulder. "What happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Catherine answered, shaking her head firmly. "I just…I can't."
Lindsay nodded, glancing at her mother critically as an awkward silence hung between the two of them. She looked exhausted: her face pale, eyes bloodshot, and it was obvious she hadn't been sleeping well – if at all – for a long time. "You need to sleep," Lindsay finally stated, worried. "You're going to burn yourself out and wind up sick."
"I know, baby," Catherine answered tiredly. "I just can't."
"You have to go to work in…nine hours. That's plenty of time to get some rest," Lindsay pointed out.
Catherine laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "I have off tonight," she told Lindsay. "Not by choice, of course."
Lindsay nodded slowly, reaching over and grabbing a throw pillow. She wasn't sure what had happened at work, but it was obvious her mom was upset and needed to sleep. She placed the pillow against her hip, pulling Catherine down. Her mom didn't resist as she laid her head down on her daughter's lap, snuggling close to her daughter as she closed her eyes. Lindsay reached along the back of the couch, pulling the afghan down and covering her mom.
She ran her hand along Catherine's back, rubbing what she hoped was soothing circles for several minutes before she noticed that her mother's breathing evened out. Lindsay glanced down, relieved that her mother was finally fast asleep. She made a move to slide away, only to freeze when Catherine whimpered softly in her sleep and gripped the edge of her shirt to stop her from leaving.
With a sigh, Lindsay settled back, leaning her head back against the couch and stretching her legs to rest on the coffee table. She stroked her mother's hair, closing her eyes.
It was going to be a long night.
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End Part 4