Rating/Warnings: T - mild violence, nothing really above what you'd see in the canon. Spoilers for The Road, Stalker, and The Woods.
Summary: Lilly is pushed beyond the brink of exhaustion and it leads to devastating consequences.
Notes: My first multi-chapter Cold Case fic! It's based on the episode The Road, but there are references to other episodes, including Stalker and The Woods. The first couple of chapters will follow The Road quite closely, but events will soon change. There are just a few things I want to set up, first.
Title taken from the Bruce Springsteen song of the same name.
I was bruised and battered / couldn't tell what I felt / I was unrecognisable to myself
Lilly stretches her arms over her head, stifling a yawn as Vera squints at the laptop he's unfolded and placed on the desk in front of her.
"You need a lamp on?" she asks eventually.
He shoots her a look. "I got it."
She smirks and takes a sip of cold coffee that's been sitting on her desk far too long. She grimaces, setting the half-empty mug aside as Stillman approaches, looking unusually restless.
"Got it, Nick?"
"Yeah."
The video starts, then pauses for a few seconds before it begins to roll smoothly, a man's voice sounding tinny and nasal as it's forced through the small speakers.
"Scotty, come take a look at this." Stillman motions towards the computer Vera is still frowning at, the image breaking into pixels for a moment. The lieutenant stands with his hands on his hips as his team gathers around, all of them leaning in to watch a man in an orange jumpsuit speaking to the camera.
"This a new case?" Scotty asks, setting his coffee aside.
"Sent up by the deputy sheriff in Ripley, West Virginia," Vera says, looking down at the jagged scrawl on his notepad. "This guy was picked up for an illegal turn. Turns out the car's stolen and he had a bunch of fake license plates in the trunk. Some of 'em point back to the scene of a woman's abduction last August. Possible homicide."
Scotty breathes a soft sigh and moves closer to Lilly, who is trying hard to force some focus through the fog of exhaustion currently clouding her mind. An hour or two of sleep a night isn't enough to keep her here this late, in the dark. For a moment, her eyes flash over to the door of the interrogation room, but Scotty accidentally nudges her as he moves in, shifting her attention again.
Lilly can feel the warmth of him close to her cheek as he leans over her shoulder to inspect the video, his tie draping down to brush the side of her arm.
She uses her peripheral vision to watch him, but he doesn't look her way. He's completely focused on the man on the screen in front of him, a slight frown on his face, his jaw tight as he analyses the suspect and the nature of the accusations against him.
Lilly switches her attention back to the screen, her skin prickling slightly.
"I really don't remember... If you say I was there, I guess I was," the man says innocently, shrugging slightly. "Her fiancé must be real broken up." He blinks slowly and then gives a small smile. "Bet he misses her."
"Son of a bitch," Scotty mutters, his fingers clenching slightly on the edge of the desk. Lilly glances down at his hand and then back to the screen again, unable to focus on the facts of the case with someone leaning so close to her like that.
"We need someone to take a drive and bring him back here," Stillman says. His eyes meet Lilly's but he glances over her quickly, looking at Vera.
She speaks up anyway. "I'll go."
Stillman gives her a careful look. "You sure?"
Though she'd been aching to leave for home, she immediately recognises an excuse to stay out of bed, away from the dark and threatening shadows that lurk during the silence of the night. Away from the nightmares that haunt her even as she lies awake in bed.
"I'm sure," she says, and she pulls her suit jacket from the back of her chair, pretending not to notice the nod Stillman is directing at Scotty.
"Fancy some company as you're takin' that drive?" Scotty asks, dutifully. His skin has a warm glow under the florescent lights, and his eyes are dark. Lilly digs her nails into her palm to stop a shiver racing down her spine. If anything, this reaction and these thoughts should tell her she's absolutely too tired to function. Scotty Valens should not cause shivers or wandering attention.
"Yeah," she says, standing and stepping away from him, making room - clear and easy to breathe. "Let's go."
Scotty sorts notes in the passenger seat, reading paragraphs aloud to Lilly as she drives, her face pale and blue in the light being cast from the dials on the dashboard.
"Real prize, this guy," he murmurs, tilting the page slightly to catch the light from the clock. It reads just after nine, but it feels so much later.
Lilly stifles another yawn.
"Brenda MacDowell goes missing from her own engagement party after this guy lures her outside. He breaks into her car, turns the lights on and then calls the plates into the restaurant. Brenda goes out to turn the lights off and he jumps her."
Lilly shifts uncomfortably. "Not just a snatch and run then. He thought about it."
"It says here presumed homicide, but a body has ever been found. There was a ribbon bouquet left at the scene, splashed with blood – but there were no DNA matches." He flicks the page and his eyebrows rise in surprise. "Not even Brenda's."
"Maybe this John Smith guy can help us out with that," Lilly says dryly.
Scotty scoffs and leans his head back against the seat. "Yeah. John Smith – real original."
Lilly gives him a quick grin.
He smiles back at her and nods down at the papers in his lap. "They're tryin' to get a match from one of his cigarettes. Even if the saliva matches the blood sample, it won't be enough. We need a confession."
She gives a weary motion with her hand. "So we drive through the dark to get one."
"You okay to drive?"
"Yeah," she answers, glancing at her watch. "Nine o'clock on a Friday night. I was hoping to have better plans."
He can't help a short laugh. "What social life are you missin' out on?"
She just smiles and shakes her head. A glass of wine, a blanket, television and her cats. Hardly a social life, but a night she was looking forward to all the same.
For a moment she sees a vision of herself curled up tightly in her bed, keeping her eyes forced open and focused on the clock, willing the daylight to come so she can run through the motions of a new day and keep her mind busy and away from gunshots and shattering glass. Keep her thoughts away from the scroll and rattle of gurney wheels on linoleum and flashing fluorescents and voices that quiz her.
Is there anyone we can call for you, Lilly? Who do we contact? Who will want to know you're here?
"Yeah," Scotty drawls, smiling at her silence.
"Well what were you planning tonight?" she asks, blinking and gazing ahead with new concentration.
He shrugs and stretches, lifting his arms up behind the seat comfortably. She watches his shirt stretch and pull tight against his chest before she forces her eyes back to the road.
"Was gonna wash my hair," he says. "Eyebrow wax, pedicure..."
She laughs, loosening her grip on the wheel and settling back into her seat. "Not sure I needed to know that."
He grins. They're relaxed now – settled and committed to the hours they'll be spending together.
"You're still havin' trouble sleeping, aren't you?" he asks after a moment. He watches her hands tighten on the wheel again.
She swallows. "It's been a long week," she says. "All that paperwork that's been –"
"It ain't no paperwork, Lil," he says softly, but he doesn't force the subject any further.
She forces her foot down a little, watching the speed of the car increase on the dial in front of her. She can feel Scotty watching her.
After a moment he starts to read again – witness statements. His voice is a comfort that allows her to relax again and forget about why she's so desperate to keep busy and fend off the loneliness of sleep.
The gurney shakes when it hits a new set of doors, jolting Lilly and causing the hot pain in her shoulder to flare up again and throb down her arm. She feels hot and cold all at the same time, and her chest is wet with blood.
She vaguely wonders for a moment if it was Scotty's bullet. For a few dreadful seconds, the florescent lights racing overhead mirror the flash from the gun, and the sparkling shatter of glass that crashed to the floor of the observation room.
Gunshots have never sounded so loud.
Another set of doors – another thud as the paramedics push the doors with their hands, the rhythm of their pace disturbed again and the gurney shifting and jolting.
Lilly watches the lights flash by overhead. The corridor is never-ending. She is always going to be flying beneath these lights, the stiff linen beneath her crackling in her ears and the blood wet on her chest. It's growing cold now, but the pain is hot, hot, hot, and she can feel sweat on her face.
Someone is talking to her. Her name rings loud in her ears and vibrates in her chest like everything is bass and thunderous.
"Is there anyone you'd like us to call, Lilly?"
She looks up at him. A paramedic. Friendly and sure. He smiles at her, calm and in control. He's telling her, without words, that she will be okay, though nobody knows that for sure.
Nobody knows that.
She thinks, but it's difficult to focus with all those lights running by. The wheels on the floor are so loud. She can hear them rattling alongside the heavy, quick footsteps of the hospital staff.
"Do you want us to call somebody?" he asks again. "Your husband? A family member? Someone who will want to know you're here...?"
She needs to tell him there's nobody, but she wants to tell him something different. She wants to tell him to call her mom.
She pleads silently: Call my mom.
But even if things had turned out differently and Mom were alive and breathing – she wouldn't show up. Would she? No.
And God knows where Christina has disappeared to this time.
There's no one.
"Lilly – is there someone you'd like us to call for you?" the paramedic asks again.
She closes her eyes. There's no one.
Lilly parks the car carefully and switches the ignition off, listening to the engine tick as it cools.
"You ready for this?" Scotty asks quietly.
She nods determinedly. "Let's go get him."
"Lil..."
She turns and looks at him, annoyed when she sees concern on his face.
"I'm fine," she says quickly, before he can put forth a theory about her exhaustion. She knows he's dying to. She knows he wants to tell her she's being ridiculous and that she should get some sleep or she'll fall apart completely.
She gets out of the car before he ventures anything further. Before she has to admit his theories – although silent – are right.
Scotty drops coins into a vending machine as they wait for the sheriff to greet them. He hands Lilly a too-hot cup of coffee that tastes bitter and cheap. She drinks it quickly, relishing the uncomfortable burn on her tongue and her throat and praying that the hideous taste just means it's packed with caffeine.
"Ted Huffard." The voice is too cheerful for the ridiculous hour. As Lilly shakes the sheriff's hand, she realises that the arrival of the Philadelphia Homicide detectives has ensured Deputy Sheriff Huffard's night has ended.
John Smith will go to Philadelphia and Ted Huffard will go home to bed, his duty done. For now, at least.
"Lilly Rush – and my partner, Scotty Valens."
"Hey." Scotty shakes Huffard's hand and gives him a smile that looks both exhilarated and exhausted. Lilly watches with interest, not sure how he managed to convey such two different emotions at once.
"Here to pick up John Smith, huh?" The sheriff shakes his head slightly, a frown on his face. "Weird guy."
"How so?" Scotty asks as they follow Huffard up a deserted corridor.
Lilly can hear a fax machine whining somewhere, and a weary detective, stripped to his shirt and holsters, leans against an office wall, talking into his cell phone tiredly.
"Polite," Huffard says after a moment. "Real polite. Real nice guy, you'd think. Wouldn't have picked him for anything like this."
"Yeah, well, the evidence says otherwise," Scotty says dryly, clearly not about to give anyone any benefits of the doubt.
Huffard nods in agreement. "How long did the drive take?"
"Four hours or so," Scotty says, shooting Lilly a grin. "Detective Rush lives up to her name."
She opens her mouth and then closes it again, returning his grin and feeling stupidly pleased that he's including her in on a joke rather than berating her for the ridiculous speeds she subjected him to earlier.
Huffard chuckles. "Well, take your time goin' back. You're gonna want to talk to this guy. If he's hiding something, it'll take time and pressure for him to crack. He's calm. Spooky like."
Scotty's jaw tightens and that exhilarated look reaches his eyes again. Lilly recognises the pleasure of a new challenge and barely resists the urge to roll her eyes at him.
She turns to Huffard instead. "So where is he?"
Huffard looks at her for a long second before answering. "You folks sure you're okay to drive right on?" he asks.
Lilly settles a glare onto him. "Fine," she answers stiffly.
He nods and turns, waving them on. "He's out here. Kicked up a fuss when I put him in the cells. He's just sittin' here, real quiet..."
John Smith is sitting rigidly on an uncomfortable bench, handcuffed and shackled. He watches the approaching detectives with interest, smiling pleasantly at them as they draw near.
"Detectives here to see you, John," Huffard says. "Get up."
John Smith glances Lilly up and down.
"The man said get up," Scotty says, his voice hot and hard.
Lilly feels it creep along her skin and settle in her chest and she resists the urge to curl her arms around herself and look at her partner. She can't figure out why her exhaustion is leading her to such sensitive reactions to him.
Focus, she thinks to herself, her mind's voice sharp and hard. You're awake. And you're working. Solve this. Find Brenda's body. Put this guy away. Think. Focus.
John Smith is smiling apologetically at Scotty. "These things make it hard to stand," he says, shuffling to his feet and motioning to the shackles.
"That's the general idea," Scotty answers. "Ain't meant to be comfortable for you."
John Smith's attention turns back to Lilly. There is a child-like curiosity on his face that makes her want to take a step away from him.
"I've never met a lady detective before," he says softly.
She eyes him off. He's an inch or two shorter than her, and built slight, like she is. But there's something wiry and sly about him that makes her glad he's handcuffed.
"Will you be interviewing me?" he asks pleasantly. He watches her without blinking. For a moment she considers him snakelike – hypnotic and dangerous.
"We want to know about Brenda MacDowell," she says, holding out Brenda's photograph in her fingers.
He doesn't even glance at it. He keeps his eyes on Lilly's and another quiet, pleasant smile spreads across his face.
"I told the sheriff I don't know that girl."
"Look at her," Lilly answers coldly.
Look at her. Look at your victim.
His smile fades a little and he frowns as he flicks his eyes to the photo. "Pretty girl," he says. Then, "Your fingers are trembling, detective."
Lilly glances at the photo in her hand and notices it's shaking in her grip. Caffeine. Exhaustion. Everything.
Shit.
She draws the photo back and tucks it carefully into the folder. "Let's go for a drive, John."
John Smith ignores Scotty as he grips the back of his collar and urges him forward. His eyes stay on Lilly as he's forced past her.
"Yes," he says softly, "let's."