HOUSE OF CARDS
Disclaimer:I still don't own anything you recognise.
"Mr Stokes, I'm David Elliott from Internal Affairs. I need to ask you some questions concerning tonight's shooting."
Nick nodded. He was used to these stark, formal interrogation rooms, but not from this side of the table. It wasn't a comfortable feeling. "Sure." He almost said "Shoot", but decided in time that that was not likely to endear him to Elliott.
"Describe to me the events that led up to the shooting."
"I was working the case of a young homeless women who was found in a warehouse downtown. She'd been raped and murdered. CSIs Grissom and Sidle were working the case with me." Nick paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "CSI Grissom accompanied the body to the coroner, and CSI Sidle and I remained to process the scene. "I was working inside the warehouse and CSI Sidle was outside. I heard footsteps enter through the rear door and looked up, expecting to see CSI Sidle or one of the officers on duty." He paused again, swallowed, went on. "Instead it was a man in his early twenties. He was waving a gun around. I asked him to put it down, but he kept approaching me. He was talking - raving. I think he was high on something. He had me backed up against the wall when CSI Sidle entered." Nick tried to talk as blandly as he could, trying not to see the man's eyes as he spoke. "And she shot him," he added.
"Did CSI Sidle warn the victim that she was about to shoot?"
Nick sat silent, trying to remember. In truth, he only barely recalled Sara's entrance, and the only sound he recollected from those moments was the man's voice, and the gunshot, breaking through everything. "I don't know," he replied, slowly and reluctantly and hating himself for every word.
"Why did CSI Sidle enter the warehouse?"
Nick sighed. "I don't know. Maybe she'd found something, maybe she heard a noise. You'd have to ask her."
"I will. All right, Mr Stokes, let's talk about CSI Sidle. How long have you known her?"
"For six years, since she transferred to Las Vegas."
"Do you know her well?"
"Yes," Nick replied, in perfect truth.
"And you were working a rape case with her."
"Rape and murder," Nick clarified, wondering where this was going and suspecting that he wasn't going to be very pleased when it got there.
"Given CSI Sidle's usual reaction to rape cases, do you believe she was in a fit state to mind to be working in the field tonight?"
Nick clenched his fists under the desk. "Yes. I believe she was."
David Elliott cleared his throat, studied Nick's face for a few seconds, then turned his eyes to the papers in front of him. "Tell me about your relationship with CSI Sidle."
"Sara - CSI Sidle - and I are good friends."
"Is that all, Mr Stokes?"
"Are you implying something, Mr Elliott?" Nick countered, knowing that the man was, and trying to keep his cool.
Elliott extracted a sheet of paper from the pile and handed it to Nick. "CSI Ecklie of the day shift lodged an improper conduct complaint against you and CSI Sidle three months ago regarding an incident in the locker room at CSI."
Nick dropped the piece of paper without looking at it. He knew what it said. "I'm not sure how that's relevant."
"Mr Stokes, are you having a physical relationship with CSI Sidle?"
Long minutes of silence passed, broken only by the loud ticking of the clock on the wall. Nick stared down at the desk. No matter what he said it was likely to be the wrong answer in this situation, so he said nothing at all.
"What I think happened, Mr Stokes," said Elliott, finally, "is that CSI Sidle saw you in danger and reacted emotionally and unprofessionally without following the correct procedures."
Silence.
"Is that a possible explanation for the events, Mr Stokes?"
"If Sara hadn't shot that man when she did, I'd probably be dead!" Nick leant back in his chair and put his hands over this face, the reality of death encroaching on him even here in this sterile room.
"That's very unlikely, Mr Stokes, because there were no bullets in the victim's gun!"
Nick started, and stared at Elliott in surprise before recovering himself. "Makes no difference," he said. "A gun is a weapon even unloaded. Anyway, neither CSI Sidle nor myself could have known it was empty."
"Neither of you made an appropriate attempt to communicate with the victim. You both assumed that he planned to shoot you, Mr Stokes, and reacted accordingly."
"Have you ever had a gun pointed at your head, Mr Elliott? It's common to make a lot of assumptions in that situation, and none of them involve the idea that the gunman might not be planning on shooting you! Look, Mr Elliott, what are we doing here? Are you trying to bring Sara down?"
"I am trying, Mr Stokes, to demonstrate to the public that members of the Las Vegas police department are professionals who use force only as a last resort!"
There was silence in the room again. Nick found himself looking everywhere but at Elliott, wondering how Sara was, trying to erase those crazed eyes from his memory.
"I may want to speak with you again, Mr Stokes," Elliott said eventually. Nick took this as a dismissal and walked out into the corridor on legs that didn't quite seem to support his weight.
The noise of the PD corridors, never silent even in the middle of the night, was a welcome relief from silence and irritation. Nick walked the corridors simply because he didn't know what else to do. He'd almost been killed. Sara had saved his life, and now it seemed like she was going to be in trouble for it.
Where was she, anyway? She had to be off with Brass somewhere waiting for Elliott. Nick suspected he wasn't supposed to talk to her, but all he wanted was to see that she was all right, and to prove that he was all right, too.
Nick walked, and walked, without seeing her anywhere.
Sara had locked herself into a cubicle in the women's bathroom. She sat with her head in her hands, unable to stop reliving the evening's events. She saw herself walking into the warehouse, saw Nick, backed up against the wall, a gun almost touching his head, the look of fear in his eyes. And then she'd just... reacted. Pulled out her gun and shot him.
At the same time as she saw Nick dead, his eyes staring but sightless, the images of nightmares past and nightmares to come, she saw the dead man, felled by a bullet from her own gun, and she hated herself.
It was an unthinkable choice. She knew she could not have stood there and watched Nick die. To do that would have killed her too, because her heart was too much bound up with his at the moment. She had made the only choice she could, but in doing so she had done something she had always sworn she would never do, and Sara did not promise things, to herself or to others, lightly. Now the knowledge that she had done the only thing she could was little comfort.
After a long while, she stood up, unlocked the door, washed the few traces of tears from her face, and stepped back out into the world to face the music.
Brass was waiting for her, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Nick was hovering anxiously by his side. There was a look of something pained in his eyes, but they lit up when Sara emerged. She smiled at him, anxiously, nervously, and was really rather glad that he wasn't dead. "David Elliott's waiting, Sara," said Brass, almost softly.
"Okay." She swallowed.
"You'll be all right," Nick whispered, putting one hand on her shoulder for a moment as she prepared to follow Brass.
Sara looked at him, and wanted to go home, but instead she swallowed again and started to walk.
TBC...