Title: Him's
Rating: R, though rating won't kick in until later chapters.
Spoilers: Without A Trace: early season one, nothing specific. CSI: 215 Burden Of Proof
Timeline: pretend that Martin joined the team on WoAT a few months before BoP on CSI.
Summary: They both had their past him's that had left them broken. But the past is gone, and the future is what is at stake.
Thank you TheNaggingCubefor your note about my typos. I'm not entirelysure how those Los's escaped my notice in my final check.
New York was a surprise. True, location doesn't count for as much for the forensics part of things, but everyone knows that New York is just one step down from DC, which is where everyone in the FBI, from janitorial to CSI's to field agents and everyone in between wants to be. Sara had figured that she'd be assigned to some field office in Nowhere, USA, but it turned out that someone thought she was ready to skip the minors and go right to the pros. Which pleased Sara because, already, she had some semblance of respect for her worth within her field, and because her worth was being acknowledged by those with power. Not that she was desperate for promotion or wanted limelight the way people like Conrad Ecklie did, but Sara did like it when her hard work was acknowledged beyond an offhand and automatic 'good job on closing the case', which, in Vegas, she was lucky if she got half the time from him.
Her first assignment was something she had always hated working. Missing Persons. They didn't get many of those in Las Vegas, and the ones they did ended badly over ninety percent of the time. Sara had never even worked one before Vegas.
Sara wasn't good with hope. Never had been. And that was what missing persons cases were about. Hope that they would find the subject, alive and well. Hope that your evidence wouldn't end up with someone writing a letter of condolence to a mother or wife or husband. Hope that children would be back on the playground and friends would be back to regular weekly meetings at a favourite restaurant or bar. And, if all else failed, hope that the family would find closure because so many people never would have that small luxury and it was a horrible fact of both her trade and of life but the only thing that Sara knew she could do to change that was work every case the way she was taught.
With one other CSI, her probationary officer, Sara processed the scene. She did most of the work on her own, her PO seeming to prefer watching, observing, rather than gathering evidence, which she figured was a sign that he trusted her enough to let her basically solo on her first case with the FBI, so it didn't bother her in the least.
There wasn't much to process, to be honest. After taking some In-Situ pictures of the subway car there wasn't really anything she could do. Something like eighty-nine percent of New Yorkers take the Subway during morning rush hour, which meant that processing trace and fingerprints was an exercise in futility that would just piss off the techs back at the lab, something she tended to avoid because it's so much easier to get results from people who like you.
"Not the best first case out," her PO said as Sara sighed heavily, giving up on getting a lead from the subway car. They had only been given a few brief minutes to process the car because any longer would hold up all of New York, but both of them knew that even the few minutes they had were pointless.
Her partner was a stocky man in his mid to late forties with more hair coming out of his ears than covering his head. His name was Pete Tortino. He smoked heavily and was chomping away at a piece of gum while they were at the scene. They hadn't talked much on the way to the scene, such as it was, but Sara already knew that they would get along. He mentioned that he had read one of her papers a while back and thought that her ideas needed more cases to back them, and she returned with a comment on a paper that he had co-authored several years earlier that was similarly received by the few readers of that particular forensic journal, one that she had been a subscriber of for many years though she knew that most of the forensic community at large didn't feel most of it's contents were worth the paper it was printed on.
"There's no such thing as a good case," Sara said sadly as she closed up her case and exited the subway car. Six months ago she never would have said that, but somewhere between Vegas and New York she had stopped seeing every case as an exciting adventure and started seeing the human emotions behind the cases again. She hadn't focused on emotions in a long time, but somehow she had lost her ability to focus solely on the evidence and not on the people that the case involved. "What now?" she asked.
"I gotta be in court in an hour, so you'll havta break the news to Malone and Co."
Sara frowned and put her sunglasses on as they reached the street. "Who?"
"They're Missing Persons here. Best in the Bureau. Back at the office, eleventh floor. Jack Malone is the SAC," Pete said. SAC, or Special Agent In Charge, basically boiled down to team leader when it came to day-to-day operations. SAC only really meant anything when you got involved in task forces and multi-section cases. "You did good, kid. Jack'll understand. He prefers to work off phone records and pounding the pavement anyway. Forensics goes right over his head," he added gently. "You good to get back on your own? I gotta hit the dry cleaners before my appearance."
"I'm good," Sara nodded. She offered to take his case back to the lab and then she haled a cab and gave the driver directions back to the office.
The lab was in the basement of the building, a place not initially meant for forensics, but it was serviceable and there was a good flow to the many sections of the lab. Back in Vegas it seemed that everything revolved around the DNA lab, something that seemed to please Greg Sanders to no end, but the Federal Building had a long hallway with mini-labs on either side for whatever specific task needed to be accomplished. This hallway was closed off behind several security checkpoints and not even the Deputy Director in charge of the entire New York office was able to come to the lab without an escort and proper clearance. Security had been something of an issue back in Vegas, Sara had often thought, but it would be nearly impossible for anyone to tamper with the evidence in her new home.
After putting her case in her locker and tucking Pete's away safely as well, Sara found a bank of elevators and hit the button to take her to the eleventh floor. The doors closed and Sara leaned against the back wall, thankful for the brief moment of solitude. Her feet were killing her and Sara briefly entertained the thought of calling Catherine to find out how she worked day in, day out, in heels. One thing Sara already hated about the FBI was the damned dress code. Fortunately once she got past the security in the lab she was free to change into a pair of worn-out running shoes, something that a lot of people seemed to do, especially in the lay-out room.
Pulling herself together just before the doors opened on the eleventh floor, Sara mentally crossed her fingers, steeling herself for whatever came at her next.
Jack poked his head out of his office. "Who's working forensics on this?" he asked, nodding to the picture of Sylvia Hunter.
"Tortino and some newbie," Danny replied as he moved over to a map of the city with pins all over it. He had pulled shit duty this time, being stuck fielding calls from any and all concerned citizens who felt they might have seen the little girl after 8:18 that morning. "Katie Horseshoe or something like that."
"Yeah, something like that," was the dry reply. Danny turned and saw a petite brunette wearing dark pants and a jade blouse and looking none-too-pleased at that moment. "Sara Sidle. I'm looking for Jack Malone," she said. Danny pointed to Jack and sheepishly went back to his desk. "Agent Malone," Sara said, nodding her head in greeting.
"Where's Pete?" Jack asked.
"Court appearance. But if he were here he'd tell you the same thing as I am. There was no trace, fingerprints are an exercise in futility, and, without a less high-traffic crime scene, I'm afraid I can't give you any leads," Sara said.
Jack nodded. He's pretty much assumed that would be the case, but it was good to have it confirmed. "Alright. One of my agents is collecting the mother's clothing. Maybe there's something there."
"You're thinking that the mother is the guilty party?" Sara asked, not really shocked by the thought.
"Until we have something better we have to run down everything," Jack replied. He crossed his arms across his chest. "How new to this are you?"
Sara rolled her eyes. "You want a resume?"
"Indulge me."
"This is my first week officially working for the FBI, but I've worked some Joint Task Force cases before, mostly in Las Vegas. I was with the Vegas lab for two years, and before that I was in San Francisco for five years. I am by no stretch of the imagination, a 'newbie'," Sara said. "If you want more thorough credentials have Human Resources fax you a copy of my file." She handed him a slip of paper and then turned on her heel and headed back to the elevator. "Page me when your agent gets the mother's clothes," she called over her shoulder before stepping back onto the elevator car and disappearing from view.
Jack stared for a moment before looking down at the paper in his hand. It was a make-shift card with SARA SIDLE, CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATOR, LEVEL TWO, 5553019 written out in neat cursive.
"Watch your mouth, Danny, or you'll be getting real cozy with that board," Jack warned the younger agent before disappearing back into his office. Danny hung his head before going back to the phones.
Danny fielded too many more calls to count—amber alerts always seemed to bring about more calls to the hotlines—in the next hour, and was immensely relieved when Samantha and Martin appeared. Standing up and stretching his sore muscles, Danny looked at the pair questioningly. "Anything from the mother?" he asked.
"No. Took her clothes, had a DNA tech take a swab—though he has nothing to compare it to---asked a few questions, but we don't have anything other than Jack's gut saying that the mom's involved," Samantha said.
"The CSI was just up here. Left Jack a number. Wants to be paged when she can pick up the clothes," Danny said. He cast a forlorn look at the phones on his desk. "Can one of you field calls while I get some coffee, please?" he begged.
Samantha and Martin shared a look. They couldn't decide who would take pity on Danny—they had both been in his position before and knew that coffee was the only thing that would get you though the day—so Sam pulled out a quarter. "Call it," she said to Martin.
"Heads," Martin said as Samantha flipped the coin. She caught it and glanced at it before pouting. Martin smiled as Samantha headed over and took Danny's seat. "I'll talk to Jack," Martin said as the two men went off in separate directions.
Danny was heading back to his desk with a fresh cup of coffee—stronger than usual and without the diluting powers of cream and sweetener—when he ran into someone. "God—sorry," Danny said, praying that he hadn't spilt his coffee all over the person he'd run into. He looked at her, trying to asses the damage, and blushed slightly. "Sorry," he said again.
"About now or about before?" Sara replied.
"Both?" Danny tried. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was something about Sara Sidle that intrigued him.
Sara looked at him for a moment, her gaze intense, but then she nodded and flashed him a brief smile. "You're forgiven. For both. But only 'cause you look like you've been run over by every cab in a forty-block radius." Danny smiled, relaxing slightly. He hated not making a good first impression. "Okay, so your boss paged me. Where's my evidence?" she asked, eager to get to work.
"Uh… not my task at the moment," Danny said. He looked over his shoulder and spotted Martin who was helping Sam out with the map. "Hey, Martin, the CSI's here," he called. Martin nodded and, after sticking in a final pin, he grabbed a brown paper evidence bag off the conference table and headed over to Danny.
"Hey, man, you'd better get back to the phones. Sam's going crazy," Martin said. His head was down, his eyes fixed on the writing on the bag that designated it as evidence. "I'm not sure what you're gonna get off this, but here you… Sara?"
"Martin? Oh my god, what are you doing here?" Sara asked with a wide grin on her face. Danny felt a pang of jealousy, but quickly quashed it down. He had no reason to be jealous that Martin knew Sara and had been the one to make her smile like that.
"I've been here for a few months," Martin replied, a dimpled smile gracing his features.
Danny cleared his throat. "You two know each other?"
Martin chuckled. "We went to Harvard together. We were close," he said, leering at Sara playfully.
"Pfft. Hardly. The only reason you remember me at all is that I carried your sorry butt through your science courses," Sara shot back.
"That's not the only reason," Martin said with a grin. "You look good, Sidle. I like your hair short."
Sara's fingers went self-consciously to her brown tresses. "Yeah, I, uh, found it easier to manage for work. Less of my DNA to worry about in the field," she said.
"Hey, Danny, I'm done covering for you," Samantha announced as she headed over to the group. "Hi," she said to Sara.
"Oh, uh, Samantha Spade, this is Sara Sidle, the new CSI," Martin said.
"She and Fitzy go way back," Danny added with a smirk.
Martin rolled his eyes then looked at Sam. "Sara and I were in the same class at Harvard."
"That's nice," Samantha said. Sara shivered slightly at the coolness the agent was projecting. "Viv's got a family emergency. Jack wants us to go to the school, find out what we can there," the blonde said to Martin.
"Okay. Sara, great seeing you. We should get together later. Catch up," Martin said as he handed her the bag of evidence.
"Definitely," Sara smiled, taking the card Martin had pulled from his pocket after giving her the clothes. "Agent Taylor, Agent Spade," she said, nodding to them before heading back for the elevators yet again.
"I'll meet you downstairs," Martin said before ducking back to his desk.
Danny looked at Samantha critically. "What was that about?" he asked her softly.
"What was what about?" she asked.
"You acting like a lioness to Sara's hapless zebra," Danny said. He looked at his friend for a moment before heading back to his desk, leaving Samantha to think about his question.
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