The Crush
A/N: I couldn't decide which fandom to put this in, so I settled for a crossover: "Without A Trace" and "CSI: New York." However, there will only three characters per fandom appear in this story: Danny, Sam and Martin from "WaT" and Mac, Danny and Aiden from "CSI:NY". My apologies to Jack (who has, however, a sort of uncredited cameo), Viv, Stella, Hawkes and Flack. A little bit of 'shipping included (S/M and D/A). Sorry for the lack of creativity on my part as regards Tricia's profession (I'm an interpreter-to-be myself), but what do they say? "Write what you know."
As always, please tell me about any mistakes you spot and don't forget the review J
Classification: General fic with a tinge of romance/drama. Set during season one of CSI:NY (when Aiden is still there) and season three of WaT (after Sam and Martin broke up). I hope I don't interfere with canon in either show, but here in Germany we haven't yet got past these seasons mentioned. Rated PG for some language and sexual tension.
Summary: A body is found that has been dead for six years. Five days later, a young woman disappears. These two seemingly unconnected cases bring together the CSI team and the FBI Missing Persons Department - and they realize that, once they've started digging, the cases might have more in common than they thought...
Disclaimer: I don't own either show. I'm borrowing the characters from their creators, Hank Steinberg (WaT) and Anthony Zuiker, Carol Mendelsohn and Ann Donahue (CSI:NY). Thanks for giving them to me for the duration of this story J No money is being made out of this.
xxx Now the story xxx
Beautiful is empty
Beautiful is free
Beautiful loves no one
Beautiful stripped me
- Creed, "Beautiful"
PROLOGUE - The Crush
April 7, 1999 - July 30, 1999. Steinbeck High. NYC.
Patricia Quinlan hurried through the corridors of Steinbeck High in search of her Spanish course. Due to some unexpected room change, which she had not been informed about, she was lost. And Señor Hernández Pérez was pretty sensitive when it came to students arriving late for his classes.
"Crap," she muttered, speeding up a little. She was already out of breath, and if she didn't find the course soon, she'd huff and puff like a steam engine. For the umpteenth time, she cursed herself for doing so little for her fitness. But when you had fifteen pounds overweight, you were naturally reluctant to dress up in sporty attire and make an ass out of yourself by showing the whole world - or rather, the whole gym - in what bad shape you really were.
She slowed down again, allowing her breath to normalize, and finally spotted the right room. Thank goodness for the small windows in the doors. She knocked and entered.
"Ah, Señorita Quinlan, que sorpresa." Señor Hernández Pérez bowed mockingly before her. "¿Por qué llegas tan tarde?"
Oh, wonderful, Tricia thought sarcastically. Now he wants me to explain. Thank goodness her Spanish was quite fluent.
"Lo siento, señor," she panted, infusing her voice with an apologetic tone while trying at the same time to talk as rapidly as she could - for she knew from experience that rapid Spanish that was grammatically correct was apt to impress any teacher. "Nadie me dijo que habíamos cambiado la sala, y yo estuve enferma los tres días pasados..."
"Bien, bien, siéntate," the teacher interrupted her, his stern expression softening a little. "Acabamos de empezar. Página ochenta y dos."
Tricia gratefully slid onto her chair beside Cordelia and opened her book at page eighty-two.
Halfway through the lesson, Cordelia nudged her. "Hey, Trish, turn around," she whispered. "I think Morris wants to ask you something."
Tricia's heart immediately sped up. Morris Greek, the most handsome boy in the whole year, if not the whole school - at least in Tricia's humble opinion - wanted to ask her something?
She turned around, carefully, lest the teacher notice, and looked directly into a pair of smoky-gray eyes. It was all she could do not to back away in surprise. Morris was leaning over his table toward her.
"Here, you could help me." It was not a question but a simple statement of fact, and Tricia wondered again why the hell she had such a violent crush on a boy whose arrogance seemed to radiate off him in waves.
But he was so damn handsome.
Scolding herself, Tricia started to explain Spanish indirect speech to Morris. She should know well enough that Spanish grammar was the only thing that would ever make someone like Morris - gray eyes, classic features and a lean, muscular body - talk to someone like her: a pretty but plump girl, neither hip nor cool, who was constantly being ignored by the Popular Ones. Nothing would ever change that. She was way out of his league.
She finished her explanation and Morris nodded curtly. "Hey, thanks." He did not smile at her; he did not even fully look at her. She knew he would forget her as soon as he turned around.
"Tri-ish!" Cordelia whispered urgently, nudging her hard. "You're staring again!"
Tricia quickly averted her eyes from Morris's handsome figure and focused on her friend.
"Did anyone notice?"
"Don't think so. He didn't, that's for sure." Cordelia cast her friend a sympathetic glance. "You should really forget him, Trish. He's not worth it."
"That's what you say," Trish said bitterly. "You have a boyfriend, and a really great one. But I..."
"You'll find the right one, too, believe me," Cordelia assured her. "But I'd rather it wasn't such an arrogant brat!"
Tricia smiled. Her friend always knew how to cheer her up again.
xxx
"Shall I give you a ride home?"
"No, I'll walk." Tricia refused Cordelia's offer. She had to do some shopping before she went home, and the next supermarket was right between the school and her home. It wasn't a long way; Tricia lived very close by.
Cordelia waved. "See ya tomorrow, gal. Stay rude."
"You too." Tricia waved back, then she turned around and left the parking lot. She was headed for a shortcut through the network of alleys and backstreets that separated Steinbeck High from the next main street when she suddenly heard a metallic click and a suppressed curse. Curious, she stopped, went back to the corner she'd just turned and peered around.
For a moment she did not know what to make of the picture presented to her: Morris Greek was standing beside a red convertible that looked very expensive, leaning over the door.
What on earth did he lose in that car? Tricia thought, but then realization hit home, and she gasped. Morris's fingers fumbling with the ignition and the furtive looks he cast back over his shoulder every now and then only allowed one conclusion: he was about to steal the car!
Tricia stood rooted to the ground, unsure what to do. Should she turn on her heel, run and tell someone? Should she talk to him, talk him out of it? Or simply do nothing?
When Morris spotted her, she still hadn't made any decision.
His handsome face went pale for a moment, and before Tricia could react, he was running in her direction. She made as to turn on her heel, but he snatched her by the arm and held her back.
"Hi, Tricia," he said, and her heart started to race. He knew her name!
Apparently he mistook her racing pulse for fear, for he loosened his grip on her arm and smiled at her - the first real smile she had ever received from him. It made her knees go weak, and she made an enormous effort not to start staring and drooling. The hint of menace she'd thought she'd detected in his voice when he first spoke disappeared when he continued and gave way to something Tricia would have sworn was a charms offensive à la Morris Greek.
"Nice car, isn't it?" He pointed his head at the convertible. "That's a Corvette. Can you imagine the feeling to drive this baby at a speed reaching the three digits?"
"And that's what you were about to do, right?" Tricia replied. Her voice quavered a little but at least her knees felt solid again. "Who does this car belong to, if I may ask?"
Morris had the decency to blush slightly. "I could tell you now that it belongs to my uncle, who's in the fashion business," he said. "Or my second cousin, who is a model for DKNY. But I'm afraid you wouldn't believe either version."
"Quite right."
Morris was still looking at her. "Oh, come on," he implored. "Look, I only wanna borrow the car. For a joyride. I'll return it. I mean, I couldn't very well sell it, let alone keep it. My dad might get suspicious if I did." He smiled weakly. "So you see, I have no choice but to return it. And the guy who owns this car probably has three more cars to spare."
He was probably right. Tricia debated. She shouldn't give in. She had caught him red-handed in the attempt to steal a car that was worth more than both her parents together earned in a year.
On the other hand... how could she tell on Morris Greek and risk that he got into serious trouble?
Morris had been watching her carefully, it appeared, for as soon as doubt showed on her face, he immediately pounced on that.
"Don't tell anyone, please, Tricia," he pleaded. "I promise you, you won't regret it."
"I won't...?" Tricia looked at him, interested but skeptical. "What could you possibly do for me, Morris?"
She saw realization dawn on his face even before he spoke.
"Listen, I have an idea," he said urgently. "You're not very... I mean you're not someone who..." He paused, blushing. "You're not really popular, are you? No offense meant," he added hastily.
Tricia almost choked on her own breath. What the hell...?
"Maybe I could do something about it," Morris continued. "You know, boost your image a little bit. Say hello in the corridors, talk to you for a bit during lunch break, that sort of thing." He scrutinized her, frowning. "I could introduce you to the girls, but I must say I doubt that they'll find you, uhm, interesting enough to be one of them..."
"Who says I wanna be part of that bunch of stuck-up, stupid bitches?" Tricia retorted, upset. She knew who he was talking about: Alejandra Zapatero and her friends Macy, Kristen and Suzanne. The most popular girls at school; the notorious quartet of rich and beautiful girls that seemed to exist in every single high school in America. Tricia had long since stopped marveling at the fact that teen movies weren't completely wrong, after all, in depicting the social structures at a high school.
Morris raised his hands at Tricia's infuriated answer. "Sorry, didn't mean to offend you. So you don't wanna be popular, or what?"
"Not like this," Tricia explained. Then she grinned. "But I'll accept the other offer. It'll probably stop a few girls from picking on me when they see that I know you. Or at least seem to know you," she amended.
Morris heaved an audible sigh. "It's a deal, then?" he asked. "You don't tell on me, and I help you over the last few months here."
"Deal," Tricia agreed and reached for Morris's outstretched hand. He pulled back, though, and looked at her. "But this agreement does not extend beyond school," he warned her. "I won't pay your monthly rent or something like that."
"Geez, what are you taking me for?" Tricia couldn't help laughing, despite or because of the absurdity of the situation. "I have no intentions to blackmail you in ten years or so. I won't tell, and you'll help me a little bit, and that's all. When school is over, I'll just forget it."
"Thanks, Tricia." They shook hands.
Then Tricia turned on her heel and walked away, down the same way she had come. Behind her, she heard more clicking and cursing, and finally the powerful engine of the Corvette sprang to life.
She did not look back, still unsure whether she had made the right decision.
But her guilty conscience was overwhelmed by the joy she felt inside. Morris Greek might not find her attractive, but at least something between them would change. He would know her.
xxx
"Hi, Tricia."
"Morning, Morris." Tricia's stomach still flipped a little every time this conversation took place, but gradually, routine was setting in. Still she would almost burst with pride whenever she saw the incredulous expressions on various girls' faces who saw her greeting one of the most popular boys in this casual way - and him greeting back.
"Thanks for last week, by the way," Morris called after her. "You're my heroine, to be sure."
"Anytime," she called back, unable to suppress the wide grin that spread over her face. "Last week" referred to a three-hour session that had included herself and Morris, two pots of coffee and the Spanish grammar book. It had helped Morris through the last Spanish exam of the year and had probably improved his grade by one or even two notches. But for someone who did not know that, Morris's comment might have implied something entirely different. She could have kissed his feet for making the comment sound so suggestive, which he had probably done on purpose. Not exactly in order to help her as such, but Morris Greek was always apt to provoke.
She was still grinning when Cordelia fell into step beside her.
"Won't you finally tell me why you and Morris suddenly get along so well?" she asked.
Tricia smiled secretively. "Let's just say I helped him out in a slightly, uhm, tricky situation. And his way of saying thank you is not to ignore me any longer."
Cordelia stared at her. "You're actually happy about that, aren't you?" she asked with a frown.
Tricia blushed. "Well," she drawled, "happy is maybe a little bit exaggerated. But it's OK by me."
Cordelia shook her head. "You know, you don't have to do this, Trish," she said. "You could do much better than that. Morris Greek is so arrogant he doesn't even notice how arrogant he is. You did something for him which probably saved his ass, and his gratitude consists of conversation!"
Tricia sighed. "I knew you wouldn't understand," she said. "It's more than just that. The simple fact that he speaks to me in public..."
"... is the worst case of patronizing behavior I've ever encountered!" Cordelia finished heatedly. "Where is your self-esteem, lady? You're much more than that; you don't have to contend yourself with a condescending Hello every now and then."
Tricia fell silent, musing over Cordelia's words. Was her friend right? She probably was, but it did not change anything. All that counted was that her status in the high school hierarchy had indeed improved a little bit. She was still not within a shout of being really popular as such, but word had been spread that she was under Morris' protection. If anyone tried to mess with her, Morris would defend her, at least to a certain degree. They were not friends, of course, but Tricia sometimes wondered whether the difference between a loose friendship and the relationship between her and Morris was really so big.
Besides, their conversation clearly extended beyond a "condescending hello."
And this was more than she'd ever dreamed of.
But it also made it harder to forget him.
xxx
The last week of school had started, and Tricia had long since given up the hope that anyone would ask her out for the prom. But she wasn't the only single girl in the year; many would come alone and still have fun. She'd go with Cordelia and Ben, her boyfriend, with whom Tricia got along very well. Ben had already promised her an occasional dance, and she had the feeling that the prom wouldn't be too bad.
It would, of course, also be her penultimate possibility to see Morris. After the prom, the year would only gather together once more, namely when the diplomas were awarded. The feeling was both relieving and depressing.
She would remain in New York after school and attend a foreign languages' institute. She'd decided to brush up her Spanish and study translating and interpreting. She had no idea what Morris had planned; he'd hovered between law and journalism last she'd heard.
But she didn't want to know. Her crush on him still existed, but it had changed over the last few months. She knew where her place was, and knowing him better now, she was certain that they would not match, anyway. What she felt for him now was more like the distant kind of love that a fifteen-year-old girl might feel for her favorite popstar. She would have framed a picture of him, had she had one.
To Cordelia's great joy and relief, Tricia felt ready to let Morris Greek go.
But not until next week.
xxx
The gym was decorated with glitter, tinsel and paper garlands. Soft music was playing in the background; the live band would not perform until after the election of King and Queen. Tricia, Cordelia and Ben got a table in the middle of the room and settled down. Ben, always a gentleman, offered to get them their drinks, and the girls gratefully accepted.
They sat there for quite some time, watching the people arrive and say hello. Occasionally, someone greeted them or talked to them for a few minutes. Tricia felt relaxed. Tonight, all the quarrels and rivalries that existed among the students would be outshone by the unique feeling of freedom that everyone had. School's out forever! One phase of her life would be completed tonight.
When Morris and Alejandra, as expected, had been elected King and Queen, the ceremonial part of the evening was over and the band began to play: "School's Out," of course, and Tricia smiled. She leaned back in her chair and watched Ben and Cordelia dance, feeling only a very slight pang of longing. Tonight she almost believed that her Mr. Right wasn't far.
She looked away from her friends and watched Morris, her feelings oddly detached; for the first time in days, she had an inkling that this time she would be able to forget him. After tonight she'd get him out of her head, 'nuff said!
She followed his moves with her eyes, secretly, wondering again why he had attracted her so much. Usually Tricia didn't give much about a person's outer appearance; she'd always been more interested in character than looks. But with Morris, everything had been so different. His handsome face and figure were only part of the attraction; Morris Greek was a strong personality, a powerful physical presence. The problem was that he knew it, and Tricia doubted that he was actually mature enough to handle the impression he made on others, especially girls. He was charming and flirtatious but at the same time could be ruthless and unscrupulous. More than once, he'd shamelessly taken advantage of others, and while he was never really cruel, he often forgot to stop and think about what he was doing.
The band played another song, Joydrop's "Beautiful," and Tricia smiled to herself. She loved the song; it expressed almost literally what she sometimes thought. If I was beautiful like you, all the things I would do... But I'm not beautiful like you... I'm beautiful like me!
"Tricia?"
She jerked around only to find herself face to face with Morris. She had not even noticed that he'd no longer been in her sight.
"You having fun tonight?"
Tricia nodded. "I am... your Majesty." She made a mock bow in her chair.
Morris grinned.
Tricia looked at him, silent. She felt relaxed. Relieved. She could look at him without having her vision blur at the edges. Without blushing, without fearing every second to make a fool out of herself. All of a sudden, she no longer cared what Morris Greek thought of her.
I'm over him, she realized, amazed.
She took a breath to speak when Morris surprised her by holding out a hand to her. "Let's dance," he said.
Tricia smiled, pleased but not exactly surprised. Somehow she'd known that this was coming. She rose from her chair, and without a word, they went to the dancefloor. They had hardly started dancing when the song was over, but the next one was similar in style and tempo, so they only changed their rhythm, adapting quickly to the new beat.
Tricia smiled again to herself. There was no better way to end both her time at school and her crush on Morris Greek.
She danced closer to him and pulled him by the collar, until his left ear was level with her mouth.
"Remember what I promised," she said. "I'll forget everything. You've paid your due. I don't suppose we'll stay in touch, right? So this is your way of saying goodbye and thank you..."
Morris stopped dancing and surprised her by looking straight into her eyes. "Goodbye and thank you," he repeated. "That's a good way of putting it. No irony meant." He put one arm around her, briefly, and gave her a jovial slap on the back before the moment could get awkward. "You saved my ass," he said. "And by the way, I did return that car."
"What car?" said Tricia and grinned.
He stared for a moment, then his face broke into a grin as well. "No idea what you're talking about," he agreed.
They danced in silence until the song was over, then Morris told her he needed something to drink.
Tricia returned to her table and to Ben and Cordelia, feeling elated and relieved as if a huge weight had been taken off her shoulders.
I'm free, she realized, smirking at the dramatic formulation. It wasn't meant to be, and now I'm over it. And I couldn't have imagined a better closure than that.
Morris didn't come back and didn't ask her for any other dance that night.
xxx
Tricia saw him only once more, when one week later the high school diplomas were awarded. He acknowledged her with a brief nod and a half-smile, and she returned the gesture. There was no need for more. The strange connection that had linked them together somehow over the past few months was rapidly fading; Morris had already fallen back into his old habits and behavioral patterns.
But now that was OK by her.
She hardly ever thought of him during the next few years, and gradually, the past events of April 1999 began to fade from her mind until the sight of a red Corvette only evoked faint memories of a long lost feeling, the blurred image of a handsome, arrogant boy and the idea of an unusual agreement between two very different persons.
She kept her promise, just like the boy she'd once known had kept his.
She never told anyone.