Disclaimer: The Pact is Jodi Picault's, Shakespeare owns R+J, CSI is owned by rich TV peoples and I just write fanfiction.
A/N: Reviews and sugggestions make me work faster, that they do.
9:35 am.
Warrick and Sara walked down the sterilised corridors of the hospital, heading for the room where Chris Harte was recovering. Nurses and patients gave the two CSI's curious glances, but did not get in their way.
Warrick looked sideways at Sara. "You alright? You been pretty quiet."
Sara shrugged. Her eyes were sad. "Nothing."
"Doesn't seem like nothing to me," Warrick said, stopping in front of the door. "Talk to me."
"Some other time," She sighed. "Talking's gotten me in more trouble today than I need to be in."
Warrick raised an eyebrow. "Your fight with Val?"
Sara stared. "How did you now about that?"
Warrick gave his trademark humourless smirk. "After you stormed off, Val went after you because she was worried about you. Couple a' minutes later, she storms out and heads straight to the layout room."
"The layout room?" Sara frowned. "Why?"
Warrick barely batted an eyelid. "Because she has a case to work on. And, in case you didn't notice, whenever Val doesn't want to talk about anything, she'd rather 'get back to the case'." Warrick paused for a moment. "She also looked pretty mad."
Sara winced, but said nothing. I'm going to have to apologise later.
"Whatever you two fought about, I'm not going to pry." Warrick knocked on the door with his bandaged hand. "There'll be plenty of time to talk about it when we're off the clock."
We are off the clock, Sara thought miserably. You can see daylight.
The door was answered by a tall blonde woman. Her weary eyes hardened with suspicion as she took in Warrick and Sara. "Yes? What is it? Do you want to talk to Chris?"
"Ma'am, I'm Warrick Brown and this is Sara Sidle," Warrick maintained his professionalism. "We're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab."
"And the detective who came before was with the Las Vegas Police," the woman said, her voice low. "What more do you people want?"
Warrick and Sara exchanged glances. A cop had already been here? "Ma'am," Sara frowned, "We were wondering if we could ask Chris a few questions…"
"Let me guess," the woman interrupted, "'Where were you? What happened? Do you know what happened to Emily?'?" The woman's eyes narrowed into slits - more out of anguish and the desire to protect her child than out of anger. "The same questions that woman asked three hours ago? No." She folded her arms. "I'm not going to let you interrogate Chris again. Not now. He's been through too much already."
"It's okay, mom," A voice creaked weakly from inside the room. "Let them in."
The woman looked torn - she looked back over her shoulder, to the bed where a prone figure struggled to sit up. He was wearing hospital scrubs and a thick layer of gauze was wrapped around his head.
"It will only take a minute," Warrick said soothingly.
Finally, the woman sighed, and reluctantly stepped aside for Sara and Warrick to enter. There was a man asleep on a chair in the corner, half-leaning against the wall, his face anguished as he slept; the hospital bed was occupied by a trim handsome teenage boy. His hair poked through the bandages, blonde and unkempt.
"I'm Chris." The boy said. His eyes were filled with pain, but not for himself. "Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you."
Warrick sat on a chair close to the bed, notebook in hand; Sara hovered near the doorway. Chris' mother - Augusta (or Gus as she preferred to be called) eyed the two CSI's warily.
"How you feeling, Chris?" Warrick asked.
Chris gestured to the bandages on his head. "Sore. Tired." He paused, took a deep breath. "And… and guilty."
Augusta Harte tensed. Sara glanced at the woman, gauging her reaction.
"Guilty?" Warrick frowned. "Why?"
"Because I couldn't save her." Chris whispered. "I tried to stop her but I couldn't save her. And now Em… she's…" Chris' Adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, "She's dead." Tears welled up in the teen's eyes, but he wiped then away with the back of his hand.
Warrick took a breath. "Chris, could you tell me what happened?"
"I already told that detective," Chris whispered, confused. "Why do I have to go through it again?"
Mrs Harte glanced at the sleeping man in the corner, as though thinking about waking him up.
"Please, Chris," Warrick said. "We need to know this."
Chris took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. "Emily and I were going to kill ourselves. Together. We went out to the carousel, and we took some Canadian Club."
Warrick dutifully took notes. Chris' mother closed her eyes and sighed; Sara didn't envy the woman for having to hear this a second time. But why weren't we told that an officer had already been here?
"I took my father's gun, and we… were going to kill ourselves. Together."
The man in the corner shifted slightly, and Sara realised that the man - Chris' father - was only pretending to be sleeping. He was just listening… silently. Wanting to hear if there was a change of the story?
"What happened?" Warrick asked Chris.
The boy shrugged. "I don't know. I don't remember. All I know is…" His voice cracked for a second, he had to clear his throat. "All I know is, Em is dead, and I'm still here." His eyes grew sad and distant. "And I don't know why."
Warrick looked up at Chris' mother, then back at Chris. "Did you two…"
"Fight?" The man in the corner said, "No, detective, he's been asked this question already." The man sat up, frowning slightly. "Don't you have enough? Why do you have to keep questioning our boy?"
Warrick looked at the man, and explained patiently, "Please, Dr Harte, I'm just doing my job."
The man nodded miserably, and rose to his feet. "Aren't we all." He gave a meaningful look to his son - who kept his eyes on the bedsheets - before stepping outside. Mrs Harte bit her lip, trying to decide whether to leave with her husband or stay with her son. She chose to stay.
Warrick turned back to Chris. "Did you and Emily… get involved this evening?"
"You mean have sex?" Chris looked at Warrick frankly. Warrick, a little thrown by Chris' bluntness, nodded. "Yeah," Chris affirmed, "Yeah, we did." Chris glanced at his mother. "We did."
Warrick asked to take the boy's fingerprints - he complied. Warrick also took samples from under Chris' nails and swabbed the boy's hands for traces of GSR. Augusta Harte just watched, silently, but looked offended that such procedures needed to be carried out.
Mrs Harte sat down in the chair her husband had vacated, and held tight to her son's hand, as though to comfort him; but Chris did not hold on to her. Warrick looked up at Sara, indicating he had everything he needed. Sara, however, felt the need to ask the boy one final question.
"Chris?" Sara cleared her throat. "Why did you decide to commit suicide?"
Chris looked up at Sara, confused that she would ask such a question. "Because Emily wanted to." He said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Mrs Harte stared at her son, her hand slowly releasing his. Warrick and Sara also stared, their faces twisting with emotions they didn't both to hide.
"And why did Emily want to commit suicide?" Sara asked.
Chris looked down. "I don't know." He whispered. "I mean, I might have known… But now… she's gone."
Warrick looked over the bed at Mrs Harte and nodded. He smiled at Chris, but the boy was already gone. He was staring at his hand - his left hand - as though remembering something. Warrick and Sara left quietly.
"He was wearing scrubs," Sara said softly once they were outside. "We need to get his clothes."
"Hopefully they didn't throw them out," Warrick said, his eyes half-lidded and his face unreadable. They accosted the next nurse they found, who led them to the room where Chris' personal effects had been kept.
Within five minutes, they had the clothes. And all the evidence that was on them.
Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant: Hail, Emperor, we who are about to die salute you.
- Suetonius
8:49 am
Grissom pulled up short outside Brass' office. He'd heard Brass lose his temper before. Even through the walls of the detective's office, Brass sounded like Zeus' own avatar.
"You deliberately breeched protocol!" He thundered. None of his anger was lost on the woman sitting stiffly in the chair in front of Brass' desk, her back to Grissom. She made a muted reply, which just seemed to set off Brass even more.
"And you should have stayed there!"
The woman's voice rose, indignantly. "With all due respect, sir…"
"You're new to Vegas, so I'll lay down the law." Brass slammed the palms of his hands on his desk. "You may have worked for the Feds, but that don't mean jack down here. This is your second murder case in ten years, and you had no idea what you were doing. I don't know what kind of hero you're trying to be, but it's not working. The Feds may have cleaned up your messes…" The rest of Brass' voice faded into mumbles and snarls through the glass. The woman in the chair barely moved.
Grissom decided to turn away to wait. There was no need to eavesdrop anymore.
Two cops came down the hall, too involved in their own conversation to notice Grissom.
"Ten years is nothing to be sniffed at, you know what I'm saying? Even if it was a desk-job, that amount of time is still impressive."
"I kinda feel sorry for the new girl, though. First night on the job and she screws everything up."
"If you ask me, Marrone did the right thing."
"That's not what the nerds would say."
Grissom cleared his throat, and the two cops finished their conversation, guiltily, but kept walking to their destination. Grissom frowned slightly, irritated. They still call us 'nerds'.
The door to Brass' office swung open, and a brunette in uniform stormed out, head held high and a flush to her ears. She stomped off and didn't look back. Grissom waited until Brass had sat down before knocking and letting himself in.
"Hey, Gil," Brass waved wearily. "Come in, take a seat." The detective rolled his shoulders. "Man, I need a drink."
Grissom jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the way the woman had exited. "May I presume that was Sergeant Marrone?"
Brass growled. "Yeah. And I had such fun chewing her out." He shook his head. "But, unfortunately, I can't take her off the case. I haven't got the manpower. I may not like what she's done, but I need her on the case."
Grissom sat down and waited.
"She remind you of anyone?" Brass asked.
Grissom's eyes tightened. "I really couldn't say."
"Culpepper, maybe?"
Grissom nodded slowly. The thought had crossed his mind.
"Well, that's who she seemed like to me. But, hey, them feds all seem the same after a while." Brass sighed. "Enough about Marrone. We have a problem."
"Another one?" Grissom raised an eyebrow.
Brass smiled politely. "You must think this case is jinxed."
"I don't believe in jinxes."
"I thought you wouldn't." Brass steepled his hands. "But I just thought I should let you know that we're going to have to arrest that boy."
Grissom stared. "What?"
Brass shrugged, helplessly. "The Mayor wants answers, Gil!"
"We haven't had this case for more than a few hours!"
"I know that. The Mayor knows that. But there was a leak to the Press." The lines on Brass' craggy face creased further as he gave a weary sigh. "And the take on the Romeo and Juliet story was that Chris killed Emily. We're going to have to arrest him. For his protection… as well as for the evidence."
"He could be completely innocent, Jim," Grissom protested. "If you arrest him now, he'll have that black mark on his record for the rest of his life. Besides, you can't arrest anyone without evidence!"
"Marrone went to a DA."
Grissom swore.
Brass nodded. "That's exactly what I said." He shrugged, "My hands are tied, Grissom. The DA told the Mayor about Marrone's conclusion, and the DA wants the Mayor to do something." He paused, and let out a sigh through his teeth. "One more thing - Chris turns eighteen today. And many happy returns to the poor kid."
There was a very pregnant silence.
"If he's convicted," Grissom took a breath, "He'll be tried and punished as an adult."
Brass nodded, then stared down at his desk, as though wishing he could somehow make this problem disappear. But that was Grissom's job.
And so Grissom got to it.
