Disclaimer: No infringement of copyright is intended. All characters originated with CSI:NY. Poetry not otherwise referenced is original.
A/N: Thanks to those who are sticking with the story, and those letting me know what they think. Finally, the team is all back together, but the problems are multiplying!
Spoiler Alert: Spoilers for Seasons 2 & 3, up to and including "Silent Night".
Interpretation
The first word a culture comes up with means "Human"
"Us"
Everything else is "other"
Thus language, which defines us as human,
Becomes the first wall we place between us.
When you speak, I hear confusion.
When I speak, you look at me, perplexed.
Language, which ought to unify us as rational beings,
Serves only to mystify us as members of a society.
When people spoke as one, the story goes,
They sought to reach the gods in a tower of stone
And were struck down, to run babbling away.
When we can once more speak
Heart to Heart
With no words to stand in the way of intention
To what heights may we reach?
SMT2007
Chapter 20: Translating Means Interpreting
Mac looked at the text message from Stella in confusion. He kept up with most things, but honestly, was it that hard to text a comprehensible message?
"Or even pick up a pen and piece of paper?" he muttered to himself, striding through the corridors.
"Mac? What's the matter?" Adam looked up nervously as Mac stormed into the lab and thrust a phone at him.
"Can you read that?"
Adam looked at the text on the screen, frowned, then looked up at Mac, "Umm. Yes?"
Mac got a grip on his temper, reminding himself that Adam needed a gentler touch than other people, and that shoving his head through a wall would probably only slow things down more. He took a deep breath and stepped away from Adam carefully.
"Adam, can you translate this for me, please?"
"Um. Natalie Chance needs to see you – she's worried about Reed. Call, and then the phone number?" Adam couldn't help but wonder how hard that was to read - it made perfect sense to him.
"Thank for your help, Adam," Mac said over his shoulder, already dialing the number. He couldn't help but wonder how hard it would have been to just write out the words – it would have only taken a few more letters. And why use a 'z' when the 's' was easier, and had the added advantage of being right?
"Natalie? Detective Taylor, Mac Taylor here. You came to the station yesterday looking for me? Is everything all right?"
Adam watched Mac out the door, waiting until he was sure the boss was gone before he enlarged the window he had frantically minimized when he had seen Mac striding through the corridors. He took a deep breath, trying to will his heartbeat to slow down, then continued with his message.
To: Aisha Blanco
From: Adam Ross
Subject: Re: WTH Game?
Yeah, game. I said you're playing a game, and you keep changing the rules.
It's like watching Australian Rules football. I know football. I know rugby. I know soccer. So why can't I figure out Aussie Rules football? Surely it has to follow at least some of the same basic formats? But it doesn't. Maybe you have to be born knowing it. Maybe someone's supposed to teach you before you learn to speak. Whatever. I just know that I don't get it.
And I don't get what you are doing, A. I mean – we get along, don't we? I like you. You like me. I send you my picture. You send me a calendar pinup done by some guy you say isn't interested in your body. Seems to me he sorta forgot to put something in the picture. What was it now? Oh, yeah, I remember – it was your face!
We plan to meet. You don't show. I hook up with some people (yeah, okay some girls) – you freak and accuse me of being a player.
I can assure you, I am many things, including a certified freaking genius, but a player I am not.
One more try. Saturday night. Coffee at Starbucks on the edge of Central Park. 7:00. You'll know me by my picture. I don't know whether to hope I recognize you from yours or not.
Adam
-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-
"Danny, Lindsay! Over here!" Stella waved at the two people entering the baggage claim area, smiling when she saw their hands intertwined. The smile faltered into a frown when they got closer and she could see the exhaustion on Lindsay's pale face, the grey tinge to Danny's. She turned to Flack, opening her mouth to ask him if he saw, then closed it as she noticed his grim face.
"You okay?" Something had been bothering him all afternoon.
"Tell you later." He said under his breath.
Stella nodded; then, carefully, she put on a cheerful smile as the couple came closer.
Lindsay reached her first, and Stella hugged her gently while Danny and Don bumped shoulders and went to the baggage pick-up to grab Lindsay's luggage. Lindsay followed Danny's progress with controlled panic in her eyes, and Stella gave her an understanding squeeze.
"He'll be okay now, Lindsay. All that fresh air just tuckered him out. He needs to get the smell of the city back into his lungs."
With a bit of an effort, Lindsay smiled, "And pizza. And real hamburgers. Buffalo just didn't have the same effect."
"Hey," Danny objected, coming up behind her, "I tried the buffalo."
"And made gagging faces behind my mother's back!" Lindsay shot back with a grin.
"It was okay once I got used to it," Danny said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at Flack.
"This from the guy who ate mealworms," Flack wrapped a gentle arm around Lindsay, "Welcome back, Linds."
"Thanks for coming to get us, guys. We could have managed a taxi," Lindsay said, looking around to check that she had everything.
"Ah well, all part of the service," Flack looked at Stella over the younger woman's head. "You guys stay here, and I'll bring the car around."
"Let's get this stuff out to the front. Lindsay, is this all you had? Danny, what about you?' She took the gym bag Danny hoisted out of his hands and firmly handed it and Lindsay's suitcase to Flack.
"You don't have to …" Danny started, but Flack was already on his way, long legs moving fast.
"Come on," Stella grabbed the last bag before Danny could move towards it, and followed Flack at a much slower pace.
"Things go okay today?" Stella said quietly to Lindsay, who had taken Danny's arm in a not too subtle attempt to give him some support.
She nodded, "The wreath was beautiful, Stella. Thank you for thinking of it, and for sending our uniforms. Mr. McKim was at a loss, I think. I wish I could have stayed to help him with the rest of the arrangements, but …" her voice trailed off and she bit her lip as she looked sideways at Danny.
His voice was a little rough as he said, "His sister was there, Linds. He'll be okay."
She sighed and nodded, but said nothing else.
"So let me catch you up on all the gossip," Stella said lightly, and began entertaining them with snippets of stories from the lab, keeping them laughing until they got to the doors, where Don was waiting with the lights flashing.
He shrugged when Stella shot him a disapproving look, "What? They tried to move me on!"
Stella helped Lindsay into the back seat, insisting that Danny take the front seat. When she got in his face to insist, he took the wind out of her sails by whispering, "Looks like you left out a little bit of prime info, Bonasera," and looking significantly Flack's way. While she sputtered and blushed, he snuck past her guard and climbed into the back seat with Lindsay.
She shrugged and slid into the front seat, glancing at Flack as she did. They weren't really that obvious, were they?
Flack killed the lights when Stella cleared her throat meaningfully, and drove competently through the crowded streets towards Manhattan and Lindsay's apartment. The burst of energy that had propelled Danny through the airport and into the car had left him, Flack saw; he was dozing in the back seat, hand tucked into Lindsay's.
"Good," thought Flack, "That should make this easier."
He pulled into a parking place near Lindsay's apartment and Stella jumped out. "This is our stop, Linds." She went around to the trunk and grabbed the bags Flack had put in, then stood on the sidewalk waiting.
Lindsay looked at Danny, whose eyes were fluttering open as he realized the car had stopped, He groaned a little, trying to wake up fully, and she pressed her lips to his quickly, whispering, "I'll call you tomorrow" as she slid out of the car. She turned to watch the car drive off; Flack had given her little time to discuss this enforced separation.
She grabbed one of the bags from Stella and walked into her building, struggling to find her keys at the bottom of her purse. She sighed with relief that there was no sign on the elevator; at least she wouldn't have to walk up to her apartment.
Stella paced her, not saying anything. It had been a little manipulative, she had to admit, not allowing Lindsay or Danny any say in which apartment they ended up in, not giving them enough warning to say good bye properly. She and Flack had had quite an argument about it on their way out to the airport to wait for the flight from Montana. She had won by drawing on her own experience. "If she is going to break down, it'll be better if she's in her own space and not with him. And can you honestly tell me it's any different for him?"
Flack had stared straight ahead at the New York skyline, then given a terse nod, "We'll do it your way then. I just hope he's too weak to take me out the way I deserve."
When they got to the door of Lindsay's apartment, she opened it as she had hundreds of times before, and stopped dead in her hallway, dropping the bags she had in her hands and covering her face with her hands.
"Lindsay? Lindsay! What is it? Are you okay?" Stella's voice was sharp, a little frightened. Lindsay had gone perfectly white, losing even the vestige of colour she had had coming off the plane.
The front hall … Danny's hands … his mouth hungry, relentless. The slam of the door … the wall at her back … shock turns to struggle. One hand trapped behind her, the other above her head. Bruising kisses … bruising hands.
Anger tastes like stale smoke… desperation. Submission tastes like honeyed wine: burning through her veins.
Taking becomes offering. No thought, no breath, only heat. The struggle to be closer, to feel more … the screaming urge to possess and be possessed.
The need to love and be loved. "Ti amo, mi innamorata. Siete la mia vita, il mio amore, la mia ogni cosa."
Lindsay gasped, swamped by the emotions from the last time she had been in this hallway. She could feel the wall behind her, could feel the heat pool in the pit of her stomach, could taste him on her, feel his anger and love surround her. She lowered her hands and rubbed her wrists reflexively, feeling again the bruises that had branded her his forever, she now realized.
With a little moan, she turned into Stella's waiting arms and burst into tears.
"Shh, shh, it's all right. Let it out, Lindsay, let it all go. It's okay now, kiddo, it's all over now."
-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-CSI:NY-
Hawkes walked up to the door of the clinic, glancing over his shoulder at the group of men who seemed to be there no matter what time of day he came by. The receptionist at the desk greeted him with a friendly smile, "Dr. Hawkes, isn't it? How are you today, sir? Can I help you?"
"That's pretty impressive, remembering me after only one meeting," Hawkes smiled at her.
"That's our Rica," Dr. Suq said from behind him, "She never forgets a face or a name, do you, Rica? She has been here at this clinic since it opened five years ago, but I'm sure she knows everyone in the neighbourhood."
The older woman laughed, "From elders to grandkids," she agreed cheerfully. "Been round here longer than most the buildings, and am older than everything but the dirt. Shoulda left here long ago, retired in the sun somewhere. Florida, maybe, or Nevada. Go see what Puerto Rico smells like."
Dr. Suq smiled with her, "Oh, go on, then. Retire and see where that gets you. You'd go crazy without all of us to look after and tell what to do. You know you would."
She turned to Hawkes, holding out her hand. "Dr Hawkes, it is nice to see you again. Did you come to see Miriam? She is not here, I am afraid; she left to go to a budget meeting with some of our funders."
Hawkes took her hand, surprised at how small it felt in his. "Actually, Dr. Suq, I came to see you. I have some news I thought you should hear."
Instantly sobered, Dr. Suq showed him down the hall to her office, and asked him to sit. She remained standing, looking out the window, hands clasped tightly in front of her.
"It's about Caitlin O'Leary, the girl we asked you about. She was, as you know, strangled. Her boyfriend, the one she told you about, has admitted to the murder."
Dr. Suq closed her eyes, her lips moving slightly. Hawkes sat silently, waiting for her to be ready, a still, calming presence. Finally, she opened her eyes and returned to her desk, where she steepled her fingers together and stared over her hands at Hawkes.
"You are sure that it was the boyfriend?" she asked.
Hawkes nodded, "We had the evidence. He confessed. And he had this in his pocket." He took out an evidence bag and passed it over to the doctor. "Do you recognize it? Her grandmother gave it to her at her confirmation."
A spasm of pain crossed her face as she looked carefully at the gold crucifix on the gold chain, but she said decisively, "I can say that she had a necklace very like this one which she was wearing when she came to see me. Naturally, I cannot positively identify this as that necklace." She ran a finger over the filigree design that surrounded the Christ figure, just as she had over the girl's face in the morgue picture and handed it back to Hawkes. "Did he say why? Was it because of the abortion?"
Hawkes shook his head in reflex at the pain in her eyes, then caught himself and shrugged. "He hasn't been too coherent. He seems to blame her the most for seducing a priest." He watched her carefully as he said it, and did not miss the signs of deep anger: the pinched lips, narrowed eyes, and clenched hands.
When she spoke, however, it was in her customary calm, quiet voice, "No matter how far we may feel women have come, Dr. Hawkes, it is clear that there is still much work to be done before the absurdity of that statement becomes unthinkable."
Hawkes inclined his head, "I agree, Dr. Suq. Isn't it just as important, though, to remember where we came from? After all, who would have thought, even in this country, even as little as one generation ago, that today a black man and a Muslim woman would share the profession we do?"
He smiled at her, the same smile that had convinced numerous women of all ages that he could be a friend for life, and was surprised and a little disconcerted to see her drop her eyes while a gentle flush of red swept over her dusky skin.
"Um, Dr. Suq? Would you like to go have coffee with me?" It was out of his mouth before he had even thought his way through the first problem, and as the flush on her cheeks deepened, he stammered, "I'm sorry. That was foolish – perhaps you are not permitted to drink coffee?"
Dr. Suq looked up at that, her eyes flashing with laughter as she answered, "Ah, Dr. Hawkes, we Muslims invented coffee. Come. I will teach you to drink coffee Persian style."