I do not own Cold Case.
Thanks so much to Rhonda Roo, RavennaNightwind, fbi-woman, Aniesa a.k.a Eric's baby, LME, shippergrl25, lux08, Dybdahl, Dancing Phalanges, toe, Cat 2, and Elfi Blue for your wonderful reviews. And always, thank you readers for taking the time to read my little story. I appreciate all of you. :)
Early bird gets the worm
She was up at the crack of dawn, shirt tucked, hair done, and suit polished all before leaving the house at a quarter to six. She had been forewarned by the rest of the crew concerning Scotty's work habits. Early riser they said and if she expected to even be remotely considered for the job as side kick, well then she would have to show him that she was capable of keeping his schedule. Why? They didn't know. They figured that he resorted to this as some sort of test. If she could run with the best, then she might be able to pin down the prize of being seen along side him out in public. Silly, but true.
It wasn't, however, worth grueling over as she passed out the door and into the still silent darkened world of Philadelphia. The streets had been cleaned, but no one except her and a few passersby had attempted to fight the cruel winds of winter just so that they could slap on a few extra hours of work before the sun had a chance to wake from its slumber. It was all relative as she hopped up the steps to the headquarters. Her glances around the dimly lit offices suggested that her new mentor was probably in the file warehouse. She looked at her watch which read 5:55 a.m. She had starting now, approximately four minutes to get her skinny butt across the courtyard, into the warehouse, and down the stairs before he took to writing her off as a slacker. She would then be christened with the name Lily Rush: Former detective-Almost made it into the big leagues/Now has-been.
5:56. 5:57. 5:58...5:59. Time's up! I'm screwed.
Her feet scurried over pavement, through dead grass, and finally hit the welcoming stairs that led downstairs to the file room. A massive site to behold, but quite frightening now that she knew her fate as a detective was essentially held within the hands of one Scotty Valens, who at present sat stone-faced pretending to read a case file, while instituting time-checks via wrist watch.
Time monger, she thought, resentful of his lack of faith in her character, but then again, he hadn't really worked with her before and excellent references from his own team probably hadn't set well with him either. She was the enemy and he, the ever-ready warrior, prepared to take on the challenging offender.
"You're late."
An immediate time check proved otherwise. It was only 5:59 a.m.
"I am not. I have one minute to spare..."
He ceased turning the pages of the file and breathing or so she thought as he shot his eyes up. "No, you're late." I am not!
"I'm...okay, I'm late," she admitted without cause as she aimlessly searched for a chair. None were to be found and the possibility of even having to ask him were such an item could be located was enough to turn her stomach inside out.
"Chair's over there," he lazily cocked his head to the right and kept on his way.
There is not a chair over there because I just looked...oh, wait. There really is a chair over there. Jerk. The day had to get better. Partin was no choir boy, but Valens turning him into a saint and it the whole process had taken all of about five minutes.
He rose from his pseudo-throne and proceeded to walk past her, put on his coat, then turned to address his new protégé. "What did he teach you? Did he let you interview a potential suspect with questions? Were you able to witness the interrogation process..."
There was no time to process his requests for more information, for as soon as he let one line of questioning out, another followed immediately. He didn't allow her to give answers. He didn't even stop for a breath or two, he just kept on. Mission: torpedo hit target. Her silence served as justification and panic rose in her throat allowing him to launch into another set of questions more specific than the last. His focus never wavered from her blue orbs. He was a pro at dragging his intended victim through the ringer.
After several more punches to her ego, his inquiries finally ceased, but now he found it necessary to intensify his stare. "Well," he stated as he shrugged his shoulders.
"Uh, I uh, I didn't get much action out there. I mostly did the paperwork for his cases-I mean, he took me with him on visits to crime scenes, but never to question witnesses or suspects," she finished, nervously intertwining her hands.
"Hmmm," he began as he again walked past her and started up the stairs.
"Where are we going?"
"We? I," emphasis was his weapon of choice, "am going to re-interview the witnesses for my case and you are going to stay here," he explained.
"Stay here? And do what?"
"Wait for me to come back, oh I do have some paper work that I need filled out. It's not the same as homicide, but you'll figure it out."
"But," she argued without thinking as she moved towards his figure in the doorway.
"I said stay here!"
"Okay," she obeyed.
The next four hours were spent fumbling towards insanity. The man must have sworn off all desk duties for the last five years. Mounds of files had to be sorted, signatures written, and dates researched. Nothing was in order, total chaos ruled and as far she was concerned, if she never saw another file in her life then she would die happy. Her fingers began to cramp and her hand muscles twitched, but still, she trudged on. Maybe, somehow, her pain would prove to him her dedication...she hoped.
Scotty, however, didn't decide to haul his high and mighty ego back into the office until after Rush had already left. The table once littered with various files and such had been cleared, leaving a shiny appearance for the first time in many months. He had to admit...he was pleased. But, only pleased.
(Three weeks later, Cold Case warehouse)
"Scotty, look, I can do this," the blond-haired detective argued, but her partner refused to bury the belief that she was, unlike him, prepared for the task at hand.
It was the constant flow of normalcy that had finally caused the shy detective to snap. Eight hours a day, sometimes seven days a week of nothing, but stacks and stacks of papers tended to lean a little more on the dull side. Her enthusiasm was not motive enough to convince him that she was ready to trade in the pen for the gun. He simply wouldn't allow it, his ego wouldn't let her rise from that desk.
"You've never interviewed suspects before. Why should you start now?" Her eyes narrowed at the intended allusion that somehow she would be worn down and subsequently quit before ever gathering the guts to challenge his authority.
"You are just like Partin you know," She swung herself around towards the door, but quickly corrected her direction so that she faced him once again, "except he was a pitiful fool and you...well, you are just a jerk."
It was a split-second reaction that ignited the proceeding bitter-filled screaming match. First, the repulsed shock from Lily at ever having the nerve to bite back and second, Scotty's spark of anger that never seemed to extinguish even in the best of situations.
Stalking her into a corner, he fired "Rule number one, don't you ever undermine my authority. You want to go and play little detective here because you think in that blond brain of yours that six years of school has bought you a front row seat out on the field, but allow me to be the first to inform you-you don't know the first thing about solving a case!" His words echoed throughout the building, reverberating in her soul. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right to some extent.
"Fine. I'll stay here," she accepted quietly.
"Good. See you later."
He had won the battle, but was about to lose the war.
(Jack Carr's house, age 63, Sandra Carr's case-previous suspect)
"So, you don't know if Sandra had a lot to drink that night because you were," motioning around the living room, "here. Not at the party. Not watchin' out for your little sister-so what were ya doin'? Huh?"
"I'll tell you the same thing that I told the police forty years ago, I didn't kill my sister. I was here with our Mother and Father, sleeping-" The old man's voice was filled with unshed angst, his brown eyes piercing Scotty's as he stood to deliver the last line of his alibi.
"So you were here sleeping..."
Outside a car door slammed and out popped Lily Rush, along with Miller and Vera. Scotty stared in disbelief at his own friends. Had they really fallen over to Rush's side?