Mark Hoffman
"Hoffman," Captain Grissom called out to the new detective, coming out of his office towards the floor of desks on the main level of the Metropolitan Police Station. It was a typical Monday morning, the smell of burnt coffee, shoe polish, and aftershave greeted the senses. Hoffman slugged back his first morning cup of coffee, got to his feet and strode towards his supervisor. It was his first day in plainclothes, the shirt and tie feeling looser and alien after five years in the uniform. He had just been promoted that Friday to Detective. It took five long years, but he finally made it.
Angie had baked him a cake, it was a good weekend.
"Sir," He waited expectantly, looking down at the shorter man. Captain Grissom was five foot six, stocky, and full of sass. The man had a mustache that gave him a walrus-like appearance. The big round glasses didn't help his case.
"In my office," Grissom went in, striding to his chair behind his large desk piled with mountains of case files. A small woman with reddish brown hair was standing in black dress slacks and a light blue button-down, a badge dangling along a chain around her neck. A Smith & Wesson was at her hip, small caliber, probably because her thin wrists couldn't support the recoil of a gun with thicker ammunition.
"Who's this?" Hoffman wasn't in the mood to wait for either person to explain.
"Detective Wilhelmina Maddox," the woman introduced herself, holding her hand out. "Everyone calls me Will."
"Detective Mark Hoffman," he warily studied her face. She was barely reaching his shoulders, and he wasn't that tall. She had thick red curls tied back into a bun that gave her a frizzy helmet look. Amber eyes looked up at him, large but sharp with attention. She had a firm handshake, surprisingly strong for her size. She at least had muscle. He saw the tendons in her arms flex, biceps that were more impressive than imposing, but at least they existed.
"Maddox is from California. Folks out west have said good things about you, Maddox."
"Thank you, sir." She broke eye contact first, pulling her hand out of Hoffman's grip and placed the hand on her hip, next to her gun. He kept watching her, already feeling a tightness in his chest of where this was going. "I look forward to being part of the team."
"Excellent. Well, Hoffman is one trustworthy son of a bitch. He'll show you the ropes. This city ain't the suburbs and you'll need someone who will have your back while you get your bearings out here as you transition from handling cartels to our shade of crime families."
"I understand."
"Good." Grissom flashed warning eyes to Hoffman. "Bradshaw is the blond to the right." He pointed outward toward the windows that showcased the chaotic sea of desks just outside his office. "Closest to the windows. He'll take you to your desk."
"Thank you, sir." The woman nodded her head towards the Captain and left.
"Shut the door, Hoffman," Grissom leaned back on his chair.
Hoffman did so and quickly turned to the man. "She can't seriously be my new partner. She'll break like a toothpick in two days."
"She's got a cool head and a track record that'd put all you oafs to shame."
"It takes just one time. One time for someone bigger to have the drop on her. And everything's bigger than her. She seriously can't expect to work the city. Why was she transferred here?"
"She made the request."
"Get out. She's delusional."
"She has yet to not solve a case put in front of her. Though," he held his hand out, "they've been small change compared to what we get here. She's hungry for more. And she's a professional. Hasn't caused her supervisor any headaches with the paperwork that you've been fucking me with. She doesn't use excessive force. She keeps her nose clean."
"What, I don't?" Hoffman gave a smile. "Come on, Grissom. I get results."
"And so does she. Look. I'm not happy about getting another pretty face in here to distract all you knuckle draggers from your jobs. That's another reason I'm putting you up with her. You keep your eye on the prize. Like a bull in a china shop, but you never get distracted. I think you two will work out. Just give her a chance. You're brute force and raw muscle. She'll be the brains and your leash."
"That's fucked," Hoffman shook his head, folding his arms. "You expect me to watch that kid's back and leave mine open for a knife?"
"I expect you two to look out for each other, in your own way. She's been trained, just like you. She better hold her own, but don't just leave her to hang and dry when the going gets tough. I expect you both to do your jobs and work together. You may still be too rookie to get the big picture, but I can't just put two heavy-handed bastards out without some moral setbacks. Why'd you think I separated you and Matthews as soon as you two swaggered through here from the Academy? Think of her like that angel on your shoulder that tells you not to pull the trigger."
Hoffman smirked at this. "You make me sound dirty." Besides, I already got one of those.
Grissom sneered back, good-humored. "Not at all. You're a damn good cop, Hoffman. One of the best, though I'll deny ever saying that if you go swinging your dick around to the boys outside. I expect you'll go up the ranks fast, so long as you keep that goddamn temper in check and use your head. And she," Grissom nodded off to the woman in the distance, "will join you up there. My gut is telling me she'll be healthy for you. Just don't fuck her."
Hoffman let out a breath of disbelief, imagining the possibility. "Yeah. Wasn't planning on it. I prefer blondes."
"Yeah, that's why I don't hire any," Grissom and Hoffman let out boisterous laughs.
"Fine. I'll give it a trial run. But if she starts slacking, I'm requesting a different partner."
"I'll deny it."
"Fuck you."
"Get out of my office, Hoffman," Grissom was looking at paperwork, having lost interest in their camaraderie.
Hoffman stepped out into an echo chamber of telephone rings, loud drunken arguments, and the rushed policemen walking about their business. He looked towards his desk coolly, noting Maddox was seated at the once empty desk right across from him. She was seated to face him. Fuck. He did not want to work with her.
She turned to look up at him. "Bradshaw got me caught up to speed." She had opened a manila folder, the pictures of a child splayed out on the pavement with blood running down his face. "Hit and run, on 3rd and Bronson. What did the cameras at the intersection show?"
Hoffman went to his seat and slowly sank into the chair. He tried not to glare at her but knew he was failing. "Cameras haven't been functioning in years. City budget's been tight."
She let out a breath through her nose, blinking rapidly and flipping through the paperwork. She was chewing her lip as she studied. "Any witnesses questioned?"
"No one we spoke to can ID the car. Or even give a description."
"I see. Any homeless around?"
"Yeah."
"None offered anything?"
"No."
"Um… were you the one asking the questions?" She asked with a passive tone, though her eyes seemed to bore into his skull.
"Yeah. Why?"
She leaned back, tapping her finger against the file. "Call it a hunch, but mind if we go and question the witnesses again?"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You think you can get them to remember something I couldn't?"
"Can I be brutally honest?" She raised an eyebrow and gave him a small smile. He noticed she had freckles on her cheeks. She looked younger than Angie. She shouldn't be here. She didn't belong here, in this trash city. "Hoffman?"
He blinked. "Shoot."
"This is a first impression, so bear with me, but you seem kind of intimidating. A little scary."
How the fuck have you made it this far in the force if I scare you, Maddox.
"So… imagine how someone from the street feels if you came up and just started asking them questions. If I was a witness, I think I'd be a little more stressed out answering questions from you than say… some unimposing person like me."
At least she's self-aware.
"So let's take a drive. I'll treat us to some coffee. You can wait in the car and I'll take a shot at it.
He doubted she'd make progress, but he wanted to see what she could do. And if she failed, at least he'd get front row seats to the show. "Fine."
When they went to the parking lot, he walked to the left of her side, though she seemed to want to outdo him as she walked faster strides to outpace his long gait. He kept his eyes straight ahead but watched her closely at the corner of his eye. He noticed a plain gold wedding band that swung at her side with a cheap sports watch at her wrist. Her fingers were unmanicured, the nails short. She looked practical, from her black shoes that weren't actual dress shoes but running sneakers and her dress slacks looked elastic-as if they were just yoga pants with pockets. He let his eyes finally wander from the bare nape of her neck and let his gaze lower to the skin-tight lycra of the curve of her backside. At least the view's decent, he thought in passing before slamming the door on that mental room. He needed to focus. Not get distracted. It was a sure way to get them both killed.
He noted she took the driver's side, sliding in and already starting the engine, making him go to the passenger's side. This disoriented him, seeing her take control of the steering wheel. He didn't like that. She turned and backed out of the spot. As soon as they were off the police lot she slammed her foot on the gas and the sirens went on.
His head flew back and hit the seat headrest as she sped down the road, cars moving out of the way as the car roared through. "Jesus, Maddox," he hissed as he gripped the sidebar of the door holding on for life.
"What's up?" She seemed oblivious as she dodged cars, driving on the left side of the road to get around traffic jams.
"This seems excessive, the witnesses aren't going anywhere."
She let out a giggle, prickling his ears with the unfamiliar sensation during his working hours. That dainty laughter just wasn't something he heard when the sun was up. "Maybe. But are you telling me you city slickers don't pull this once in a while?" She turned to him briefly before returning to study the road, dodging around more cars. "By the way… you need to give me directions."
He scoffed in disbelief. "Seriously?"
"Yep. Sorry. I don't know the best coffee spots yet. I only arrived last month. Where to?"
He figured she was flexing her driving skill, trying to earn some brownie points by flaunting her competence in her offensive driving abilities. She wasn't bad, but it seemed unnecessary. Too showy. "Grissom said you're a professional."
She let out a small "Ha!" before turning the emergency lights off and silencing the siren. She stopped at an intersection red light. "Damn, I guess I'm just proving him wrong, aren't I?"
"What's your game?" He didn't like whatever it was she was doing.
"Just wanted to shake things up a bit. Besides, you're cute when you're scared."
He stared at her, his ears ringing. "What?"
She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "I'm busting your chops, partner. Chill."
He didn't like her. He decided it.
She shook her head and continued the drive, stopping at the curb in front of a nearby coffee chain. "I guess it's basic brew, unless you have a spot. What'll you have?"
"Just a coffee."
"Not a pumpkin spice latte type?" She waited for him to respond. He had decided to just glare at her in silence until she took the hint. She went unphased by this, instead shrugging her narrow shoulders. "Fine, I'll surprise you."
She went into the cafe and he continued to watch her over a distance. She yawned and stretched, the action showcasing her feminine form and aggravating him more. This wasn't going to work. He already knew this would end badly. He watched her wait for the drinks, her back to him the entire time. His mind was reeling with the possible options. He could request a new partner. But Grissom would give him grief. Maybe he could find someone to request her as their partner. Who? Bradshaw? Michaelson? Bates? Bradshaw needed a partner. Maybe he could put in a request. He'd talk to him. The guy would probably get on his knees and thank him for the opportunity. Wait, Bradshaw was married, wasn't he? Fuck.
Hoffman knew that was one of the biggest reasons he was paired with her. Grissom would never admit it, but it was obvious. Not many of the guys would want to explain to their wives that their partner, who they spend more time with than their spouses, would be a member of the opposite sex. It was too complicated. No one was that trusting. Cops already had high divorce rates. So he was the best option.
He noted she had ordered a box of pastries, which she supported with her forearm while holding a sealed cup in each hand. She arrived back to the car, going around streetwalkers, handing one through the passenger window towards him. "You seem like the white chocolate matcha latte type," she passively mentioned as she went to her side of the car and sat back while taking delicate sips of her drink. The white box of pastries smelled sweet and made his stomach growl. He wasn't going to ask her for any, though.
He glared at her, knowing she had gotten him the most prissy drink out of spite. He decided to return the favor. He held the cup out of the car, tipping it just a few degrees at an angle, waiting for her to respond. She kept her face stoic, their eyes locked dead. He gave her a dark grin as he began pouring the drink out, then wincing when some of the scalding liquid burned his hand.
"Wow," she sarcastically murmured while handing him a napkin. "I heard you were a little thick, but-"
"Shut up," Hoffman hissed. It was plain black coffee. Simple. Straightforward. She had thrown him off with all those yuppie lattes she kept describing. His fingers stung but he salvaged the rest of his drink, taking sips while keeping the fragments of his dignity tight to himself.
"Fine. Let's just have a truce. Let's just get this case done, head back and figure out what the hell we're going to do with each other then."
He nodded. "Yeah."
Wilhelmina Maddox
Will knew he didn't want her around. He made it painfully obvious, with the scowl on his lips, the squaring of his broad shoulders, and just the overall unpleasant way he treated her. She had observed his interactions with all his other colleagues - all male - and had picked up that he was giving her the double standard treatment. Typical.
That's what gave her very little sympathy when he burned his hand when he tried to get a rise out of her by wasting a perfectly good cup of coffee like an asshat. Sure, she had acted a little brash when she decided to go full cowboy with her first time driving through the city in her assigned car. But fuck it, she never got to have the chance when she was just a suburb cop. She loved the city and how everything was so compact. It made it fun to dodge obstacles and find the narrowest alleys to brave through.
She was hoping to get a fresh start in MPD but it looked like it was going to be an uphill climb. No one knew her, which meant no one had a reason to trust her yet. She needed to prove herself, once again, to all these new faces that valued strength and power over wit and passion. She had to find ways around her limits. She had found throughout her earlier rookie years that people tended to underestimate her, which was a dangerous mistake for anyone to make. She found that the more people underestimated her, the easier it was to prove them wrong. Hoffman seemed to be making that very same mistake. She just hoped he was just passively sexist and wouldn't try to prove himself a man by other typical means.
She sighed as she made her way down towards the crime scene. It had long been secured, with no remnants of perimeters being established. Pedestrians were walking around, the intersection looking ordinary. She pulled out her notepad and flipped through the notes she had jotted down while Hoffman had been chumming it with the Captain earlier that morning. The names and descriptions of nearby witnesses were mostly the local homeless. She looked off in the distance and saw a few vagrants slumped against the dilapidated bricks, cardboard signs with sharpies begging for mercy and help, pleading out to the people who pointedly ignored and walked over them.
"Okay. Wait here. But back me up if things get dicey?" She shot him a questioning glance. "Hoffman?"
"I'll keep my eye on you," Hoffman muttered, avoiding her eyes.
"Thanks." She took the box and left the car, clearing her throat and taking a leisurely stroll towards the vagabonds.
"I come in peace," she called out as they looked up to her approach. They eyed her weapon and badge. One got up, squatting in preparation to run. "I'm not here to arrest anyone. I just have some questions about a hit and run. I know none of y'all had anything to do with it, but I just want to help his mom find closure. And there are some fresh muffins right here, all for you guys." She squatted down to their level and opened the box, holding it out to the gaunt men, waiting for them to make the next move.
"We ain't seen nobody," one skinny, dirt-caked hand shakily reached out and grabbed a pastry. He looked down at it and then back at her. "Who're you?"
"My name's Will. I'm investigating a hit and run that happened," she pointed at the intersection, "right over there Wednesday night. Little black kid was hit. His mom is heartbroken. Can anyone tell me about it?"
"Was he riding a bike?" Another man took one of the muffins, taking hungry bites and reaching for another in his spare hand. She placed the box in the middle man's lap.
"Yep."
"I saw it." The third man shook his head. "It was a fancy car. Some rich guy."
"Did you have a color?"
"Yeah. If you got twenty dollars."
She smiled at the guy. "What's your name?"
"None of your business, doll."
She sighed. "Well, if I have information that is useful to this investigation… there is a reward."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. But I've got to hear the right information."
"Sure. How do I know you're telling the truth."
"Well, I brought muffins. Doesn't that make me trustworthy?" She smiled sweetly, her heart skipping a beat as she felt herself grow nervous. This could be a dead end.
"A little. Better than that partner of yours. You ask nicer than he does." The man nodded towards her car, where Hoffman made no effort to hide or look as uninvolved as possible. "He broke my sign. I had to find a marker to make a new one. You have any idea how hard it is to come by one legally, miss?"
She sighed.
"Yeah, tell me about it. He's kind of an asshole."
The group laughed at this, snickering at the woman calling the big scary cop names. "Aight. Because you've been so nice, maybe I have seen something. But I want some proof that you're going to keep your word about that reward."
She pulled a wad of cash out of her sports bra. The men whistled, elbowing each other at the show. She counted the bills and handed him the money. "Here's a down payment. There's more in it for you if what you tell me is useful."
"Honey, I've got some juice for you." He leaned forward, his breath smelling of old liquor, onions, and baked goods. His fingers were yellow and melted to the bone. "It was an orange Mitsubishi. License plate was from this state. Said 'sunrise' on it."
She raised both eyebrows. "You're not yanking my chain, are you?"
"Not at all, Will. Not at all. Thought the car was a little loud. That plate sure stuck in my mind. Name's Bryce. I'll be here. Don't you forget about me, girl."
"If what you're saying is good, Bryce, I'll be back."
"I like chocolate chip scones. Bring me some of those next time."
She smiled at that. "I'll remember." She put her hand on his arm and squeezed it. "Thank you."
He nodded and took another muffin from the box in his lap, chomping down. She got up and walked back to the car, ears humming. This was either one lucky break or a huge waste of time. But she was an optimist. She got into the car, letting out a breath.
"Well?" His deep voice was dismissive.
"They said the car was an orange Mitsubishi with the license plate, 'sunrise'."
"Sounds like they're full of shit."
"It's the only lead we've got." She looked at him. "Let's check it out."
"Fine." He looked out back at the three men. "You gave them money."
"Yeah. Only way to get them to open up."
"Still, you shouldn't have done that."
"Well, it doesn't hurt to have some people on the streets in our pocket."
Hoffman seemed to ponder this, then dialed on his phone. "It's Hoffman. Run a registration check on an orange Mitsubishi. Local plates that say 'Sunrise' on it. Yeah, guy sounds like a real douchebag. Call me or Maddox when you get the results." He hung up and nodded to her. "All right, let's go."
As she started the car and pulled out, he turned to her. "It's lunchtime."
"I can eat. What're you hungry for?"
"I know a place. Take a left on Bronzeville." She obliged, following his gruff instructions until they reached a hole in the wall. It was a gray brick building with no signs or indication it was a place to grab any food or do anything besides continuing to drive away. Hoffman didn't say much, he simply got out of the car. She followed Hoffman's lead, following him behind the unmarked door.
It was a smokey den; the smell of cigarettes, the sound of pool cues clacking, and large men turning their eyes on her greeted her as she entered.
She quickly shielded herself mentally, keeping her eyes straight ahead to Hoffman's back. This felt like one of those machismo tests. Another way to make clear that she was not in her element. That she didn't belong. This was not new for her. She kept her calm and joined her partner at the bar.
She noted Hoffman ordered a whiskey on rocks. The bartender raised an eyebrow at her. She ordered a coke. The bartender shot Hoffman a smirk and looked at her. "You new?"
She smiled and nodded, and the man handed her a greasy menu for her to admire and went off to serve some biker-looking types further down the bar. She turned to Hoffman, the urge to remind him that he was on-duty arose, but held her tongue. She had given him enough pain for the day. She simply swirled her straw in her drink, admiring the levels of condensation dripping down the glass as it pooled on the dirty bar top. This place sure is humid.
"So... what's good here?"
"The Jameson's cheap and hasn't been watered down."
She sighed. "Food, Hoffman. What's good to eat?"
She looked through the list of lunch options. It was typical bar fare. Burgers, fries, sandwiches. She opted in for a chicken sandwich and fries, and Hoffman ordered a burger. He had taken a swig of his drink and was watching a football game on one of the TVs..
She smiled in her soda, enjoying how basic bro Hoffman was. He seemed to notice, blue eyes flashing at her. He glowered, his lips pressing his plump lips together in a way that made her ears feel warm. She kept her smile as their eyes locked. He had a decent face. He would almost have been considered attractive if he relaxed the hostility. She rested her hand on her cheek and let out a frustrated groan. "Come on, Hoffman. Lay off the scary guy routine. I'm not your enemy."
He turned. "Look. I've got nothing against you. I'm sure you're a hardworking, honest person. But this isn't like out west. This city is going to chew you up and spit you out."
"I'm counting on it hitting me with its best shot," she responded, sipping her soda. "I think I'll manage."
"Look. We can put you with forensics. Let me talk to Grissom. We've got positions that will be more suited for your... stature."
She kept smiling. She had seen this coming. Despite Hoffman's aggression, it was far from abnormal of a reaction. "I get it. You probably could literally kill me with one punch. But I can handle myself, Hoffman. During this grace period, I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities where you're going to see this."
"You're not listening-"
"No, you listen," she slammed her glass down. "I've spent eight years onin the force. I've seen my fair share of loss and death and I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere, Hoffman. You can either accept it and we'll make one hell of a team, or you can drag your feet and only screw yourself in the process. I'll keep my head above water. I'll take down the bad guys in my way, just like you have your way of serving justice to the public. I'll fucking thrive, like I always do. I've made it this far and I intend to keep going. And you don't want to know what life will be like for you if you get in my way." She realized she was practically jabbing her finger into his chest and curled her extended finger into a fist. "Shit, you made me lose it." She grit her teeth and turned back to her soft drink.
She hated feeling the heat of triumph pouring off him hot enough to burn. She could tell he was positively brimming with exuberance at her outburst. The bartender arrived with two baskets of sandwiches, putting their respective orders in front of each other. She huffed and angrily chewed on the french fries, staring intently at the rows of liquor bottles lined up in front of the mirror that reflected herself and Hoffman who had his head turned to her with a teasing, shit-eating grin.
"Grissom said you could keep your cool. I guess he's full of shit."
"Yeah, well Grissom said you were a decent person worth a rat's ass, and so far you haven't proved that right, either." She snapped, sipping from her soda again. The sound of the straw sucking and snapping from lack of liquid to siphon through reminded her that she had already finished her drink. She was suddenly too angry to eat. "I'm going to the head. Don't eat my food."
He let out a harsh laugh and she stormed down the narrow hallway nearby, the only bathroom around a corner. The smell was awful. God, I can't believe this is what he considers a good spot for lunch. She shivered at the sight of the toilet and proceeded to do her business, squatting over the seat. After washing her hands she looked up to the cracked window to see that a hauntingly angry woman glared back at her. She looked like a banshee out for blood. Shit, he got to me. She gripped the sink and let the sound of water running help soothe her nerves. He had found her sensitive spot. It was an obvious one, but she had hoped that she could keep that insecurity in check, just long enough for him to be bored and find some other way to piss her off. But she had let him see her dirty laundry. She let out a laugh.
"He's a fucking challenge, all right," she muttered to herself. Grissom had told her as much. She shut her eyes, recalling the conversation before she officially met Mark Hoffman.
"He's the biggest pain in my ass, honestly. But your boys back west say you're good to work with. A real peacekeeper. I want you to keep an eye out for him. He's a good man but he loses himself sometimes. It's going to be a challenge working with him, but I've got hopes for you."
"May I ask why me, specifically, sir?"
"Well, really it's partially because I think you two would be a good fit if you both can look past each other's major character flaws."
"Which is?"
"He's a bit old-fashioned. He's not going to like you being a woman. And from what Rex told me about you, I hear you can be a bit of a pain yourself. That you have a bit of a chip on your shoulder with guys like that."
She made her reflection soften her features into a pleasant smile. Just another challenge to overcome. This was doable.
She went to leave the restroom and jumped when there was someone standing right behind the door, waiting for her. It was a stranger. Hulking, bald head glossy under the fluorescent lighting, and oily goatee framing a crooked smile, the man had intent in his eye and sausage fingers wrapping around the open door frame. "Hey." He pushed into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
"Really?" She let out a scoffed admonishment. "I'm really not in the mood right now."
"Come on, baby," the stranger went to touch her cheek. "Why you here if you're not looking for fun?" His hand was down to his jeans, beginning to unbutton his pants. His words were slurred. He smelled of liquor. And she was pissed.
She shook her head slowly, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She raised her hands in a defensive stance. "I'd say I really don't want to hurt you, but I'd be lying."
He laughed. "Baby, you can't hurt me."
She swung her foot up to his groin with as much force her hips could swing. He let out a yell, doubling over. She jammed her knee into his nose, feeling the cartilage shatter. She let out a scream as she took her gun and pistol-whipped him over the back of his head, slamming the metal onto his skull.
He collapsed and fell onto his face. She wanted to swing once more but stopped herself. She took a deep breath. Control. She huffed and walked over the man's body, pulling handcuffs off her belt and securing the man's arms behind his back. Her fingers itched to strike him one more time, but she resisted. He moaned so she muttered the potential charges he'd suffer. "Drunk and disorderly. Assaulting a police officer. You just fucked yourself, asshole." He didn't get up and she wasn't going to try to pull him up. She left him on the floor of the bathroom, pants down to his knees and strode down the narrow hallway back out to the bar.
The commotion had attracted attention. Everyone was staring at her, Hoffman included. She narrowed her eyes at him. He must have known that fucker was back there. Either that, or he was shit at watching her back. She shook her head like a disappointed parent, walked over to him, and said, "Bring the trash to the car when you've finished drinking on-duty, prick." She stormed out, the typical whistles and catcalls chasing after her. She bit her lip as hard as she could, fighting the tears that were pressing out of her eyes.
Mark Hoffman
She had done a number on the bastard who was currently delirious as he hoisted him up to his feet and forced him out of the small bathroom. His mind was replaying the last five minutes desperately, hoping against hope that this situation hadn't just happened. That he hadn't just let some random drunk march under his nose to attack his, technical, partner.
He admitted it was ironic that the very reason he protested their partnership was thrown in his face. He was the one who dropped the ball. He had been watching the game, having a drink, while she had to beat this guy down by herself. He never imagined he would be the one not having her back in this dynamic. It was one hell of an existential mindfuck. Though he hadn't been present in the altercation, judging from the jeans that had drooped down the oaf's thighs, the visual gave him a clear indication of what happened. It made him even less sympathetic when the creep complained about his broken nose. Be happy it was just her that broke it. Blood was pouring down the guy's chin as he coughed and sputtered.
"Put it on my tab," he called out to Larry, the bartender who merely nodded and continued wiping the dust around on his bar. The sunlight burst as he pushed the guy outside, half blinding him. The air was warm and humid. This car ride back was going to suck.
He pushed him into the back of the car, slamming the door before taking his spot at shotgun. He dreaded having to apologize. But he knew he had to. It was only right.
She was on the phone, talking to what sounded like someone at the station. "Is that with two 'r's? Gotcha. All right, thanks a lot, Pike." And she hung up. She kept her eyes straight ahead, waiting for him to close his door and buckle up. Her hair had come undone from its careful pullback, falling over her cheeks and framing her face in a delicate way that seemed alien to the front of the Crown Vic. She was pensive and unresponsive.
Once seated, she took the car and it soared ahead, careening around the city swiftly while they sat there in silence. The man in the back seat moaned and cried.
"Shut up," Hoffman snapped at him. The car lurched suddenly into another lane, making his soul partially leave his body. It felt like she was intentionally driving more erratically than earlier. She's pissed. He cast a glance at her; her jaw muscles clenched and the tendons and veins in her neck were standing out. Her shoulders were tense and her arms tight. "Maddox."
No response.
"I should have been watching out for you. I fucked up."
She kept her eyes on the road, lips pulled tight. She looked angrier than he'd ever seen a girl - no, woman - act. She didn't scream or wave her arms. It was a simmering kind of hate that felt more uncomfortable than if she just got it over with and started yelling at him. He'd never seen Angie do that before. This was a foreign kind of rage.
"I'm sorry." He wanted more than anything for her to just crack some lame joke and move on. To give him a hard time. The silence disturbed him. After spending the day with her, this new angry silence made him nervous. Especially after seeing firsthand the aftermath of the violence she could unleash when needed. It wasn't particularly brutal, not by a long shot. But it had surprised him. He didn't think she had it in her.
"You really did a number on this guy. I didn't think you had it in you." He licked his lips. "You… sure proved me wrong."
She blinked and pulled into the parking lot. They had already arrived. She parked the car, turned off the engine, and simply left him alone with the moaning drunk in the backseat. He looked at the dashboard, tapping his fingers in uncertainty. She had simply walked back into the building, leaving him alone.
He took the man to the drunk tank. "Have him booked," he instructed, "for assaulting an officer, attempted rape. And public intoxication. And whatever else you can come up with."
The officer at the desk raised an eyebrow. "Attempted rape?"
"Yeah. It was the newbie, moron, not me." He snapped when the man's lips curled into a disbelieving smile.
"Oh. Well, have her fill out this, then." He slid the form over.
Hoffman took the paper and walked up the stairs towards the main floor. He noted their desks were vacant. He looked around for that bundle of red hair, but it was nowhere to be found. He dropped the police report form on her desk and looked around.
"Hey," he grabbed Bradshaw. "Where's Maddox?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "She's your partner, Hoffman."
"She rushed in here while I was booking someone. Where is she?"
Bradshaw nodded towards Grissom's office. Hoffman's heart sank. Fuck. He was in deep shit. She was probably talking about his drinking. Or worse. How he had left her to take on a man over twice her body weight by herself.
He knew it was better to face this head-on, so he walked straight to the office. He barged in, bracing himself as though he would jump in an ice bath. "Look, I know I fucked up."
Grissom and Maddox both stopped their discussion, looking up at Hoffman. Grissom had his reading glasses on. "Hoffman. What did you do?"
Maddox kept her back to him, hovering over Grissom's desk, pointedly ignoring Hoffman's entrance. "Sir, it looks like the vehicle in question is registered to a Forrest Rinder. We'll need a warrant for his arrest and to seize the vehicle."
"I understand. You did good, Maddox. Hoffman. First day on the job together and already set to close. I'm impressed. Excellent work."
"Thank you, sir. If there's nothing you need from me, I'm going to head home. It's getting late."
"See you tomorrow, Maddox."
"Good night, sir." Maddox pushed herself out of the office, brushing against Hoffman.
"Rinder?" Hoffman asked, feeling out of sorts.
"If the bums are speaking the truth, then it looks like the case is just about closed." Grissom pulled out of a drawer of his desk a bottle of scotch and two glasses, pouring them in each glass. He leaned back into his chair. "Shut the door, Hoffman."
He did so. He stood waiting for his ass chewing. He assumed it wasn't going to be about drinking on-duty, unless Grissom was going for an ironic tactic. He took the offered glass and smelled the oak. He took a sip, the warmth going down his throat like fire.
"What happened out there?" Grissom had cool eyes that would go analytical and probing with the passing of a stare.
Hoffman shrugged. "Maddox already informed you."
"I want to hear your side. Tell me."
Hoffman shook his head. "She did well." His face flushed, recalling bits and pieces of the day. "I admit, she can handle herself."
Grissom nodded, unsurprised. "Doesn't seem like she's a fan of yours anymore, Mark."
Hoffman glared at him. "Was she before?"
"She had said as much. Said she was excited to work with you just this morning."
"Does it matter?"
"I'd like to know my partner doesn't hate my guts, wouldn't you?"
"Well, it's too late. Probably best to just have her work with someone else."
Grissom smiled and shook his head. "You're going to need to start learning to either stop making messes, or clean them up. This precinct isn't going to keep bending over backwards to appease you, Hoffman. Remember that. And grow the fuck up, boy."
Hoffman stared back at his boss. "Understood."
"Good. Now get out of here. And make peace. No one else wants to work with her, and they all have reasons I can't ignore. Their wives wouldn't hear of it. So do this for the precinct, at least, Hoffman."
He stopped at the door. "No one else?"
"I didn't want to start you off with that impression, but it seems you came to that conclusion already. Yes, everyone has expressly refused to work with her. And don't think she isn't aware of that either." Grissom looked tired. "We need more female detectives."
Hoffman looked out the window. He saw Maddox collect her belongings and disappear out the front doors. He looked back at Grissom. "Maybe we need less assholes."
Wilhelmina Maddox
"You fucking bitch."
Will had ducked just in time to avoid a beer bottle shattering over her head. She kept her eyes forward, locking on the threat in front of her. "You're drunk Frank."
Her husband laughed harshly. "Why're you late?"
"Work. You know how it is."
"How many men hit on you today?" He stumbled forward and grabbed the back of her hair, pulling her head back. A part of her wanted to respond. To grab his arm, spin around and force his elbow to bend in the wrong direction. But she resisted. Control. She clenched her jaw. He doesn't mean this. He's just drunk. She let him pull her hair. It would all be over sooner the less she resisted. Or at least that's what she thought. She closed her eyes as she felt his rough unshaven chin brush against her neck and he licked her skin. He took a bite and she let out a hiss of pain.
"No one. We keep it professional. This precinct is better than out west."
"You're full of shit."
"You hungry?" She tried to shift his attention. "I could order us a pizza." He was stumbling and reeking of beer. He had started day drinking when he lost his job. And now he couldn't seem to be able to find another. Why was that? Bad economy, he said. Totally had nothing to do with the fact that he was more drunk than sober these days.
"How'd you know?" He pushed her onto the couch. "I'm hungry for that pussy."
She internally rolled her eyes. He wasn't that imposing of a man, but he was larger than her. Stronger. He had been the perfect husband just that morning. He had been sweet, making her breakfast, kissing her as she went off to work. He told her they'd watch a movie together.
She had been looking forward to that movie. When she came home, she realized that movie night wasn't happening. And she craved the familiar comfort of going to work.
"Look at me," he hissed gripping her cheek and pulling her face close to his. His eyes were wild and hateful. Beady gray eyes. He was practically panting, his breathing labored and erratic. She smoothed her hand over the back of his.
"Please. You're hurting me, honey." She pleaded with him to come out. The real him. The him that she fell in love with. He was in there. He had to be.
Otherwise, she was a fool and just a textbook victim of domestic abuse. And that couldn't be her. She knew better. She was supposed to know better.
Her phone rang and she internally sighed in relief. She went to reach for it but her husband grabbed it, flipping it open to answer it. "Who the fuck is this."
"Frank!" She snapped in horror. She quickly swiped the phone and ran into the master bedroom, locking the door. Frank had been too drunk - too disoriented - to follow her in time. He was pounding on the door, calling out to her.
"Will! Let me in! WILL!"
"Hello?" She felt her cheeks burn with humiliation and hope. Please let there be work.
"...You all right, Maddox?" She narrowed her eyes at the sound of his voice.
"Hoffman. Fine. What do you want?"
"Let's talk. I'll pick you up. Where are you?"
"Will! Let me in you fucking bitch!"
"Where are you, Will?" Hoffman's voice called at her, his deep voice beckoning. "You sound like you're in danger."
"I'm not. It's a long story." The pounding on the door was distracting. It made it hard to come up with an excuse. She wanted more than anything to not be where she was. No matter how much she hated Hoffman, he was still more preferable than what was on the other side of the door she was pressed against.
"The corner of Parkinsons and Gorge. I'll meet you there."
"...Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Hoffman." She pushed the dresser in front of the door in order to buy herself some more time. She went to change, taking off her sweaty work clothes and slipped into a baggy black T-shirt and a hoodie. She kept her work pants and shoes on. She looked out the window, studied the fire escape. They had moved a month prior, into this apartment on the west side of town. She was still unfamiliar with her surroundings.
She and Frank were supposed to go explore, but he preferred to take detours to the nearest liquor store. Instead, she just went to work. He had promised things would be different if she moved. If she just transferred away from the men she worked with. He just needed a fresh start. They needed a fresh start, he said. He had promised so much.
She waited half out the window, trying to ignore Frank's weakening pounding. He sounded like he was tiring himself out. He would hopefully pass out and not remember what happened the next day.
Her phone went off. "Yeah?" She breathlessly answered, her heart slamming.
"Where are you?"
She looked down below, at the six stories under her feet. She recognized the grayish-blue hood of the Crown Victoria far below. "I'm coming out. Give me five." She hung up, put her phone in her pocket, and began going down the narrow spiral black metal staircase, scrambling down ladder wells as they alternated. When she finally reached the concrete pavement she looked up to see Hoffman staring at her behind the steering wheel, his face expressionless.
She didn't plan to explain anything to him. She got into the car. "What is it?"
His eyes scanned and flashed across her face, her neck, her chest. He reached his hand to push her hair aside to see more of the skin of her neck but she quickly grabbed it and tossed it back at his chest. "Don't."
"You have something on your neck."
"Yeah, well it's none of your business."
His eyes narrowed. "Fine. Want to go somewhere specific?"
"Just away from here," she exhaled. Her phone was ringing. She checked the caller ID and silenced it.
Hoffman thankfully didn't ask any questions. He didn't need to. It was obvious. The humiliation she was used to feeling returned. It was worse when it was in front of the man she hated at that moment. A man who was probably judging her at that moment. "Fuck," she whispered, putting her hands over her eyes. "I was hoping to keep this shit under wraps for at least a few months. Not on the first fucking day."
He didn't respond. He kept driving, silently. Patiently. He turned on the radio, letting some classic rock play in the background while she covered her face and pressed on her eyes, feeling tears sneak past her fingers. She turned her head, hoping he wouldn't see. "My husband is an alcoholic. Okay?"
"Okay." That was all he said. The silence was deafening.
"He's not always like that. He's actually very sweet. He can be kind and is a good person."
"Okay."
Fear rose up her chest. "Don't tell anyone. Please."
"I won't."
She didn't believe him. Her eyes watered and she sobbed. "Fuck. I bet I've just proved you right. I bet you're loving this."
"I'm not. Not even a little bit," he growled. She looked at him, his face contorted with rage. "The only reason I'm not up there knocking his teeth out is out of respect for you. And I do respect you, Maddox. After today, you've earned your respect."
She blinked and sniffed. "What changed?"
He looked at her. "You didn't go tell Grissom about what happened today. Though you could have. You keep things in house. I get that. You're doing that with your husband. Trying to deal with it yourself. In some cases, it's commendable. But concerning... Frank, is that his name? I think that's poor judgement."
She blinked at that. The embarrassment she felt was morphing into a shell-shocked state. She glumly stared at her lap as he drove on. She wanted to evaporate and disappear from existence. This was a new level of humiliation she couldn't bear.
She felt the car turning and continuing for a couple of minutes. It bought her time to collect herself. She inhaled deeply, exhaling and finally showing her face. They were at a park. Or really, a graveyard.
"Where are we?" She blinked, turning to Hoffman.
"The Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Cemetery." He got out of the car, went to the trunk and pulled out some fresh flowers, and took a walk. She watched him as he strode down the grass in a direction, standing in front of a tombstone. She watched him replace the flowers of a vase, the dead flowers replaced with the small bundle of red and yellow flora. They were just outside the city. They must have been driving at least an hour from her apartment.
She blinked, confused. He stood there, looking down, as though waiting for something. Curious, she went out to him. She slowly approached his form, looking at the name of the tombstones.
Mark Hoffman.
Darcy Hoffman.
She blinked, studying the dates. Five years ago from today. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said, feeling out of place. She stood next to him looking up at his expressionless face. "Your parents?"
"Yes." He turned to her. "It was a DWI. Someone on PCP decided to go for a joyride. They were good parents. Supportive. They encouraged me to become an officer of the law. They always wanted to see the good in people. And then they died the same week I graduated from the Academy."
Her eyes widened. "That must have been hard." She wasn't sure if she should try to put her hand on his back. She instead put her hands clasped in front of herself.
"Yeah. They left me and my sister out here. In this city." He looked out towards the skyline in the distance, the skyscrapers cutting through the gray haze of the evening fog. The sun was setting, shining golden light through the silvery mist. "This city changes people. It's a terrible place to live. Justice is just a pipe dream here." He turned to her. "But we can't just give up on it. Otherwise, everyone who was ever good died for nothing. It needs all the help it can get. I've chosen this life. And so have you. It wasn't fair to disregard that choice. And I realize that now. You want to help. And you can."
She looked at him, hugging herself. "Thank you. And… thanks for sharing about your parents."
He gave her a gentle smile. "There are no secrets between partners. I know your family life. I'll tell you mine." He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose, looking down at her with a cool, amicable gaze. "I know I've been difficult. I've been skeptical and didn't trust you. But you didn't rat on me to Grissom. And you did your job. You've given me nothing but reason to trust you. So I hope we can start again, Will Maddox." He held his hand out and she took it, his handshake less of a tight anaconda squeeze this time and now full of warmth she welcomed to her cold fingers.
"All right, Mark Hoffman, then let's start."
