Wilhelmina Maddox
She walked with a slight limp. She pressed on, up the stairs to the Homicide floor. Despite her crutch at her good arm's side, her opposite arm in plaster, and a bulking medical boot strapped to her leg, she made it up with no problem. Things hadn't changed the two weeks she was away. People looked up as they walked by, some giving sympathetic smiles, while some gave warm greetings laced with pity.
The worst was the occasional predatory stare, an almost lecherous hunger on some of the more problematic colleagues. It seemed word got around about her dirty laundry. Everyone knew. Already, she had to turn down lunch invites.
She didn't care. She forced herself to just get to her desk with a stiff upper lip. The clicking of the crutches was echoing off the cracked walls of the hallway. She hated how slow she was and her casted wrist itched. This was going to be a long few months.
The snow outside didn't help but thankfully the sidewalks were salted and the painkillers cut the sharp cold from being felt on her skin. She felt like her spine was buzzing and had an artificial pleasance warming her insides.
She made it to her desk, frowning at her partner's empty seat across from it. A styrofoam cup of coffee was still steaming on it, indicating he had been there recently. Dropping her bag onto the tabletop, a familiar male voice cleared behind her.
She turned to her supervisor. "Captain Grissom."
"Good to have you back, Detective," Grissom held out his hand and shook it firmly. "If there's anything you need while you're healing up, let me know. I'll make sure you're taken care of."
"Thanks, sir. I hope to get back to the field as soon as possible."
Grissom nodded, a tight smile pulled below his mustache. "All in due time. Glad to hear your go-getter attitude is still there."
She forced a smile back. Not like it was going anywhere. "Of course."
Grissom nodded over to Hoffman's desk. "Hoffman's falling behind on his paperwork."
"I'll get on it," she resisted letting her smile widen from amusement.
"And - I'm serious, Maddox. If you need some personal time, let me know."
"Will do." She was eager to pretend everything was back to normal. Finally, her boss left her and she sat in her chair with a low breath. She wanted to see Hoffman. To talk to him. She hadn't seen him since the night it all happened. He hadn't visited her after that one time.
She figured it was hard to see her in that state. She self-consciously pulled out her compact and studied her face. The swelling was all gone. The bruising had faded to green blushes. She angled her reflection and caught a glimpse of blue eyes staring back.
She flinched, dropped her mirror, and spun in her chair to glare at her partner. "Mark."
"Will." He put a coffee cup on her desk and went to retrieve her compact. "Welcome back. What did Grissom say?"
He had gone to his seat, rifling in his inbox. Something was off. He avoided her gaze.
"To finish your paperwork. Desk duty until I'm off the crutches, I'm assuming."
With that, he shoved folders over to her side of the desk. "Have at it."
She let out a frustrated groan at how easily he threw them at her. "Gee, thanks." She flipped through pages. "Can you look at me for just a second?"
He did. She couldn't read his stoic expression but she felt him study every inch of her face. This lasted longer than she liked, his gaze penetrating. "Okay, thanks, that's enough."
"Satisfied?" He was gruff. Curt. It stung.
"Yeah. Fine." It was her turn to stare down at the papers in front of her. But a part of her felt even angrier. "What's your deal?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know damn well what I mean? I haven't seen you in two weeks. Where have you been?"
"Busy."
He wasn't going to give her any more than that. She fell back into her seat and crossed her arms. "Fine." She began gathering a fat stack of folders.
"Where are you going?"
She forced herself to balance on her crutch while she gathered the paperwork. "I'll be spending the day over in the conference room. Where the task force is. I'm sure there's plenty of things to do over there."
She turned and went to storm off but slipped on some melted snow. She collapsed, papers flying.
"Hey!" Hoffman sounded incredulous.
"Don't help me!" She hissed at him, gathering papers.
"You're being ridiculous." He went to gather some papers, brushing them onto a pile with his palms. Some of the papers were damp from the icemelt on the floors. Great.
"So are you."
"At least let me help you move over there."
"You're not allowed in that room," she growled up at him. His stone-wall face cracked slightly.
"Will. Please." The way he whispered made her shiver. "Let me help you, at least in this way."
She hated how quickly her resolve was melting. "Just - to the door. But you can't come in." She turned and began her crippled journey to the Task Force's office, still angry but not wanting to attract any more attention to their altercation.
Down the stairs, around the corner, through some historical partitions that made no sense but were part of the floor plan, and they finally reached the office in tense silence. She turned and held her hand out, waiting for Hoffman to dump the mountain of files onto it and walk away.
He hesitated. But then leaned forward, hand on her shoulder. "Domestics haven't caught Frank yet."
She kept herself from shaking under his firm grip. He was squeezing, his hand burning through her sweater. "I know. They told me." She finally understood why he was being so strange. He didn't like Frank being free. This was what was bothering him.
"Let me go after him. I'll bring him in." His face was close. Stern. He was practically pleading for her to grant him permission.
"No, Hoffman. Stay out of it. You'll just kill him. Respect my wishes. It's for your own good."
"You think I can't control myself?" There was a challenge there. A dangerous game he wanted to play.
She closed her eyes and remembered Hoffman that one night in the nightclub. She remembered how hard it was to pull him off of the pimp. "I don't want to find out." Her hand was on the doorknob and Hoffman put his other hand over it to stop her. His touch was practically burning her.
"Domestics don't have the resources and they're idiots. They'll never catch him. Let me hunt him down. I'll find him. I'll even keep him as intact as possible. While he's out there, you're still in danger. What if he comes back for you?"
"I'll shoot him." She was breathing hard, noticing how close their faces were.
He scoffed. "Sure. You're a terrible liar." He gave her a look of frustration and dismay.
"And so are you." She knew he'd kill him if given the chance. She wouldn't stand for it. She wouldn't let Hoffman dirty himself any more than he already had. She shrugged out of his hand and dug her elbow into his sternum, forcing him to take a step back. "Now, go enjoy catching bad guys in the field while I cry over paperwork. Excuse me."
The door opened, pulling Will's hand with it.
"Everything all right here?" Peter Strahm was suddenly there, leering over at Hoffman.
"Strahm," Will was taken aback, looking up at him. "What are you doing here?"
He raised an eyebrow, smiling innocently. "Waiting for you. Ready to get to work?" He reached over to take the files from Hoffman. "Appreciate you getting her this far. We'll take it from here." He had a smile frozen on his face. Behind him, Tapp and Sing were sitting at a scratched table in the center of the room, waving with uncomfortable grins.
Will inched into the room, hoping it was the end of their discussion.
"Who's this?" Hoffman didn't look happy, studying Strahm with eyes darting up and down.
"Special Agent Peter Strahm. Nice to meet you." Strahm held a hand out, smirking. When Hoffman didn't take his hand, Strahm, instead, moved to touch Will's back to help pull her into the conference room. "Hey, Will, no need to be on your feet this long. Have a seat."
"S-sure." She felt her face heat up and she looked away from her partner in hopes he wouldn't notice. But when she snuck a glance back at him there was the distinct frown as they locked eyes. He had noticed. And he didn't look thrilled.
Hoffman squinted up at Strahm, jaw clenched. "I'll see you around." He turned and left, Will feeling guilt hit her hard as the sight of him went farther out of reach.
Mark Hoffman
He felt his heart thudding in his chest. He had to remember to breathe. He finally got a visual on one of the feds and he felt the sting of fear frost inside his mouth. This guy was dangerous. He could tell just by looking at him and knew he was going to have trouble.
He certainly didn't like the way he acted around Will. Like he knew her. Personally. That was bothersome in itself.
Returning to his desk, Eric Matthews was leaning against Will's vacant tabletop, cigarette hanging from his lip. "You look like you need an early lunch."
"You buying?"
"I've got a newborn, asshole," Matthews smirked as he blew smoke out his nostrils. "Besides, you still owe me for saving your ass on the Druthers case."
"Fair enough. But I'm surprised you have the time."
"Funny thing. Turns out, I'm getting reassigned temporarily." He took his cigarette with his fingers and pointed at him, "Apparently, you need a new partner. Grissom's orders. He thinks you ain't gonna stay on the straight and narrow without Mad Max. And Tapp, begrudgingly, agreed to release me. I agreed, on condition Ally stay with Will on desk duty. Now, I'm a sexist asshole and in the doghouse with my partner. Sound familiar?"
"Surprised she didn't shoot you for that." Hoffman felt mild relief, though he knew the women were probably furious. But they needed to stay low, for their own good.
"Yeah, well, she basically threatened to end our partnership. I figured she needed some air to breathe and I could go for reliving the good ol' days. What do you say, partner?" There was an urgency in his voice, guttural and eager.
"Fine with me."
(Power of Will)
They sat at the bar in Larry's, Matthews already down one pack while Hoffman had thrown back several glasses of whiskey. Both men had their attention glued to the TV, eating their lunch in silence. Hoffman felt like he had gone back in time and was just a young twenty-something rookie with his Police Academy roommate.
"You meet the fed yet?" Matthews was always the one to break the silence first.
"Yeah. This morning."
"He's been visiting Mad Max at the hospital. They're getting close. The other fed is still in D.C. She's cute but I get the vibe the feds aren't shagging. She's real cozy with Ally these days. Kind of hot."
Hoffman stared at the basket of greasy fries. Normally, Will would pick at his scraps. The basket was disturbingly overflowing. It didn't look right.
"Figured I'd warn you. Not insinuating anything. But if you don't like some guy moving in on your partner, I've got your back. Especially this guy. He rubs me the wrong way. I think he's a hardass prick who thinks he's better than the rest of us. Total elitist asshole."
He took another drink. "None of my business." His ears were ringing. He didn't want to think about it.
"Acts like he's some saint. I overheard him talking about bringing her to work with him, like he's some hotshot and she's too good for us."
Mark looked down, seeing the reflection of the overhead lighting fixtures shine through his drink. The refraction of light made his hand look almost crimson. Thoughts of the other night and Frank Griffin's screams filled the ringing. He still needed to come up with a plan to deal with him. A story Will would believe. Would understand.
"Ready to head over to Hill Street?" Matthews had spun in his barstool and was leaning his elbows on the counters, giving Hoffman a sideways glance. "Cleaning up the streets will put you in a better mood."
"Yeah. Let's go." He threw some cash on the faded bar and got to his feet, his head fuzzy and swimming. Shit. He may have had a little too much to drink. "You drive."
(Power of Will)
The two of them made their way to their latest case. A gas station robbery, with the convenience clerk shot. Small Asian woman - girl, really - laying in a puddle of her own blood. Staring up at the fluorescent lights, mouth agape.
Hoffman let out a sigh as he squatted down to get a closer look at her. His head was swimming. The woman had some discoloration on the side of her face, consistent with a pistol whip. Beyond that, there were no self-defense injuries.
As he scanned the surroundings, from the opened cash register with no cash inside, the overall neat cigarette cartons stacked with nothing out of place save for the spray of blood painting the walls, this looked like cold-blooded murder.
"Show me the tapes," Hoffman pointed to the security camera in the corner. The uniformed officer and shop owner led him to the backroom. Matthews was silent, as he usually was when investigating. He was a listener. An observer. He didn't like arranging or planning, preferring to react and play things by ear. Hoffman was always expected to lead. It was refreshing, after so long competing with Maddox to call the shots.
The small television lit up with black and white visuals, gritty resolution showing the shapes of the cashier. A dark figure approached, pulling his gun. Male, black, adult. Age? Couldn't tell, but old enough. Not too old to move so freely.
They watched as the suspect slapped the woman across the face with the weapon, followed by her falling over. Though the tape was silent, Hoffman could hear the gunshots as the perpetrator fired upon her. While digging through the register, the man looked up briefly, his face captured by the camera.
"Freeze it." Matthews ordered. He put his finger on the glass, by the suspect's head. "Looks like a perp we've been eyeballing. Typical gang banger. Jonas Singer."
Hoffman tried to make out any discernible features, but it was just a blur. It could have been anyone. "You sure?"
"Yeah. The guy likes to sling in this neighborhood. Let's pay him a visit."
They had left the scene, with barely a departing message to forensics, speeding down and around several blocks. Matthews stopped abruptly, staring across the street where the man leaned against the bricks of a rundown building, huddled into himself for warmth.
"Listen." Matthews parked the car and killed the engine and took out a fresh cancer stick with his lips, "You go around the other side and I'll confront the prick. I'll give you five minutes. Be ready for him to run. Fucker is fast. I've been trying to nab him for months now. He usually worms out of a conviction but not this time." There was a mean smile on Eric Matthews' face, "You got my back?"
"Yeah." Hoffman got out of the car and took the long way around the block, a shortcut in-between two large buildings, and jogged down the alleyway. It reeked of rotting garbage and piss. When he rounded the corner, he slowed his pace and kept his distance as he watched Matthews approach the suspect.
Singer held his hands out, clearly familiar with Matthews. He was already backing away, preparing for his escape.
Hoffman closed in, silent, his hand rested on his holster in case the guy pulled out his weapon. Upon closer inspection, the guy looked young. Maybe early twenties. But there was a hardness in his face that showed a pride that was cozy with danger.
"The fuck you want, pig?" The man took another step back.
"Want to talk. There was a robbery at the corner store. You know anything about that?" Matthews inched closer to the man.
"I don't have to talk to you," Jonas muttered. "Leave me alone. Even if you arrest me, you ain't gonna find shit on me."
"Then you've got nothing to worry about. Come here," Matthews reached for the kid as he leaped back, spun on his ankle, and began to sprint.
Hoffman was already upon him, grabbing him firmly by the arm. And then he saw the fist grow in his sight. He dodged and swung back, his knuckles contacting the firm flesh of the guy's gut. The breath was knocked out of him and he collapsed to his knees, his gasps like a dying wind.
Matthews was already handcuffing him, roughly. "Now you fucked up, Jonas."
Jonas wiggled but his wrists were restrained. He was hoisted up and marched across the street to their car.
"You sure about this?" Hoffman quietly asked as Matthews slammed Jonas Singer's face down hard onto the hood of the car and searched his pockets.
"What? You want to rub his feet?" A challenge arose. Matthews was angry. "Don't tell me sweet little Mad Max turned you into a boy scout. This prick's plenty guilty."
"Where's the evidence?"
"Oh, fuck off, Hoffman. She's made you soft."
"She didn't." Hoffman felt defensive. For himself and her. Sure, this type of treatment of a perp wouldn't have phased him a few years ago. But Maddox had shown him there was another way. A nobler way.
But then again, he wasn't a fucking saint like she was.
Matthews kept applying pressure to Jonas who continued squirming. Matthews again pulled the guy's head up and slammed his forehead back onto the metal frame, a loud thunk sounded. "Hoffman. He's our guy. We can make sure he's put away for a long time. Quick and easy. Don't let that bitch's naive idealism make you forget reality. He's gonna walk if we go by the book. Besides, look at what's happening to her because she's trying so hard to be so noble." A flash of her in the hospital bed made him tense. Yeah. The city was infested with people like Frank Griffin. Going at it through the justice system would never clean it up. There has to be a way. A more efficient way.
Frank Griffin was experiencing a harsh justice. A justice Hoffman felt was well deserved. And it was all thanks to Rosello. Rosello, despite being the sick fuck he was, had an honor code that Hoffman understood. Frank Griffin was currently in a living hell for his sins, something society was too chicken shit to enforce anymore. True justice was impossible with their current legal system.
But with Frank Griffin, justice had been gifted right into Hoffman's hands to administer. And he administered it well. Effectively.
Fuck the right way. It never worked.
"Let's take him downtown." Just be ready to deal with IA after all this. His head was already spinning with things to do to cover their trail. They'd need to get their stories straight. They'd need to plant some evidence. It could all be taken care of, this way. Matthews could play the big hero. Hoffman could see scum locked away for good and for the first time his entire career. It was a win-win.
Rosello covers his tracks. That's how he escapes the consequences. This was the tricky part that Hoffman wasn't sure he'd be able to properly do. He normally just followed his shadow boss' instructions, not having to form a cohesive plot.
But after years of serving, he knew many of the tricks of the trade. He was a fast learner.
He went to retrieve Matthews' fallen weapon, bringing it over to Jonas.
"The fuck you looking at?" Jonas snapped, glaring hatefully up from his seat in the back of their car.
Hoffman wordlessly pushed the man's shoulders forward so he was leaning with his chin to his knees. He then pressed the revolver in the man's hands and pressed his fingers against the cool metal. "What the fuck!"
"Shut up," Hoffman growled, taking the gun back and handing it to Matthews. "The bastard went for your gun. We've got assault of an officer. Attempting to flee the scene of the crime. I'm sure we'll find some drugs on him. We can get him for possession."
"I ain't carrying!"
Hoffman resisted the urge to smack the fucker on the side of the face. "You will," he muttered. The perp's jaw dropped.
"And the murder?" Matthews had his thumb in a belt loop, eyebrows cocked with mild amusement.
Hoffman paused, pursing his lips as he thought hard. "Like you said. He's on the tape. And we'll likely find the victim's hair on his clothes when we book him." Plus, the public defenders are shit.
"What?!" Jonas Singer was howling in the back of the car. "You can't do this!"
"Now we're talking," Matthews went to the driver's side, smacking Hoffman's shoulder warmly. "Let's drop off the bastard and celebrate."
As they drove back, tuning out the pleas and cries of Jonas Singer, Hoffman felt a mix of sensations. He felt satisfaction warm through his chest. A buzzing of excitement rang in his ears. And a strange denseness in his gut put him on edge.
Rosello. Frank Griffin. Now, this. The faint memory of a promise being made was quickly swept under the rug of his mind.
He was already in things so deep. What was one more thing?
It was for a good cause. A just cause.
Will must never find out, he decided. No matter what.
