Sara
The tension within the car feels palpable. Sofia has split two toothpicks and remained eerily silent while I scan through the radio, just for something to do with my hands. She made a mistake, she protected a criminal, and she deserves to feel the sting of that. That is what I should feel- would feel- if I couldn't feel her tearing herself apart beside me. If seeing her like this didn't feel so unnerving.
Gil chose her over me this morning. It's a small, absent-minded decision that weighs heavily. It's not her fault, but I can't bring myself to look at her, focusing instead on the unfamiliar yet predictable scenery. Coffee shops, colorful boulevards. I run my thumb over my bottom lip, craving a cigarette.
An eternity exists in the twelve blocks to PD, Sofia killing the engine as we pull up, plunging us into stagnated silence. When I finally look at her- aviators on, shoulders tense- it occurs to me that we haven't actually discussed what we're doing here. With Darrel Walton as good as guilty, I'm not sure what our goal is with Steve.
"Do you uh, have a plan here?" I ask, pushing unruly hair behind my ear.
She unwraps a toothpick, glancing over at the building with a furrowed brow.
"We'll see if he knows anything and then get the hell out of here" she explains, biting down on the flimsy stick and forcing the door open with the weight of her shoulder.
"Okay then" I breathe, slipping out into the stagnant heat.
It's obvious the moment we walk in that Phoenix PD is better funded than Vegas PD, light flooding through massive windows, glass rooms boasting beautiful views of the city. Sofia gazes over at the detectives in their own quiet offices as we walk past, rolling the toothpick through her teeth.
She takes the lead, navigating a meeting with Chief Burring with smooth professionalism. He's brash and impatient, but if this bothers her, she doesn't show it. Instead, she takes her time, drawing out her questions, sure to be thorough. Sure to show him that she won't be rushed out.
In Vegas she's regarded with respect. I imagine this is half to do with her impeccable track record and unwavering professionalism, and half to do with her mother. She never uses it to her advantage, but having the woman who raised you running the entire show two cities away comes with its inherent advantages. Regardless, it's not easy to bite your tongue around men like Burring. I've never been able to do it- even now I feel the disdain rolling off me in waves.
It's not until we're alone in an observation room, waiting on Walton, that we acknowledge one another. She looks exhausted, glazed eyes trained somewhere beyond the glass. I take a sip of lukewarm coffee, clearing my throat.
"So, he robs a liquor store for some petty cash and a bottle of Jack after killing his brother's entire family… that's what we're going with?"
She shrugs, leaning her forearms against the ledge and glancing over at me.
"That or he has nothing to do with this"
Her eyes flick to my coffee as I take another sip, lingering for a moment. I smirk, resting my hip against the ledge. She had been too indignant to accept a coffee after being treated as an inconvenience, but the dark circles under her eyes give away her exhaustion.
"Regretting your decisions?" I ask, lips twitching into a smile. She scoffs, glancing back into the empty room.
"I just want to get this over with"
I want to be angry with her. I want my concern to dissipate. And yet.
"Have they brought Darrel back in?"
"Yeah" she sighs, ponytail slipping over her shoulder as she glances down. "Brass is talking to him this afternoon… that's why Grissom called me this morning. He wanted me to know"
A moment passes before she meets my gaze. I cross my arms, shifting uncomfortably on my feet. If she's trying to put me at ease, it's not working. This is not something I want to talk about now.
"I'm going to go find you some coffee" I announce after a moment, turning to the door.
"Don't bother, I don't think this will take very long" she says, straightening up and running her hands over her face. "God willing"
I nudge my own cup across the ledge towards her in offering. She chuckles, dropping her hands from her face and quirking an eyebrow at me.
"I'm not looking for a diabetic coma, thanks" she objects, the edge of her tired eyes crinkling playfully.
"Right. Wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation with a little sugar"
She chuckles as the door to the interrogation room pushes open, a young officer guiding a man I assume to be Steve Walton to one of the ridged metal chairs. He is middle aged and well kempt and if I didn't know better, I would swear I was looking at Darrel Walton.
"Um…" I trail off, coming to stand next to Sofia to get a better look. Dark hair, medium build, charcoal eyes. She glances at me with a furrowed brow, lips parting with a soft inhale.
"They look like the same person"
The door cracks open and detective Bennett pokes his head in.
"He's all yours, just let me know when you're done with him"
"Great, thanks" I toss over my shoulder, gaze still lingering on Steve.
"Did you see the photo attached to his file?"
"Obviously not" she mutters, phone already against her ear as she puts a call through to Brass.
It takes two hours to collect enough information about Steve to come to a few conclusions. He is a career criminal- petty theft, misdemeanor assault. He has a chip on his shoulder the size of Nevada, and the only thing he seems to disrespect more than the law, is women.
When broken the news that his brothers' children were slain, his sister-in-law missing, he appeared unphased. Said that Darrel must be thrilled- he complained about them constantly.
"I thought you said that you two don't talk" Sofia reminds him, leaning back in her chair, patience wearing thin.
"I said we're not close" he objects, running a hand through his thick hair.
"Is there anything else you can tell us about Elizabeth Walton? Did she struggle with any mental health issues?" I ask, attempting to play patience to Sofia's disdain.
"Didn't really know the woman. Darrel thought she was the devil, but she was nice enough to me"
"Can you be more specific? What did they argue about?" Sofia inquires, blunt nails digging into my empty coffee cup that she's taken purchase of.
"Listen lady, I've told you everything I know. They didn't get along, show me a married couple that does. I obviously wasn't in Vegas because I've been sitting in a jail cell for four days"
He sneers the last part, scowling over at the young officer guarding the door.
"The murder happened five days ago" Sofia reminds him, quirking an eyebrow. Uncrossing his arms he pushes back from the table, the screech of metal on concrete sudden and harsh.
"We're done here"
"Mr. Walton…" I start, but he cuts me off.
"I said we're done. What are you going to do, throw me in jail?"
Sofia rolls her eyes and I sigh, watching as the officer escorts him from the room. He's right, we can't force him to talk.
I let the silence hold for a moment before glancing over at Sofia.
"What do you make of that?"
"Which part?" she asks, gesturing vaguely at the empty seat across the table. "He's obviously a piece of work, he didn't seem even remotely shaken by the death of his family, and it is entirely plausible that he was in Vegas at the time of the murders"
I blow out a breath, leaning back into my seat as I stretch my arms out in front of me, feeling my back crack softly.
"You want that coffee now?"
We run across the street to grab a late breakfast before heading to the crime lab. I'm pleased to find that it is in no better condition than our lab, Sofia making some quiet comment about it that has me biting back a laugh as we are led to the evidence vault. I'm not sure what we're hoping to find- any trace of Elizabeth, anything tying him to Eastern Nevada.
By eight we give it up, heading back to the hotel with nothing more than matching headaches and mounting frustration.
"Do you want to grab dinner? I'm starving" I ask as we enter the lobby, the sweat beading at the back of my neck chilled from the sudden air conditioning.
"I'm sticky and exhausted" she tells me, tightening up her loose ponytail. "I'm just going to order some room service and go to bed"
I glance at the restaurant as we head towards the elevators, wondering whether dining alone would feel comfortable or depressing tonight.
We're quiet on the ride up, parting ways as I stop at my door she continues on, tugging her ponytail out tiredly.
"Sofia"
She turns, teasing a hand through limp hair as she looks at me expectantly. I want to ask her if she's ok, but the question feels out of place- in my mouth, in this moment. I just press my lips into a smile, giving her a nod.
"Sleep well"
I shower, hair smelling of lilacs. I order a room service salad and put on an old Hepburn film. I consider calling Gil but I'm feeling petty, or justified, I don't really know anymore. I just want him to feel my absence, if only to appreciate having me home.
'Guessing you're still in Phoenix. Are you both still in one piece?'
I glance at the text from Greg, scoffing quietly.
'So far'
He doesn't know about Gil and me, but he has clearly picked up on my aversion towards Sofia.
A knock on the door draws my attention and I glance down at my shorts and ratty Harvard t-shirt, wishing I had had time to grab anything more appropriate in my rush to pack. I run a hand through my wild hair as I pad across the room, glancing through the peep hole at Sofia, bottle of wine in hand.
She's showered, hair damp and loose, nervous look dissipating as I open the door, veiled with a confident half-smile.
"I couldn't sleep, I thought we could talk over the case" she tells me, holding up the case files in one hand and holding out the wine like an offering. "Apparently room service doesn't offer bottles of Scotch"
I chuckle, examining the generic wine label as I step back, allowing her space to enter.
"You don't say"
She glances around the room as she wanders in, observing the space- my bag open on the armchair, today's clothes tossed haphazardly over the back. The book I'm currently reading lying open on the desk. My boots abandoned by the bed. A soft smile tugs at her lips and I shoot her a mock frown, clearing off the chair.
"I'm uh, not usually this messy" I announce before she has a chance to comment.
She just hums in response, disappearing around the corner to grab two white porcelain mugs. I set the bottle down and settle into the chair, watching her make herself right at home- pouring us both two glasses before settling onto the bed.
She's in a pair of jeans and a dark tank top that hugs the curves of her body, typically artfully disguised beneath blouses and suit jackets. I glance away, out at the dark cityscape, taking a long sip of lukewarm wine. She sorts through the papers, leaning forward to pass me a file. My traitorous gaze instantly falls to her cleavage before darting back up to meet cornflower eyes. I snatch the papers from her, disguising my soft blush behind another gulp of wine, ignoring her quirked eyebrow smile.
I'm unsure what exactly her beauty makes me feel. Unsafe, maybe. Threatened, obviously. I focus intently on the papers in front of me, forcing intrusive thoughts of her and Grissom away before they have a chance to take hold.
"So I was thinking about this robbery- what if he wanted to get caught?"
I glance up as she leans back against the headboard, crossing one ankle over the other. "What do you mean?"
"What if Steve was trying to use it as an alibi? A way to create doubt that he would have been in Vegas the night of the murders"
"It's a stretch, he could have easily been at both scenes"
"Yeah, but you said it before- what are the chances he would murder three people, kidnap a woman and then drive straight to Phoenix to rob a liquor store for petty cash?"
"That or Darrel Walton did it and his brother is just a chauvinistic moron"
She sighs, dropping her head back against the headboard. I take in the darkness beneath her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, and know that I will relent.
"Will you just humor me, Sara? We're here, we might as well look into it"
"We will" I assure her, glancing back down at the papers. "He is a criminal; we know that much"
It's not long before I get up to retrieve the wine, pouring myself another glass.
"Didn't take you for the old movie type" she muses, gaze settling on the muted TV as she holds her own mug out for a refill.
"What did you take me for?" I ask, a teasing edge to my voice. She quirks an eyebrow up at me, settling back into the pillows.
"80's movies, maybe. Science documentaries"
"Both solid, but you can't beat the classics" I say, pulling my leg under me as I sit back down. "What about you?"
"What do you think?" she asks, tilting her head softly as though daring me to figure her out.
"Thrillers and cheesy romance, without a doubt" I state after a moment of thought, a soft blush coloring her cheeks as she scoffs quietly.
"Don't worry, I won't tell" I promise, pursing my lips into a smile.
She chuckles, gaze drifting back up to the movie as I turn my focus to the files in my lap. It's all the information we have on Steve- vehicle registrations, criminal record. I find myself immersed, trying to find some common thread between the myriad of petty crimes he's committed. I glance up to ask Sofia about the bail that always seems to be posted for him, words dying on my lips at the sight of her curled into the pillows, eyes shut.
I set aside my file, taking a moment to really look at her. She seems tense, even in her sleep, the soft crease between her eyebrows deepened as though in the throes of a nightmare. I consider waking her up but quickly discard that idea. She's clearly exhausted. I sigh, glancing around the room- what now?
I turn off the TV, slipping the file from her lap before gently draping a blanket over her. It's a king-sized bed, but even still it feels too intimate to crawl in. I settle back into the cushioned chair instead, far from the most uncomfortable place I've slept. As a CSI I've learned to sleep anywhere. Nick and I once fell asleep on the steps of a scene- shoulder to shoulder, pulling a triple, waiting on David to arrive and release the body.
I eventually drift to sleep, awoken by a gentle hand on my arm. I blink open my eyes, a moment passing before I'm able to make out Sofia, sleepy eyed and messy haired, lit by the moon. I frown, trying to piece together where exactly I am.
"Hey, sorry I crashed on you" she whispers
Right- Phoenix, with her.
"It's okay" I assure her, voice like gravel.
"As comfortable as this looks" she teases, voice raspy from sleep, "you should get in bed"
Her fingertips fall away fro me and I immediately miss the warmth of her, running my hands over my eyes.
"Stay if you want"
As soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize how strange the sentiment is, spoken to a woman I can barely tolerate most days. But I'm half asleep and the moment feels strangely intimate and it's too late to take it back. She hesitates a moment before a smile ghosts over her lips. Reaching out, she curls her fingers gently into my hair for a lingering moment before stepping away. It's a strange, sleepy gesture that comforts as much as confuses me.
"I'll see you in the morning" she rasps quietly, turning away. I watch her leave, eventually dragging myself to bed. The sheets are still warm and I sink gratefully into them, grabbing my phone. I check a text from Greg sent hours ago, a continuation of our earlier conversation.
'She's growing on you, isn't she?'
He's teasing, clearly. I won't tell him that he might be right.