Categories > TV > CSI
Breathe
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the TV show CSI. That honour belongs to the people over at CBS and Alliance Atlantis.
Catherine Willows stalked into the interrogation room, a look of thinly veiled disgust on her face. She was followed closely by Captain Jim Brass, head of homicide. She sat down at the table across from the suspect, while Brass, unable to sit, stood by the table, glowering. Unseen and unnoticed, Gil Grissom stood behind the one-way glass, his posture tense.
"Please state your name for the record, spelling your last."
"Patrick Donelly. D-O-N-E-L-L-Y. And who are you, pretty lady?"
Catherine didn't even flinch. "Patrick, where were you the night of June 14?"
"At home, minding my own business. Where were you?"
"Can anyone verify that?" asked Brass.
"No. I like to keep to myself."
"Well, we have DNA evidence that says you were on the Strip, attempting to sexually assault a woman. Can you explain that?" Catherine's voice was cold.
"Explain what? I was at home, with my cat. Come to think of it, you could bring my cat in here. I'm sure he'd vouch for my whereabouts." Though both Brass and Catherine were in the room, Patrick only had eyes for Catherine. He was watching her over the smug look he had on his face, and Brass really just wanted one excuse to wipe that smirk off, preferably forever.
"Let's try this again. We found your DNA under the victim's fingernails. We also found your semen aon her clothes. On top of that, we've got witnesses that put you at the scene."
"You got nothing. But baby, if you want a little something, you could come on over to my place after, 'cause honey, if I had known you were out there, I would'a waited just a little-'
"That's enough!" shouted Brass, shoving the 'suspect' none-too-gently back into his chair, as he was currently trying to crawl across the table to get to Catherine. Catherine had barely moved a muscle, though her disgust was become less and less veiled. She did not think that it was possible for her to be any angrier than she was at this point in time.
"Listen up asshole. You just as good as gave us a confession. Not that we needed one, as we have enough to lock you up for a long time to come. There's a woman in the hospital right now who might not recover because of you, and if she doesn't, I personally will see to it that you get the lethal injection. You may think that you have it made, well let me tell you something. Assaulting that woman, that was a mistake, a huge mistake. Attempting to assault me was another giant mistake. Daddy's endless pockets and political ties aren't getting you out of this one. You've hurt your last victim, and it is my personal pleasure to see that you are finally going behind bars where you belong, and never coming out again." At this point she sagged back into her chair, her anger and every other emotion abated for the moment. All she wanted to do was go home, hug her daughter, and crawl under the covers for a long, long time. He was no worse than most of the scum that she dealt with on a regular basis, but this interview was making her skin crawl. "Brass, get him out of here," she commanded, her voice flat.
Brass motioned to the guard by the door, who came and escorted Donelly from the room, who was still wearing that same, aggravating smirk that he wore when he entered, not the slightest bit abashed by the tongue-lashing he had received. He didn't seem to understand that Catherine would make good on her promise that he would never again see the light of day.
The interview effectively over, Grissom quietly snuck out of the observation room, still unseen. He avoided everyone as he walked to his SUV, his emotions reeling just as much as Catherine's had been. He supposed he should talk to her, tell her something, even just give her a reassuring smile but he found that he couldn't. There was only one place in the world he wanted to be right now. He got into the Tahoe, and drove out of the parking lot, ready for the hardest night of his life.
He reached the hospital in good time, he hadn't really been paying much attention to the lights. He let his feet take him to her room, the path memorized the instant she had been brought in yesterday, a pale ghost, except for the bruises that had stood out in sharp contrast. He paused at the door, looking up as Nick and Warrick stopped in front of him. He nodded slightly, a silent assurance that Catherine had got him. That was all they needed as they left, understanding that he needed to be alone with her. He walked into the room, feeing lost in the maze of machines that surrounded the bed, allowing himself to be slightly lulled by the constant beat of the heart-rate monitor.
Grissom sat in the chair, her hand already nestled in his as he viewed her face. She looked so peaceful, so calm. "You got to wake up for me honey. Catherine nailed him. There's nothing to be scared of anymore. Please, everyone's been so worried, and, and..." He felt himself stuttering. The words didn't want to come, though they had been on the tip of his tongue for awhile now. "I need you to wake up. Sara I... I love you." He felt her hand stir beneath his, and finally, for the first time in twenty-four hours, allowed himself to breathe.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the TV show CSI. That honour belongs to the people over at CBS and Alliance Atlantis.
Catherine Willows stalked into the interrogation room, a look of thinly veiled disgust on her face. She was followed closely by Captain Jim Brass, head of homicide. She sat down at the table across from the suspect, while Brass, unable to sit, stood by the table, glowering. Unseen and unnoticed, Gil Grissom stood behind the one-way glass, his posture tense.
"Please state your name for the record, spelling your last."
"Patrick Donelly. D-O-N-E-L-L-Y. And who are you, pretty lady?"
Catherine didn't even flinch. "Patrick, where were you the night of June 14?"
"At home, minding my own business. Where were you?"
"Can anyone verify that?" asked Brass.
"No. I like to keep to myself."
"Well, we have DNA evidence that says you were on the Strip, attempting to sexually assault a woman. Can you explain that?" Catherine's voice was cold.
"Explain what? I was at home, with my cat. Come to think of it, you could bring my cat in here. I'm sure he'd vouch for my whereabouts." Though both Brass and Catherine were in the room, Patrick only had eyes for Catherine. He was watching her over the smug look he had on his face, and Brass really just wanted one excuse to wipe that smirk off, preferably forever.
"Let's try this again. We found your DNA under the victim's fingernails. We also found your semen aon her clothes. On top of that, we've got witnesses that put you at the scene."
"You got nothing. But baby, if you want a little something, you could come on over to my place after, 'cause honey, if I had known you were out there, I would'a waited just a little-'
"That's enough!" shouted Brass, shoving the 'suspect' none-too-gently back into his chair, as he was currently trying to crawl across the table to get to Catherine. Catherine had barely moved a muscle, though her disgust was become less and less veiled. She did not think that it was possible for her to be any angrier than she was at this point in time.
"Listen up asshole. You just as good as gave us a confession. Not that we needed one, as we have enough to lock you up for a long time to come. There's a woman in the hospital right now who might not recover because of you, and if she doesn't, I personally will see to it that you get the lethal injection. You may think that you have it made, well let me tell you something. Assaulting that woman, that was a mistake, a huge mistake. Attempting to assault me was another giant mistake. Daddy's endless pockets and political ties aren't getting you out of this one. You've hurt your last victim, and it is my personal pleasure to see that you are finally going behind bars where you belong, and never coming out again." At this point she sagged back into her chair, her anger and every other emotion abated for the moment. All she wanted to do was go home, hug her daughter, and crawl under the covers for a long, long time. He was no worse than most of the scum that she dealt with on a regular basis, but this interview was making her skin crawl. "Brass, get him out of here," she commanded, her voice flat.
Brass motioned to the guard by the door, who came and escorted Donelly from the room, who was still wearing that same, aggravating smirk that he wore when he entered, not the slightest bit abashed by the tongue-lashing he had received. He didn't seem to understand that Catherine would make good on her promise that he would never again see the light of day.
The interview effectively over, Grissom quietly snuck out of the observation room, still unseen. He avoided everyone as he walked to his SUV, his emotions reeling just as much as Catherine's had been. He supposed he should talk to her, tell her something, even just give her a reassuring smile but he found that he couldn't. There was only one place in the world he wanted to be right now. He got into the Tahoe, and drove out of the parking lot, ready for the hardest night of his life.
He reached the hospital in good time, he hadn't really been paying much attention to the lights. He let his feet take him to her room, the path memorized the instant she had been brought in yesterday, a pale ghost, except for the bruises that had stood out in sharp contrast. He paused at the door, looking up as Nick and Warrick stopped in front of him. He nodded slightly, a silent assurance that Catherine had got him. That was all they needed as they left, understanding that he needed to be alone with her. He walked into the room, feeing lost in the maze of machines that surrounded the bed, allowing himself to be slightly lulled by the constant beat of the heart-rate monitor.
Grissom sat in the chair, her hand already nestled in his as he viewed her face. She looked so peaceful, so calm. "You got to wake up for me honey. Catherine nailed him. There's nothing to be scared of anymore. Please, everyone's been so worried, and, and..." He felt himself stuttering. The words didn't want to come, though they had been on the tip of his tongue for awhile now. "I need you to wake up. Sara I... I love you." He felt her hand stir beneath his, and finally, for the first time in twenty-four hours, allowed himself to breathe.
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