The Deal
Part 1 of the Diurnal Dreaming Series.

by maven


STANDARD DISCLAIMER: Characters owned by CBS Television, Jerry Bruckheimer and a few other production and distribution companies.

RATINGS DISCLAIMER: Just two people talking. A few bad words.

CONTINUITY DISCLAIMER: Season Five spoilers and setting. No real case specific spoilers.

CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE: This is the answer to Femvamp's snowbound challenge where Catherine is to fall back on her coke habit and Sara is to find out. Couldn't quite do that.

RESEARCH DISCLAIMER: I watch the show, I read an article in the Toronto Star and this website http://members.aol.com/remiped/csi-news-realcsi.htm. That's about it.

STORY SPECIFIC NOTES: None

FEEDBACK, COMMENTS AND FLAMES: Email at maven369@sympatico.ca

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The trouble with Grissom as a supervisor -okay one of the many problems with Grissom as a supervisor- is that knocking on his office door is just an announcement. Knock, knock, walk in, hey Griss I need the file on the Blackburn case. Actually, that's not the problem. The problem is that it trains you to do the same thing with other offices. Other offices who have owners who seem to think that a knock is asking permission and you should stay on your side of the door until it's granted. Case in point: Swing Shift Supervisor Catherine Willows.

"Hey, Catherine, I need the file on. . . Holy Christ, what are you doing?"

What she was doing was obvious. Three lines of white powder, a credit card and a half full baggie of more white powder.

"Shut the door," she said harshly.

I did so, leaning back against it.

"Lock it."

"Little late for that," I mutter, earning a dark look but I lock the door anyway.

She sighed and scraped the lines into one pile before picking up the acetate sheet it was sitting on and pouring the whole thing into the baggie. Silently she applied a fresh evidence seal, signed and dated it.

"Sit down, Sara. Give me a few minutes before you report me."

"Report you?"

"'Duh," she says, sounding incredibly like her daughter.

"You, ah, wanna tell me what I just saw? Or almost saw. Or almost happened but I came in and saw... what?"

"You're the bright and shiny CSI. Process it."

"Suspect had approximately five grams of a substance consistent in appearance to cocaine. Approximately one gram was in three lines on an acetate sheet, presumably used to protect the desk from trace. The acetate sheet should show trace amounts of the substance as well as fingerprints of the suspect. The same holds true for the credit card used to divide the substance. Suspect shows no apparent sign of usage."

"Very good. If you don't eat your gun or commit suicide by cop."

"Hey. My therapist would say this is about you, not me. Don't make it about me."

"Therapist?"

"Not about me," I repeat.

"Fine. Which rumours have you about me?"

"I don't listen to rumours."

"Yeah, right."

"No, seriously. Or maybe people just don't tell me."

"That I believe. No offense," she adds quickly when I glare. "I used to be a stripper. I used to be a coke addict."

"Used to?"

"Am. My name is Catherine Willows and I'm a coke addict."

I like to think I'm a good judge of character. "Catherine, you don't act like a coke addict."

"Clean and sober since before Lindsey was born. Well, mostly sober."

"Did, ah, something happen today?" I ask suddenly. "A case? One of the guys? Oh, my God, Lindsey?"

She makes negative motions with her hands. "No, no, no," she says. "I'm an addict. I don't need a reason. You going to report me now?"

"Answer one question first."

"Sure."

"And you have to answer honestly. Swear it."

"I swear," she assures me, more amused than serious.

"Have you ever tampered with the evidence before?"

"No," she says sharply. "I wasn't tampering. I was testing."

"Testing the coke?"

"Testing me."

"What?"

"I was testing me. It's a crime lab. We get in kilos and kilos of this shit. And every now and then I test myself. See if I'm stronger than it."

"And are you? You had lines there, Catherine."

"Ah baby," she almost purrs. "Some days I have the dollar bill all rolled up." She waves the thought away with a quick gesture. "Today I'm much stronger than it. Now, you going to report me?"

"No," I say. "Make you a deal. Gimme a dollar."

She looks at me as if I'm insane. Not a new look around the lab but she gives me one from her wallet. I grab a Jiffy marker and write "Catherine's" across the front, fold it twice and slip it behind my ID.

"Here's the deal. Test yourself all you want. But if you get to the point where you're wanting to roll up the bill, you come get this one and we'll talk."

She stares at me in disbelief for about twenty seconds before she nods. "One condition. Give me your gun."

I suppose I should have thought twice, hell, maybe once, but I pull it from my belt and hand it over. She ejects the clip and checks the chamber before sliding one round from the magazine. Taking the Jiffy marker she writes four letters across the brass.

"Here's the deal," she says, smiling for the first time since I entered the office. She slides the pistol and the clip back to me before tucking the bullet into her change purse. "You want to use that for anything but self defense, you come get this one and we'll talk."

I find myself smiling back and an almost uncomfortable silence fills the room. I spot the Blackburn file and point to it. She nods.

"Next time," I say, file in hand, "I'll knock first."

"Don't worry. My doors always open to you."

END

Next: The Debt
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