csi fic: "only just a minute"
only just a minute, brass, brass/sofia, pg
the litany of lies he tells himself, grows longer and deeper until all that's left are the lies and wreckage of this story, 1200 words
Spoilers for 6x07, 6x08 - A Bullet Runs Through It
A/N: This was written for tos_lover who won over at the help_haiti auction. Thank you to her for her generosity and kind heart. I can only hope she likes this in return.
I have never written Brass before so this presented a challenge, a good one. I went back in time to disect a little of what might have happened through these two episodes. I recently suffered a personal loss so I hope my sadness isn't written in every line. I hope I did ok with the characterization of Brass but your feedback and comments (including concrit) are welcome! Thank you to liltoomuch who read through this for me and thank you again to tos_lover who bid on me.
There's a glass, half full of amber colored whiskey. It stares back at him, whispering to him oh so softly. The bar is not crowded and he can lose himself in the hum of the conversation around him. Everything that happened today plays like a record in his mind; chaos coloring the images of death and frenzy. He tries to remember the sequence of events and falters, the same way he did in that interrogation room.
His hand reaches for the alcohol but pulls back before it touches the glass. He knows there's no reason why he can't have that one glass but deep inside he knows it won't simply be one. One turns into two turns into three and tomorrow he has to deal with IA all over again. He can't go in with a hangover even though he knows they did nothing wrong today, did everything they could. He knows that mistakes can happen, it was insane today but he knows the only thing that everyone sees is the lost officer.
He is miserable over the loss and understands that's what is compelling him to the glass. He feels for Sofia and wonders how she's coping. He makes a mental note that he should recommend that she visit the psychologist, this being her first. Sighing, he pushes the glass away and tosses a few bills down to pay for it. He's going to pass, acknowledging that he's not that man tonight.
There are dreams that keep playing themselves out, over and over again. He sees panic and fear on everyone's faces and it terrifies him. Sometimes, he calls out to Sofia, tells her to get down and then it's too late, she's gone. Sometimes, he's the one hit and as he lies there, staring up at the sky, he watches the bullets fly past him. Every night, he wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing as he cries out to save, or be saved. Even as he lies there, catching his breath and allowing the warmth of reality settle around him, he is convincing himself that this is nothing. He will get through this and he should be focused on helping Sofia, that's more important than this.
But the litany of lies he tells himself, grows longer and deeper until all that's left are the lies and wreckage of this story. The lies are easier, he believes, so the dreams keep coming, one on top of the other. Tomorrow is another day and maybe tomorrow he'll gather the courage to be that man.
There's a knock at the door but he ignores it. Instead, he watches the ceiling fan makes its rotation and silently counts the movement. One, two, three...soon in time to the knocking at the door. The knock is persistent and he gives up ignoring it.
At the door he looks out to see who it is and heaves a sigh at his visitor. Removing the chain, he opens the door and leans against the frame. "I thought you didn't want to talk about this, that you would always be the cop who shot another cop." But even as he speaks the words, he sees the exhaustion laced with anguish in her eyes. Sighing again, he runs his palm down his face and makes a decision.
"Meet me at the diner around the corner in where we went last time." Without looking to see if she's acknowledged him, he turns and shuts the door. He knows he's not that man today.
There's always a beginning, it starts with a hug and ends with a kiss. He thought only to comfort but in that first kiss, he understood it to be just a little bit more than that. She had closed that gap between them and had taken him by surprise. She had turned into the aggressor. He scarcely had a moment to pull in a breath before her lips touched his. So soft and warm and fleeting, he could have imagined it. But then her mouth touched his again and he closed his eyes. She tasted of wine and sadness and he wanted to understand her.
She pressed her lips against his for only a heartbeat before they simultaneously opened their mouths. He pulled her closer and took over as his tongue slipped past her teeth and swept over hers. His free hand cupped her cheek as his body melded to hers. He wanted to keep it gentle but understood that they both needed this heat, this moment. His tongue delved deeper, teasing hers, tangling with it in a sensual dance.
He knows that this is what it is and understands (hopes) there won't be any regrets. He doesn't think he has the strength to be that man tomorrow.
There's a note left on his nightstand, short and completely to the point. She'll be at the wake later today, there's really nothing say. He runs his hand down his face, thinking what he would really like right now is that glass of whiskey he left behind. Shrugging the sleep and thoughts of whiskey away, he reaches for his phone as it starts to ring.
"Brass."
"Jim, I need to talk to you so I'm on my over now." Grissom's voice sounds cryptic and remote. He hangs up without waiting for a response.
Grissom is already outside as he reaches the front door. He smiles slightly and takes a breath when he notices the grim expression on Grissom's face. A part of him is still in denial but knows. He knows.
He listens to Grissom and stumbles through a pseudo-apology. He's angry and sad, sad warring with disappointment. Angry wins and he makes it out of the car before he makes it worse, "Don't keep 'em waiting."
He takes satisfaction in slamming the door shut.
There's always a choice in the end.
He knows he has to go today, he wants to go. He really doesn't care what the other cops think, doesn't care what Sofia will think. All he knows is that he had made a terrible mistake and someone too young paid the price. He can still see the pity clouding Grissom's eyes when he told him the truth and it took everything in him not to hit Grissom. Instead, he stuttered through the rest of the conversation and left. He didn't want his pity nor compassion.
In the comfort of the shower, with the water raining down around him, he faces a choice that only he can make. Stay and avoid. Go and deal. He searches around inside himself to understand if he is that man today.
There's that moment where a single act of forgiveness can shatter even the strongest of defenses. That single moment that can break a man and heal him in the same stroke. He doesn't know why she chose to understand, he doesn't know why she chose to forgive him but he does understand that she's offering to help him pick up the tiny pieces that lay scattered.
He made a choice and in that choice, Tracy Bell is helping them both heal and he thinks that maybe, maybe today, he can be that man after all.
.end
the litany of lies he tells himself, grows longer and deeper until all that's left are the lies and wreckage of this story, 1200 words
Spoilers for 6x07, 6x08 - A Bullet Runs Through It
A/N: This was written for tos_lover who won over at the help_haiti auction. Thank you to her for her generosity and kind heart. I can only hope she likes this in return.
I have never written Brass before so this presented a challenge, a good one. I went back in time to disect a little of what might have happened through these two episodes. I recently suffered a personal loss so I hope my sadness isn't written in every line. I hope I did ok with the characterization of Brass but your feedback and comments (including concrit) are welcome! Thank you to liltoomuch who read through this for me and thank you again to tos_lover who bid on me.
There's a glass, half full of amber colored whiskey. It stares back at him, whispering to him oh so softly. The bar is not crowded and he can lose himself in the hum of the conversation around him. Everything that happened today plays like a record in his mind; chaos coloring the images of death and frenzy. He tries to remember the sequence of events and falters, the same way he did in that interrogation room.
His hand reaches for the alcohol but pulls back before it touches the glass. He knows there's no reason why he can't have that one glass but deep inside he knows it won't simply be one. One turns into two turns into three and tomorrow he has to deal with IA all over again. He can't go in with a hangover even though he knows they did nothing wrong today, did everything they could. He knows that mistakes can happen, it was insane today but he knows the only thing that everyone sees is the lost officer.
He is miserable over the loss and understands that's what is compelling him to the glass. He feels for Sofia and wonders how she's coping. He makes a mental note that he should recommend that she visit the psychologist, this being her first. Sighing, he pushes the glass away and tosses a few bills down to pay for it. He's going to pass, acknowledging that he's not that man tonight.
There are dreams that keep playing themselves out, over and over again. He sees panic and fear on everyone's faces and it terrifies him. Sometimes, he calls out to Sofia, tells her to get down and then it's too late, she's gone. Sometimes, he's the one hit and as he lies there, staring up at the sky, he watches the bullets fly past him. Every night, he wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing as he cries out to save, or be saved. Even as he lies there, catching his breath and allowing the warmth of reality settle around him, he is convincing himself that this is nothing. He will get through this and he should be focused on helping Sofia, that's more important than this.
But the litany of lies he tells himself, grows longer and deeper until all that's left are the lies and wreckage of this story. The lies are easier, he believes, so the dreams keep coming, one on top of the other. Tomorrow is another day and maybe tomorrow he'll gather the courage to be that man.
There's a knock at the door but he ignores it. Instead, he watches the ceiling fan makes its rotation and silently counts the movement. One, two, three...soon in time to the knocking at the door. The knock is persistent and he gives up ignoring it.
At the door he looks out to see who it is and heaves a sigh at his visitor. Removing the chain, he opens the door and leans against the frame. "I thought you didn't want to talk about this, that you would always be the cop who shot another cop." But even as he speaks the words, he sees the exhaustion laced with anguish in her eyes. Sighing again, he runs his palm down his face and makes a decision.
"Meet me at the diner around the corner in where we went last time." Without looking to see if she's acknowledged him, he turns and shuts the door. He knows he's not that man today.
There's always a beginning, it starts with a hug and ends with a kiss. He thought only to comfort but in that first kiss, he understood it to be just a little bit more than that. She had closed that gap between them and had taken him by surprise. She had turned into the aggressor. He scarcely had a moment to pull in a breath before her lips touched his. So soft and warm and fleeting, he could have imagined it. But then her mouth touched his again and he closed his eyes. She tasted of wine and sadness and he wanted to understand her.
She pressed her lips against his for only a heartbeat before they simultaneously opened their mouths. He pulled her closer and took over as his tongue slipped past her teeth and swept over hers. His free hand cupped her cheek as his body melded to hers. He wanted to keep it gentle but understood that they both needed this heat, this moment. His tongue delved deeper, teasing hers, tangling with it in a sensual dance.
He knows that this is what it is and understands (hopes) there won't be any regrets. He doesn't think he has the strength to be that man tomorrow.
There's a note left on his nightstand, short and completely to the point. She'll be at the wake later today, there's really nothing say. He runs his hand down his face, thinking what he would really like right now is that glass of whiskey he left behind. Shrugging the sleep and thoughts of whiskey away, he reaches for his phone as it starts to ring.
"Brass."
"Jim, I need to talk to you so I'm on my over now." Grissom's voice sounds cryptic and remote. He hangs up without waiting for a response.
Grissom is already outside as he reaches the front door. He smiles slightly and takes a breath when he notices the grim expression on Grissom's face. A part of him is still in denial but knows. He knows.
He listens to Grissom and stumbles through a pseudo-apology. He's angry and sad, sad warring with disappointment. Angry wins and he makes it out of the car before he makes it worse, "Don't keep 'em waiting."
He takes satisfaction in slamming the door shut.
There's always a choice in the end.
He knows he has to go today, he wants to go. He really doesn't care what the other cops think, doesn't care what Sofia will think. All he knows is that he had made a terrible mistake and someone too young paid the price. He can still see the pity clouding Grissom's eyes when he told him the truth and it took everything in him not to hit Grissom. Instead, he stuttered through the rest of the conversation and left. He didn't want his pity nor compassion.
In the comfort of the shower, with the water raining down around him, he faces a choice that only he can make. Stay and avoid. Go and deal. He searches around inside himself to understand if he is that man today.
There's that moment where a single act of forgiveness can shatter even the strongest of defenses. That single moment that can break a man and heal him in the same stroke. He doesn't know why she chose to understand, he doesn't know why she chose to forgive him but he does understand that she's offering to help him pick up the tiny pieces that lay scattered.
He made a choice and in that choice, Tracy Bell is helping them both heal and he thinks that maybe, maybe today, he can be that man after all.
.end