 | ShatterStorm Productions
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| ShatterStorm Productions
|
Primary Character(s): Sofia Curtis
Secondary Influences: The soundtrack to Tomb Raider
Special Notes: We figured that if Dace was around, Sofia wouldn't have waited as long as she did to become a detective. And it's not that we don't like Sofia as a CSI, but she's just so much sexier as a detective. *g* Hence this happening about 2 years earlier than canon...
Disclaimers: See Index page for full disclaimer info
++ Sofia ++
How in the hell did I get into this conversation in the first place? It's not like I owe her anything. Do I? It's the alcohol. I should know better than to have a beer after a long shift with the woman that drives me insane because she insists on working with me and me alone on day shift. I've heard far more about her life than I probably want to know. And yet, I can't tell her to shut up. She intrigues the hell out of me.
"Yo, Sofia, you still in there?" She asks, tapping lightly at my forehead.
The sensation startles me from my woolgathering and I shake my head. "I suppose I am," I reply with a self-deprecating grin. "Maybe I've been on the clock too long. Or had too many of these." I lift the bottle, but don't stop myself from taking another drink.
"I would give a fucking body part for a beer right now," Dace laments, lazily stirring her drink with her straw. "But I'm stuck with these stupid Shirley Temples until I stop breastfeeding."
I smirk in sympathy and smack her in the arm. "Your choice to breastfeed, Dace. Deal with it."
She shoots me a dirty look that turns appraising. "And your choice to stay a CSI. You still haven't answered my question, you know."
I stare at her for a long moment, deliberately taking another pull off my beer and signaling the waitress for another. "You don't give up, do you? You're like some sort of pit bull with a toy."
"I prefer cat with a mouse, but then you won't let me play with you, will you, Sofia?" She retorts, a teasing gleam in her eyes.
I shake my head at her and chuckle. "One track mind much, Bogart?"
She shrugs and grins. "At least I'm consistent." Scrubbing at the back of her neck, she watches me for another moment. "So what made you become a CSI?"
"Haven't we had this conversation before?" I ask, not sure I want to get into this while still partially sober. Then again, it's got to be better than to be completely drunk. Right? The determined look in her eyes alerts me to the fact that she's just not going to let this go this time. "Okay, then… Well, the easiest, simplest answer is that I was volunteered for it by the sheriff."
"Why?"
I blink at the question and think about how to answer it. With a shrug, I shake my head. "I guess because he thought I could do a decent job? I had all the skills from being an overachiever in school and taking enough classes to eliminate any sleep for years. He knew, as pretty much everyone does, that my mom's a cop. Her goal is to be captain one day, and I know she'll make it. She's the reason I got into law enforcement in the first place."
"Wait a minute," Dace interrupts, sitting up to attention. "You're a cop?"
"Yeah. Is that such a surprise?"
"Yes and no."
I blink at her answer. "Excuse me?"
She shrugs and grins sheepishly. "You just have this sense of self that most of the CSIs don't have. Well, then again, the only ones I really know well are Catherine and Sara, and their team of course. I mean, I live with Catherine and Sara, after all. Though I suppose Warrick has that sense of 'I'm a cop' about him, too. But you? You're different, Sofia. And I mean that in a good way, of course."
Chuckling, I salute her with my bottle and toss back another swallow. "Nice save there, Dace," I drawl. Letting out a long sigh, I do my best to respond to her theory. "Okay, you want the truth? I'd been a beat cop, and I'd just qualified for my shield when the sheriff decided I'd do better as a CSI. I was so pissed off about it at the time. I very nearly quit the force all together."
"You're shitting me?" Dace interrupts me. "You don't strike me as a quitter, Curtis."
I snort derisively. "My mother said the same damned thing to me. Didn't matter that she absolutely abhorred the idea of me becoming a CSI, whether I'd wanted it or not. But she's not a quitter and, as she beat into my head, she didn't raise her daughter to be a quitter either. In the end, it was her disappointment and expectations of me that kept me from quitting. Well, that and a pretty intense pep talk from Jim Brass."
"So why didn't you try for your shield again? You've been a CSI for how long now?"
I narrow my eyes at her. She's really starting to sound like my mother now. I'm not drunk enough for this conversation. Or maybe I'm not sober enough. Either way, it's not what I want to be discussing at -- I glance at my watch -- nine-thirty at night, after a hellish fourteen hour shift. "I've been a CSI for four years now. Why?"
"Do you like it?" The question is oddly sincere, taking me completely off guard.
"If I didn't like it, would I still be at it? I mean, I'm the assistant supervisor for day shift, Ecklie's right hand, the woman in charge when he's not around. I've got quite a bit of power on my shift, and I get my pick of cases to work. What's not to love about it?"
"But you'd love to be an inspector, wouldn't you? Sorry, a detective. I'll get that straight one of these fucking years. I'm right, aren't I? You envy the guys like Brass and Vartann, and O'Riley. You want to be doing what they're doing, instead of what you're doing."
"Yeah, I suppose so," I reply shortly. "What's your point? I've been out of the loop for too many years now. I'll end up in charge of my own shift and team within a couple of years."
Dace leans in closer and stares at me for a long moment. Her nostrils flare and I see the briefest flash of gold in her pale blue eyes. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to seeing that, and feeling the silver shiver of reaction it provokes. "Listen, Sofia, I really like you, okay? I can't stand Conrad. I think he's a pompous jackass of a politico who puts down everything and everyone he doesn't understand or fears. And he's fucking terrified of me, and pretty much everyone knows that. He's shit for a CSI and shouldn't even be running a shift if he can't pull his own weight in the lab. But that's beside the point. You're good as a CSI, I won't dispute that. And you must like it at least a little bit to have stuck it out for this long. But that's not the be all and end all for you, is it? You want something else. You want on this side of the table, on this side of the battle, don’t you?"
"We're all on the same side, Dace," I reply evenly, reciting the mantra I've followed over the years. "We do our jobs to get the bad guys and serve justice for the victims."
"And yet the CSIs don't get the acclaim, do they?" She goads, picking at my defenses like a scab. "It all goes to the cop in charge, doesn't it? Sure, you have to defend your findings in court, but when the case is won, the cop and the lawyer get all the praise. Doesn't that irk you?"
I chew the inside of my cheek, holding back from snapping at her. This is going too damned far for a casual chat over a couple of beers. "You know what, Dace? You're an interesting woman, and I enjoy working with you. Hell, I even like hanging out with you. But this is pushing it. Just drop it, okay?"
She grins broadly and chews on the cherry in her drink. "I struck a nerve, didn't I? It really pisses you off that you do all that work and don't get the credit."
"Fuck you, Bogart," I snap.
"Why don't you do something about it? Go for your shield again. What's it going to hurt if you don't get it? Nothing. You'll still be able to be a CSI."
"And have Conrad on my case? Maybe you don't get it. I'm good at what I do, and I don't cause any waves. You don't want to cause waves around Conrad Ecklie. It's the quickest way to get yourself shunted off to graveyard."
"And graveyard's such a bad place to be?" She asks, eyes narrowing dangerously.
I've definitely had enough to drink now. It's really not a wise thing to be dissing her mate's team. Time for a little ass-kissing. "Okay, that didn't come out right."
"No, I think it came out exactly the way you wanted it to," she replies evenly. "I know most of you CSIs think that graveyard is a bunch of weirdo losers. But just remember this, they've got the best solve rate for any of your shifts. They are the reason your lab is number two to Quantico. I've done the research, Sofia. LVPD's CSI lab was number fourteen in the nation before Gil Grissom came along. And he and his team got your lab up to that coveted number two slot. So before you cast stones, you'd best be without sin. Got it?"
Holding up my hands in acquiescence, I lean back in my chair. "I'm sorry, Dace. That was totally uncalled for. I just… You hit a nerve with the detective thing, okay?"
"Then why don't you do something about it? Why stay as a CSI if it's not really what you want to do? So what if Ecklie puts you on grave? Catherine still talks about how much she owes you and Cabot for finding me when I went off on 'walkabout' in April. She hasn't quite gotten over the fact that she had to choose Lindsey over me, but I know if you were on grave, she'd definitely do what she could to help you adjust, even if she acted like a bitch while doing it. That's just the way she comes off sometimes."
"You're probably right," I reply slowly, picking at the label on my bottle.
"And if you don't make it the first time, so what? You study up on whatever you need to, and you try again. And if Conrad doesn't like it, tell him to fuck off. Do you have any idea how much I'd love to take Brass up on his offer to take me as a detective? But this" -- she holds up her right forearm and waves it slightly -- "pretty much precludes me from really being able to fire a gun again. Yeah, I can learn to do it with my left hand, and I'm working on that. But it's never gonna be the same. But I'm making an effort to keep up with what I've always been, always needed to be. I don't want to have any regrets when I'm lying on my deathbed, especially for things I wanted to do but was too afraid to try. I'd hate to think you'd have any regrets either."
"Anyone ever tell you you're a serious pain in the ass with the tenacity of a pit bull?"
"Catherine does on a regular basis. So do my sister, Liv, Warrick, and Anastasia, to name a few. You're in good company if you think the same thing."
"Bitch," I mutter, but I can't fight the spark of warmth and amusement at her tenacity.
She just grins cheekily at me and pokes the back of my hand with her little cocktail sword. "So…"
"So?" I ask when she doesn't finish the thought. I have an idea of what she's probably going to say anyway.
"So when you gonna see about getting your shield? Rejoin the boys and girls in blue? I bet you look hot in your dress uniform," Dace says, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
I snort and try to snatch the little sword from her hand. "Do you always think about sex?"
"No, not always," she replies in a very serious tone, but soon enough she starts to smirk. "Just whenever I see a sexy woman and try to picture her in uniform. Or out of one." She laughs when I swat at her head, and grabs my hand, keeping a tight grip on it. "Seriously though, Sofia. If you really want to be a detective, don't wait until you think the time's perfect. It never will be. There'll always be something not quite right, and then suddenly it's one, two, five, ten, maybe twenty years down the line and it's definitely too late. If there's one thing that I learned when I nearly got my skull caved in back in Chicago a year and a half ago, it's that you never know when your number's up. Why wait for the things you really want. Just go out and get them, or do your damned trying."
"You've certainly got an interesting way of phrasing things, Candace Bogart," I reply with a slow grin, chewing on the pilfered cocktail sword. "But you've got a point. I'll talk to Jim Brass the next time I see him and get the paperwork started. Okay?"
"Spankin'!"
