Fanfiction | Family Affair | CSI & Heroes | Chapter IV
Title: Family Affair ~ Chapter 4/?
Author: frickangel
Fandoms: CSI/Heroes
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It’s an offer Greg can only choose to refuse. The Sanders family takes care of each other; no matter what.
Characters: Greg Sanders (CSI), Niki Sanders (Heroes), and Aaron Malsky (Heroes)
Pairings: None.
Timeline: Post ‘Post-Mortem’ for CSI, and during ‘The Fix’ for Heroes.
A/N: -
Warning: Un-beta’d
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t know and don’t I wish.
Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six
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“What the hell are you doing here, Greg?”
Sighing once more as he rested his chin on the steering wheel, Greg again doubted the reality he was living in. Sure, the message he got this afternoon was real enough; as real as when Micah fixed his watch with just a touch; as real as him sitting here in his Denali, staring blankly into the night life of he Nevada desert and questioning his very presence there.
Fingers lying limply on the dashboard, he pushed himself back into the seat and decided that he was going to risk the cold night instead of suffering through cramps in the car. Once out of the vehicle, he first checked his watch, peered pass the crack and reading the time. Mr. Mystery was late, and who knows, maybe Greg did make up that voicemail in his addled brain.
He kicked the large tires and winced at the throb of pain that shot through his foot, yet at the same time fought the sudden flood of lights from another car that just turned at Greg’s direction. Raising his hand to block the offending brightness out, he couldn’t quite make out just what-or who-was heading his way.
The sandy ground crackled as the wheels rolled over it, bringing the vehicle to a complete stop but the lights and the engine continued on.
“Evening, Mr. Sanders,” the shadow emerged from the backseat of the running Lexus.
Swallowing hard, he lowered his hand and squinted at his visitor, “Who are you?”
“I apologise for the lateness as well as the odd choice of venue.”
“Who are you?” Greg repeated the question.
“Who I am is not at all important, Mr. Sanders. Only the fact that you are the very key to Niki’s freedom is.”
No matter how many times he licked his lips, it still felt dry and parched like his throat was, yet oddly enough his palms were sweaty and slick with moisture. “It doesn’t seem fair that you know my name and I don’t know yours or even who sent you.”
“You hurt me,” the stranger stepped forth and the headlights dimmed, allowing Greg to see the balding, short, and stumpy figure. Whoever this is didn’t seem at all imposing; certainly not like a person who’d be smart enough to plot a chicken run much less all of this, “…to assume that someone of higher power could’ve sent me and then underestimating me.”
Fighting the strong urge to just shrug, Greg was left with no choice but to silently stare back. Obviously, the other took this as some sign of defiance and persistence.
He chuckled-not light-heartedly-but rather like a parent humouring their small child. “Malsky,” he offered a name foreign to Greg. “Though I’ll refrain from shaking your hand, if you don’t mind.”
If that was for his first name, then his parents obviously had an even worse sense of humour. “Mr. Malsky,” Greg said, settling for this alien’s last name, “…just what exactly do you want from me?”
“It’s not what I want from you, but what you want for yourself.”
“Still not following.”
Malsky took another step closer, “I’ll make this very simple then, Greg.”
The CSI winced at the use of his name so personally.
“You are a CSI. You work with evidence that could very well determine the fate of hundreds of suspects,” Malsky took a moment to breath in slowly and continued. “Now, your cousin Niki is one of the said suspects and you can help her.”
It took a moment for Greg’s mind to reconfirm the thoughts that had been forming. “You want me to tamper with evidence?” he asked disbelievingly. This was preposterous, and against everything Grissom had taught him to believe and trust in.
“No. I do not want you to do anything, I’m merely suggesting,” Malsky replied calmly and the sides of his lips turned into a small smile. “I’d imagine it’ll be tough for young Micah to grow up without a mother. Not to mention the all those school fights he’ll be in when everyone finds out his mother was a convict on death row.”
“Leave Micah out of this!” Greg was surprised at his own forceful voice, and he allowed it to die down in his throat as a growl, his fists curled into tight balls.
“I’m afraid Micah is going to be part of this painful truth. Not unless you help him,” he stated coolly. “Not unless you help Niki.”
The fingernails were digging sharply into his palm, and Greg could imagine the redness that was already forming, contrasting greatly with his white knuckles. For all those times he had been a rookie CSI, he was used to being proved wrong or corrected more than a dozen times. But now, meeting this stranger who was proving that Greg was wrong in believing in the system, and that things were needed to be done to ascertain Niki’s innocence, Greg was angered. The frown on his face and his eyes showed just that, yet the curiosity within was peaked. “How exactly do you want me to help?” he drawled the question slowly, trying avoid his emotions betraying him.
“So far, there has not been any real evidence linking Niki to the murders, just her confession. Everything’s been extremely circumstantial and that’s all the D.A. has been riding on. But wouldn’t it be convenient if, let say, the DNA evidence of a known suspect was suddenly found? Not to mention his confession would definitely cement the case.”
“You going to find some poor innocent guy to be the scapegoat?”
“We already have him,” Malsky flashed his all-knowing smile again. “And he is anything but innocent. You see, as of Tuesday last week, he’s already been sentenced to death for a crime he most certainly committed. His last worry is that his aging mother be taken care off comfortably and we can arrange that easily.” Allowing his pause to settle into the desert cold, Malsky removed his glasses and polished it with a handkerchief he unrolled from a pocket. “It’s all basically up to you, Greg, if you let this dying man his last wish be fulfilled. Let him do some real good before his time is up.”
Insanity was the right word for the moment. This wasn’t something he could simply consider let alone even agree to. What if he got caught? What if Grissom found out? Or Sara or the rest of the team, what would they think of him?
Blacklisted and ostracised as a traitor; a leper sequestered from everyone.
But then, what kind of life would Micah lead if Niki wasn’t in it?
“Think about it, Greg,” Malsky disrupted his musings and was holding out something to Greg. “But don’t take too long. You may have all the time in the world, but Niki might not.”
Calming his shaky hands before reaching out, Greg accepted the small white card from Malsky and glanced at it. Nothing fancy-plain in fact-just a white piece of card with a clear seven digit number printed in regular font.
No names, no indications, no clues.
“Why Niki?”
Malsky slowly turned behind, his move back to his transport interrupted by Greg’s abrupt question, “Because she’s special.”
Eyes narrowed at the cryptic information, Greg wasn’t satisfied with it, “What’s so special that you’d want her out of jail so desperately.”
“I don’t need her, but Mr. Linderman believes that she is of great importance.”
“Linderman?” the words sounded coarse and distant to Greg’s own ears.
“I’d suggest you be in his good graces since you’re given the chance,” he jabbed a finger at Greg’s direction to make a point. “After all, with the death of Sam Braun, Linderman is currently the most powerful man in Las Vegas-in more ways than one.”
Feeling the smooth texture of the card between his fingers, Greg lifted it to his eyes again trying to see if the small object held some buried answer.
“Don’t worry, Greg, Mr. Linderman believes you’re just as special,” Malsky seemed to have sensed his thoughts. “Just like Jessica is.”
The last four words struck shock and fear into Greg as he shot his attention back at Malsky; he only managed to see the balding man retreat into the Lexus and instantly sped off, leaving Greg in the night dust. His hair tickled his neck as the dry wind picked up and blew strongly, like a scene from a clichéd movie.
He was suddenly back in high school again, sitting at a table and staring at the chess set before him-half played. Each piece was strategically placed for the kill, to end the fight between black and white, a seemingly artistic representation of good and evil.
The question was: which was which?
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TBC
And since it's Easter, I'll give you guys an Easter Egg: The song that helped me write this