This is a crossover with CSI Vegas. I'm pretty happy with this, but I quickly realized that not only did I not have anywhere to go with the rest of the story, I actually only wanted to write this scene. Hope you guys enjoy it. As with all of these, I don't own anything here.
Xander stumbled as he was shoved in the holding cell, but he did not fall.
“You know, I haven’t been resisting,” he called to the officers as his cell door was slammed shut. “You don’t have to be so mean!”
Xander grunted and looked around. The cell wasn’t full, and those that were there were pretty easy to peg. Drunk, pimp, kids who were probably arrested on possession or vandalism charges. Xander could easily tell he was the only one there on what might be considered a more serious charge.
“What’re you in for?” asked one of the kids. Xander looked at him, and was almost positive the red in his eyes was not from crying.
“Give you three guesses,” Xander said, flopping down on one of the uncomfortable metal benches that lined the cell.
The kid seemed to take it as a challenge. He rubbed the almost non-existent stubble on his chin and regarded Xander with an appraising eye. He looked him up and down, taking in the eye patch, the dirty jeans and flannel shirt, the boots. He looked at Xander's physique, his rough, calloused hands and disheveled hair.
“You beat your wife?” the kid asked.
Xander shook his head. “Not married. And I’ll give you this one for free, I didn’t beat my girlfriend either. I don’t hit girls.” He pondered that statement. “Although that’s actually mostly because the ones I hang around are too fast, and get angry when I land a hit, even when we’re training, but that’s not really the point. One down.”
The kid looked him over again. Looked at Xander’s good eye, and how it took in his surroundings, constantly judging, always looking. The kid smiled smugly and leaned back on his bench. “You hold some place up? You look like you can case a joint pretty good.”
“Better,” Xander said with a nod. “And I can. But no.”
The kid looked at Xander some more. The muscles that weren’t obvious at first glance, but upon closer look were definitely present under the baggy clothes. Back to the eye patch, and a true consideration of how that might have happened. He saw a couple of barely visible scars and hands that balled easily into fists, and the fresh bandages on those hands. He saw the slight bulge under his shoulder that spoke of another bandage, and the very beginnings of a swelling under his good eye.
“Street gang,” the kid said, “though you musta done some rough shit to get in, you don’t look like a whole lot. It wasn’t just a street fight, you’re too clean for that, but it was a struggle. My guess is that you got into a tussle over drugs with someone, maybe it got outta hand. You don’t look much like a murderer, but sometimes things just happen. A knife appeared, maybe you, maybe him. But it ended up in him.”
Xander smirked. “That’s so close it’s a little scary.”
“What was the drug?”
“Orpheus,” Xander said.
“Never heard of it,” the kid said, shaking his head.
“You wouldn’t have.” Xander relaxed back against the bars. “It’s very hush hush. Very select. Only available in certain circles. And it’s always fatal. Every single time.”
“You deal that shit?”
Xander snorted. “Hardly. I find the people who deal it.”
“And then?” the kid asked.
Xander’s eyes narrowed. “And then they don’t deal it anymore. Understand?”
The kid nodded, and Xander nodded back.
“Excuse me.” Xander and the kid looked up simultaneously. A man of average height, slightly more than average weight, with grey hair was addressing them. “Alexander Harris?”
“I go by Xander.”
The man looked over the top of his glasses at Xander. “Come with me, please, we’ve got some questions for you. Guard, open the cell.”
Xander waved to the kid. “Good talkin’ with you.” He turned to the man outside the cell. “You’re not a detective.”
The cell door slid open and the man shook his head. “Gil Grissom, I’m with the crime lab. I’m sure you’re aware that you’re in here on suspicion of murder.”
“That’s what the nice men in brown tell me,” Xander said, smiling.
“Well, we’ve got some initial questions for you,” Grissom said, leading Xander out of the jail and into the station proper.
“Like for instance, how did one of your cops see me stab a guy in the chest with a wooden stake – which I assume you recovered?”
“We did,” Grissom nodded.
“Right. With a wooden stake, and not only was there no blood on it, but no usable DNA except mine, and you can’t find a body, even though I had no time to dump it anywhere. Yeah?”
Grissom raised a single eyebrow. “That’s almost entirely correct. There was other usable DNA on the… stake, you called it?”
“Any idea whose DNA that might be? We ran it through CODIS, but didn’t get a hit.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Xander said. He racked his brain. “Can you tell me where you got the DNA from? Skin cells, blood…”
“A long blonde hair was caught in the grain of the weapon,” Grissom said. He led Xander into the interrogation room.
Xander laughed. “Okay. That’s my friend Buffy. If you want, I can give you her phone number. She’ll probably be willing to fly out here to do the DNA sample thing.”
“That would be wonderful,” Grissom said. “I must say, you’re awfully accommodating for someone who’s probably going to be charged with murder.”
“Mr. Grissom,” Xander said, “let’s be honest. I may be here on suspicion of murder at the moment, but unless and until you find a body, there’s no case. I won’t be charged with anything.”
“Be that as it may, we’re still treating this as a homicide investigation,” Grissom told him.
“Completely understandable. And I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“I doubt it,” Grissom said.
“But you appreciate the sentiment?” Xander asked.
Grissom smiled at him. “You’ll find I’m not much for sentiment, Mr. Harris.”
Xander smiled right back. “That’s okay. I’ve got enough for the both of us.”