My first crossover, so I'm not really sure how this is gonna turn out! At least I've got a really big cage full of plot bunnies… I'm not gonna run out of ideas (unless they escape…) XP
I DON'T OWN FMA OR CSI (though I wish I did… my life would be soooo much easier…)
EDIT (08/15/2010): Hopefully some things have been improved (mostly some OCC moments and juvenile mistakes, along with adding more description).
Grissom massaged his head as he drove. Another call had come in, about a murder out near a power plant outside of Vegas. A night worker there had stumbled across the body in the bushes. It seemed as if their serial killer had struck again.
He pulled the SUV in beside the police cruisers and climbed out, pulling his CSI kit from the passenger seat as he did. Captain Jim Brass came over to speak with him.
"Seems this one's the same as all the others. Beaten and stabbed to death, then dumped here," he said. "It looks like our killer's getting sloppy. According to Warrick, our vic wasn't dead until about an hour ago. Maybe we can get a lead on him, if we hurry."
Grissom nodded and ducked under the police tape. The victim was lying in a small clearing among the bushes. Warrick stood and greeted him.
"She died just recently, if the bruises are anything to go by. And she hasn't been here long, otherwise she'd be a lot colder than she is."
Grissom agreed. It was the middle of winter; the nights dropped below zero degrees. "Maybe our killer's still around?"
Warrick shrugged. "He's managed to avoid us before."
Grissom nodded and knelt by the dead woman. She looked about 20, with long blonde hair splayed around her in a dirty tangle. She was dressed decently enough, with a blouse and skirt (both stained and ripped by this point, but that was to be expected), but that wasn't surprising. Their killer always went after her type.
He began to collect evidence; there was a stain of red blood under her fingernails. Hopefully it belonged to the killer. Carefully, he scraped it into an evidence bag. There was a small amount of dust on her clothes amidst all the blood, but it was impossible to tell if it was from the ground around her or someplace else. There were three visible stab wounds in her chest; one just above her heart, where the most blood was located, and two closer to her stomach. Bruises littered what little was visible of her skin. With careful precision born of years on the job, Grissom inspected her clothes, searching for telltale hairs or any other kind of trace evidence that could give them the case. He didn't hold out much hope, though—this killer had already proven to be very good at covering his tracks.
Grissom's head darted up as there was a rustle in the bushes off to one side, along with a muffled groan. He stood slowly and motioned to Brass. The police captain pulled out his gun and started toward the bush.
There was another groan, and someone moved in among the leaves.
"Las Vegas police! Put your hands on your head and come out!" shouted Brass.
It was dark, but he could see enough to notice a dark shape rise from the bushes.
"Now walk this way slowly!" Brass pointed his gun at the figure.
The person stepped forward a little. Grissom could see that he was unarmed, but not much more than that.
"Move it!" the police captain shouted.
The figure went to step forward, but, suddenly, he bolted to the right. Brass swore.
"Go, go, go! After him! He's our only suspect!" he roared to the men around him, even as the figure had already skirted the cars and made his way towards the plant. The guy was fast!
Brass and his men spread out and ran after the suspect. They tramped through the bushes in hot pursuit.
Unable to do anything more, Grissom went back to inspecting his victim.
They thought they had him when they came to the wire fence of the power plant, but that's when they got their first surprise. The guy jumped onto the top of the fence, balanced there for a second, then leapt down on the other side.
"How the hell did he jump so high?" Brass shouted as two officers scrabbled over the fence, while the rest ran around to the gate, which was quickly opened by a night worker once she saw their guns and badges. The police swarmed into the plant.
Brass saw a flash of movement near the fence to the left.
One over-zealous officer fired at the silhouette before he managed to reach the fence. They heard a muffled curse, and he abruptly changed direction, running towards a dark storage shed. Brass spared a moment to give the rookie a glare before they were once again in hot pursuit.
They turned around the shed, only to see their suspect whisk around the next corner.
It turned out to be a dead end. It was dark, but Brass could tell the guy was there, between the two sheds with his back to a wall.
"Give it up and come quietly," Brass called, "otherwise we'll be forced to shoot!"
The figure made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, before darting to one of the sheds and vaulted himself onto the roof. Brass swore again and lifted his gun, but the suspect had already jumped down the other side.
Five minutes later, and they were still after him. The guy never seemed to get tired, even when sprinting outright. He never got too far ahead, but whenever they nearly caught up, he gave them the slip, usually by going over sheds and power resistors. Brass was soon very tired of chasing the guy, but he didn't stop. They'd been following this murder case for a month now, with five bodies and no suspects whatsoever. He wasn't going to give up his only lead.
Fortunately, backup police had arrived, and they were positioned all the way around the plant fence, so the suspect couldn't get out. That had to be a plus.
Brass and his men followed the figure into a warehouse. Maybe now they finally had a chance to catch him…
It was his lucky day. The suspect sprinted across the warehouse to a door on the other side, yanking it open and running through. Brass followed and stepped out to find they were in a narrow service hallway between warehouses, with no doors on either side. At the other end, three other officers came through the door. Their suspect stopped in mid-stride when he saw the guns pointed at his head, and turned slowly to face Brass.
"Dead end," Brass called. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."
Of course, the hall was semi-dark, it being the middle of the night, but Brass swore he saw the guy grimace.
"There is no easy way with you people."
There was a flash of light. When the spots cleared from his eyes, Brass saw something in the guy's hand.
"He has a concealed weapon!" he yelled into the radio on his vest. "I repeat, suspect has a concealed weapon!"
The figure had crouched into a defensive stance. "I don't want to have to hurt anyone."
Brass brought his gun up. "DON'T MOVE!"
"It'd be better for you if I did." The guy brought his leg up in an instant and kicked the wall. Brass stood in shock for a second before trying to peer through the resulting dust, but the guy was gone. He ran through the rubble and stopped before a large hole in the wall.
"What the hell?"
He shook off his confusion—for the moment—and climbed through the hole and saw a shadow flit around a corner up ahead.
"He's headed for the western fence!" he said into his radio. "All personnel to the fence! Suspect is armed and dangerous!"
Men streamed through the hole into the night, following the suspect to the fence. There, they found him surrounded by at least six officers, all pointing their guns at him.
The lights of the power plant had at last been turned on, and Brass got his first proper look at the shadow he'd been chasing around for almost half an hour.
The guy's back was turned to him. He was shorter than he'd looked in the dark, with blonde hair braided down his back. He wore a red trench coat with an odd black symbol on the back (how he moved so quickly in that, Brass didn't know), and black leather pants. The combat boots on his feet were caked with dust. His hands were in the air, and Brass saw he wore white gloves. There was no sign of the weapon he'd had earlier.
Brass stepped between two officers. "You're under arrest for fleeing the scene of a crime, threatening a police officer, evading—"
Brass stopped speaking as the guy turned around. It was only a kid, no more than twelve or thirteen years old at best, though the leanness of his face might suggest older.
"You were saying?"
Brass regained his composure as the boy's strikingly golden eyes narrowed at him. "…evading arrest, and breaking and entering."
"When the hell did I break and enter?" the kid spat.
"This is private property."
The kid snorted. "That's trespassing, idiot. What do you want?"
Brass bristled. Wasn't it kind of obvious? He didn't want to explain himself to a delinquent, let alone one who insulted him on the job. "You've fled the scene of a crime. That alone is fishy enough, not to mention how you ran."
"So you think I'm a murderer?"
Brass had had enough. He was tired, and this kid was only making the situation more aggravating. He pulled a pair of cuffs out of his belt and stepped forward.
"You think I'm gonna go with you?"
"You'd better if you know what's good for you."
"Well, I have something I have to do right now."
The boy brought his hands together as if to pull something out of his sleeve. Brass lunged.
He tackled the kid to the ground. Landing on top, Brass tried to pin his arms, but the boy fought like a wildcat. He had the strength of one, too. Getting his right arm free, he punched Brass in the face. Brass staggered back, holding his nose, and the gathered officers all leapt at the kid. After a very brief struggle, two officers stood, each holding one of his arms. He kicked out at them, one foot connecting with a man's knee. The officer yelped and let go. The boy took the opportunity to try and throw off the other, but yet another officer was already gripping his arm. He kept struggling until, finally, someone smacked him over the head with the butt of his gun. The boy finally stood still between the officers, his head hanging, his face hidden by blonde bangs.
Brass stood, wiping blood from his face.
"Cuff him, and make sure he doesn't run. We're taking him back to Vegas."
The kid lifted his head slightly and glared at Brass with gold eyes full of anger as the officers pulled his hands behind his back. They patted him down for weapons, and once he was deemed 'clean', they hauled him out of the plant and back to the crime scene, tossing him in the back of a cruiser.
"Damn, that kid packs a punch!" Brass muttered as a paramedic inspected his nose. "Who'd've thought a kid his size could hit that hard?"
"That's what you get for rushing a suspect who's supposedly drawing a weapon," Warrick commented as he strode over.
"Well, I'd had enough of him," Brass retorted.
Warrick sighed, then looked over at the cruiser, in which the kid sat staring at the seat in front of him.
"So you think he's our guy?"
Brass shrugged. "It's hard to say. He's definitely strong enough. He ran from the scene of the crime, he had a weapon—which no one's managed to find yet—and it sounded like he's had experiences with the law before. He doesn't strike me as the murdering type, though."
"I know what you mean," replied Warrick. "A kid his age really isn't a likely suspect for murder."
"You'd be surprised. We'll find out once we bring him back to the station for questioning. Ouch!" The paramedic had touched his nose in the wrong place, and he winced.
"Looks like it's not broken, but it'll hurt for a while," she said with a professional air, before smirking. "Well done, Captain Brass." Brass spared her an eye roll and a grudging thanks before stepping away from the ambulance.
"All this trouble for one little kid…" he muttered before climbing into the cruiser.
The ride back to Vegas was uneventful. Any attempt to question the boy was ignored. Brass finally gave up, and the rest of the drive passed in silence. The kid stared stolidly out the window, apparently either sulking or lost in thought. Eventually, he closed his eyes.
They got to the station just as the sun started to rise. Brass sighed. He hadn't had to pull an all-nighter in awhile, and now some kid was keeping him from his well-deserved rest. If he wasn't the only—and most likely—suspect in the case, Brass probably would have left the job to his deputies, but this was too important.
"Get out," Brass growled after he climbed out of the cruiser himself. He opened the door and hauled the kid out by his cuffed hands. Other police cruisers pulled up behind them. One officer immediately climbed out and pointed his gun at the boy, nudging him slightly in the back with it. The rest walked into the station.
"Start walking." Brass shoved the kid forward, and he stumbled up the steps into the building.
After putting him into one of the interrogation rooms, Brass spoke with Grissom, who'd arrived just before him.
"He didn't talk the whole way back," Brass muttered. "Seems as if he's used up all his energy for the night. Who do you think he is?"
Grissom shook his head. "I guess the only way to really find out is to go in there and ask him."
When they entered the room, the boy was sitting on a chair with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. As the two men sat down, he spoke through gritted teeth. "I thought I told you there was something I had to do."
"Yes, you did. What exactly is it you have to do so badly?"
"None of your business." Golden eyes came up to glare coldly at him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Brass lifted his eyebrows. "Really? You're just making this harder on yourself, you know."
Before he could get further, Grissom interrupted. "What's your name?"
"That's none of your business either." Brass almost sighed as that frigid gaze was turned on his friend.
"Well, we can't really find your parents or get you a lawyer unless we know your name."
"I don't have parents, and I don't care about whatever lawyer you might give me," he scoffed.
Grissom sighed. "Could you at least tell us your age?"
Brass couldn't help it; he gaped.
"You're… sixteen?" he sputtered.
"What's your point?" the boy asked, his voice dangerously low as his hands fell flat on the table, as if he was ready to leap to his feet.
"I thought you were… well, younger."
"WHO'RE YOU CALLING SHORT?" the kid shouted, shoving his chair back with a crash and standing.
"Sit down! What the hell is your problem?" Brass spat, standing as well. "Take a seat or I'll get another officer in here, and we'll make you take a seat." He pointed at the fallen chair dangerously.
The boy reached down and righted the chair before sitting slowly, his glare never leaving the captain.
"I'm not short," he growled through clenched teeth.
"No need to get touchy on me. We're just asking questions."
"My name's Edward Elric. You happy now? I'd appreciate if you left me alone."
Grissom leaned forward. "Mr. Elric—"
"Call me Ed," the blonde ordered curtly.
Grissom was unfazed. "Ed. How did you end up at the crime scene?"
Ed gave him a look that promised pain if they didn't leave him alone. "How the hell would I know?"
"What do you mean by that?" Brass growled.
"Exactly what I said. I don't have a clue how I ended up near you precious 'crime scene'." The air quotes he made screamed "TEENAGER!", but the glare that accompanied them was anything but.
It didn't seem to be going anywhere, so Brass asked a new question. "Then why'd you run?"
"D'you think you'd stick around if you had a gun in your face? I've had enough of those for a lifetime."
Brass was careful to note that. "That still doesn't explain why you ran when we ordered you not to." He was getting irritated.
Ed sighed. "When you've been avoiding certain people for a long time, you don't just let someone take you wherever they want without a fight. And I don't trust people with guns."
"So you're a fugitive from the law."
"Then who the hell are you avoiding?" Brass smacked the table in frustration.
"People who want to use me, then kill me."
Brass was struck dumb by the kid's bluntness. Before he could say something stupid, Grissom intervened.
"Is someone after you? Maybe for money? Are they trying to kidnap you?"
Ed snorted, but didn't say anything. His eyes said that he was most definitely not going to answer any questions in that direction. Grissom sighed, but rerouted.
"Where are you from?"
"Risembool, in Amestris."
Grissom frowned, but didn't press the issue. He'd never heard of Amestris before, but Ed was already defensive enough without them saying he was a liar.
"You said you don't have parents?"
"Yeah, well, my mom got sick and died about seven years ago."
"What about your father?"
"Don't even talk about that bastard."
Grissom raised his eyebrows. "I take it you have a bad relationship with him."
Ed laughed harshly. "A bad relationship? I'd say no relationship at all. He left Mom to raise us all on her own. He never came back, and he never wrote, not even when she died! You call that a father?"
There was silence for a minute. Ed finally sighed.
"So you think I'm a murderer?"
Brass looked straight into those determined golden eyes. "We'll see."
He motioned to Grissom, and they both stood and walked out of the room, closing the door behind them. Then they went and joined Catherine Willows in the room next door, on the other side of the one-way mirror. The three stood in silence for a moment.
"I don't think he's our guy," Grissom said suddenly. Catherine lifted an eyebrow.
"Do you say that because of his age, or one of your own reasons?"
"It's not his age. I don't know, it's just a feeling." He didn't mention what he'd seen in Ed's eyes: a mixture of pride and determination, covering a current of pain and regret. There was no murder in those eyes, but he obviously had seen more horrible things than any kid his age should have. "I'm not saying he's totally innocent, but he's not part of this case."
Brass scowled. "I wish he was, so I could return a favour," he growled, gently touching his nose.
They all watched the short blonde boy in the other room. Ed sat quietly in his chair, staring at his hand in his lap. His eyes were downcast, as if he were missing something important.
Catherine finally spoke. "I haven't gathered much from what he said, besides the fact that he's sensitive about his height, doesn't like answering questions, is on the run from someone, and doesn't have any parents. Sounds like he's had a rough childhood."
Grissom looked at her. "I want a search done on any 'Elrics' in the area, and on a place called 'Amestris'. I want to know who exactly this kid is."
Catherine nodded. "I'll get on it." She walked out.
The police captain sighed. "I'm not going to kill him, Gil, if that's what you're worried about. But we have to keep him in police custody if we want to find out anything about him."
Grissom nodded, then turned his eyes to Ed once again. "I just hope I'm right about him."
So? Is it a good idea? I know it kind of sounds like any other crossover fic, but it'll get better, I promise! Like I said, I've got plenty of plot bunnies to keep me going, and all I need is a bunch of reviews to encourage me to update. Come on, you know you want to!