milliways_bar | (no subject)

"What's with the random powerder and... whatever that is?" Mark appears at her table, in a suit and tie, carrying a pile of mail.

"I'm processing this with a special type of fingerprint powder called Red Creeper." She glances up while swiping a brush over the metal.

"Nice suit."

"Huh. It's colourful at the very least." Mark eyes it for a moment, then loosens his tie, making a face. "Some highly intelligent person decided that it would be fun to have a dinner meeting with a whole bunch of Oscar-winning directors, and we were all asked questions. Everyone else sounded intelligent, I just sounded like I didn't know what I was doing. Needless to say it was a bit embarrassing." He's definitely pink around the ears.

"Sounds like it was about as much fun as court." Sara makes a face.

Mark makes a face as well. "You'd have to ask Joanne about that, I'm not generally the one going to court, but from she's said, I think I'd have to agree." Well, there was the one time he was drug off to court, but he doesn't exactly talk about that one.

"Oh, nothing beats being diverted from talking about evidence analysis when the defense implies that you and your supervisor had sex at a crime scene."

Sara's not bitter about defense lawyers at all.

"But I did hand over her ass to her on a silver platter when all was said and done."

Mark cracks up. "First, having sex with your boss is a bad idea, crime scene or not. And I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't do that." He shakes his head. There's a reason that he'll never actually employ Maureen. He grins, however. "I'm sure you did. People like that deserve their asses on a platter. Dunno if I would do silver. Some of them don't even deserve silver."

"You want to know what we did? Brace yourself--this is totally hot. I wiped plaster dust from his face, and he pulled chunks of it out of my hair. We were smashing down walls in search of a missing individual. Nasty creatures, aren't we?"

Mark represses the laugh, that's threatening to send him falling off his chair. He can't be falling on the ground, he's actually wearing a new suit for once. "Oh, man, Sara. That's almost pornographic right there. You have to be carful with that plaster."

"You should see our printing techniques."

Case in point--she lifts a print from the metal rod.

"Ooooh, now that's sexy there. Damn. Film doesn't even come close to that. I'm gonna have to work on that." He smirks, a bit brattily.

"It's more difficult lifting prints from rubbery surfaces," she says casually. "I had one case involving thirteen potential murder weapons. Ever seen someone clubbed to death via a dildo?"

"I haven't seen it personally, but I wouldn't be surprised." His tone matches her casual manner. "Some people can get rather rough with those things."

"I suppose it taught the guy in question not to be sleeping with three women and making models of his own equipment. They were not pleased with him."

She writes a quick note on the print label and puts it away in her kit.

"That guy really didn't have much to hide. To make copies of your own equipment, that's some hubris right there." Oh, look. Someone's been reading Greek tragedy. "And anyone who sleeps with three women at once is a rather big manwhore."

"Not something I could do. It's hard enough for me to handle one other person."

"Me either." He pauses. "Besides, back home, if you do that, ten to one you'll end up with something nasty on the flip side."

"No different in Vegas, and I'm not comfortable gambling with my life."

Beat.

"Outside of the job anyway."

At least she's acknowledging her recklessness.

"I've had people say that I'm gambling with my life by living with Roger. Hell, you wouldn't believe how many people say I should just throw him out." He shrugs. "I can't do that to my best friend. If an accident actually happens, so be it."

"Those kinds of people are idiots," she says in a low voice. "Family doesn't abandon family."

"Exactly. I can't abandon my brother. I don't care what it costs me, I'm never abandoning him or any of my family."

"Last year, when my friend Nick was abducted, the sheriff refused to let the lab raise ransom money officially. He said it would be more cost effective if we prepared for a funeral."

Sara's voice is dark with anger. "Needless to say, that sheriff did not last very long."

"Ohfuck." Mark glares at nothing in particular. "Wish I had known you then. I'd've given you the ransom. No questions asked. No one should be abandoned to a funeral." Even when it's inevitable.

"My friend Catherine got the money from her father--he's a casino mogul, and a murderer but we can't prove anything in court. Maybe he atoned a bit through that effort, but that's not for me to say."

She sighs, telling the rest of the story: how the kidnapper blew himself up without revealing Nick's location, tracking Nick to a garden/supply facility, and unearthing him from the ground and thousands of fire ants.

"He's doing well, all things considered. And he came back to work even when people would have understood if he resigned."

Mark swears, mostly under his breath. "That's just... there are no words for that. There really aren't." He sighs. "It's fucking asinine what people do to each other. Did you ever figure out why he did it? Was there some beef he had against your lab?"