♡ Pairing: Charlie Reid x CSI!F!Reader
♡ Word Count: 3k
♡ Summary: After discovering evidence of corruption on a case, you find yourself caught in the middle of a world of venality and crime within the Chicago PD.
What will you do when you have to choose between what you want and what you believe?
♡ Warnings: Violence, Manipulation, Inaccurate CSI rep
♡ A/N: Remember when I said I wasn't going to post this yet? I think we all knew I was lying. While I love Shawn's good guy roles, he does play a hot ass villain.
Chicago PD is...not a good show, but I did some surface level research and skimmed Shawn's episodes, so some parts of this fic will be canon...but a lot of it's not.
You don't need to have watched the show to read this.
Your head moved to the rhythm of the music pounding through your headphones as you carefully swabbed the puddle of blood splattered across the diamond patterned linoleum in front of you. You capped the sample tube and placed it in an evidence bag, before moving on to the next patch of blood.
You worked carefully, your focus solely on the task in front of you as the music drowned out the rest of the world. So when you felt something touch your shoulder, you let out a high-pitched yelp as you jumped to your feet. You spun around, removing your headphones as you stared wide-eyed at the man behind you.
He was older, with salt and pepper curls set atop a handsome, grizzled face. His dark eyes were intense as they stared back at you, an eyebrow raised as he took you in.
"Oh, um…sorry!" you sputtered as you pulled out your phone and paused the music that was still blaring from the headphones hanging around your neck.
"Not much situational awareness, given you're in the middle of an active crime scene," he observed. You blushed and looked away.
"Sorry about that…I was just really in the zone—usually the uniforms don't talk to us much, so it's not normally an issue." He made a skeptical noise in his throat, but didn't say anything more. You chewed on your lip as he stared quietly at you, the anxiety building as the silence stretched out between you until you couldn't take it anymore, "Anyway…did you need me for something?"
"It's nothing serious," he replied after another long moment, "I was just making my rounds introducing myself," he smiled, "I'm Deputy Chief Reid—but feel free to call me Charlie."
He offered you his hand, which you stared at as your stomach did a summersault.
Of course you would make yourself look like a total airhead in front of the new Deputy Chief, you thought to yourself with a wince.
After a stretch of time that went on too long to be comfortable, your brain finally caught up with the situation. You pulled off your glove, quickly wiping your clammy hand on your pants before taking his.
"I am so sorry sir," you said as you shook hands, his completely dwarfing yours as it held you firmly. You introduced yourself awkwardly, your hand snapping back as soon as he let go.
He tilted his head as he reevaluated you, his eyes squinting as they looked you over, "I've heard of you: You're the one the isolated the DNA sample that got that big gang conviction last year."
"Oh, uh…yeah, that was me," you admitted sheepishly as you fidgeted with your fingers, "But it wasn't really all that big of a deal—I mean, the conviction was a big deal, obviously—I just meant that my contribution was pretty small."
"That's not what I heard."
"People like to exaggerate," you shrugged, "I'm just sort of detail oriented—I'm sure someone else would have caught it if I hadn't."
"Hmm," he smirked, "Getting critical information as soon as possible can make or break a case, but I appreciate your modesty."
"Oh, well, um…thank you, sir."
"Well, I should get going: I have other places to be, and I'm sure you'd like to get back to work. I'll see you around, I'm sure," he said with a nod, before turning and heading out of the room.
You were left standing alone, staring at the doorway he disappeared through and wondering if that could have possibly gone any worse. You really hoped you didn't see him again any time soon; you needed time to bury the embarrassment.
Unfortunately for you it wasn't long at all before you saw Deputy Chief Reid again. He made a surprise visit to the crime lab just a few days later to introduce himself to your manager. His eyes found you through the glass pane of your lab and he smiled. You nervously looked down, pretending to focus on your work in hopes he would move on. He did, though he did come speak with you before he left the department. It was nothing significant, but the content of the conversation didn't seem to be the point.
After that he would pop in every so often to chat with your manager, and always made a point to stop and talk with you when he caught sight of you. He seemed to have singled you out as someone he should know. You couldn't say you totally hated the attention from him, but you weren't exactly sure how you were supposed to act about it either.
Charlie Reid was always kind and helpful when he spoke to you, and somehow managed to come off as charming even when the topic of discussion was something gruesome or mundane. He was attentive, and clearly cared about making the city a safer place—his crime stats alone proved that much. He was also something like your boss's boss's boss, so very high up on the proverbial food chain.
And of course—perhaps worst of all—he was completely, undeniably attractive.
With all that rolled together into one man, it made it difficult for your less-than-stellar social skills to keep up when you spoke to him. You could never manage to look him in the eye for more than a few seconds at a time, and constantly apologized for every move you made out of habit.
But with time, and multiple visits spread out over the course of a few months, you had managed to build up some confidence around him. You could actually stumble your way through whole conversations—even if they were just typically about work.
You sat in your lab, working on testing some blood samples. Most of the day shift had already left for the night, and the night shift was out working their own cases, leaving you alone in the department. So you were surprised when you heard the door open.
Charlie strolled in, hands behind his back as he smiled over at you.
"Working late again, sweetheart?"
"Y-yes sir, as usual," you said as you turned and looked down at your report to hide your blush.
You thought he must have noticed how you reacted to the pet names he had started using for you, but if he did he never acknowledged it.
"Diligent as always," he said, coming up beside you, "So what are you working on this time?"
"It's the blood samples from that gang shooting on 4th."
"Oh? I thought that case was pretty open and shut?" He moved closer, bending down as he pulled out his glasses to take a better look. You tried to ignore the heat that ran through you when his arm brushed against yours, the smell of his cologne enveloping you.
"U-um," you cleared your throat, trying to get your racing heartbeat under control, "W-well yes, it looked simple enough: All the blood was linked to the victims present at the scene. Then there was one bloodstain that was, presumably, from the shooter."
"So what's the problem?" he asked, looking up at you over the rim of his glasses.
That shouldn't have been as attractive as it was.
You quickly turned your attention back to the report, "Well, um, it's the shooter's blood: We have a match to a known gang member who's affiliated with the Hustlers, who are in a war with Jesus Otero for territory."
"The victims were known members of Otero's gang, so that makes sense," he said, standing up straight as he turned to face you, "I'm not seeing the issue."
"Right, it looks that way, but—" you scooted closer to him, your mind focusing in as it switched into work mode, "—if you look at this swatch of flooring here, you'll see the shooters blood."
You gestured at the square of carpet you had laid out across your worktable.
"And?"
"It's nearly impossible to tell with the naked eye, but if you look at it under blacklight," you said as you scurried to turn the overhead lights off, before quickly turning on the blacklight lamp you had hanging above the table, "Can you see it?"
Charlie scowled, looking at the dark splotch of blood as it sat illuminated in the blue tinted light.
"I see…blood."
"Exactly!" You smiled. You really did get too excited about your work, "Two separate blood stains: One on top of the other."
He looked up at you as you quickly moved to turn the overhead light back on, showering the room in harsh, florescent light.
"While it's impressive you're able to get that from this…blob, I still don't understand why that matters? So the shooters blood fell on top of some of the victim's blood—that's not unusual."
"On it's own no, it wouldn't be—but if that were the case I wouldn't be able to see the two different blood samples. The liquid would have simply merged together and dried down into the one stain. I can only see that there's two separate blood samples here because the first one was completely dry before the second one hit the floor."
Charlie's brows dipped as he frowned, looking back to the piece of carpet, "So what—you think he came back later and that's where the second layer is from?"
"Nope!" you smiled with excitement, completely ignorant to Charlie's growing frustration, "I think the original stain was from the shooter, and someone came in after the fact and covered it up with a different person's blood! That way, not only could they frame this man for murder, they could also protect the identity of the real shooter."
You were all but bouncing on your feet with energy as you shared your hypothesis with him. Charlie was less enthusiastic, staring down at your work with a deep, silent scowl.
"That's…an interesting theory," Charlie said stiffly, his finger moving up to his lips as if in thought, "But where would they get the blood? Gangs don't typically have access to blood banks with their enemy's blood stored inside."
"True, thank goodness--that would make my job so much harder," you replied as you sat down on your rolling stool. You pushed yourself over to your computer and began to type, "But in this case it would be totally unnecessary. Look—here, see? The suspect's mother has Leukemia, and he's been an avid blood donor ever sense she was diagnosed. All it would take is someone infiltrating the donation center to get their hands on literal bags of his blood."
There was a long silence as he stood staring at you.
"Even if that were true, a jury's not going to believe it," he began at last, his eyes locked on you intently, "It's just as likely the first blood stain was his blood too—or blood from one of the victims. Without having a clean DNA sample from the original blood stain this is all just conjecture."
"Which is exactly why I'm here so late! I've been working on pulling apart and testing every single fiber of the rug where the first sample would have been the most prominent and the least likely to be contaminated by the second blood stain. And I think I finally found an uncorrupted sample!" You gestured to the microscope in front of you, "This blood isn't the suspects or any of the victims—I'm certain of that. So, once I get the sample isolated I can run it through the system and see if we have a match!"
You smile up at him proudly as his jaw clenched.
"You really weren't kidding when you said you were detail oriented, huh sweetheart?" He said tensely, his eyes glancing to the bloodstained carpet, "It's no wonder your the department's rising star."
"Oh, I'm not—" you stopped short when his eyes turned to you. In your fervor, you hadn't noticed his mood shifting, but now you saw it clearly in the way his gaze fell over you oppressively.
"This is…impressive, really," he said as he gestured vaguely at your work, "But you have to think about how this will play in court. Whether or not you're able to find a match for that sample, bringing all this up in court would give the defense ammunition to spread doubt in the jury. We know our current suspect is a criminal who's dodged more than one murder charge—with his blood at the scene and his antagonistic relationship to the victims, this conviction would be a slam dunk. Is it really worth derailing a case that would put a murderer behind bars just to chase a theory?"
"I…don't understand," you said nervously, "If he's not actually the shooter, shouldn't we want to find out who is?"
"Even if it means ruining the chances to make the streets a little safer?"
You hesitated.
Was this some sort of test? Was the Deputy Chief of Organized Crime actually suggesting you drop a viable lead to the real killer just to win a case?
"I'm sorry sir, if I'm misunderstanding. So you're saying you want me to just…drop this?"
"That's exactly what I want," he answered, straightening to his full height.
You had often thought that Charlie Reid was intimidating; even when he was trying to be cordial, his energy was still intense. But this is the first time you had genuinely found him frightening. In that moment, you suddenly felt you had somehow stumbled into a very dangerous situation you knew nothing about.
"But sir…if he's not the shooter, then the real murderer gets away. We're supposed to stop that from happening….aren't we?"
"I'm willing to accept an open and shut case verses the alternative. What if we let this guy walk, and the real shooter—if there even is another shooter involved—gets off because the jury's got doubts about the viability of your argument? I'll take one murderer behind bars rather than risk two out on the streets any day."
"But…that's not how the process is supposed to work," you countered weakly.
"How things are supposed to work, and how they actually work are two different things, sweetheart." He slowly moved his hand up to your face, tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear, "When you've been in the game as long as I have, you learn to take the wins where you can get them." You shivered as the tips of his fingers grazed your jaw, "You're a very smart girl—I'm sure you understand that sometimes you have to make tough choices for the greater good."
"I…I suppose."
"So you'll submit the original findings on the official report, and we'll keep this discovery of yours our little secret, yeah?"
"Y-yes sir."
"Good girl," he lingered in your space a few breaths more before stepping back, "Now, it's getting late—you take the bus into work, don't you? Why don't you finish cleaning up, and I'll drive you home."
"Oh no sir, that's not—" you stopped short, the look in his eyes telling you it would be a bad idea to refuse, "Um, okay...thank you, sir. I'll just be a minute."
"Take your time," he said as he sat down in one of the chairs against the wall. He leaned back, his legs spread widely as he crossed his arms and watched you intently.
You turned back towards the table, swallowing a lump in your throat.
Why didn't he go wait in his office? Or at least the break room? Was it really that important that he needed to see you clear out all the potential evidence with his own eyes?
You felt the sweat slide down the back of your neck as the weight of his eyes bore down on you. It was becoming abundantly clear that whatever this was, it was about more than just one gang member.
The car ride to your apartment was quiet. You weren't great at starting conversations even in the most ideal circumstances, so there wasn't a chance in Hell you were talking first. That seemed to suit Charlie just fine. He stayed silent the whole way, a smug smile peaking through his cool exterior. You assumed you were starting to see the real Charlie Reid emerge from under all those layers of charisma and charm. Someone more calculating than he appeared.
It also didn't escape your notice that, not only did he already know you commuted to work, but he never once asked for directions to your apartment.
You were at work, and one silent and drawn out car right later, you were home.
Was he trying to intimidate you by subtly showing you just how much he already knew about you?
After a quick exchange of goodbyes, you all but sprinted into your building, taking the first flight of stairs two at a time just to get out of his line of sight.
You dropped your things in entrance of your messy apartment, heading into your kitchen and flipping on the light. Looking around the dingy, rundown room as if checking to make sure no one was watching you, you slowly slipped a small, glass slide from its hiding place in your sleeve. You set it gently in the center of your kitchen counter, taking a step back and staring at it as your face twisted up in worry.
What had you been thinking?
Charlie clearly wanted everything relating to a possible second suspect gone. He had watched you clean up just to make sure you got rid of it all.
So why in the hell had you decided in the moment to keep one of the samples?
The internal struggle was intense as you went back and forth about what to do with it.
Should you run it and find out who the real shooter was? Or should you just get rid of it and pretend none of this ever happened?
This wasn't the first time that someone working a case wanted you to do something in a legal gray area. Maybe that's why you had taken the sample—or maybe you were just too attached to your work to see it thrown away without getting any answers.
But this was different. Charlie Reid was the Deputy Director—the power and influence he had within the police was staggering. One wrong move, and your career was over. More than that, if he wasn't as clean as you thought, there was the very real possibility you could be in danger if you did anything that may jeopardize his position.
Were you really willing to risk everything on a hunch? Would it be worth it even if you were right? Who could you trust that may actually believe you, and would they honestly be able to do anything about it?
The questions plagued your mind as you readied yourself for bed. As you lay in the dark every possible scenario ran through your head. The thoughts kept you up late into the night, eventually following you into a fitful sleep.
I know everyone is freaking out about this, but these guidelines are pretty much the same ones they've had all along. The age of consent used to be "local age of consent" they're just making it a uniform 18+. They have prohibited erotica for years. sex is still allowed as long as it is not the main purpose of the story. This has been in their guidelines for a long time.
Wattpad has never been the place for dd:dne content. They are cracking down on it further. from what i can tell, you can only write about rape, incest, etc if it is from an educational standpoint or just a general discussion as part of the story line. i wouldn't be surprised if this leaks over into cnc as well.
The biggest changes I saw in their new guidelines were not in regard to sexual content but rather violence, suicide mentions, rape, incest, etc. They are requiring things to be marked Mature that were not required before.
wattpad has also always been full of people who report a fic for anything they do not like. i expect that to increase.
I've been on wattpad, tumblr and AO3 for most of the nine years I've been posting fanfic. I've had to appeal wattpad removing a fic for adult content before, well before any of this. It's not as big of a change as people are thinking it is.
You are an unreliable narrator because your coping mechanisms for your deep-seated trauma forbid you from acknowledging the reality of the situation. I am an unreliable narrator because I sincerely have no idea what the fuck is going on.
