"Dark Days" Chapters 11-12
Sep. 25th, 2005 07:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kristen999Title: Dark Days (Chapter 11 and 12)
Author: Kristen999
Category: Angst/ Drama/ Case file
Spoilers: General for seasons 1-4. Set in Season 5, but no specific spoilers for it.
Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.
Summary: Detachment from a case is a necessity. Obsession, however, can be an unavoidable evil. Nick battles his demons during a case of a murdered child.
Big thanks to Tinkerbell for al of her help with the edits! *hugs*
Previous chapters can be found here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2548408/1/
I'm going to try and update three times a week now.
Chapter 11
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Warrick had the other CSI cornered in one of the hallways. The black man normally didn't use his posture to intimidate his friends, but this time, he would use body mass and height to drive home his point.
"What's been eating at you, man? This supervisor thing has you acting out of whack."
Nick dug the palm of his hand into his forehead as he tried to ease the pressure of his migraine. He barely paid any attention to his coworker, having all ready got the gist of his argument. He sighed loudly, indicating his general annoyance.
He shook his head trying to erase the fuzziness that had descended and fogged up his brain. "It's got nothin' to do with the shift leader thing, bro."
Warrick cocked his head. "Then what is it? Talk to me, man."
"There isn't anything to discuss. I just got worked up." Nick plastered on a fake grin, trying to act modest. "You know how things go."
Warrick huffed, not buying the act. "You're a real easy book to read sometimes, and I know when you're bullshitting me. So, why don't you cut the crap and lay it on me."
Nick opened his mouth, but no words came out. No, there wasn't anything to discuss. "You know what? It's close to the end of the shift, maybe I'll go home and sleep."
Avoidance- the CSI was good at this game. Nick patted Warrick's shoulder; it only served to irritate the lanky man further. Nick ducked away, and started heading for the exit.
Warrick narrowed his eyes, not very pleased with the snow job. "Is that how it is, huh?" he accused the retreating man.
Nick kept this back to his friend, not wanting to continue the discussion. He waved his hand, never once turning around. Warrick felt the urge to go after him, but if his buddy was tired of being coddled, he'd give him the space.
Just this once.
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It was his freaking luck that it was pouring outside, downdrafts of heavy rain that pelted him hard. Nick groaned as he was quickly soaked. His meager button-up shirt did nothing to protect him from the wind and sheets of wetness. To top it all off, his SUV was parked at the Lab parking lot, and he had to walk through the melee to reach his vehicle.
For a moment he thought about turning back and going through police headquarters, but realized that he would track in puddles galore, only irritating the local cops. So, he held his arms around his body and braved the rain for several minutes, crossing parking lots and getting drenched. After more time passed than Nick ever thought possible, his bones aching, he finally reached his car. He unlocked the door, crawled in and hit the button to his heater.
With chattering teeth, Nick drove, downtrodden and pissed off at the misery of it all. When he made it home, the CSI peeled off his thoroughly soaked shirt, hissing as the fabric pulled at the wet bandages. He stepped out of his soaked pants and threw on some sweats and a shirt. With great effort, Nick made his way towards his kitchen. It seemed the last half hour had sucked the life out of him and he could barely move without excruciating pain.
He reached into his fridge and pulled out some leftovers. He wasn't hungry, but with a bit of difficulty he managed to sit at his table and eat a few bites of pasta. He had grabbed a bottle of aspirin and took four of them in hopes of dulling the burning pain he felt. He groaned inwardly. Warrick had his meds, which he had forgotten to get from him. Nick was sure the prescriptions would have been stronger than his over-the-counter relief.
Feeling like this was the last straw, Nick stood up, grunting from the unbelievable effort. He took tiny steps towards his bedroom, using the wall to guide him along. He almost collapsed on his bed, pulling the covers over his body. He closed his eyes and prayed that sleep would simply take him away for a little while.
He was rewarded with slumber only half an hour later.
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He saw the planet earth hang and spin on its string. The little paper world danced along, swinging back and fourth, back and fourth. The fishing line used to hold it invisible in the air, along with all the rest of the inner solar system.
Terra Firma.
It was all he could do to just stare at it, let it swallow him whole. Anything to keep his focus, his brain consumed with scientific facts. Nick awoke with a start. He almost lunged out of bed, and cried out when the throbbing hit him full force. His hands were shaking and his body was covered in a cold sweat. He stumbled out of his room, as he cast a bleary eye at his alarm clock. He was going to be late for shift and walked with wobbly legs towards his bathroom. Nick didn't have time for a shower, not with his middle wrapped around tightly. Instead he took a damp towel and tried to clean himself up a bit.
Trying to ignore his grayish complexion in the mirror, he found a T-shirt that he carefully put on. Still feeling cold, he grabbed a black sweater and tugged it over the shirt. After gathering his stuff, Nick headed back to the lab. He prayed that while he slept, someone had made progress at tracking down Jason Todd.
Nick had forgotten that Ecklie was out playing politics with the Sheriff at the other side of town. As soon as he set foot in the lab, he had to sign forms, track down lost paperwork and inform one of the members of the swing shift that one of their blood samples had been contaminated by bleach residue.
He'd been inside for twenty minutes when he reached Grissom's office. He sat behind the laptop to answer, delete, and forward various e-mails. Two cases from dayshift needed to be re-assigned to his grave team. Nick didn't have any choice but to assign Sara a hit-and-run and the other he quickly handed to Sofia to oversee.
Nick went to the reception desk to see if the any of the actual files from the missing children's cases had arrived and was actually relieved to see an overnight package waiting for him.
"There was also a box of files sent over from Tuscan that arrived late afternoon, but Greg took it an hour ago," Judy informed the criminalist with her usual cheeriness.
Nick lifted his head in acknowledgement and forced a smile. "Thanks, Judy."
The receptionist beamed at him, but quickly scrambled around her desk. "There's a message left for you by Detective Brass." She handed him the post-it.
Matt Todd had been arrested based on his pseudo confession; his lawyer was already contesting it. The note also told him that Marisa Todd was waiting to speak to him. Nick didn't have to wait long to find Jason's mother as she sat in the waiting area for him with Father Myers. Since he still had not seen any of his coworkers, the criminalist approached the woman. She stood up immediately and met the man in the lobby. Both visitors stood closer together, the priest kept his arm around the slim lady's waist for support.
"Mr. Stokes. My family has strong ties with the church, as you may know." Her bitter tone wasn't kept in check.
The priest looked very uncomfortable but stuck by the woman. She handed the CSI an envelope. "Between what my husband kept from that investigation so long ago, and with the help of some of the clergy, I have an unofficial report for you"
Nick looked over at the woman with shocked awe. He didn't know if he was grateful for the information, or angered at how easy it was to obtain it.
He managed a mumbled thanks.
Marisa Todd gripped Nick's arm, "Please find my boy. Don't let his father's past- past digressions take my last child away from me." After a bit of urging, Father Myers persuaded the distraught woman to move along so Nick could concentrate on the case. The temporary supervisor finally found one of his missing teammates.
Nick handed Sara her assignment slip. "I really wish we didn't have to deal with backlog," he said regretfully.
The smaller criminalist accepted the sheet, as she stared at him. "Jesus, Nick. Are you all right?'
"Where's Warrick?" he asked, clearing his increasingly scratchy throat.
"He's helping Greg with the latest background information on Nero." Sara looked up at the other man. "Nick, you don't look so good."
"I didn't have time to shower, so I wouldn't stand so close." Nick warned. "I'm going to sit down and sift though some new information. I'll take it easy."
Sara was about to protest, but Nick brushed past her, walking guardedly towards Grissom's office. The other CSI stared down at her new case, and cursed under her breath about being re-assigned.
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Nick unfolded a typed and faded report from a legal wing of the Tuscan archdiocese. He tried to concentrate on the unofficial internal inquiry into the "matter". One of the church leaders had amassed a series of interviews from the molested boys as well as written statements from the clergy involved.
Nick fidgeted in his chair; the office must have had some timed climate control. He didn't recall it being so damn freezing in the place earlier. Maybe all of Grissom's creepy crawlies required some regulated Arctic environment to live in. Nick poured through the accounts, his stomach twisting into a knot at the vivid detail of the sexual assault. He quickly skipped that part as he searched the rest of the document.
It was beyond belief that the church kept a written report on the crime and explicitly listed the members of the church who were reassigned to other areas of the country. Not a single bit of disciplinary action had taken. Matt Todd, whose name had appeared as one of the accused, had helped to pay for the legal inquiry as well as "financial contributions" to the families who had filed grievances.
Nick had scanned through the eyewitness statements trying to spare himself some of the details, but so far nothing from the summary seemed to be help. He forced himself to read the three boys' testimony. Grant Payne Higgins had been 8 years old, Trent N. Walker 10 and Steve Dobbs Smith had been 7. Nick grimaced at the number of times the boys had been assaulted during the practice for Mass and late Bible Study.
Matt Todd had often spent time at the church in the early mornings to monitor the progress of the construction of the new wing. He made reports to the firm he had worked for at the time. He had helped keep an eye on some of the boys when one of the church staff has been called away on an emergency or had other duties to oversee.
Nick fumed away, at the thought that bribes and corruption had buried the atrocious acts. The offenses made his stomach queasy. Nick threw down the papers in disgust. It wasn't anything new to read about the uglier details of such assaults. He had felt nauseous when he woke up, and the added visual details of the abuse only served to make his stomach more upset.
Nick stared at the documents as they lay at his desk. He swallowed trying to keep the bile down. The three victims' names flashed in his aching head. The words had made him feel slightly dizzy.
Trent N. Walker.
Nick's eyes flew open. Could it have been a simple switch of letters and names? Was such an odd long shot possible? Nick got out of his chair, ignoring the pinching sensation around his abdomen. He knew the sore area was going to plague him, so he did his best to try to keep his movements as easy as possible. He slowly made his way out the room, as he searched for Greg and Warrick. They had the rest of Brent Nero's records and if his hunch was right, he may have found the break they needed in this case.
Nick trudged slowly in the hallway, which made him an easy target for techs and assistants alike to track him down for instructions. He had answered questions tersely, and ignored a few concerned looks. He had only made it past two cubicles when Archie Johnson came storming out of the AV Lab.
"Hey, Nick, Bobby needs to see you ASAP," the Asian nearly pounced on the CSI. Nick leaned against the wall. He started to feel lightheaded and fought the urge to sit down in the middle of the hallway. Archie quickly grew concerned, placing his hand on the man's shoulder. "Whoa, dude, you okay?"
"Can Bobby just wait? I've got to track down Warrick and Greg," Nick answered, thus ignoring the stare.
"No... I mean... its really important," the AV Tech replied.
"Fine," Nick huffed and crept like an old man toward Ballistics.
Archie followed close behind when Bobby Dawson swiveled in his chair at the approach of the temporary boss.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Nick. But the Weapons' Society claims they never got their gun back, and I faxed them a tracking number and everything," the tech rattled off, obviously nervous and upset.
Nick really wished that some of the lab employees could learn to do things with less hand holding. "What do they want from us?"
"They want more than a tracking number. They want whatever documentation we have on-"
"Then send it to them, Bobby," Nick replied testily.
"Ahh, Nick. You have all the paperwork. I put it in your box and can't find it now," Bobby explained hesitantly.
Nick sighed. The roaring in his head was reaching a crescendo, and it was hard to pay attention when there were two other techs moving around in the lab. Nick was about to apologize when the most vicious odor assaulted his nostrils. The CSI quickly tried to suppress his gag reflex and turned away. Now both techs were hovering near by. Nick recognized the strong smelling chemical; sodium rhodizonate was used to detect the presence of lead in bullets. He's been around it before, but his weak stomach wasn't ready for such an assault.
Nick dragged himself out of the ballistics lab and headed straight for the men's bathroom. Thankfully it was empty and he pushed open the door to the nearest stall. He sank to his knees and retched heavily into the toilet. There was very little in his stomach and he heaved until his muscles finally calmed down. He stayed hunched over the toilet, his arms shaking, as he rested his head on his outstretched forearm. He tried to calm his breathing, his eyes watering from the fresh pain in his belly. Nick was too preoccupied with his rebellious stomach to notice the stall door open.
He felt a hand under one of his arms pull him up, and he allowed himself to lean on the person lending him assistance. He was guided towards the wall, where he remained resting. He heard the sound of running water, and a damp paper towel was shoved into his hands. Nick took the wet item and wiped his face with it, and applied the coolness to the back of his neck. He looked up to his benefactor to see the bland expression of David Hodges.
"They were all too cowardly to come in here, so I guess I came in by process of elimination," he responded to the wide-eyed expression in his usual bored manner.
Nick groaned as he made his way to the sink. He ran the faucet and cupped his hand to drink and spit out the water as he rinsed his mouth.
Hodges remained in the bathroom, his eyebrow arched. "You know, Nick. You could make some of the DBs in the morgue jealous."
Nick glared at the tech as he exited the men's room, leaving the worried man behind. He forced his feet to carry him to one of the few rooms left that he had not looked for the duo of CSI's that were still missing. He walked past the room with the enormous examination table when an unexpected voice resounded from it.
"Nick, come here."
The bewildered CSI came to a halt and entered the lab room, where Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows stood unhappily. Now he understood why his fellow coworkers couldn't be found. They were hiding from him.
"What are you doing here?" Nick's voice was harsh sounding, as he licked his dry lips.
Grissom squinted at him through his glasses, sizing him up. A disappointed expression clouded his features. He was beginning to give him a downcast head shake, when Nick interrupted.
"Who the hell called you?" he demanded.
Catherine gave him a sympathetic stare. He would have preferred to see anger than that damn motherly gaze. He knew the words 'Oh, Nicky' were echoing in her head.
"You're off the case, Nick." Grissom announced. No conversation, no reading the riot act.
Nick took exception at being summarily dismissed without a discussion. "What? No, Grissom, you don't understand," he whined. He hated it when he sounded like that.
"Nick..." Catherine's soft voice floated in the air. There it was.
He shook his head, his body still trembling from his early bout of sickness. "Wait... I can explain."
Grissom wasn't allowing any room for argument. He started to pile files into his briefcase. "Nick, you're on leave starting now. Catherine and I are going to handle the rest of the Todd case. Go home."
Nick grabbed Grissom's hand, halting the man's paper-shoveling. "This is my case," he said sternly.
Grissom stared at his arm, and he dragged his gaze upwards. "You're too attached to this one, Nick. Please don't make me suspend you." Gil's words were nearly condescending.
"You don't have the right," Nick argued, his voice raspy.
"One of your coworkers had to call me and Catherine away from our conference, Nick. This is a serious breach of- -"
"Don't do this," Nick argued, but the room was spinning, the outlines of his vision graying out.
Grissom stood there, his reprimand on the tip of his tongue as an alarm bell inside his head went off. His eyes grew soft and somewhat fearful.
"Nick?" He asked worried, just as the CSI fell forward, his supervisor catching him before he hit the floor.
Grissom held onto the smaller man by the shoulders and carefully lowered him to the ground. Catherine watched the fall in an eerie type of slow motion. She leaped forward, and was instantly on the ground, her hand reaching Nick's face.
"God, Gil, he's burning up," she said in shock as she touched his forehead and cheeks.
Nick shivered violently on the ground. Grissom shouted for help, resulting in a blurry of activity outside the room. He reached for a pulse, but his trained eye caught something on the front of Nick's sweater that shouldn't be there... that didn't belong.
He gently rolled the semi-conscious man to his back, as he pulled up the hem of his sweater.
"Jesus," Grissom muttered, at the blood soaking the bandages underneath.
tbc..
Chapter 12
Warrick and Greg rummaged through the seemingly spotless history of Coach Brent Nero. The guy never married and seemed to have lived a pretty clean life. There were no indications of any criminal wrongdoing, and his professional record was impeccable. Warrick shook his head, scanning another document before digging into some of the newspaper clippings gathered from microfilm.
He was fishing though the box when he noticed Greg staring off into space instead of paying attention to his work. Warrick cleared his throat, but after being greeted by silence, he leaned back in his chair, eyeing the kid.
"What's on your mind, Greggo?"
Greg rested his elbows on the table and twiddled with his hands. "I was just thinking back to yesterday."
Hearing the dissonance in his voice, Warrick sighed. "Yeah? And what do you think you could have done differently?"
Greg shrugged. "I don't carry a gun... maybe I should," he said dejectedly, not quite looking the other man in the eye.
Warrick shook his head. "You are not allowed to carry a weapon until you're a CSI level 2. Even if you had one… then what? The guy was using Nick as a shield."
Greg didn't look too convinced.
Warrick taped his fingers on the table. "Nick went over there, without an officer, dragged you along…" He trailed off as he became more upset with each word.
Greg finally looked over at him. "We wouldn't have found out about Nero if Nick didn't—"
"I know that, Greg!" Warrick's eyes flashed in anger then calmed. "I'm sorry, man. Its just Nick should be in a hospital… Hell! He shouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place."
Greg looked down at the table. He knew how worried Warrick was over the whole situation. Trying to distract himself, he leafed through the newspapers and tried to decide where to start… when he froze.
Greg's eyes got big, and he did a double-take. "Warrick!" The tech jumped up and shoved the clipping towards him.
Warrick glanced down at the sports column, reading about Coach Nero's team from 2000, when his fingers nearly crumpled the item from adrenaline.
"It's not the same guy," he said excitedly.
Greg smiled, his grin matching his beady eyes. "Which means whoever took Jason and killed his brother is someone totally different."
Warrick clapped Greg on the back. "Nice catch, man. Now all we have to do is figure out who the hell has been posing as this Nero guy."
Both men were giddy after finally making some sort of breakthrough on the case. The lead only meant more questions, than answers, but it was something fresh to go on. Warrick was about to pull out his cell when each CSI heard a loud commotion erupt in the hallway.
Curious, both of them went into the corridor in search of the fuss. There was a group of employees huddled much farther down the hallway. Doc Robbins was trying to get past the onlookers and both CSI's eyes and ears perked up when they heard the unmistakable voice of Gil Grissom.
Greg looked over at Warrick. "When did Grissom get here?"
Warrick's face clouded over. "Better question. Who told him to come back?"
Archie Johnson wandered away from the group, and headed towards them, his expression rattled.
"What's goin' on over there, man?" Warrick asked, with a sinking feeling.
Archie squinted and looked back over his shoulder for a second. "Hodges says that Nick collapsed. It looks pretty bad."
Warrick closed his eyes for a split second, muttering under his breath. Then he ran down the hallway, shoving people out of his way, with Greg close behind him.
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Gil Grissom carefully kept the fabric of Nick's sweater pushed away as he stared at the spreading crimson stain over a thick layer of bandages. Nick was shivering, his eyes glassed over and unfocused, while he mumbled incoherently under his breath.
Catherine clasped her hand over her mouth, but quickly backed away and bolted out the door in search of help. She almost barreled over David Hodges, who had been hanging around after his encounter with Nick in the men's room.
Catherine gripped him by the shoulders, her voice tight and in control. "Go get Doc Robbins, now!"
Before the tech could respond, Bobby Dawson who also had been lurking in the hallway quickly responded, "I'll get him." He dashed towards the morgue.
David was fast on Catherine's heels when she re-entered the room. She quickly dialed 911 and requested immediate medical assistance. Hodges took off his jacket and draped it over Nick's upper body, as he squatted by the CSI's side.
Grissom tried to examine the pinkish tinges of flesh around the dingy gauze, noting the oozing blood along the whole length of the bandage. Catherine squeezed Nick's leg, trying to add some encouragement to him. She ran her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, pushing the short strands out of his face.
"What the hell has been going on while we've been away?" Catherine questioned the lab tech, who stood away quietly.
Grissom slipped his finger over Nick's jugular. "He's got a weak and thready pulse."
Doc Robbins entered the room and crutched his way in, and then carefully lowered himself to the floor. He gently prodded at the bandage, as Warrick barged his way into the now crowding room.
"Oh, God, Nick." Warrick came as close as he dared, hovering over his best friend.
"He was throwing up a few minutes ago," David explained, unable to take his eyes off of his coworker.
Doc Robbins looked up and back at the hurt CSI. "He must have pulled out his stitches. Someone get me a sterile cloth to apply some pressure with," the coroner ordered.
Hodges quickly exited the room, pushing by employees who were in his way. Grissom fixed Warrick Brown with a steely glare. "Sara told me that Nick was getting in over his head… growing too obsessed. She told me he was hurt in an altercation with a suspect."
Grissom peered down at his coworker and back up at Warrick's pinched expression. "This looks a hell of a lot worse than a damn cut. What the hell was he doing at the lab?"
Warrick was shaking his head struggling with an answer. "I just wanted to give him time to pull himself together."
"Time! For what, Warrick?" Grissom screamed at him.
"Gil!" Catherine tried to calm him.
David was back with a clean-looking towel and Doc grabbed it and applied pressure to Nick's abdomen, causing the wounded man to shrink away from the pain.
Doc held the towel in place, "I'm sorry, Nick," he told him softly. It was obvious that the semi-conscious man never heard him.
The coroner looked over at the concerned group. "I don't want to cut away these bandages and cause him to bleed out more. If he threw up, he probably popped his internal stitches as well."
Grissom placed the back of his hand on Nick's flushed face. "He's got a fever."
Doc Robbins stared at the part of Nick's dressing that was not covered in blood. He noted the beige color and yellow tinges. "Doesn't look like these have been properly changed. It's hard to tell, but from the pallor of the skin around these bandages, his wound has been infected."
Grissom glared at Warrick whose fierce green eyes were growing more alarmed as each second ticked by.
"How bad was this injury? Why isn't he in a hospital?"
Warrick let the accusation wash over him and bristled. "He received over forty stitches and he signed out AMA. He was determined to get back here and nothing was going to stop him, Gris."
Gil Grissom looked furious. He kept his hand on Nick's shoulder while he shivered and groaned on the ground. Grissom looked back up at his staff members. "Well someone should have damn well done something. I want the incident report from his injury and an explanation as to why Nick was even allowed back into the building."
Greg held himself in a tight hug and stepped away as the EMTs finally arrived, saving them from the rest of Grissom's wrath. The medics quickly surrounded Nick and the others stepped aside to give them room to work on him.
One of the EMTs shined a penlight into Nick's pupils, while the other checked his blood pressure and assessed the injury.
"Pulse's 135, BP 80/30," the female EMT announced to her partner.
The lead EMT applied an oxygen mask to the CSI, and both of them began the process of transferring him to their gurney for transport.
Grissom and Hodges began clearing a way for the patient, getting the lab employees to move along. Nick was quickly transported down the hall and into a waiting ambulance.
Grissom looked back at both Greg and Warrick. "You two in my office, now!"
"I want to see what's happening to---"
Catherine placed a hand on Warrick's shoulder to cut him off. "Let's talk first, then we'll go see Nick, okay."
The four CSIs silently went though the halls after Grissom made arrangements for the room to be cordoned off and spoke on the phone with Sara. The Graveyard Team arrived inside the supervisor's office and the door was slammed closed. Grissom flipped off his phone and fixed two of his team members with a somewhat calmer expression.
"Tell me what happened from the beginning."
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Grissom and Warrick had been directed towards a set of chairs to wait on news about Nick's condition. Sara had joined Greg on trying to identify who was posing as Brent Nero after he pulled her off her hit-and-run. Armed with a warrant, the two CSIs headed for the school to retrieve fingerprints or DNA off of any of the items from the coach's office or from the school's sport's equipment.
Warrick quietly fumed over the thought that Sara had secretly contacted Grissom about the case. Sara had called in the supervisor behind his back… behind Nick's back. It still irked him that she had so little trust in any of them.
Warrick and Grissom said very little to each other since they arrived. After Grissom took in all the information about the case and re-assigned aspects of it, the man had not spoke a single word to him. Before Warrick could break the silence, Dr. Taylor made her way over to the awaiting visitors. The redheaded physician gave Warrick an unfavorable look and introduced herself to the graveyard shift supervisor.
"Mr. Stokes is in recovery. I re-stitched the laceration and drained an infection that settled around the wound." Dr. Taylor sent a seething look in Warrick's direction and looked back over at the older man. "Despite the fact that we drained some of the bacterial build-up. I'm afraid an infection has entered the bloodstream, also called sepsis."
Warrick's body slumped at the words and he visible paled. Grissom took the information in stride. "I take it you're giving him an array of antibiotics to battle this?"
Dr. Taylor sighed. "We're giving him a large dose of broad-spectrum antibiotics until we get the cultures back. I'll be very frank. He's in septic shock, and his temperature has spiked to 105."
"He was doing all right yesterday," Warrick was too engrossed in the news to realize he said the words out loud.
The physician gave him a stern look. "The dressing was never changed and has become dirty. There may be an underlying infection, which would compromise his immune system, compounding the infection."
Warrick looked over at her, completely defeated. He glanced over at his boss, whose gaze softened somewhat.
"Do you know if he had been taking the prescriptions I handed him?" the physician inquired.
Warrick's eyes grew large and he stalked away, cursing. Grissom wandered after him. "Calm down, Warrick."
Warrick turned, "I forgot to give them to him. Damn it! Grissom. The doc handed me his bag and I just simply left them in my locker when we got back."
"Sounds like Nicky didn't have his head on right during this case, Warrick," Grissom tried to calm him.
Warrick shook his head. "Nah, Gris. He had everything down. He was large and in charge, taking care of every single thing that came up. You'd be proud… but… this family…" Warrick shook his head again. "I dunno, he got in too deep."
"He got attached, Warrick," Grissom explained.
Warrick wasn't buying it. "It wasn't that simple… there's more to it. Nick's good at stepping back when he needs to. Yeah, he gets a bit emotionally involved, but he's smarter than that. I've seen him detach from a case. He wouldn't risk harming anything that might get us later at trial."
Grissom adjusted his glasses. "Then what was it?"
Dr. Taylor wandered over to the criminalists, her posture slightly more gentle than before. "While you were talking, one of the nurses informed me that Mr. Stokes really wants to see both of you. He's been very insistent. Since all of you have been working a rather difficult case, I thought you should go talk to him."
"We'll go see him," Grissom answered her.
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Both Grissom and Warrick put disinfected their hands before they were allowed to see their friend. There were many steps in place to keep any kind of bacteria any from the patient. Nick was not on a ventilator, which was one of the few reasons he was in a closely monitored private room and not in the ICU ward. Nick looked asleep, his short hair matted to his forehead. A slight flush could be seen on his cheeks, despite the sickly pale color of the rest of his skin. Oxygen was being supplied to him by a nasal cannula. Nick had an IV line in the back of his arm half from his wrist. A nurse was finishing up her vitals check, which would contiune every two hours for the first twelve hours of Nick's stay.
Warrick shuddered. He frowned, knowing how hard Nick had pushed himslef on this case. Warrick should have been more forceful about his growing concern, but he had backed off...maybe too much. He looked over at Gil, as if silently wandering if they should intrude at all. But as soon as they got near the bed rail, Nick instantly woke up and lifted a shaky hand off the bed.
Warrick grabbed it and squeezed it reassuringly. Grissom came beside him, looking at a loss on how to address the younger man.
Nick pulled his partner closer. "He's n-not the s-same guy," he spoke hoarsely.
The little effort of talking seemed to wipe him out and Nick struggled to breathe before speaking again. "N-nero.."
"Shhssh, we know. Greg found a picture of Coach Nero and he's not the same guy," Warrick tried to soothe the clearly agitated man.
"No," Nick moaned, closing his eyes as he fought off the chills that caused him to shiver so badly in the bed. "T-trent N-N Walker," he managed to say through chattering teeth.
"Who's that, Nick?" Grissom asked, leaning down so he could hear.
Nick squeezed Warrick's hand trying to channel his pain and frustration.
"It's okay, man. Trent Walker? Where did you get that name?" he asked, patting his shoulder.
Nick wrapped his right hand over the a pillow that a nurse gave him to splint his stomach with. It covered the bulky surgical dressing through his hospital shirt. The shivering and talking was causing the stitches to pull, the pain to mount. His head was already fuzzy and confused. He needed to communicate but it was taking such a toll to stay focused. Nick breathed heavily, almost panting.
"The church papers," he coughed slightly.
Warrick shared a frustrated expression with his boss, trying to decipher the ill man's ramblings. It was important to Nick, so he would wait and figure out the meaning.
"Which papers, Nick?" Grissom tried to get him to focus. "Trent Walker was in the some church papers? What documents?"
Nick nodded. "Church paper… f-from..." Nick fell back, too exhausted to continue.
Warrick whispered soothing words in his ear. He looked back over at Grissom who stood quietly, but his eyes spoke volumes.
Warrick looked back at the supervisor. "I think Nick's trying to tell us that Trent Walker is the guy posing as Brent Nero. We can check back at your office to see what he was looking at before everything went to hell."
"If Nick identified the real kidnapper, then it might lead us to Jason."
Grissom summarized.
"Then let's go," Warrick was ready to lead the charge, but Grissom kept a hand on his shoulder to still him.
"Maybe you should stay and be with Nick. He should have someone here with him."
"Hell, no. The best way I can help my boy is to catch the guy who did this," Warrick argued, trying to keep his voice low.
"This case already consumed one CSI. I'm not going to let it get two," Grissom warned.
Warrick was going to launch into a diatribe, when Catherine made her presence known. How long she been standing there was either man's guess. "I'll stay with Nicky. I think he'll feel better talking to me when he gets a chance."
Grissom raised an eyebrow at the remark, and looked back over at Warrick's determined expression.
"I think the best way to help Nick is to save Jason Todd," Warrick explained. He went over to Catherine and brushed his hand over her arm. "Tell my bro that I'm working hard for him. That I'll stop by when I can."
Catherine smiled pensively, "I will. I'll keep him company."
Grissom left hesitantly with Warrick in tow. He nodded at Catherine before looking back at the prone man in the bed. Without a word the two men left Catherine Willows alone. She pulled out the chair and sat down. She found Nick's overly warm hand and held it in hers.
"Oh, Nicky. Why didn't you call me?" she asked, without getting an answer.
tbc...
Author: Kristen999
Category: Angst/ Drama/ Case file
Spoilers: General for seasons 1-4. Set in Season 5, but no specific spoilers for it.
Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.
Summary: Detachment from a case is a necessity. Obsession, however, can be an unavoidable evil. Nick battles his demons during a case of a murdered child.
Big thanks to Tinkerbell for al of her help with the edits! *hugs*
Previous chapters can be found here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2548408/1/
I'm going to try and update three times a week now.
Chapter 11
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Warrick had the other CSI cornered in one of the hallways. The black man normally didn't use his posture to intimidate his friends, but this time, he would use body mass and height to drive home his point.
"What's been eating at you, man? This supervisor thing has you acting out of whack."
Nick dug the palm of his hand into his forehead as he tried to ease the pressure of his migraine. He barely paid any attention to his coworker, having all ready got the gist of his argument. He sighed loudly, indicating his general annoyance.
He shook his head trying to erase the fuzziness that had descended and fogged up his brain. "It's got nothin' to do with the shift leader thing, bro."
Warrick cocked his head. "Then what is it? Talk to me, man."
"There isn't anything to discuss. I just got worked up." Nick plastered on a fake grin, trying to act modest. "You know how things go."
Warrick huffed, not buying the act. "You're a real easy book to read sometimes, and I know when you're bullshitting me. So, why don't you cut the crap and lay it on me."
Nick opened his mouth, but no words came out. No, there wasn't anything to discuss. "You know what? It's close to the end of the shift, maybe I'll go home and sleep."
Avoidance- the CSI was good at this game. Nick patted Warrick's shoulder; it only served to irritate the lanky man further. Nick ducked away, and started heading for the exit.
Warrick narrowed his eyes, not very pleased with the snow job. "Is that how it is, huh?" he accused the retreating man.
Nick kept this back to his friend, not wanting to continue the discussion. He waved his hand, never once turning around. Warrick felt the urge to go after him, but if his buddy was tired of being coddled, he'd give him the space.
Just this once.
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It was his freaking luck that it was pouring outside, downdrafts of heavy rain that pelted him hard. Nick groaned as he was quickly soaked. His meager button-up shirt did nothing to protect him from the wind and sheets of wetness. To top it all off, his SUV was parked at the Lab parking lot, and he had to walk through the melee to reach his vehicle.
For a moment he thought about turning back and going through police headquarters, but realized that he would track in puddles galore, only irritating the local cops. So, he held his arms around his body and braved the rain for several minutes, crossing parking lots and getting drenched. After more time passed than Nick ever thought possible, his bones aching, he finally reached his car. He unlocked the door, crawled in and hit the button to his heater.
With chattering teeth, Nick drove, downtrodden and pissed off at the misery of it all. When he made it home, the CSI peeled off his thoroughly soaked shirt, hissing as the fabric pulled at the wet bandages. He stepped out of his soaked pants and threw on some sweats and a shirt. With great effort, Nick made his way towards his kitchen. It seemed the last half hour had sucked the life out of him and he could barely move without excruciating pain.
He reached into his fridge and pulled out some leftovers. He wasn't hungry, but with a bit of difficulty he managed to sit at his table and eat a few bites of pasta. He had grabbed a bottle of aspirin and took four of them in hopes of dulling the burning pain he felt. He groaned inwardly. Warrick had his meds, which he had forgotten to get from him. Nick was sure the prescriptions would have been stronger than his over-the-counter relief.
Feeling like this was the last straw, Nick stood up, grunting from the unbelievable effort. He took tiny steps towards his bedroom, using the wall to guide him along. He almost collapsed on his bed, pulling the covers over his body. He closed his eyes and prayed that sleep would simply take him away for a little while.
He was rewarded with slumber only half an hour later.
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He saw the planet earth hang and spin on its string. The little paper world danced along, swinging back and fourth, back and fourth. The fishing line used to hold it invisible in the air, along with all the rest of the inner solar system.
Terra Firma.
It was all he could do to just stare at it, let it swallow him whole. Anything to keep his focus, his brain consumed with scientific facts. Nick awoke with a start. He almost lunged out of bed, and cried out when the throbbing hit him full force. His hands were shaking and his body was covered in a cold sweat. He stumbled out of his room, as he cast a bleary eye at his alarm clock. He was going to be late for shift and walked with wobbly legs towards his bathroom. Nick didn't have time for a shower, not with his middle wrapped around tightly. Instead he took a damp towel and tried to clean himself up a bit.
Trying to ignore his grayish complexion in the mirror, he found a T-shirt that he carefully put on. Still feeling cold, he grabbed a black sweater and tugged it over the shirt. After gathering his stuff, Nick headed back to the lab. He prayed that while he slept, someone had made progress at tracking down Jason Todd.
Nick had forgotten that Ecklie was out playing politics with the Sheriff at the other side of town. As soon as he set foot in the lab, he had to sign forms, track down lost paperwork and inform one of the members of the swing shift that one of their blood samples had been contaminated by bleach residue.
He'd been inside for twenty minutes when he reached Grissom's office. He sat behind the laptop to answer, delete, and forward various e-mails. Two cases from dayshift needed to be re-assigned to his grave team. Nick didn't have any choice but to assign Sara a hit-and-run and the other he quickly handed to Sofia to oversee.
Nick went to the reception desk to see if the any of the actual files from the missing children's cases had arrived and was actually relieved to see an overnight package waiting for him.
"There was also a box of files sent over from Tuscan that arrived late afternoon, but Greg took it an hour ago," Judy informed the criminalist with her usual cheeriness.
Nick lifted his head in acknowledgement and forced a smile. "Thanks, Judy."
The receptionist beamed at him, but quickly scrambled around her desk. "There's a message left for you by Detective Brass." She handed him the post-it.
Matt Todd had been arrested based on his pseudo confession; his lawyer was already contesting it. The note also told him that Marisa Todd was waiting to speak to him. Nick didn't have to wait long to find Jason's mother as she sat in the waiting area for him with Father Myers. Since he still had not seen any of his coworkers, the criminalist approached the woman. She stood up immediately and met the man in the lobby. Both visitors stood closer together, the priest kept his arm around the slim lady's waist for support.
"Mr. Stokes. My family has strong ties with the church, as you may know." Her bitter tone wasn't kept in check.
The priest looked very uncomfortable but stuck by the woman. She handed the CSI an envelope. "Between what my husband kept from that investigation so long ago, and with the help of some of the clergy, I have an unofficial report for you"
Nick looked over at the woman with shocked awe. He didn't know if he was grateful for the information, or angered at how easy it was to obtain it.
He managed a mumbled thanks.
Marisa Todd gripped Nick's arm, "Please find my boy. Don't let his father's past- past digressions take my last child away from me." After a bit of urging, Father Myers persuaded the distraught woman to move along so Nick could concentrate on the case. The temporary supervisor finally found one of his missing teammates.
Nick handed Sara her assignment slip. "I really wish we didn't have to deal with backlog," he said regretfully.
The smaller criminalist accepted the sheet, as she stared at him. "Jesus, Nick. Are you all right?'
"Where's Warrick?" he asked, clearing his increasingly scratchy throat.
"He's helping Greg with the latest background information on Nero." Sara looked up at the other man. "Nick, you don't look so good."
"I didn't have time to shower, so I wouldn't stand so close." Nick warned. "I'm going to sit down and sift though some new information. I'll take it easy."
Sara was about to protest, but Nick brushed past her, walking guardedly towards Grissom's office. The other CSI stared down at her new case, and cursed under her breath about being re-assigned.
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Nick unfolded a typed and faded report from a legal wing of the Tuscan archdiocese. He tried to concentrate on the unofficial internal inquiry into the "matter". One of the church leaders had amassed a series of interviews from the molested boys as well as written statements from the clergy involved.
Nick fidgeted in his chair; the office must have had some timed climate control. He didn't recall it being so damn freezing in the place earlier. Maybe all of Grissom's creepy crawlies required some regulated Arctic environment to live in. Nick poured through the accounts, his stomach twisting into a knot at the vivid detail of the sexual assault. He quickly skipped that part as he searched the rest of the document.
It was beyond belief that the church kept a written report on the crime and explicitly listed the members of the church who were reassigned to other areas of the country. Not a single bit of disciplinary action had taken. Matt Todd, whose name had appeared as one of the accused, had helped to pay for the legal inquiry as well as "financial contributions" to the families who had filed grievances.
Nick had scanned through the eyewitness statements trying to spare himself some of the details, but so far nothing from the summary seemed to be help. He forced himself to read the three boys' testimony. Grant Payne Higgins had been 8 years old, Trent N. Walker 10 and Steve Dobbs Smith had been 7. Nick grimaced at the number of times the boys had been assaulted during the practice for Mass and late Bible Study.
Matt Todd had often spent time at the church in the early mornings to monitor the progress of the construction of the new wing. He made reports to the firm he had worked for at the time. He had helped keep an eye on some of the boys when one of the church staff has been called away on an emergency or had other duties to oversee.
Nick fumed away, at the thought that bribes and corruption had buried the atrocious acts. The offenses made his stomach queasy. Nick threw down the papers in disgust. It wasn't anything new to read about the uglier details of such assaults. He had felt nauseous when he woke up, and the added visual details of the abuse only served to make his stomach more upset.
Nick stared at the documents as they lay at his desk. He swallowed trying to keep the bile down. The three victims' names flashed in his aching head. The words had made him feel slightly dizzy.
Trent N. Walker.
Nick's eyes flew open. Could it have been a simple switch of letters and names? Was such an odd long shot possible? Nick got out of his chair, ignoring the pinching sensation around his abdomen. He knew the sore area was going to plague him, so he did his best to try to keep his movements as easy as possible. He slowly made his way out the room, as he searched for Greg and Warrick. They had the rest of Brent Nero's records and if his hunch was right, he may have found the break they needed in this case.
Nick trudged slowly in the hallway, which made him an easy target for techs and assistants alike to track him down for instructions. He had answered questions tersely, and ignored a few concerned looks. He had only made it past two cubicles when Archie Johnson came storming out of the AV Lab.
"Hey, Nick, Bobby needs to see you ASAP," the Asian nearly pounced on the CSI. Nick leaned against the wall. He started to feel lightheaded and fought the urge to sit down in the middle of the hallway. Archie quickly grew concerned, placing his hand on the man's shoulder. "Whoa, dude, you okay?"
"Can Bobby just wait? I've got to track down Warrick and Greg," Nick answered, thus ignoring the stare.
"No... I mean... its really important," the AV Tech replied.
"Fine," Nick huffed and crept like an old man toward Ballistics.
Archie followed close behind when Bobby Dawson swiveled in his chair at the approach of the temporary boss.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Nick. But the Weapons' Society claims they never got their gun back, and I faxed them a tracking number and everything," the tech rattled off, obviously nervous and upset.
Nick really wished that some of the lab employees could learn to do things with less hand holding. "What do they want from us?"
"They want more than a tracking number. They want whatever documentation we have on-"
"Then send it to them, Bobby," Nick replied testily.
"Ahh, Nick. You have all the paperwork. I put it in your box and can't find it now," Bobby explained hesitantly.
Nick sighed. The roaring in his head was reaching a crescendo, and it was hard to pay attention when there were two other techs moving around in the lab. Nick was about to apologize when the most vicious odor assaulted his nostrils. The CSI quickly tried to suppress his gag reflex and turned away. Now both techs were hovering near by. Nick recognized the strong smelling chemical; sodium rhodizonate was used to detect the presence of lead in bullets. He's been around it before, but his weak stomach wasn't ready for such an assault.
Nick dragged himself out of the ballistics lab and headed straight for the men's bathroom. Thankfully it was empty and he pushed open the door to the nearest stall. He sank to his knees and retched heavily into the toilet. There was very little in his stomach and he heaved until his muscles finally calmed down. He stayed hunched over the toilet, his arms shaking, as he rested his head on his outstretched forearm. He tried to calm his breathing, his eyes watering from the fresh pain in his belly. Nick was too preoccupied with his rebellious stomach to notice the stall door open.
He felt a hand under one of his arms pull him up, and he allowed himself to lean on the person lending him assistance. He was guided towards the wall, where he remained resting. He heard the sound of running water, and a damp paper towel was shoved into his hands. Nick took the wet item and wiped his face with it, and applied the coolness to the back of his neck. He looked up to his benefactor to see the bland expression of David Hodges.
"They were all too cowardly to come in here, so I guess I came in by process of elimination," he responded to the wide-eyed expression in his usual bored manner.
Nick groaned as he made his way to the sink. He ran the faucet and cupped his hand to drink and spit out the water as he rinsed his mouth.
Hodges remained in the bathroom, his eyebrow arched. "You know, Nick. You could make some of the DBs in the morgue jealous."
Nick glared at the tech as he exited the men's room, leaving the worried man behind. He forced his feet to carry him to one of the few rooms left that he had not looked for the duo of CSI's that were still missing. He walked past the room with the enormous examination table when an unexpected voice resounded from it.
"Nick, come here."
The bewildered CSI came to a halt and entered the lab room, where Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows stood unhappily. Now he understood why his fellow coworkers couldn't be found. They were hiding from him.
"What are you doing here?" Nick's voice was harsh sounding, as he licked his dry lips.
Grissom squinted at him through his glasses, sizing him up. A disappointed expression clouded his features. He was beginning to give him a downcast head shake, when Nick interrupted.
"Who the hell called you?" he demanded.
Catherine gave him a sympathetic stare. He would have preferred to see anger than that damn motherly gaze. He knew the words 'Oh, Nicky' were echoing in her head.
"You're off the case, Nick." Grissom announced. No conversation, no reading the riot act.
Nick took exception at being summarily dismissed without a discussion. "What? No, Grissom, you don't understand," he whined. He hated it when he sounded like that.
"Nick..." Catherine's soft voice floated in the air. There it was.
He shook his head, his body still trembling from his early bout of sickness. "Wait... I can explain."
Grissom wasn't allowing any room for argument. He started to pile files into his briefcase. "Nick, you're on leave starting now. Catherine and I are going to handle the rest of the Todd case. Go home."
Nick grabbed Grissom's hand, halting the man's paper-shoveling. "This is my case," he said sternly.
Grissom stared at his arm, and he dragged his gaze upwards. "You're too attached to this one, Nick. Please don't make me suspend you." Gil's words were nearly condescending.
"You don't have the right," Nick argued, his voice raspy.
"One of your coworkers had to call me and Catherine away from our conference, Nick. This is a serious breach of- -"
"Don't do this," Nick argued, but the room was spinning, the outlines of his vision graying out.
Grissom stood there, his reprimand on the tip of his tongue as an alarm bell inside his head went off. His eyes grew soft and somewhat fearful.
"Nick?" He asked worried, just as the CSI fell forward, his supervisor catching him before he hit the floor.
Grissom held onto the smaller man by the shoulders and carefully lowered him to the ground. Catherine watched the fall in an eerie type of slow motion. She leaped forward, and was instantly on the ground, her hand reaching Nick's face.
"God, Gil, he's burning up," she said in shock as she touched his forehead and cheeks.
Nick shivered violently on the ground. Grissom shouted for help, resulting in a blurry of activity outside the room. He reached for a pulse, but his trained eye caught something on the front of Nick's sweater that shouldn't be there... that didn't belong.
He gently rolled the semi-conscious man to his back, as he pulled up the hem of his sweater.
"Jesus," Grissom muttered, at the blood soaking the bandages underneath.
tbc..
Chapter 12
Warrick and Greg rummaged through the seemingly spotless history of Coach Brent Nero. The guy never married and seemed to have lived a pretty clean life. There were no indications of any criminal wrongdoing, and his professional record was impeccable. Warrick shook his head, scanning another document before digging into some of the newspaper clippings gathered from microfilm.
He was fishing though the box when he noticed Greg staring off into space instead of paying attention to his work. Warrick cleared his throat, but after being greeted by silence, he leaned back in his chair, eyeing the kid.
"What's on your mind, Greggo?"
Greg rested his elbows on the table and twiddled with his hands. "I was just thinking back to yesterday."
Hearing the dissonance in his voice, Warrick sighed. "Yeah? And what do you think you could have done differently?"
Greg shrugged. "I don't carry a gun... maybe I should," he said dejectedly, not quite looking the other man in the eye.
Warrick shook his head. "You are not allowed to carry a weapon until you're a CSI level 2. Even if you had one… then what? The guy was using Nick as a shield."
Greg didn't look too convinced.
Warrick taped his fingers on the table. "Nick went over there, without an officer, dragged you along…" He trailed off as he became more upset with each word.
Greg finally looked over at him. "We wouldn't have found out about Nero if Nick didn't—"
"I know that, Greg!" Warrick's eyes flashed in anger then calmed. "I'm sorry, man. Its just Nick should be in a hospital… Hell! He shouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place."
Greg looked down at the table. He knew how worried Warrick was over the whole situation. Trying to distract himself, he leafed through the newspapers and tried to decide where to start… when he froze.
Greg's eyes got big, and he did a double-take. "Warrick!" The tech jumped up and shoved the clipping towards him.
Warrick glanced down at the sports column, reading about Coach Nero's team from 2000, when his fingers nearly crumpled the item from adrenaline.
"It's not the same guy," he said excitedly.
Greg smiled, his grin matching his beady eyes. "Which means whoever took Jason and killed his brother is someone totally different."
Warrick clapped Greg on the back. "Nice catch, man. Now all we have to do is figure out who the hell has been posing as this Nero guy."
Both men were giddy after finally making some sort of breakthrough on the case. The lead only meant more questions, than answers, but it was something fresh to go on. Warrick was about to pull out his cell when each CSI heard a loud commotion erupt in the hallway.
Curious, both of them went into the corridor in search of the fuss. There was a group of employees huddled much farther down the hallway. Doc Robbins was trying to get past the onlookers and both CSI's eyes and ears perked up when they heard the unmistakable voice of Gil Grissom.
Greg looked over at Warrick. "When did Grissom get here?"
Warrick's face clouded over. "Better question. Who told him to come back?"
Archie Johnson wandered away from the group, and headed towards them, his expression rattled.
"What's goin' on over there, man?" Warrick asked, with a sinking feeling.
Archie squinted and looked back over his shoulder for a second. "Hodges says that Nick collapsed. It looks pretty bad."
Warrick closed his eyes for a split second, muttering under his breath. Then he ran down the hallway, shoving people out of his way, with Greg close behind him.
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Gil Grissom carefully kept the fabric of Nick's sweater pushed away as he stared at the spreading crimson stain over a thick layer of bandages. Nick was shivering, his eyes glassed over and unfocused, while he mumbled incoherently under his breath.
Catherine clasped her hand over her mouth, but quickly backed away and bolted out the door in search of help. She almost barreled over David Hodges, who had been hanging around after his encounter with Nick in the men's room.
Catherine gripped him by the shoulders, her voice tight and in control. "Go get Doc Robbins, now!"
Before the tech could respond, Bobby Dawson who also had been lurking in the hallway quickly responded, "I'll get him." He dashed towards the morgue.
David was fast on Catherine's heels when she re-entered the room. She quickly dialed 911 and requested immediate medical assistance. Hodges took off his jacket and draped it over Nick's upper body, as he squatted by the CSI's side.
Grissom tried to examine the pinkish tinges of flesh around the dingy gauze, noting the oozing blood along the whole length of the bandage. Catherine squeezed Nick's leg, trying to add some encouragement to him. She ran her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, pushing the short strands out of his face.
"What the hell has been going on while we've been away?" Catherine questioned the lab tech, who stood away quietly.
Grissom slipped his finger over Nick's jugular. "He's got a weak and thready pulse."
Doc Robbins entered the room and crutched his way in, and then carefully lowered himself to the floor. He gently prodded at the bandage, as Warrick barged his way into the now crowding room.
"Oh, God, Nick." Warrick came as close as he dared, hovering over his best friend.
"He was throwing up a few minutes ago," David explained, unable to take his eyes off of his coworker.
Doc Robbins looked up and back at the hurt CSI. "He must have pulled out his stitches. Someone get me a sterile cloth to apply some pressure with," the coroner ordered.
Hodges quickly exited the room, pushing by employees who were in his way. Grissom fixed Warrick Brown with a steely glare. "Sara told me that Nick was getting in over his head… growing too obsessed. She told me he was hurt in an altercation with a suspect."
Grissom peered down at his coworker and back up at Warrick's pinched expression. "This looks a hell of a lot worse than a damn cut. What the hell was he doing at the lab?"
Warrick was shaking his head struggling with an answer. "I just wanted to give him time to pull himself together."
"Time! For what, Warrick?" Grissom screamed at him.
"Gil!" Catherine tried to calm him.
David was back with a clean-looking towel and Doc grabbed it and applied pressure to Nick's abdomen, causing the wounded man to shrink away from the pain.
Doc held the towel in place, "I'm sorry, Nick," he told him softly. It was obvious that the semi-conscious man never heard him.
The coroner looked over at the concerned group. "I don't want to cut away these bandages and cause him to bleed out more. If he threw up, he probably popped his internal stitches as well."
Grissom placed the back of his hand on Nick's flushed face. "He's got a fever."
Doc Robbins stared at the part of Nick's dressing that was not covered in blood. He noted the beige color and yellow tinges. "Doesn't look like these have been properly changed. It's hard to tell, but from the pallor of the skin around these bandages, his wound has been infected."
Grissom glared at Warrick whose fierce green eyes were growing more alarmed as each second ticked by.
"How bad was this injury? Why isn't he in a hospital?"
Warrick let the accusation wash over him and bristled. "He received over forty stitches and he signed out AMA. He was determined to get back here and nothing was going to stop him, Gris."
Gil Grissom looked furious. He kept his hand on Nick's shoulder while he shivered and groaned on the ground. Grissom looked back up at his staff members. "Well someone should have damn well done something. I want the incident report from his injury and an explanation as to why Nick was even allowed back into the building."
Greg held himself in a tight hug and stepped away as the EMTs finally arrived, saving them from the rest of Grissom's wrath. The medics quickly surrounded Nick and the others stepped aside to give them room to work on him.
One of the EMTs shined a penlight into Nick's pupils, while the other checked his blood pressure and assessed the injury.
"Pulse's 135, BP 80/30," the female EMT announced to her partner.
The lead EMT applied an oxygen mask to the CSI, and both of them began the process of transferring him to their gurney for transport.
Grissom and Hodges began clearing a way for the patient, getting the lab employees to move along. Nick was quickly transported down the hall and into a waiting ambulance.
Grissom looked back at both Greg and Warrick. "You two in my office, now!"
"I want to see what's happening to---"
Catherine placed a hand on Warrick's shoulder to cut him off. "Let's talk first, then we'll go see Nick, okay."
The four CSIs silently went though the halls after Grissom made arrangements for the room to be cordoned off and spoke on the phone with Sara. The Graveyard Team arrived inside the supervisor's office and the door was slammed closed. Grissom flipped off his phone and fixed two of his team members with a somewhat calmer expression.
"Tell me what happened from the beginning."
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Grissom and Warrick had been directed towards a set of chairs to wait on news about Nick's condition. Sara had joined Greg on trying to identify who was posing as Brent Nero after he pulled her off her hit-and-run. Armed with a warrant, the two CSIs headed for the school to retrieve fingerprints or DNA off of any of the items from the coach's office or from the school's sport's equipment.
Warrick quietly fumed over the thought that Sara had secretly contacted Grissom about the case. Sara had called in the supervisor behind his back… behind Nick's back. It still irked him that she had so little trust in any of them.
Warrick and Grissom said very little to each other since they arrived. After Grissom took in all the information about the case and re-assigned aspects of it, the man had not spoke a single word to him. Before Warrick could break the silence, Dr. Taylor made her way over to the awaiting visitors. The redheaded physician gave Warrick an unfavorable look and introduced herself to the graveyard shift supervisor.
"Mr. Stokes is in recovery. I re-stitched the laceration and drained an infection that settled around the wound." Dr. Taylor sent a seething look in Warrick's direction and looked back over at the older man. "Despite the fact that we drained some of the bacterial build-up. I'm afraid an infection has entered the bloodstream, also called sepsis."
Warrick's body slumped at the words and he visible paled. Grissom took the information in stride. "I take it you're giving him an array of antibiotics to battle this?"
Dr. Taylor sighed. "We're giving him a large dose of broad-spectrum antibiotics until we get the cultures back. I'll be very frank. He's in septic shock, and his temperature has spiked to 105."
"He was doing all right yesterday," Warrick was too engrossed in the news to realize he said the words out loud.
The physician gave him a stern look. "The dressing was never changed and has become dirty. There may be an underlying infection, which would compromise his immune system, compounding the infection."
Warrick looked over at her, completely defeated. He glanced over at his boss, whose gaze softened somewhat.
"Do you know if he had been taking the prescriptions I handed him?" the physician inquired.
Warrick's eyes grew large and he stalked away, cursing. Grissom wandered after him. "Calm down, Warrick."
Warrick turned, "I forgot to give them to him. Damn it! Grissom. The doc handed me his bag and I just simply left them in my locker when we got back."
"Sounds like Nicky didn't have his head on right during this case, Warrick," Grissom tried to calm him.
Warrick shook his head. "Nah, Gris. He had everything down. He was large and in charge, taking care of every single thing that came up. You'd be proud… but… this family…" Warrick shook his head again. "I dunno, he got in too deep."
"He got attached, Warrick," Grissom explained.
Warrick wasn't buying it. "It wasn't that simple… there's more to it. Nick's good at stepping back when he needs to. Yeah, he gets a bit emotionally involved, but he's smarter than that. I've seen him detach from a case. He wouldn't risk harming anything that might get us later at trial."
Grissom adjusted his glasses. "Then what was it?"
Dr. Taylor wandered over to the criminalists, her posture slightly more gentle than before. "While you were talking, one of the nurses informed me that Mr. Stokes really wants to see both of you. He's been very insistent. Since all of you have been working a rather difficult case, I thought you should go talk to him."
"We'll go see him," Grissom answered her.
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Both Grissom and Warrick put disinfected their hands before they were allowed to see their friend. There were many steps in place to keep any kind of bacteria any from the patient. Nick was not on a ventilator, which was one of the few reasons he was in a closely monitored private room and not in the ICU ward. Nick looked asleep, his short hair matted to his forehead. A slight flush could be seen on his cheeks, despite the sickly pale color of the rest of his skin. Oxygen was being supplied to him by a nasal cannula. Nick had an IV line in the back of his arm half from his wrist. A nurse was finishing up her vitals check, which would contiune every two hours for the first twelve hours of Nick's stay.
Warrick shuddered. He frowned, knowing how hard Nick had pushed himslef on this case. Warrick should have been more forceful about his growing concern, but he had backed off...maybe too much. He looked over at Gil, as if silently wandering if they should intrude at all. But as soon as they got near the bed rail, Nick instantly woke up and lifted a shaky hand off the bed.
Warrick grabbed it and squeezed it reassuringly. Grissom came beside him, looking at a loss on how to address the younger man.
Nick pulled his partner closer. "He's n-not the s-same guy," he spoke hoarsely.
The little effort of talking seemed to wipe him out and Nick struggled to breathe before speaking again. "N-nero.."
"Shhssh, we know. Greg found a picture of Coach Nero and he's not the same guy," Warrick tried to soothe the clearly agitated man.
"No," Nick moaned, closing his eyes as he fought off the chills that caused him to shiver so badly in the bed. "T-trent N-N Walker," he managed to say through chattering teeth.
"Who's that, Nick?" Grissom asked, leaning down so he could hear.
Nick squeezed Warrick's hand trying to channel his pain and frustration.
"It's okay, man. Trent Walker? Where did you get that name?" he asked, patting his shoulder.
Nick wrapped his right hand over the a pillow that a nurse gave him to splint his stomach with. It covered the bulky surgical dressing through his hospital shirt. The shivering and talking was causing the stitches to pull, the pain to mount. His head was already fuzzy and confused. He needed to communicate but it was taking such a toll to stay focused. Nick breathed heavily, almost panting.
"The church papers," he coughed slightly.
Warrick shared a frustrated expression with his boss, trying to decipher the ill man's ramblings. It was important to Nick, so he would wait and figure out the meaning.
"Which papers, Nick?" Grissom tried to get him to focus. "Trent Walker was in the some church papers? What documents?"
Nick nodded. "Church paper… f-from..." Nick fell back, too exhausted to continue.
Warrick whispered soothing words in his ear. He looked back over at Grissom who stood quietly, but his eyes spoke volumes.
Warrick looked back at the supervisor. "I think Nick's trying to tell us that Trent Walker is the guy posing as Brent Nero. We can check back at your office to see what he was looking at before everything went to hell."
"If Nick identified the real kidnapper, then it might lead us to Jason."
Grissom summarized.
"Then let's go," Warrick was ready to lead the charge, but Grissom kept a hand on his shoulder to still him.
"Maybe you should stay and be with Nick. He should have someone here with him."
"Hell, no. The best way I can help my boy is to catch the guy who did this," Warrick argued, trying to keep his voice low.
"This case already consumed one CSI. I'm not going to let it get two," Grissom warned.
Warrick was going to launch into a diatribe, when Catherine made her presence known. How long she been standing there was either man's guess. "I'll stay with Nicky. I think he'll feel better talking to me when he gets a chance."
Grissom raised an eyebrow at the remark, and looked back over at Warrick's determined expression.
"I think the best way to help Nick is to save Jason Todd," Warrick explained. He went over to Catherine and brushed his hand over her arm. "Tell my bro that I'm working hard for him. That I'll stop by when I can."
Catherine smiled pensively, "I will. I'll keep him company."
Grissom left hesitantly with Warrick in tow. He nodded at Catherine before looking back at the prone man in the bed. Without a word the two men left Catherine Willows alone. She pulled out the chair and sat down. She found Nick's overly warm hand and held it in hers.
"Oh, Nicky. Why didn't you call me?" she asked, without getting an answer.
tbc...
