Title: Day from Hell
By: Ericalynn
Fandom/Pairing: CSI: Vegas - Nick/Warrick
Rating: R
Warnings: language
Disclaimer: I own no rights to the recognizable characters; it's just fiction like always.
Summary: for high_striker (hope it cheers you up!). He was scared to death and frozen in place.
A/N: I don't know. I was coming off writer's block when I wrote this and I was pissed off and upset and tired and sore. So it feels weird to me, like the cadence or something is off. I hope you like it. I didn't want to delve into anything heavier than cuddling, sorry. But with this weird mood and writing style I was in yesterday, who knows how it would have ended up! *lol* Anyway, enjoy!

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"Yeah. Thanks for the ride, Cath."

Warrick tossed her a small smirk as he closed the car door. He saw her off with a wave over his shoulder as he walked up the sidewalk to the front door. From all appearances it seemed that Nick wasn't home, the door was locked, all the lights off, the paper and mail still in their respective boxes. Only Nick's Denali sitting in the driveway gave away his presence.

After fumbling one handedly with his keys in the lock, Warrick eventually managed to make it inside. One toss and his keys were in the dish on the counter. Another quick, aimless toss found his leather jacket on a chair in the living room. He cast a worried glance back to the kitchen counter and the opened bottle of whiskey sitting there. The tumbler sitting there still held Nick's usual amount of his preferred poison. And the sweating beer bottle keeping it company looked as if only one or two swigs, at most, had been taken before that too was set aside.

He flicked the lights on one by one as he made his way through the house, expecting to find his love already asleep in their bed. Stiffly, he started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked through the hallway, eager to fall into bed with Nick and sleep this bad day away. He was slightly surprised to find the room, and the bed, empty.

Sighing to himself, Warrick turned on the bedside light and finished taking off his shirt, ever mindful of his bandaged left shoulder. Nick was bound to around the house somewhere, that much Warrick was sure of. But he would find him a little later. Right now, the steam of a nice, hot shower and a good shave were calling him.

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Nick sat there staring out at the blushing morning sky. He didn't know how long he'd been there but the last glimpse he'd seen of the sky had been complete with stars and a waning moon. With a heavy sigh, he ran his hands over his face, pulling them through his hair before he sat back once again. No matter how tired he was, how hungry, how much he needed a shower, he just couldn't force himself out of that chair. It was as if all that had happened in this hellacious long day had settled as an immovable weight on his chest. And he no longer had the energy to fight it.

Parts of the day skipped through his mind like an old movie, all scratchy and distorted, jumping from scene to scene like a projector out of control. They felt so unreal, so unnatural that if he hadn't experienced them first hand, he never would have believed. The surreal case, all the blood splashed over the walls and the carpets like a morbid painting. The odd conversation with the doorman that led them on a chase through the alleys. The echo of a gunshot reverberating off brick walls mixed with the shrill cry of sirens and answering gunfire. It all bounced around his head, trying to talk to Brass, his lips numb with fear and shock, the rush of paramedics and cops flooding the scene, the feel of warm, wet, freshly spilled blood on his fingers. It was dizzying and terrifying.

His feet pounded the wet pavement as he forged on ahead. He knew Warrick was just around the corner with the suspect; he'd gotten the jump on the doorman as soon as he started to flee. He also knew Brass and a few patrol cars were following them as well, probably held up in traffic but they'd get there soon. All they had to do was bring him down and keep him down. It sounded so simple.

But as he skidded around the corner, everything else in the world faded, the radio in his hand chattering with the cops locations, the honk of horns and the blare of music from the strip, even the not so distant sound of thunder was a mere whisper to him at that moment. The only thing that was crystal clear was the scene unfolding in front of him. It all happened so fast, but those few nanoseconds would be forever imprinted on his mind.

He came around the corner to see Warrick's back facing him, his arms hoisted in the air in a manner of surrender. The doorman, their suspect with blood on his undershirt and a wild gleam in his eyes, stood a few feet further down the alley, the gun in his hand pointed at Warrick. Whatever words were being exchanged, whatever sort of impasse they'd decided on had become null and void the moment he'd come running around the corner. The scene had him halting in his tracks but the sound of a single .22 caliber bullet releasing from its chamber had his heart stopping.

It played out like a slow motion scene in a movie, like he could almost see the bullet's path as it cut through the air and pierced Warrick's flesh. And then Warrick was falling to the side, his hands covering his bleeding wound. And the doorman, a stunned look on his face, was slowly bringing the gun barrel even with his own head. He heard it and instinctively slammed his eyes shut as if it would save his life. Another gunshot. But when there was no pain, no bright lights calling him home, he forged the courage to open them. Just in time to watch the doorman fall to the ground, Brass standing behind him, gun raised.

Relief coursed through him for a moment, quickly replaced with dread. He ran as fast as his rubbery, weak legs could take him, just those few short feet to where Warrick was laying on the ground clutching his bleeding shoulder. He collapsed to his knees and pulled Warrick close, his hands pulling Warrick's away so he could staunch the bleeding as he called out frantically for help.

Cops suddenly flooded the alley as time passed in an unrecognizable cadence. Too slow at first, those agonizing minutes waiting for help. Then way too fast as suddenly everyone was there and everything was happening all at once. Hands pulled him away from Warrick even though he valiantly tried to fight them. Then Brass was there, holding his wrists and trying desperately to talk with him, trying to pull his fixated gaze away from his bloodied hands. And Grissom came, and Catherine. The former giving him a once over and a concerned glance while the latter pulled him into a hug he couldn't return. That's when he's legs slide out from under him and he just leaned against the car wondering why there was rain on his cheeks when the storm had already passed.

It was all too much. He wasn't sure how he got back to the lab, but once he was there he did the only thing he could think to do. He left. Just up and left. No talking to anyone. No clocking out. He never checked on his evidence from the primary scene. Never checked on the autopsy report or the suspect or any of the necessary paperwork. He never even asked about Warrick. He just walked out of the building earlier than his shift hours allowed, got in his truck and drove home.

He thought about going for a run to let it bleed out of his system. He thought about drinking it away, even got as far as a swallow of whisky and a swig of beer before the nausea returned. He thought of getting a shower, washing it all off, but he knew that wasn't possible. He even thought of taking some of those pills he'd kept from the shrink, the ones that would help him sleep, but what good would that do him in the end? He was scared to death and frozen in place. He wanted so desperately to know about Warrick, how bad was he hurt, would he live, what had really happened in that alley, but part of him knew he wouldn't be ready to accept it if anything bad had happened to his man.

So instead of making a call or doing anything else, he found himself out on their back porch sitting in the ridiculously hard Adirondack chairs he'd forced Warrick to buy watching with unseeing eyes as night turned to day. It wasn't until he heard the car door out front that he was snapped out of his daze. But even then he couldn't move, couldn't just jump out of the chair and pull Warrick in his arms and hold him and tell him all the millions of thoughts running through his head. No, he just sat there and listened as his man moved throughout the house until the sliding door finally opened.

Two hands, warm, strong and soft, landed on his shoulders instantly melting away most of the weight settled there. Unconsciously, he leaned back, melted into that touch. With eyes closed, he just soaked it in like he was taking in the sun. It soothed him, healed him.

"I was worried about you." Warrick slid onto the chair next to him, his arm curling around Nick's waist to pull him closer. "Catherine said you kinda freaked out there, wouldn't talk to anyone or anything." Silence was his only response, though Nick did stiffen at his side. "She came to the hospital, thought I might need a ride." His laughter was cut short as Nick pulled away harshly.

He stalked to the railing on the porch, his hands fisting around it, squeezing and wringing it as hard as he could. His breath came in heavy gulps as he desperately fought back the wave of emotions threatening him. With his eyes squeezed shut, he didn't see but rather felt Warrick's advance. He felt as those hands slid around his waist, felt the heat of Warrick's muscled chest pressed against his back, felt Warrick's chin nestle in its favorite spot in the crook of his neck.

"How can you do that?" His voice came out as a mere whisper, but his tone held enough weight for both, torn somewhere between broken and incredulous.

"Do what, baby?" Warrick planted a soft kiss right behind his ear, meant to soother but acting as a catalyst.

Nick wrenched himself from Warrick hold once again, his eyes blazing with anger and sparkling with withheld tears, ones he refused to shed. "How can you do this?!" He gestured around them as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You were shot! Shot by a suspect. He meant to take your life Warrick! You were lucky this time, but you can't always count on the odds going in your favor! What about the next time, huh? What happens if Brass isn't right there with the fucking calvary? Who's gonna save you then?! Damn it!"

He slammed his fist onto the banister, the throb of his hand more welcomed than that of his heart. The tears, while momentarily pushed aside by anger, were back again with a vengeance. He felt one slip down his cheek as he turned on Warrick again, belatedly wiping it away.

"I almost lost- I had your blood- Fuck!" The words came out stuttered as he fought for control. "You almost fucking died tonight! I almost lost you, Warrick!" And before Warrick could react, Nick was flying passed him, running back into the house.

Warrick caught up to him in the entryway, grabbing his wrist and forcing Nick to turn back around. He expected anger, but he wasn't prepared for the utter anguish he saw there in Nick's eyes. "Hey, hey. Easy Nicky. Shhh." He felt more like he was soothing a scared horse than coaxing his lover, but something in his voice melted the tension as Nick crumbled into his arms. "Okay. It's all right Nicky. I swear. I'm okay. Hey, look at me Nick. Look."

Warrick pulled away from Nick long enough to pull up the sleeve of his t-shirt revealing a small square of gauze taped on his upper arm. "See babe. It's nothing, just a graze. I'm fine, okay?" He pulled Nick closer again. "He wasn't trying to shoot me. He was surrendering. But he was scared, man. He'd just killed someone and we found the blood on him. But he wanted to turn himself in, he was trying to. But then we heard the cop cars and you came around the corner and he just spooked. He didn't mean to pull the trigger, I'm sure. He was just as scared as we were. Okay? He wasn't going to kill me, all right?"

Nick could only nod numbly. He was so tired now, too tired to think or react as Warrick pulled him down onto the couch. He settled between Warrick's legs, his head resting right above Warrick's. Nick wrapped his arms around Warrick and buried his face into his man's chest as he finally let the long built up tears go, each one dropping in time with the steady beating of Warrick's heart.

Warrick leaned down and kissed the top of Nick's head. "I'm still here Nicky, you'll never loose me."