Grave Consequences

Title: Grave Consequences
By: Scooter Kitty
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nick struggles to cope post Grave Danger. Yes, I know it's been done, but not by me.
***

Chapter 1
Janine Geller walked through the pale blue-painted halls of Desert Palm Hospital to the large waiting room where Sheriff Rory Atwater had asked her to meet him. She found several people seated around the large room, many of them still wearing the black, nylon vests with the words 'LVPD Crime Scene Investigator' stenciled in large, white letters across the back. She stood for a moment observing this group. They looked tired, drained and slightly haunted. Yes, it had been a very rough couple of nights for all the parties involved.
Spying Janine standing in the doorway, Sheriff Atwater stood and moved to join her. She smiled as he approached.
"Janine, thank you for coming down on such short notice," he said, shaking her hand.
"It's not a problem, sir. Actually, I've been expecting your call."
"Ah, so you have heard about the situation?"
"Well, I've been watching the news, along with the rest of the city."
"Oh, so it's already hit the news, has it?"
"Come now, Sheriff, an attractive, young law enforcement officer is kidnapped by the vindictive father of a convicted criminal? That's television at its finest. You don't get news stories this juicy every day, even in this city. This is a news producer's dream come true. You didn't really expect to keep this quiet, did you?"
"No, I suppose not," Atwater said, nodding sadly at the truth of her words.
Janine continued, "The evening newscasts didn't have the latest update... So, is this a grief counseling session?"
"Oh, no, they got to Stokes in time. He was suffering from anaphylactic shock and dehydration, but the paramedics were able to stabilize him at the scene and they say he's going to be fine. We're all just waiting for the official word from the doctors."
"Anaphylactic shock? What did he have an allergic reaction to?"
"Oh, sorry, the news couldn't possibly have had all the details. Why don't we..." He gestured for her to step out into the hallway, away from the CSIs, and gave her the rest of the pertinent details: the booby trapped Plexiglas coffin, the fire ants, and the live feed, which allowed the other CSIs to watch their friend's suffering.
"Well, it sounds like I have my work cut out for me," Janine said, with a wry smile.
The two stepped back into the waiting room and the Sheriff gestured to a man who was sitting with the CSIs. As he stood and approached them, Janine saw that he was a handsome man of medium build, who appeared to be in his mid-to-late-40s. He had gray-streaked, dark hair and a neatly trimmed, matching, gray-flecked beard.
"Janine, this is Gil Grissom. He's the supervisor of the night shift CSIs," Atwater said.
"Gil, this is Janine Geller. She's a department psychologist. She's here to talk to you and your team."
"About...?" Gil asked.
"About what happened to Stokes."
"Mr. Grissom, witnessing a life-threatening event can sometimes be just as traumatic for the by-standers as it is for the victim, especially if that victim is a friend," Janine pointed out.
"Somehow, I think Nick would disagree with that," Grissom said irritably.
"Gil," the sheriff interrupted quickly, "it's department policy. You've all been through an extreme event. You all have to go through counseling sessions and be cleared by Janine before you can return to duty. CSIs may not be police officers, but you do carry loaded weapons and we can't have potentially traumatized investigators running around the county with loaded guns."
"I know, I know," Grissom said, with a resigned sigh. "How do you want to do this?"
"Well, the sooner we get your people talking, the better," Janine said. "We're all here. Why don't we get started right now? And why don't we start with you, Mr. Grissom?"
At the sheriff's request, the hospital staff allowed them to use an unoccupied private room, very close to the waiting room. Janine sat facing the lead CSI, who was sitting with his arms and legs crossed, watching the woman warily.
"Tell me what you're feeling, Mr. Grissom."
"Irritation," the man responded, although Janine could see nothing about his outwardly calm demeanor which gave any indication of this emotion.
"I hope that's not directed at me," she commented dryly.
He cocked an eyebrow at her, but simply said, "None of this should have happened."
"I agree, but how could it have been prevented? I don't think anyone could have predicted that Mr. Gordon would have responded to his daughter's incarceration in such an irrational manner."
"No, I suppose not, but it should never have gone as far as it did. Nick should never have been left alone, even for a few minutes, at that crime scene. Lord knows we've been burned enough times in the past by that mistake... The county should have given us more support. It took too long for us to figure out that something was wrong. We lost precious time trying to play catch up. We should have been more on the ball... I should have been more on the ball."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Grissom, but looking at Mr. Stokes' file, I see that he was recently assigned to the so-called 'swing shift'. Catherine Willows was his immediate supervisor, not you. Why are you taking so much responsibility onto yourself? Do you feel that Ms. Willows was remiss in her duties?"
"No, absolutely not," Grissom said quickly. "I don't fault Catherine in any way for what happened. I just feel that... if Nick had still been under my supervision..."
"Somehow none of this would have happened?" Janine finished for him, a wry smile on her face.
Hearing this thought stated so openly Grissom could hear how ridiculous it sounded. How could the mere fact of Nick being under Gil's supervision possibly have made any difference? Walter Gordon hadn't directed his vengeance toward Catherine or even Nick himself. The man had simply laid a trap then sat back to watch whichever CSI stumbled into it. If Nick hadn't been sent to the scene then someone else would have. And it would be someone else lying in that hospital bed, possibly Warrick... or Sara...
"You know, when I met with Mr. Gordon, to give him the ransom money, he asked me how much Nick meant to me. I told him it was none of his business..." Grissom said softly, not looking at the psychologist, speaking more to himself than to her.
"It was none of his business," Janine prompted gently when the man seemed to lose himself in his thoughts.
"No... but that wasn't why I said it." He looked up at her, mentally returning to the room. "I said it because I didn't know what else to say. I honestly don't know how much Nick means to me. I'd never really thought about it. I don't know how much anyone means to me... I'm not a 'people person'. I don't deal with them well. I've been accused of being cold and of not caring... Maybe it's true. Maybe I don't care. Maybe I don't know how to..."
Janine could hear the genuine confusion in the man's voice.
Catherine Willows paced around the small room like a caged lioness. She had nervous energy to burn and couldn't sit still any longer. What was taking the doctors so damn long? Shouldn't they have had some news about Nick by now? She desperately wanted to go home and be with her daughter, but she didn't want to leave without seeing her colleague first.
"Ms. Willows, I know you're concerned about your friend, but someone will come and tell us if there's any news. Please, sit down."
"Sorry," Catherine said, somewhat sheepishly, as she returned to her chair, "when I'm anxious, I pace. I've always been a little hyper."
"That must be how you stay so thin," Janine commented. The woman sitting across from her truly was stunningly beautiful. She was tall and slender, with shoulder-length, strawberry blonde hair. The psychologist couldn't help wondering if all that beauty was an asset or a liability in her chosen profession.
Seeing that the woman was still bouncing one leg up and down while she sat, Janine asked, "You still seem quite agitated. Is there something more concerning you than Mr. Stokes' condition?"
"Well, I was just thinking about the fact that Internal Affairs is going to be all over this. There'll be an inquiry, to see what went wrong... who was at fault..."
"I don't think you have anything to worry about. I know I'm not familiar with all of your procedures, but I can't see that there was anyone to blame for this unfortunate incident."
"I don't know... maybe I'm being paranoid, but with Ecklie constantly breathing down all our backs and having to measure up to Grissom..."
"Why would you need to measure up to Mr. Grissom? He's no longer your supervisor."
"We all strive to measure up to Grissom. He's sort of the gold standard of our field. Ecklie may be higher up on the food chain, but it's Grissom that pulls all of our strings."
That's good to know, Janine thought, making a note of this in her journal. "Is there anything else that's bothering you, Ms. Willows?"
"Hell, yeah, there's a lot bothering me!" the other woman snapped. Once again, she stood and began stalking through the room. "I'm still so pissed at that bastard Gordon! And not just for what he did to Nicky. Gordon took the coward's way out. He killed himself so that we couldn't prosecute him and in doing so, he denied Nick the closure of facing him in court. Every victim should have the right to face their attacker in court.
"And that son-of-a-bitch claimed that he was doing this for his daughter. How the hell does kidnapping and torturing Nick help his daughter? If he had wanted to help her, he should have been with her, but he only visited her a few times. I guess we're supposed to believe that it was too difficult for him to see her like that. But if he truly loved her, he would have stood by her, no matter what. That's what true paternal love is, unconditional!"
"I'm sensing a great deal of hostility toward Walter Gordon as a paternal figure. Do you have unresolved issues with your own father?" Janine asked gently.
"Do I have unresolved issues with my father?" Catherine repeated contemptuously. "Lady, you don't know the half of it!"
Janine sat watching the young man before her. Every line of his tall, loose-limbed frame seemed to scream defeat. He sat leaning forward, his elbows propped on his knees, his chin resting on his clasped hands. He was staring into space, obviously having completely forgotten the psychologist's presence. From the brief conversation she had had with Asst. Director Ecklie, Janine had gleaned that CSI Brown and CSI Stokes were pretty close. Brown seemed to have been harder hit by his friend's abduction than the others.
"What are you thinking about, Mr. Brown?" she asked at last.
"Just thinking about Nick..."
"The doctor's have already said that he's going to fully recover..."
"Yeah, physically... You're a psychologist, what's something like this going to do to him mentally?"
"Well, I don't know yet. That's something we'll have to wait and see on."
Warrick looked up at her, his unusually colored eyes boring into her like shards of jagged green glass. He wasn't going to simply accept her dismissive answer. With a sigh, Janine continued, "It won't be easy for him. There will be scars, mental as well as physical."
"Yeah," Warrick whispered, his gaze dropping to the floor again.
"We will begin dealing with Mr. Stokes' trauma when the doctors give us permission to see him. Until then, we're here to discuss your feelings."
"That night, when Catherine came to give us our assignments, she told us we could decide between ourselves who got which one. Neither of us wanted the 'trash run', so we flipped a coin. Nick lost... I just can't help thinking about that..."
"It wasn't your fault Mr. Brown. It was chance, that's all. It wasn't your fault."
"I don't know... I've generally been a pretty lucky guy when it came to gambling, maybe-."
"It was chance, Mr. Brown," Janine repeated firmly, interrupting his sentence before he could complete it.
Warrick nodded absently. "Right... I also can't help thinking; what if I'd lost the toss? What if it'd been me in that box?"
"But it wasn't."
"Yeah, I know, but what if it was," Warrick persisted. "I don't do well in tight places. I never have... I wouldn't have lasted five minutes in that box. I know I wouldn't. I'd have eaten my gun within the first half hour."
"You don't know that and it doesn't matter. You weren't there. You didn't have to face it."
"Yeah, cause Nick did... I don't know how he held on for so long and I still keep catching myself thanking God that it was him and not me... Man, how messed up is that! He's one of my best friends and I'm glad that he got buried alive instead of me. Some friend I am, huh?"
"It's a natural response. No, it's not something any of us want to admit about ourselves, but it's perfectly normal. You're human and that's nothing to be ashamed of. If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure Mr. Stokes would be feeling the same way, if your situations had been reversed."
Sara Sidle sat in her chair like a lifeless doll, her eyes vacant and staring. She almost appeared to be in shock. Janine studied her for a moment. She was an attractive woman, but no where near as striking as her female co-worker. Sara's features and figure were too boyish for her to be considered traditionally beautiful. Janine wondered if this was a source of friction between the two female CSIs. After all, society programmed women to judge and compete with each other on such superficial levels. But perhaps their science and intellect-driven careers allowed them to break out of the beauty-ranked roles they would otherwise be relegated to. Janine sincerely hoped so.
"What are you thinking about, Ms. Sidle?"
"The story of Persephone," the woman answered quietly.
"Excuse me?"
"Persephone," Sara repeated. "From Greek mythology? She was the daughter of Zeus and Demeter..."
"Uh, yes, I remember her story now. Why would you think of her?"
"Well, one day, when she was gathering flowers on the plain of Enna, the earth suddenly opened before her and Hades rose up from the gap and abducted her, taking her down to the Underworld to live with him."
"Ah, I see, rather like what happened to Mr. Stokes."
"Yeah, I mean, think about it, one minute you're minding your own business, doing your job and the next... someone grabs you, right out of the blue, no warning, no nothing..." The woman gave a short, humorless laugh. "I suppose Nick wouldn't like it that I was comparing him to a female character from Greek mythology."
"Well, it does make a certain sense," Janine agreed.
"I just don't get it," Sara said. "Nick never did anything to Walter Gordon. I'm not even sure he had anything to do with the daughter's case. It was totally random. Gordon didn't care who fell into his trap, just so long as it was someone from CSI. It could have been any one of us... I just don't get it. What could make such an intelligent and rational man feel the need to do what he did to a complete stranger, someone who probably never did anything to him? How could one human being do something like that to another human being?"
"I wish I had an easy answer for you, Ms. Sidle, but I don't. Some people simply cannot cope with situations that are beyond their control."
"Yeah? Well, what about Nick? I'd say this situation qualifies as something beyond his control. What is this going to do to him?"
"I honestly don't know. We're going to have to wait and see."
"It's kind of weird. I mean, I know I'm not going to live forever, but I've never seriously thought about how I was going to buy it, before. Now, I can honestly say, I don't want to be eaten alive by fire ants."
Janine smiled at these words. Greg Sanders was like a breath of fresh air after the much more intense sessions she'd shared with the older investigators. She realized that as the youngest and least experienced member of the team, he should have been the most vulnerable, but she wasn't picking that up from him. He seemed to be genuinely coping well.
Perhaps his lack of field experience was a blessing in this instance. He had not worked side by side with Stokes as long as the others and was therefore not as personally involved as they were. And not being as intimately acquainted with the potential dangers of the field, he did not feel the same sense of sympathetic fear as the others.
"Don't get me wrong," Greg said quickly. "I feel really bad for Nick, I mean, what happened to him... sucked. But it didn't happen to me, so I'm not sure why I have to talk to you. Shouldn't you be concentrating on him?"
"I will be, but since the doctors won't let us see him yet, I'm just making sure that all of you are coping with this," Janine explained.
"Ah, I get it... Well, I think I'm going to have a few sleepless nights, but I think I'm okay. I mean, I was one of the lucky ones. I didn't get put in a box... And I'm good with that."
"You should be. And yes, I think you will be all right."
Janine was about to continue, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door of the room. Almost immediately it opened and Sheriff Atwater poked his head through the doorway.
"Uh, sorry to interrupt, Janine, but the doctors are through with Stokes. They say we can see him in a few minutes."
Back in the waiting room, they found one of the doctors addressing the gathered CSIs and police officers. The doctor was a dark young man in his early-to-mid thirties, of obvious Indian descent.
"We've finally managed to fully stabilize Mr. Stokes. We had him stabilized earlier, but he had a biphasic, or secondary, reaction. We've been treating him with epinephrine, as well as diphenhydramine and prednisone. We'll be keeping him here for a couple of days so we can continue to monitor his vital signs and to be sure that he doesn't have any serious adverse reactions to the epinephrine."
"But he is going to fully recover from this, isn't he?" Jillian Stokes asked anxiously, clutching her husband's hand in a death grip. "What I mean to say is, there won't be any long-term side effects, will there?"
"Well, he will now have serious allergies to fire ants, and possibly other insect, stings. Given his line of work, he should probably carry an epinephrine auto-injector pen with him at all times."
"I don't understand. We're from Texas, fire ant capital of the U.S. Nick's been stung before as a child and he only had mild reactions."
"Repeated exposure to an allergen can cause more serious reactions. And remember, Mrs. Stokes, your son was stung hundreds of times."
Judge and Mrs. Stokes were allowed to see their son first. As they were about to enter the room, the doctor warned them not to be alarmed by Nick's sluggishness. "As you probably know, being from Texas, fire ant stings are very painful. We've given Mr. Stokes a mild sedative to keep him calm and make him more comfortable."
The rest of the team continued to wait impatiently outside the room. It was some 20 minutes before Nick's parents returned to the waiting room. Jillian's face was damp and she was being visibly supported by her husband.
The five CSIs were the next to enter. Janine tagged along with them, but stayed back near the door. It was quite obvious that Stokes was in no condition to speak to her, nor had she really expected him to be. She simply wanted to discreetly observe this reunion.
Nick smiled weakly as the group approached the bed. His face was still somewhat swollen and every inch of visible skin was covered with angry-looking, red welts, some of them were pustules from the ant stings, some were hives from the anaphylaxis. He had an IV in each arm, one delivering his meds, the other giving him fluids to rehydrate his body. There was a tube with a split prong cannula delivering oxygen directly into his nasal passages, to compensate for his still slightly swollen airways.
As the others gathered around the bed, speaking encouragingly, Janine took the opportunity to observe the man occupying the bed. As she had already noted from the photographs shown during the newscasts, he was very attractive, not even ant stings or hives could completely obscure that fact. Noting the faint network of lines at the corners of his eyes, she felt some encouragement for him. This was obviously a man who smiled easily and often. With luck that good humor would serve him well on his inevitably rough road of recovery from this nightmare ordeal.
"Nicky, I'm sorry, but I need to get back to Lindsey," Catherine said, after several minutes of awkward conversation.
"Tha's okay, Cath, go 'head. Go be with Linds." The sedative was thickening Nick's accent and making his words slur slightly.
"I'll come back tomorrow, I promise," she said quickly, moving closer to give him a hug. But seeing all the tubes and monitors attached to him, she settled for simply kissing the top of his head.
Janine watched the other woman walk quickly out of the room, swiping at her eyes. The psychologist stayed in the room with the remaining CSIs for several more minutes before quietly slipping back out to the waiting room. As she emerged from the room, Sheriff Atwater moved to join her.
"So, what's the verdict?" he asked.
"Well, it's a little difficult to tell at this point. These were just preliminary meetings. I'm going to need to see all of them again for more in-depth sessions. But, in the meantime, there's no reason they can't return to work whenever they're ready. I don't think any of them is a potential danger. I'll speak to Stokes when he's rested and a little more coherent."
"All right, I'll make all the arrangements."
"Thank you. I don't think you need to worry too much, Sheriff. These are good people. They obviously all care about each other and that's good start. They'll get through this."
"Even Stokes?"
Janine shrugged. "It's entirely too early to say at this point."
To be continued...
Author's note: for anyone interested. Here are some of my sources:
"Anaphylaxis", Medline Plus, online medical encyclopedia, a service of the U. S. National Library of Medicine and the National Institutes of Health.
"About Anaphylaxis", Allergic Reactions Central
"Protect Against Potentially Deadly Fire Ant Stings", Linda Anderson, AgNews, News and Public Affairs, Texas A&M University System Agriculture Program.

***

Chapter 2
Opening the door to Nick Stokes' hospital room, Janine almost collided with Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown, who were, at that same moment, exiting it. The three people checked their movements and paused to acknowledge each other.
"Ms. Willows, Mr. Brown, it's nice to see you both again," Janine said pleasantly.
"Ms. Geller," Catherine returned neutrally.
"So, I assume since you're just leaving that Mr. Stokes is awake?"
"Uh, yeah, Nick's awake," Warrick confirmed. "The nurse is with him right now, but I'm sure it'd be all right for you to go in."
With a smile and a nod, Janine dismissed the two investigators and cautiously entered the room, not wishing to intrude if there was some procedure of a delicate nature being performed. She found the nurse standing beside the bed, checking the monitors and making notes on a clipboard. There was no one else present. The woman looked up as Janine approached.
"Well, aren't you Mr. Popularity?" the nurse said cheerfully to Nick. "You've already got another visitor." Turning to address the psychologist, she said, "Mr. Stokes, here, has had a steady stream of visitors all day. There've been reporters and cameramen requesting interviews... You know, I can't remember when we've had such a high profile patient."
"Yes, I saw your parents on the news this morning," Janine said.
"Yeah, that's my father's world, not mine," Nick said. "He's welcome to it. I don't have anything to say to the media... Speaking of which, not to be rude, but do I know you?"
"No, we've never met. I'm Janine Geller. I'm a psychologist on retainer for the Clark County Sheriff's Department."
"Oh, yeah, right. Ecklie was here earlier. He said I'd have to talk to a department shrink before I could return to duty. So, you're the shrink?"
"I'm the shrink," Janine confirmed.
Nick nodded and absently began scratching at the welts on one arm. The nurse immediately grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away.
"No scratching!" she admonished in a firm, motherly tone. "You don't want those welts to get infected, do you? They'll leave scars and you are entirely too good looking to be covered with scars. Don't make me put restraints on you!"
The woman glanced over at Janine and gave her a quick wink. Nick's eyes widened slightly at this teasing threat. "But it itches," the young man whined.
"I know it does, Sugar, but rub, don't scratch. I'll talk to the doctor and see if he can up your dosage of Benadryl."
"Thank you."
Giving him an affectionate pat on the arm, the nurse returned the clipboard to its slot at the foot of the bed and left the room. Janine settled herself in one of the padded vinyl chairs beside the bed, depositing her briefcase on the floor and taking out a notepad and pen.
"Where are your parents?" she asked.
"Uh, I finally convinced them to go back to my place and get some sleep. That was a few hours ago. I imagine they'll probably be back shortly."
"Well, that's good. This will give us at least a little while to talk alone."
"Right, uh, look, do we have to do this now?"
"Are you not feeling up to it?" Janine asked. "I'll understand if you're too tired. Apparently you've had quite a few visitors today."
Looking at him, she thought he looked much better than he had the night before. He was no longer receiving oxygen, the swelling in his face was gone, and he was obviously more alert. He didn't look much more rested, but he was more alert.
"Well, yeah, I am tired, but that's not it. I'm just not ready to talk about it right now. Maybe in a few days..."
"Mr. Stokes, putting this off isn't going to make it any easier. The sooner you start talking about it and dealing with it, the sooner you can move on with your life."
"I'm all right. I'm dealing with it."
"Are you? You don't look like you've slept much. Let me guess, nightmares?"
"Well, that's to be expected I would think," he said quietly, not meeting Janine's eyes. "It's also hard to sleep with these damn welts and as long as I'm on the Benadryl the doctor won't give me anything to help me sleep."
"No, Benadryl is a mild sedative all by itself. With your immune system already weakened, I'm sure they don't want to take any chances... Talking about it might help ease your mind and allow you to sleep better."
"I don't see how. If I talk about it, I have to think about it... I just want to forget this whole thing happened. I just want to get back to my life."
"I want you to get back to your life, too. That's why I'm here, to help you do that. But you need to deal with this. Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away. Very likely, it will make things worse."
He shifted uncomfortably in the bed and wrapped his arms tightly around his chest. He was retreating into a defensive shell and Janine wasn't sure how to stop it. She was about to try a different tack, when the door to the private room abruptly opened and Mr. and Mrs. Stokes entered. Immediately noting the thick tension in the room, the judge turned his gaze suspiciously on Janine.
"Can we help you, Ma'am?" he asked coldly. "If you're with the media then you should know that we've left explicit instructions at the main desk that our son is not granting any interviews and that all requests for them should be directed to my wife or myself."
"I'm not with the media, Your Honor. My name is Janine Geller. I'm a psychologist with the sheriff's department."
"Dad, she's just doing her job," Nick said quickly.
Glancing over at his son and seeing the rigid posture and tense muscles, the judge said, "Yes, well, it's starting to get late, Ms. Geller. I think you should leave."
Realizing that she had nothing to gain by arguing with the man, Janine decided to retreat gracefully. "Yes sir," she said, gathering up her briefcase and starting for the door.
She was stopped just outside the door by Mrs. Stokes. "Ms. Geller, I'm sorry that my husband was so brusque with you. But please understand that, right now, our primary concern is our son's well-being. I'm sorry, it's just too soon. Nick just isn't ready to face this yet."
"It's never too soon. The sooner a person faces their trauma, the sooner they can begin to move on from it. Look, your son will have to talk to me eventually. It's required by department policy."
"I understand that, but I know my son and right now, he needs his family. That's why Bill and I are here. We'll take care of him."
"Yes, by all means, take care of him. A strong, supportive family can do wonders for helping someone cope with post-traumatic stress disorder, but you still need the guidance of a professional. Nick may seem to be handling this well right now, but that's not going to last. The reality of what happened to him eventually will catch up to him and it will get ugly. With all due respect, Mrs. Stokes, you are not qualified to deal with this."
"I'm his mother, Ms. Geller. That qualifies me to deal with anything." Without another word, Jillian Stokes turned on her heel and returned to the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Janine heaved a heavy sigh and left the hospital.
As Grissom rounded the corner of the hallway, he saw Nick's father seated on the padded bench just outside his son's hospital room. The man was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Brows furrowed, Gil approached the older man cautiously.
"Judge Stokes? Are you all right?" he asked. "Is Nick all right?"
The other man looked up with a slight start. "Ah, Mr. Grissom... Yes, everything's fine." The elder Stokes stood and moved to stand before Gil. His expression was a bit sheepish, as if he had just been caught doing something he shouldn't have. He gestured vaguely toward the open doorway of the room. "I just, uh... Nick's asleep right now."
Glancing into the room and seeing that fact for himself, Gil turned back to Bill Stokes, saying, "Well, then I won't disturb him."
"No, don't do that... he hasn't been sleeping much. He's been having nightmares. Some of them are pretty intense... I don't know what to do for him..."
Looking at the older man, Gil thought he looked as if he could use a good night's sleep as well. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked haggard. Unfortunately Gil really had no words of wisdom to pass on to the other man. Finally, he simply said, "If you could just tell Nick that I dropped by?"
"Yes, of course, I'll do that... Uh, Mr. Grissom?" Bill said, stopping Gil as he was about to turn away.
"Yes?"
"The hospital is going to release Nick sometime tomorrow."
"Well, that's good news. So, how long are you and Mrs. Stokes going to be staying in Las Vegas?"
"We'll probably be flying back to Texas in the next few days... We'll be taking Nick with us."
"Oh?" As Gil spoke, he caught movement off to his side and glanced over to see that Mrs. Stokes had moved to stand in the doorway. She had evidently heard her husband talking to someone and had come to see who it was.
"Yes, we... the family, that is, felt that it would be good for Nick to get out of Las Vegas," Bill said.
Hearing the finality in the judge's tone, Gil asked, "Is this going to be a visit or a permanent change?"
"Well, that hasn't been decided yet, but I will tell you that if my wife and I have anything to say about the matter, yes, it will be a permanent change... Look, I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom, we don't mean to leave you in the lurch, but after everything that's happened..."
"Mr. Grissom," Jillian spoke up, taking over for her husband when he faltered. "Please understand that we are very grateful for everything you and your team have done for our son. Nick has always spoken very highly of all of you, especially you, but we want him home, in Texas. He belongs with his family. You can understand that, can't you, Mr. Grissom?"
"Yes, yes, of course."
"Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you were still on leave?"
Gil looked up to find Jim Brass standing in the doorway of his office. "I am. I just stopped in to feed my tarantula."
"Oh, yeah, good idea, 'cause no one else is going to feed the big, hairy spider." As he spoke, Brass gave an exaggerated shudder.
Gil smiled at the thought of this tough, hardened cop being squeamish about an overly large, but essentially harmless, arachnid.
"I see that you made the time for a drink while you were at it," Brass continued, gesturing to the open bottle of bourbon and the half empty glass sitting on the desk top. "You know they say that drinking alone is one of the signs of alcoholism."
"I needed this."
"Oh, rough day? How 'bout I sit down and keep you company? Give you an air of respectability."
"Oh, thank you," Gil said dryly, as he watched the other man seat himself in a chair on the other side of the desk. Knowing that the cop had given up alcohol, the investigator didn't bother to offer him a drink.
"Want to talk about it? Wait, let me guess... Nick?"
Before Gil could respond to the question, another voice from the doorway preempted him. "Hey, what are you guys doing here?"
Both men turned to see Catherine in the doorway. "What are you doing here?" Gil countered.
"I stopped in to get some paperwork. I'm starting to go stir crazy at home. And you?"
"Tarantula."
"Oh, right..." Her disgusted expression gave away her true feelings about her colleague's creepy pet. Spying the bottle and the glass on the desk, her face brightened. "Hey, mind if I join you?"
"Not at all, pull up a chair," Gil said, reaching into a drawer of his desk and producing another glass.
Seeing that the 'glass' was, in fact, a small beaker, Catherine eyed it dubiously. Seeing her expression, Gil said, "It's clean, I promise. And even if it isn't, the alcohol will probably kill anything residual... I'm kidding. It's clean."
As she settled herself into her chair, he poured her drink and slid it across the desk to her. Leaning back, she took a sip and said, "So, did you go visit Nicky today?"
"Yes, I did. I was just about to tell Jim about my visit. Nick was asleep, but I did have an interesting chat with the parents."
"Oh?"
"Yes, apparently the hospital is going to be releasing Nick tomorrow. Judge and Mrs. Stokes will be returning to Texas within the next few days... They're taking Nick with them."
"Well, that'll be good for him, have some time off, stay with his family for a week or so."
"Yes, except that the parents have every intention of making sure this visit becomes permanent."
Catherine groaned. "I should have seen this coming. I saw the way Jillian Stokes was looking at Nick while I was at the hospital earlier today. I should have seen this... damn."
"Well, Nick is an adult. The decision is still ultimately his. We don't know what he really wants."
"Oh, it doesn't matter, Gil. They'll pressure him. Trust me, mothers have a way of getting what they want."
"So, we went to all the trouble of training him, molding him into a damn good CSI, just so we could turn him back over to Dallas," Brass said, with a sigh. "Didn't they luck out?"
They all fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. After several minutes, Catherine smiled and asked, "Do you guys remember Nick's first day? God, he was so young and so green."
"Yeah, I remember..." Brass said with a chuckle.
Turning to address Grissom, she said, "And you just handed him over to me and said, 'Here, break in the new guy.' Oh, and that first assignment we got..." She smiled and shook her head, lost in her memories.
"What was the assignment?" Gil asked. "I don't remember it."
"Two male strippers found dead in their apartment." She turned back to Brass. "You worked that case with us, do you remember?"
The older man sat for a moment thinking, before the pertinent memories clicked into place. "Oh, yeah... they had apparently both expired while in the act..."
"Act?" Gil asked, confused. "They were dancing?"
"They were having sex," Catherine said dryly.
"Oh."
"Yeah, that was kind of Nick's reaction... I swear, when we walked into that crime scene and it slowly dawned on Nick just what had been going on, under that sheet... I thought his eyes were going to pop right out of his head!"
Gil found himself smiling along with the other two, as an image of a shocked and flustered Nick Stokes flashed through his mind.
"Now, it turned out to be some kind of O. D. suicide pact-thing, but we didn't know that yet," Catherine continued. "Brass and I thought it might be some kind of hate crime. So, we had to go down to the strip club where they both worked and interview their fellow dancers.
"Now, mind you, this wasn't one of those nice places where they have scantily clad men gyrating on stage for the titillation of repressed housewives. This was a hardcore gay nightclub. I swear, when we walked into that building, every employee in the club was eyeing Nick's ass."
"Yeah, I thought I was going to have to draw my weapon just so we could get the kid out of there in one piece," Brass added, with a chuckle.
"I can honestly say that was one of the few times in my life that I've been in a strip club and not one man looked at me twice," Catherine said. "And after all that, on his first day, I was sure Nick wouldn't be back the next morning. I remember thinking, 'Oh, this little country boy is not going to make the cut.' But Nicky proved me wrong. He turned out to have a lot more internal fortitude than I thought he did. With all that boyish charm, it's easy to underestimate him sometimes... You know, it's kind of ironic. Gordon didn't succeed in killing Nick, but his actions are still going to take him away from us."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Gil said quietly. "Nick may still surprise us yet."
To be continued...
Author's note: Okay, I'm not sure if I got Nick's father's name right. I couldn't remember it from the episode and, stupid me, I didn't tape it. The official CBS website lists it as Roger Stokes, but a lot of the information on that site is incorrect (go figure). Two other sites I found listed it as Bill Stokes. I decided to go with Bill. If this is wrong, let me know and I'll fix it.

***

Chapter 3
Nick squirmed in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Even with the additional leg room of their first class seats, he was feeling confined. He wasn't exactly feeling claustrophobic. The airplane cabin was spacious enough, it was more the fact that his movements were restricted that was bothering him. It had been an unusually turbulent flight, so far, and the passengers had been told to keep their seat belts fastened. Nick desperately wanted to get up and move around. He'd spent over 24 hours trapped in a Plexiglass coffin then almost a week, largely confined to a bed. He'd had enough immobility to last him quite a while. Unfortunately they had only been in the air for 45 minutes. They still had nearly four hours to go. Frankly, at this point, he would have preferred walking to Dallas.
He had prepared himself to be uncomfortable in the crowded airport, but they had been running late and had had to rush to catch their flight. There hadn't been time for him to even notice the crowds, let alone be intimidated by them. But he had assumed that, once on board the relatively quiet plane, he would be all right. He hadn't anticipated that the pressurized cabin and cramped seating would create such an overwhelming sense of oppression and containment. He could feel his heart rate increasing.
"Nick, Honey, what's the matter?" his mother asked, giving him that same look she'd given him when he'd squirmed in church as a child.
"I can't get comfortable."
"The hives aren't still bothering you, are they?"
"No, I'm just feeling... confined."
The vivid red welts on his face and body had indeed faded dramatically in the past few days. It now looked as though he simply had a bad sunburn. And as the marks had faded in appearance, the burning itching had faded as well.
"Well, try taking deep breaths," Jillian suggested.
Jillian and Nick were flying alone. Bill had been called back to Austin for an important court case and he had left Las Vegas two days earlier than his wife and son. But he had promised that he would meet them at the Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport when their plane landed... four hours from now.
Nick knew that he wasn't going to last that long. He would go insane long before they even reached the Texas state line and deep breathing wasn't going to help. He was going to need help of a pharmaceutical nature.
"Did you put those sleeping pills the doctor gave me in your purse?" he asked his mother.
"Yes, but the doctor said you should only take them sparingly. Ambien can be very habit-forming."
"Yeah, but if you don't give me one, I'm going to start climbing the walls any minutes... please..."
Hearing the undercurrent of desperation starting to creep into his voice, Jillian rummaged in her purse for the amber-colored, plastic prescription bottle. Locating it, she very deliberately dispensed out one of the small, light blue pills. Nick swallowed it dry.
Shifting into a more comfortable position, he closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. He was only vaguely aware of his mother's fingers lightly brushing his cheek as he drifted into a deeper, blessedly numb, darkness...
It seemed as though he had only just closed his eyes, when he felt a hand gently shaking him. He heard his mother's voice calling to him. "Nick, Honey, we've arrived. We're in Dallas."
He dragged himself awake and looked groggily around the plane. Most of the other passengers had already departed. Standing and following along behind his mother, he felt like he was still sleeping and was walking through a dream. This surreal, disconnected feeling continued as they walked through the crowded airport. On some level, he was aware that the presence of the crowds and all the activity around him, should have been disturbing to him, but it wasn't. He was too numb at the moment.
As Bill stepped forward to greet them, Nick shook his father's hand mechanically and was thankfully oblivious to the concerned looks and quiet whispers his parents exchanged. The process of picking up the luggage and walking through the large international airport to the area where his father had parked his SUV seemed to take no time at all to Nick.
With the bags stowed and his parents in the front seats, he was at last free to sprawl out on the back seat and resume his interrupted sleep. He slept through the long drive through the city, south and east, to the outskirts of the metropolitan area, where the Stokes' Family ranch was located. It was nearing 7:00 in the evening and dusk was just descending when Bill turned the vehicle off the dirt road and onto the long driveway towards the house.
Jillian reached around her seat to gently shake her son. "Nick, wake up, we're home. We're at the ranch. Look and see what your sisters have done."
He was able to wake up with more ease this time and he felt more fully coherent than he had earlier. Sitting up and rubbing his face, he positioned himself between the two front seats and looked out the front windshield.
"Oh, God, no," he groaned, suddenly feeling nauseated.
There was a huge white banner draped across the front of the house, with large, red, block letters that read 'Welcome Home, Nick!' Grouped beneath the banner were all five of his older sisters, his older brother, and their various spouses. Their children were running around on the lawn, waving sparklers and squealing loudly, chasing his parents' golden retriever, Aggie, who barked ecstatically, in doggy heaven with all the activity and attention. Flashing Christmas lights had been strung up around the front of the house and the surrounding shrubs.
Nick was suddenly transported back to the night when he had been found and rescued from his Plexiglas tomb. His mind was filled with hazy memories of the flashing lights of emergency vehicles, the jumbled voices of the search teams, the barking of the scent dogs and the disturbingly distorted faces of the paramedics as they had worked over him. He was abruptly overcome with the same overwhelming and confusing emotions he had experienced that night, relief, despair, helplessness, shame, and, of course, the all-pervading fear.
Feeling his body start to shake and break out in a cold sweat, he sat back on the seat and covered his face with his hands. He took several deep breaths, trying to force his heart to stop racing and his stomach not to rebel.
"Nick, Honey, what is it? Are you all right?" Jillian asked him anxiously.
"No, I'm not," he whispered. "Please, I can't deal with all of them like this. Please, just make them go away. Please."
He was aware that the vehicle had stopped moving and he heard his father turn the key in the ignition, switching it off.
"Stay here with him. I'll take care of this," Bill said to his wife.
As Bill stepped out of the SUV, a tall, slender woman with long, dark hair stepped forward to kiss his cheek.
"Welcome back, Daddy," she said. "Where's Nicky? He is with you, isn't he? We're all anxious to see him."
"Julia, what have you done?" Bill said, in a tired voice. "I told you not to make a big fuss."
"Well, I just thought it would be nice to make Nicky feel welcome, especially after everything he's been through."
"It's too much, Julia. You're overwhelming him. He's not ready to deal with all of this. Now, take everyone to the back porch."
"Well, don't we get to see Nick first?"
"Julia, take everyone to the back porch!" Bill said, in the voice that all of the Stokes children were familiar with and obeyed without question. "When Nick is ready, he will come to them."
"Yes, Daddy," the woman said meekly.
With the front yard emptied, a much calmer Nick climbed out of the vehicle and headed into the house. His mother walked nervously beside him. Inside they found more luggage piled in a corner of the foyer. Apparently at least some of his siblings were also planning on staying at the ranch.
Seeing this as well, Jillian said, "Why don't you go and lie down in our room, Dear. We'll figure out where everyone is sleeping later."
Nick nodded and headed toward the west end of the sprawling, one-storey house, where all the bedrooms were located. The master bedroom was the last one of the long hallway. Entering it, He deposited his bag on the floor and promptly flopped down on his parents' immaculately made bed. Nick felt a flash of guilt for messing up the careful handiwork of Madra, his parent's housekeeper, but she's was gone for the night, so she would never know.
He hadn't planned to fall asleep again, but apparently there was still more of the sedative in his system than he had thought. The next thing he knew it was almost 9:00. He awoke to the sound of muffled voices in the house. At first he was disoriented and slightly frightened. He lived alone and was not accustomed to waking to the sound of other voices. Remembering his surroundings, he relaxed again and allowed the voices to lull him back in time.
As the youngest of the seven Stokes children, Nick had always been the first one sent to bed and he had always resented it. He had always felt like he was missing out on something. What, he had no idea, but he always thought that his family waited for him to be sent to bed before they did anything fun. Never mind that his sister Allison, the next youngest, had to go to bed very shortly after him. He still felt left out.
Lying on his parents' bed now, listening the voices and laughter of his siblings, some of whom he hadn't seen in a few years, he was beginning to feel that way again. Slowly he sat up and rubbed his face. His head felt clear now, the drug apparently having finally worn off. He went to the room's private bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Feeling somewhat human again, he headed out to face his family.
Coming to the end of the hallway, he found most of the family gathered in the living room, on the other side of the foyer. He stood for a moment, just watching them, not quite ready to interact just yet. As he stood there, he was struck by just how much he missed his family. He had been living on his own for so long in Vegas that he had almost forgotten what it was like to be a part of such a large, bustling family unit. His parents had been nagging at him for years to move back to Texas, maybe...
Alerted by some movement he'd made or perhaps catching his scent, Aggie, who had been sprawled out on the living room floor, abruptly sat up and turned to face him. Climbing to her feet, she ran to greet him. Smiling, Nick knelt down to receive the dog's enthusiastic welcome. He laughed as her entire body gyrated with the vigorousness of her tail-wagging.
Looking up, Nick saw a few of his siblings drifting closer to offer their greetings as well. Their parents must have warned them not to overdue it, as the general demeanor of things was much more subdued than it had been earlier in the evening. The children were no where to be seen at the moment, for which Nick was grateful. He was definitely not feeling up to giving any piggy-back rides, which was the demand he was generally greeted with by his nieces and nephews.
As he stood, Julia stepped forward to give him a firm hug. "I'm so sorry about earlier," she said. "I didn't think it through very well. I just wanted you to know that we all missed you and we're so glad that you're okay."
"It's okay, Jules, I know."
Julia was the eldest of the Stokes brood and she had always acted a bit like a mother hen to her younger siblings, particularly the youngest. In fact, Nick wasn't sure if Julia would ever fully accept that he was an adult, carried a gun as part of his job, and was fully capable of taking care of himself... well, could sort of take care of himself...
Jim Brass stopped in the doorway of Grissom's office. He had been about to knock, but seeing that the scientist was fully engrossed in whatever was on his laptop screen, the detective decided to simply let himself in. Curious as to what was holding the investigator so enthralled, Brass walked around the desk to look over the other man's shoulder.
"Hmmm, the Texas State Commission on Judicial Review," he read from the top of the screen. "You wouldn't be looking for dirt on Judge Stokes, now would you, Gil?" he asked in a teasing tone.
The investigator glared up at him for a moment. "No, I was just looking for some background information, so I could get a better idea of what kind of man he is... I don't know what I'm looking for," he admitted with a sigh. "But this website isn't telling me anything. It tells more about the commission itself than it does their actual findings."
Moving to take a seat in a chair across the desk from Gil, Brass made himself comfortable. "You know, it's funny that you did that," he said conversationally. "I just happened to speak with an old buddy of mine earlier. He's on the force in Fort Worth. According to him, Judge Stokes has quite the reputation for being 'fair but very tough'... It kind of makes you wonder what he'd be like as a daddy. Somehow, I get the feeling he didn't cut his kids any more slack than he did the criminals."
"No wonder Nick was always to eager to prove himself and so desperate for approval," Gil said softly.
"Correction: he was desperate for your approval... Hmm, 'fair, but very tough'... Gee, that doesn't sound like anyone we know, does it?" Brass asked dryly, looking pointedly at Grissom.
The investigator dropped his gaze uncomfortably, remembering a conversation he had had with Nick a few years earlier after Gil had told Nick that he wasn't ready to work a D.B. case alone. Gil still remembered Nick's words to him:
"You know why I took this job, honestly? I wanted to pack heat, walk under the yellow tape, be The Man. But mostly, because I want you to think I'm a good CSI."
To which Gil had responded, "And that's why I have to hold you back... Anybody who's great at anything, Nick, does it for their own approval, not someone else's."
Thinking back now, Grissom realized just how arrogant that statement had been. It had been spoken in the true style of a man who had no extended family or measuring stick to live up to. Gil Grissom was a man apart, very much alone in the world, so of course, he needed no one else's approval. And, in theory, his statement was truth, but even he was well aware that theory and practice were two very different things. And trying to hold Nick to an unrealistic ideal was unfair.
It was common knowledge around the lab that Warrick was Gil's favorite. Hell, he had never denied it. He had tremendous respect for the fact that Warrick had managed to overcome his difficult circumstances to become who he was today. Warrick was African-American, came from a single-parent home, his mother died when he was still young, and he was subsequently raised by his grandmother. And while they had not exactly lived in poverty, money had been tight.
Nick, on the other hand, was an attractive, white male, from a family of privilege. Grissom had simply made the logical assumption that Nick's life had been easier, that everything had been handed to him. It was partly why Grissom was always going out of his way to challenge Nick. He suspected that the young man hadn't been challenged enough in his life. Had that been a fair assumption? Had it even been fair of Gil to make comparisons between Warrick and Nick? They were two completely different men.
While Nick's childhood would most certainly have been more financial secure than Warrick's, did that necessarily make it any easier? After all, Warrick had been an only child, raised by a doting grandmother. Provided that he stayed off of drugs and out of trouble, and so long as she felt he was satisfied with his job, any career path he had chosen would have made Celia Brown happy. But for Nick Stokes, son of a state Supreme Court justice and a prominent defense attorney, the youngest of seven over-achieving children, the expectation levels were considerably raised.
Perhaps I should have stopped to consider Nick's circumstances more closely. Perhaps I was unfairly hard on him at times, Gil thought. He liked to consider himself a fair and impartial man, a man who let actions and evidence speak for themselves. But perhaps he had more prejudices than he realized.
It seemed strange for Nick to be sleeping in his old bedroom. It had long ago been converted into a sort of library by his parents. Several bookshelves now lined the walls and contained their extensive collection of law books. Usually when he stayed with his parents, he slept in the guest room, which had once been one of the girls' rooms, but it was currently occupied by his sister Julia and her husband Brett, who had driven in from Shreveport, Louisiana, where Brett served in the state Senate. The fourth bedroom of the house was occupied by Julia and Brett's two children, 3-year-old Hannah and 7-year-old Brendan. The rest of the out-of-town siblings had dispersed to either hotels or the homes of those still living close by.
Nick was not sleeping in his old twin bed, that had been given away years ago. The library had a fold-out couch. He didn't mind giving up the guest room to his sister and her husband, but he hadn't slept in this room for many years and it felt ...odd. The couch was located in almost the exact location that his old bed had and as he rolled onto his side, facing the door to the room, long buried memories began to drift to the surface...
He had been nine years old. There was a big formal dinner being held in his father's honor. He was being given an award for all the work he had done for the District Attorney's office. The entire family was supposed to attend, but Nick hadn't been feeling well all day...
He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the hard wood floor. He was supposed to be getting dressed in the little, miniature tuxedo his mother had rented for him, but he just couldn't seem to summon the energy. His head felt heavy and yet, strangely fuzzy at the same time, and all really wanted to do was lay down. His brother Chris, who was home from college, was already dressed. Nick was alone in the room.
He looked up at the soft knock on the door and saw his mother step into the room. "Oh, Nicky, you're not even dressed yet! Honey, we're already running late," she admonished him.
"I'm sorry... I don't feel well."
Sitting down beside him, she ran a hand over his forehead and cheeks. "Uh-oh, you're warm. Stay here, I'll get the thermometer."
As Jillian was about to leave the room, Bill entered it, saying, "Honey, can you do something with this tie? I can't get it to work... Why is Nicky not dressed?"
"I think he's running a fever. Stay here with him while I get the thermometer. I'll deal with your tie in a minute."
As she disappeared from the room, Bill turned to his son, shaking his head and saying, "Oh, Poncho..."
"Oh, Cisco..." the boy said weakly, automatically giving the prescribed response. The nicknames were a reference to the boy's favorite television show, "The Cisco Kid", an old black and white western from the fifties. The title character was a Lone Ranger-type of figure with a goofy, not particularly bright, sidekick named Poncho. The show was conveniently set in Texas.
Jillian returned a few minutes later with the thermometer, which she slipped under Nick's tongue. While they waited for the mercury to do its thing, she tied her husband's bow-tie for him. Reading the thermometer a few minutes later, she declared, "102. He's not going to dinner. He's staying in bed."
"Well, what are we going to about a sitter?" Bill asked.
"Dear, it's 7:30. We need to be leaving shortly. We're not going to find a sitter this late. I'll just have to stay home with him."
"But, Honey, I really wanted you to be at the dinner with me..."
Nick felt his heart sink. He was ruining his father's big night.
"Well, I wanted to be there too, but I don't see what else we can do. I'm not leaving a 9-year-old with a fever home alone."
"Well, what about Madra?"
"Bill, she's a housekeeper. Her duties do not include taking care of sick children. Besides, she's gone home for the night and I am not calling her back. That would be taking unfair advantage of her."
Just then Julia came breezing into the room, in a flounce of lavender taffeta. "Mom, do these earrings go with this dress?" she asked. "Why isn't Nick dressed? Don't we need to leave soon?"
"He's running a fever. He's not going. I'm going to stay home with him," Jillian said.
"What? You can't stay home! How is that going to look? Daddy's getting this award and you're not even around to see it... Look, I'll stay home with Nicky." Her tone made it very clear that this was last thing she really wanted to do. All five of his sisters had been talking about nothing but his dinner for weeks.
Nick pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged his arms around them, trying to make himself as small as possible. Maybe if he could just disappear, no one else's plans would have to be ruined because of him.
"Hey, wait a minute!" Julia said abruptly. "What about that woman from church?"
"What woman?" Jillian asked.
"She's a new member, graying dark hair, forty-ish maybe... Don't you remember? She came up to us after the service and was gushing about how well-behaved Nicky was and what a beautiful child he was... Didn't she offer her services as a babysitter any time you needed one?"
"Oh, yes, that's right, I remember now. Oh, but Honey, we don't even know the woman and I don't want to impose on anyone this late."
"Oh, come on, she can't be too bad. She's a member of our church, right? It couldn't hurt to ask."
"I don't know... I don't even know her phone number... I'm not even sure I remember her name."
"I do. It's Mrs. Planchette and I'll bet her phone number's in the new church directory. I'll go look." With these words, the girl turned on her heel and left the room.
Jillian sighed and turned to her husband, who gave her a non-committal shrug. She turned to Nick. "Nicky, Honey, do you mind having Mrs. Planchette babysit?"
"No, I don't mind. She's seemed nice," the boy said quickly. Of course, at this point, he would have agreed to have Dracula himself as a babysitter, if it meant that he wouldn't have to be the reason everyone's evening was ruined.
"Well, okay," Jillian said hesitantly. "I'll go see if we can find her phone number. Bill, why don't you help Nick get into his pajamas."
By the time Jillian returned, Nick was in his favorite, blue plaid pajamas and was tucked up in bed. "Well, she said that she would be happy to babysit for Nick and she'll be here in about 20 minutes," his mother reported.
Addressing her husband, she said, "Why don't you go make sure the rest of the kids are ready to go, so that we can leave as soon as she gets here."
After he had left, she sat down on the edge of the bed to double check that her husband had tucked their son in properly. There was an art to tucking in a child that most men simply could not grasp.
"Are you going to be all right?" she asked, as she smoothed out the wrinkles in the sheet across his chest.
"Yeah, I think I'll just sleep."
"That's a good idea. Do you want me to make you something to eat before we leave?"
"Not hungry," he said sleepily.
"Okay, I'll come and say good night before we leave."
He nodded, but was already half asleep. Twenty minutes later, when she came to kiss his forehead and whisper good night to him, he only barely registered that fact. He was awakened some time later by the sensation of cool air on his body. Groggily, he reached for the covers, but couldn't feel them.
Opening his eyes, he found Mrs. Planchette kneeling beside the bed, pushing the blanket down toward his ankles. Nick was confused, but too tired to bother questioning this action. He supposed she had a reason for doing it. Closing his eyes again, he was about to drift back to sleep, when he felt a tug at his waist.
Opening his eyes again, he saw the woman untying the drawstring of his pajama bottoms. Once again he was confused, but said nothing. But when he felt her slide her hand under the cloth of his waistband, he drew in a sharp, involuntary breath. Quickly he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the scene out of his mind. Maybe if he couldn't see it, it couldn't happen... but it did.
His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it was going to burst right through his chest, but still he didn't move. He lay, rigid and silent, eyes still tightly closed, praying that maybe if he pretended to be asleep, she would go away... but she didn't...
Eventually when she finally did leave the room, he lay on his side, staring at the door, trying desperately to will his mother to come home. His eyes were burning and his body was screaming for sleep, but he remained stubbornly awake, staring at the door.
After what seemed like an eternity, he heard a car pull up the long driveway. He heard the front door open and his mother's voice speaking to Mrs. Planchette.
"Oh, Mrs. Stokes, you're back early. I didn't expect you for another hour, at least."
"Yes, I left immediately after Bill's speech. We drove two cars, so they'll be a little cramped on the way home. But with Nick not feeling well, I just couldn't stay away. Is he sleeping?"
"Yes and he's been no trouble at all, a perfect angel, in fact. If you ever need me to babysit again, you just let me know."
No! Keep that woman away from me! Nick wanted to scream, but he didn't. He just lay there, still staring at the door.
There was more muffled conversation that he couldn't make out then he heard the front door open and close again. A few minutes later, he heard another car driving away from the house. Something deep inside him, that he hadn't even been aware he was tensing, finally relaxed. She was gone. She wouldn't come back. She wouldn't touch him again.
He heard his mother's footsteps in the hall and saw the door finally open. Seeing that he was awake, she came in and sat on the edge of the bed. He sat up and hugged her fiercely.
"Oh, goodness," Jillian gasped. "Where did that come from? What's wrong?" Running a hand over his forehead, she said, "I think you're warmer. Your fever must be going up."
Nick wasn't really paying attention to her words. He was listening to the voice at the back of his head that was screaming, tell her! Tell her what happened! She's a lawyer, she'll fix it! But then another voice piped up, saying, yes, she's a lawyer, she'll make you talk about it, probably in a courtroom full of people and a judge. Do you want all of them to know what happened, too?
"Nicky, Honey, what's wrong?"
Looking up at her, he opened his mouth to tell her, but before he could, he vomited onto the floor beside the bed. His mother quickly stepped away from the bed.
"Oh," she said gingerly, "sorry, I asked... Okay, why don't you go and brush your teeth and I'll clean this up."
Nick never did tell either of his parents. His fever spiked up quite high after that and he spent several days lost in fever-dreams. When the fever finally broke and he was able to look back on that night with a clear head, he managed to convince himself that it had just been another fever-dream, nothing worth worrying his parents about.
He had almost managed to completely bury those memories, until many years later, he and Catherine had dealt with a case involving a dead 14-year-old boy in his psychiatrist's home. When Nick had learned that Dr. Sapien had a history of sleeping with her underage patients, the memories had resurfaced and he became determined to make the psychiatrist pay for her indiscretions. Seeing that his objectivity was rapidly becoming suspect, Catherine had confronted him, threatening to take him off the case. Needing to offer some justification for his reactions, he had told her about that night. It was the first time he had ever spoken about it.
Confiding in Catherine had helped him to some extent and Nick hadn't really thought about those memories in a long time. Why were they now suddenly coming back to haunt him? Because he was once again sleeping in this room? He'd slept in this room for years after the incident and it hadn't bothered him like it was now.
He was once again experiencing the feelings he had that night, the humiliation, the violation, and the feeling of being unclean. It was ironic; he had always worked so hard to keep his body in top physical condition, theorizing that if his body was strong, no one could ever victimize him again. And yet, Walter Gordon, a man probably some 20 years Nick's senior had easily physically subdued him and taken him hostage... so much for all those sit-ups.
Rolling over, he picked up his watch, which was lying on one of the arms of the couch. The watchface was luminous and read 3:40 AM. He knew he would never be able to fall asleep feeling the way he was. With a sigh, Nick got up and headed for the bathroom down the hall to take a long, hot shower.
To be continued...
Author's note: Background information on cannon characters came from the book "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation Companion" by Mike Flaherty.

***

Chapter 4
After his very early morning shower, Nick didn't bother going back to bed. Instead, he made a pot of coffee and went out to the screened-in back porch, which ran almost the entire length of the house. He sat down on the long, wicker couch with his mug of coffee and a light quilt wrapped around him to ward off the early morning chill. After a few minutes, Aggie padded out to investigate who was awake. Seeing him, she jumped up and lay down on the couch beside him, her head in his lap. They sat together in peaceful silence and watched the sun rise.
A couple of hours later, when the sun was full, but still low on the horizon, the sound of someone stepping out onto the wooden boards of the porch close by him, made Nick flinch and raise his arms defensively. He had been lost in his thoughts and hadn't heard the person's approach.
"Geez, sorry, Nick, didn't mean to startle you," Brett said, seating himself in a matching wicker chair across from the couch. "A little jumpy this morning?"
The other man said nothing. His heart was still pounding painfully in his chest. He took a deep breath in an effort to get it back under control.
"Well, you're up early. Couldn't sleep?" Brett asked.
"No."
"Yeah, me neither. I always have a little trouble sleeping in strange beds, in unfamiliar surroundings."
Nick wondered what it was his brother-in-law wanted. They shared a tolerant dislike for each other and generally mutually avoided one another. Brett Halloran was the consummate politician, always campaigning, always trying to win that extra vote. He reminded Nick a lot of Conrad Ecklie, although his fellow team members had told him about how surprisingly supportive Ecklie had been during the hostage crisis, so perhaps Nick needed to revise his opinion of the CSI Assistant Director.
Leaning back in his chair and sipping his own coffee, Brett asked, "So, have you thought about your future plans?"
"Future plans?"
"Well, after everything that happened, you're not really going to go back to Las Vegas, are you?"
Nick said nothing, his attention focused on the dog still lying across his lap.
"Look, Nick, why don't you come and work for me in Louisiana?"
"Doing what? Brett, you're a Senator. Why would you possibly need a criminalist on your staff?"
"Well, I don't know if you knew this, but I'm going to put my hat in the race for governor next year. Now, one of the hot issues in Louisiana these days is the environment. There's a lot of pressure from various groups to save the swamps. But, on the other hand, oil has been discovered in a few of the publicly-owned bayous, which would greatly help our economy... It's a big debate.
"Whoever takes over as governor is going to need some answers on this topic and well, I just don't understand half of what these environmentalists are talking about. I'm just not a science kind of guy, but you are. You're smart, Nick, you could make sense of their gripes and translate it for me. Now, I assure you, you will be well compensated for your efforts. What do you say?"
The thought of being dependent on his brother-in-law for his living was one which made Nick feel physically ill. His expressive face must have revealed some of this distaste as Brett said quickly, "Now, don't feel that you need to give me an answer right now. Think about it. We'll talk about it again later."
"Julia put you up to this, didn't she?"
Now it was Brett's face that gave him away. "She's worried about you. Hell, the whole family's worried about you. I mean, you're out there in Nevada, all by yourself. There's no one to look after you. The family would just feel a lot more comfortable if you were a little closer to home. Now, I understand wanting to get out of Texas, go out on your own... get out from under Bill's thumb, but that's the beauty of Louisiana. You're out of Texas, but not so far away as Las Vegas."
"I'll think about it," Nick said, not knowing what else to say.
"Do you not get to eat in Las Vegas?" Julia teased Nick as he helped himself to a third serving of his mother's excellent southwestern scrambled eggs at breakfast.
"Not this well," he responded.
"Yes, we can see that. You're skin and bone, Nick."
"I don't always have time to eat regularly." This was an old argument that he'd had with both his mother and his sisters many times before.
"Well, if you moved back to Texas, Mom could fatten you up."
Nick chose to ignore the comment and concentrated on his food. He hadn't eaten much the day before and he was making up for it this morning. He also wasn't in the mood for the usual sibling bantering. His sleepless night was already beginning to catch up to him and he wondered how much crap he would have to put up with from his sisters if he disappeared for a few hours to take a nap. They would probably see it as an additional sign of his needing to be 'looked after', rather than what it was; his body simply trying to adjust to a different sleep schedule. His body was accustomed to being awake late at night.
As the morning progressed into the afternoon, more of the family arrived at the ranch. Even members of the extended family began showing up, aunts, uncles and cousins. Friends of the family and old friends of Nick's from high school dropped by, everybody brought food and soon the house was filled with people. It's almost like a wake, Nick thought cynically, except I messed it all up by not dying.
He knew that thought was unfair and harsh, but he was beginning to feel trapped and hounded by all the people in the house. Everyone wanted to see him, to give him a hug or shake his hand. And everyone had words of encouragement or advice for him and, almost without exception, those words were 'move back to Texas.'
He was also getting tired of hearing about how he needed to settle down and get married. Didn't he want to start a family of his own? Hadn't he met any nice girls in Las Vegas? After all, there were plenty here in Texas. He desperately wanted to tell them the truth; yes, I met a very nice girl a few years back. She was a hooker. Unfortunately she was murdered by her pimp. But he didn't say that. He just forced a smile and nodded politely.
"Nick, come outside for a minute, there's someone I want you to meet," Bill called to his son from the doorway of the back porch.
Nick gratefully disengaged himself from the conversation he was having with his mother's two sisters. They apparently knew a very nice, single, young woman whom they thought would be a perfect match for him. He had been desperately trying to think of a polite way of refusing the blind date they were trying to back him into.
He followed his father across the porch and through the screen door, which opened onto the back lawn. A few small groups stood here and there chatting on the lawn, mostly people who wanted to smoke and were polite enough not to do so in the crowded house. Bill led his son to where a tall, hard-faced, muscular man, who appeared to be in his early fifties, stood smoking a cigarette in the shade of a large cottonwood tree.
"Nick, this is an old friend of mine whom I don't think you've ever met. This is John Cavlin, he's with the Texas Rangers."
"Oh, uh, it's an honor to meet you, sir," Nick said, shaking the man's hand.
"So, your father tells me that you're a CSI for the Las Vegas Crime Lab, is that right?" the man said in a rough baritone.
"Yes sir."
"Las Vegas has a damn good reputation. They're one of the best labs in the country. I understand you also worked with Gil Grissom?"
"He was my supervisor until very recently, yes."
"Damn-fine scientist. I had the pleasure of hearing him lecture once... Now, your father also tells me that you're looking to move back to Texas."
Did he? Nick thought in surprise. That would be news to me.
"As you probably know, the Rangers have their own crime lab," Cavlin continued, apparently unperturbed by Nick's silence. "It's not a very big lab. We generally only employ three or four investigators at any given time. But because we're so small, we're also very selective. We also have a pretty good reputation. One of our guys is going to be retiring in a few months, so we're going to have an opening soon. Now, I've already spoken with Mr. Grissom and your current supervisor, Ms. Willows, and they both gave you glowing recommendations. So, what do you say we sit down sometime, go through the motions of a formal interview then we can start the paperwork and get you hired."
"Wait a minute, you talked to Catherine and Gris?" Nick asked, stunned.
"That's right. They both seemed very impressed with your work. I also spoke to your old supervisor here at the Dallas lab and he put in a good word for you as well. I know your father and your family, that's good enough for me... Now, as you know, Ranger headquarters is in Austin, that's where the lab is, but our jurisdiction is the entire state of Texas, so we'll keep you hopping. It's something completely different every day."
Nick just stood mute, too stunned to form words.
"You know, I think he's in shock at the moment, John," Bill said, with a nervous little chuckle. "Why don't you give him a couple of days to let the offer sink in and we'll get back to you."
"Not a problem. There's still plenty of time... It was a pleasure to meet you, Son. I look forward to working with you," Cavlin said, slapping Nick's shoulder in a gesture of manly affection. Turning to the judge, he said, "As always, it was good to see you, Judge. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I have to get back to work."
As the Ranger headed off toward the front of the house, Nick turned away from his father, his hands resting on his narrow hips and the muscles of his back and shoulders tense. Bill gazed at his son's back somewhat apprehensively. He knew that he had overstepped his bounds, but he was not about to back down now.
When Nick remained silent, he said, "Well, how 'bout that, Poncho? The Texas Rangers... You could be a Ranger. Wouldn't that be something?"
"Yeah, that would be something," Nick agreed bitterly, still not facing his father. "So, how many strings did you have to pull to get me that offer?"
"I didn't pull any strings. I happened to run into John when I was in Austin. He'd seen the news reports about your abduction. He asked how you were doing. We got to talking about your job. He told me about the opening with the Rangers. I told him you would be interested and, yes, I told him to go ahead and contact Las Vegas."
"Without even asking me? And what was all that 'we'll' get back to you business? Am I mistaken in assuming that this is still my decision?"
"Of course this is your decision. I can't force you to do anything. But this was too good of an opportunity to let slide. Yes, it would bring you back to Texas, which would allow your mother and I to sleep easier at night, but this is also an excellent opportunity for you. The Texas Rangers are an internationally recognized, elite, crime unit. This could be a big step in your career."
"A big step toward what?" Nick asked, finally turning to face his father.
"Bigger and better things."
"Who the hell said I wanted bigger and better things? For that matter, who the hell said I wanted to leave Las Vegas?"
"Nick, you can't seriously be considering staying there... After what that maniac did t-."
"That's right, I'll be much safer in Texas, 'cause we don't have any psychos here, do we?" Nick snapped caustically, interrupting his father for probably the first time in his life. "It's not your decision and I'll thank you to stay out of it. I don't need you to find jobs for me. I am perfectly capable of getting a job on my own."
"I was just trying to help."
"I don't need your help and I don't want your help!" In what was probably also a first in his life, Nick turned and walked away from his father in the middle of a discussion.
Nick lay on the couch in the library and stared at the ceiling. He didn't know what was happening to him. Yes, he was justified in his anger with his father, but that didn't give him to right to say the things he had said. He had never spoken to his father that way in his life. He didn't know why he was suddenly behaving so emotionally. First he'd almost freaked out on the plane. Then he had freaked out when he first saw his family gathered at the house. Now he was yelling at his father. He was usually so much better at keeping his emotions in check.
Although he was still annoyed at his father for trying to manipulate his life, most of his anger had drained away, leaving him feeling hollow and exhausted. It wasn't long before he drifted off to sleep...
Nick found himself once more lying in his Plexiglass box, but this time there was no lid and no dirt on top of him. He was lying at the bottom of a deep pit, staring up at a clear, flawless, blue sky. Standing at the top of the pit and looking down on him were his fellow CSIs, Warrick, Sara, Catherine, and Greg. They were all grim-faced and somberly dressed. A man in priest's vestments stepped up to the edge as well and began reading from a leather-bound prayer book. The book seemed disproportionately large and it completely obscured the man's face, but not his voice.
"In sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life through Our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God, our brother Nicholas Stokes and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes; dust to dust."
The CSIs bent down and picked up handfuls of loose soil and began dropping them onto Nick. But instead of a light rain of dirt falling onto him, it was more like shovelfuls dropping on his unprotected body. He tried to call out to them, to tell them he was still alive, but he couldn't speak and he couldn't move.
"The Lord bless him and keep him. The Lord make His face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen."
The steady rain of dirt continued to fall and Nick was quickly buried under a layer of soil. It filled his eyes with grit, blinding him. Panic was beginning to flare in the pit of his stomach and he tried desperately to make his body move. But nothing happened.
The voice he heard had changed. Now it sounded like it was coming from right beside him, as if someone was speaking into his right ear. "Breathe quick, breathe slow, put the gun in your mouth and pull the trigger... Any way you like. You're going to die here."
No! Nick's mind screamed. I don't want to die! And I don't want to die here, alone in the cold earth.
His desperation now at its peak, he finally managed to force his mouth to open, but no sound emerged. It was immediately filled with dirt. He could feel it fill his throat, cutting off not only his voice, but his oxygen supply as well. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to thrash around, but he still couldn't move...
And then he felt it... Something moving in the darkness, in the dirt... many somethings... They were touching him, tiny legs, tiny mouths moving over his bare skin... Nick felt his entire being shudder in revulsion... Then the stings began...
Fire... his body was on fire, as though someone was lightly brushing his body with a lit cigarette... This wasn't eternal life and resurrection, this was hell... What had he ever done to deserve this damnation? Why was he being punished?
Why! What did I do!
"Nick, wake up! Wake up!"
He jolted upright with a painful gasp. His body was trembling violently and his chest was heaving as if he had just run a marathon. He gulped air into his lungs and tried to make sense of his surroundings. It was dark in the room and he wasn't sure where he was.
"Nick, are you okay?"
He jerked away from the unexpected voice beside him, shrinking back against the couch. He couldn't make out the face of the person kneeling beside him. Light spilling in from the open doorway was throwing the person's face in deeper shadow. There were other people in the room as well.
"Nick, it's me, Allison. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you. You're home, in Texas. You're safe. The family's here. We're going to protect you."
As she spoke, his memories began to resurface. Allison, his sister... home... he was safe. Gradually, he felt his heart rate begin to slow.
"Talk to me, Nick. What were you dreaming?" Allison asked, reaching a hand out to touch his face.
He shook his head, not wanting to think about the dream. He could still feel the tiny little legs on his skin, the biting little mouths... With a shudder, he pushed her hand away and stood, stepping around her to get away from the couch. He still felt dirty... unclean... and he could still feel... them... crawling on him. He needed a shower, now.
Pushing past the other members of his family who had gathered near the open doorway, drawn by his nightmare-induced cries, he headed for the bathroom. Once inside, he closed and locked the door behind him.
Gil Grissom entered the breakroom where he found Warrick, Catherine, Sara and Greg all gathered. With the swing shift now short a man, the two shifts were once again working together, to cover both shifts, with Gil nominally in charge.
Warrick and Catherine were still coming in at the earlier time, so they already had their assignments for the night, but Gil had asked them to drop by the breakroom later, when the rest of the team would be arriving. The various conversations died away as Gil entered and everyone turned to face him.
"Has anyone spoken to Nick recently?" he asked.
There was a general murmur of negative responses and Warrick said, "No, he's with his family. I didn't want to bother him."
"Alright, that's fine... Uh, Catherine and I both received phone calls from someone with the Texas Rangers..."
"About Nick?" "What's happened?" Sara and Warrick asked simultaneously, their questions overlapping.
"Uh, no, nothing's happened," Grissom said quickly, cursing himself for not finding a better way to lead up to this. "They wanted us to give them recommendations on Nick."
"Recommendations?" Warrick repeated. "You mean like for a job?"
"Exactly."
"Nick's not coming back, is he?" Sara said softly.
"We don't know that yet," Gil said. "But apparently he is considering other offers."
"Wow, the Texas Rangers, how cool is that?" Greg said, speaking up for the first time. "Do you think they'd call him, 'Stokes, Texas Ranger'...?"
His voice trailed off as he looked up and saw the rest of the team staring at him in horror. He gave a slightly self-conscious chuckle. "What? Oh, come on, you guys, he's not going to take the job. He's coming back... You'll see, he's coming back."
Still smiling, he turned and left the breakroom. The others stared after him for a moment.
"He is seriously in denial," Sara said, shaking her head and trailing after the younger man.
Warrick, who had been sitting at the break table, abruptly stood and slammed his fist onto its hard surface. "Damn it!" he yelled and stalked angrily out of the room.
Catherine and Gil looked at each other for a moment. She gave him a half smile and slight shrug then headed after Warrick, leaving Gil alone with his thoughts.
To be continued...
Author's note: Hey, just wanted to say, wow, thanks for all the great reviews. I have to admit, I was actually a little nervous about posting this, as it's my first attempt at CSI. I've been watching the show for a few years now, but I've only just recently become obsessed with it. Anyway, thanks!
Oh, also, the information about the Texas Rangers came from their official website.

***

Chapter 5
It was early afternoon when Nick finally emerged from the library the next day. After his shower the night before, he had taken a sleeping pill and spent the rest of the night in drug-enforced, dreamless sleep. Actually, he had dreamt, but they had only been fleeting, vague shadows without the power to become full-blown nightmares. He still felt groggy and heavy from the sedative, but he figured it was a small price to pay for undisturbed slumber.
The house was quiet as he headed for the back porch. He could hear Madra cleaning up in the kitchen and knew that he'd missed breakfast. That was all right, he wasn't particularly hungry, but he did wonder if there was any coffee left.
He found his mother out on the porch, sitting in her rocking chair doing embroidery. That wasn't a good sign. The only time his mother worked on embroidery, was when something was bothering her. She had told him once that needlework was conducive to deep thinking. It kept your hands occupied, while it left your mind free to concentrate on your problem. He had a strong suspicion that the problem she was ruminating on this morning had to do with him.
"Morning," he said, seating himself on the couch.
"Oh, good morning, dear, how are you feeling?" she said, smiling at him. Her voice was unnaturally cheerful and her question had been somewhat hesitant. He had never known his mother to be hesitant about anything.
The nightmare and his reaction to it had greatly distressed the family. Theirs was a fair weather family which liked things kept on an even keel. Any kind of unpleasantness was unwelcome and no one ever really knew how to directly deal with it. If it was some kind of behavior which could be fixed with some sort of disciplinary action, his father always took care of it. If a more subtle response was required, Jillian handled it. But an adult son who awoke screaming from nightmares was obviously more than either parent could deal with. Nick was upsetting the delicate balance on which this family depended.
"I feel okay," he answered, dutifully giving her the expected response. "Where is everyone?"
"Oh, your father had to go back to Austin early this morning, but he should be back tonight. Chris had to go into court. Brett and the girls decided to take all the children to the zoo. But Allison is here. She's out in the stable... Did you want something to eat? I could make something..."
"No, thanks, I'm good."
"All right."
The fact that she hadn't pushed the food issue was further confirmation that Jillian Stokes was off balance and floundering. She would normally never allow him to skip a meal without an argument. Nick felt guilty for upsetting everyone. Perhaps coming here was a mistake after all. Maybe he should have stayed in Las Vegas and dealt with his demons on his own, rather than drag his whole family into his private hell.
"Well, good morning Rip Van Winkle, nice of you to join us."
Nick looked up to see his sister, Allison, standing just on the other side of the screen door, looking in at him. She was dressed in jeans, work boots and a sleeveless shirt. Her mop of frizzy brown hair was contained for the moment under a straw cowboy hat. She had obviously been mucking stalls in the stable, despite the fact that their father employed people specifically to take care of the stables and the horses. Allison liked to do it herself. She was a large animal vet and just couldn't resist checking out the horses whenever she was at the ranch.
"Get dressed. We're going for a ride," she ordered Nick. "I have two of the horses saddled and ready to go."
"Oh, I don't know, Al," Nick said, hesitantly. "It's been a long time since I've ridden."
"All the more reason for you to get your ass dressed and get out here. Nick, you've hardly left the house since you got here. A little fresh air and sun might do you some good. Now, I'll give you fifteen minutes to meet me in the stables and then I'm coming in after you." With that pronouncement, she turned on her heel and headed back towards the stables.
With a smile and a shake of his head, Nick rose to follow his sister's instructions. Leave it to Allison to dispense with the BS. Subtlety was not one of her strong points. Being only a little over a year older than him, she was closer to him than any of his other siblings. She was a complete tomboy and, like him, had played numerous sports while growing up, giving them much in common. They had always gotten along quite well.
Throwing on a pair of jeans and a dark green t-shirt, Nick pulled a baseball cap on to cover his uncombed hair. Tugging on his boots, he headed out to the stable to join Allison, with five minutes to spare.
As they rode out to the back pastures, with Aggie trotting alongside, Nick found that he was glad he had come along. He felt himself relaxing more than he had in several days. It was a pleasantly warm afternoon, not too hot and with a refreshing cool breeze. Allison didn't press him for conversation and they rode in comfortable silence. He even found the easy gait of the horse beneath him soothing, although he knew that he was probably going to be sore in some sensitive places tomorrow.
The acreage of the ranch was not terribly extensive, but Bill Stokes had always been a firm believer that any ranch should be a 'working' ranch and he had always kept a hundred head of cattle or so. Nick knew that in recent years there had been talk of selling off the cattle, as they were more of a money drain than they were worth, but he had never heard how that problem had been resolved.
They were now riding toward a fenced in area in which thirty or so animals were grazing. Each was about the size of a pony, with thick, woolly hair and long necks and faces. They had a certain camel-ish appearance about them.
"What the hell are those?" Nick asked.
"They're alpacas," Allison said with a smile, dismounting and leading her horse over to the split rail fence. Leaning her elbows on the top rail, she gazed out at the strange animals proudly.
"What happened to the cows?" he asked as he dismounted as well and moved to join her at the fence.
"Oh, Dad sold them off a couple years ago. I convinced him to buy the alpacas."
"Why? What do you do with them? Do you eat them?"
"No, their wool is very valuable. It's a lot softer than sheep wool and just as warm. And they're much less destructive to their environment as sheep. I think they'll be an excellent investment for Dad. Besides, they're kind of cute, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I guess so... kind of, they sort of look like small llamas."
"Yeah, they're related to llamas and they also come from South America... So, do you want to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?" he asked, although he knew perfectly well what she was referring to.
"The nightmare."
"Nope."
She turned to face him. "Nick, you need to talk about it."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do. You need to face it and deal with it or it's just going to slowly eat you up inside."
"Really? Is that what they taught you in veterinary school?" he asked, a bit more caustically than he had intended.
She sighed. "You're right, I'm not a psychologist, but I do know what I'm talking about. Do you remember my friend Rachel?"
"Yeah, what about her?"
"She was raped last year. By some asshole she went on a date with. The D.A. decided not to prosecute because of lack of evidence, so nothing ever happened to the guy. It was a pretty rough time for her. I sat through some of her counseling sessions with herand one of the things the therapist kept stressing was that you shouldn't hold these things in. You need to get it out in the open and deal with it, no matter how painful it is."
"Look, I'm sorry for what happened to your friend, but I wasn't raped."
"No, but you were still violat-."
"I don't want to talk about it!" Nick interrupted, not wishing to hear that word connected to him. It brought up too many memories he didn't want to deal with.
"Okay, fine, I understand if you don't want to talk to me, or even Mom and Dad. But you need to talk to someone. The crisis center where Rachel went to is in Garland. They have a lot of good therapists there. Maybe you should check it out."
"A rape center?"
"It's not just a rape center. They deal with different kinds of trauma... Look, if it would make you more comfortable, there's also a very good trauma center in the Las Vegas area. I looked into it. It's called Desert Haven."
Crossing his arms over his chest in an unconsciously defensive posture, he turned away from his sister. The afternoon had begun so pleasantly. He resented her like hell for shattering that illusion of peace.
"Nick, you need help," Allison persisted. "Please, at least think about it."
Nick spent most of the rest of the afternoon walking the perimeter of the ranch. He had a lot to think about and he wasn't ready to deal with his family just yet. It was funny, he had agreed to leave Las Vegas partly because he hadn't been ready to deal with his fellow CSIs, but now that he was back in Texas, he wasn't finding his family any easier to handle. And unfortunately there was more of his family to deal with. There was always someone watching him, looking for the cracks in the veneer of his control. But, of course, no one ever said anything directly about what happened to him, no one except Allison.
He had been counting on his family's dysfunctional emotional reserve to spare him from uncomfortable, probing questions, and they hadn't disappointed him there, but they seemed determined to demonstrate their concern for him, if not with words, with smothering attention. He needed some time alone to get his head together.
It was growing dark by the time he and Aggie started back to the house. As the sun set behind him, the stunted shrubs and tall grasses they were walking among, threw distorted shadows out in front of them and Nick found himself glancing around nervously. The surrounding landscape was quiet and empty, but he still kept pausing to look behind him periodically. He knew he was being paranoid, but he couldn't stop the chill which prickled up his spine at every odd noise.
When Aggie abruptly started growling softly and slowly creeping toward a large clump of scrub bushes, her ears pricked and her hackles raised, Nick froze. His heart rate had doubled and suddenly he couldn't seem to move. The dog lunged at the bushes and a large jackrabbit flew out from beneath the greenery to quickly disappear into the dusk. Aggie gave a frustrated bark and bounded after the hare for a few feet before realizing that she'd never really had a chance at catching the long-legged rodent. She returned to Nick's side, seeming inordinately pleased with herself for simply having flushed the creature out of its hiding place.
Breathing easier, but still shaken, he gave the dog a pat on the head and they continued on toward the house. It was fully dark by the time they made it back and several members of the family were gathered on the back lawn when they walked up. Bill was the first to reach him. As was usually the case, his fear and concern for his son's safety was expressed as anger.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. "We were starting to get worried. I was about to call the police!"
"I'm sorry. I just went for a walk. I lost track of time. I'm sorry."
Bill wiped his hand over his mouth and nodded. "Go inside. Your mother's frantic with worry."
It seemed that while Nick had been out for his walk, the rest of the family had been making plans for the evening. It was an unfortunate, but still necessary, part of Bill Stokes' job as a state Supreme Court Justice that he be politically active. Political agendas should have had no place in the justice system, but the reality was they did. And no man, not even a Supreme Court Justice, could survive without support.
Bill and Jillian had both been invited, months ago, to attend a fund-raising dinner for a local police officers' memorial foundation, which provided financial support to the families of police officers and firefighters killed in the line of duty. It was an obligation which, in light of recent events in the family, they felt they could not in good conscience back out of.
Nick's brother Chris, an A.D.A., was due in court the next morning for a big case, so he and his wife were heading home for the night. The rest of the family was discussing where they could all go out for dinner.
Hearing about these plans, Nick immediately balked. He was in no mood to sit in a public restaurant, surrounded by strangers, while forced to make small talk with his sisters. His family alone was causing him enough stress, he really didn't need a larger audience. He flatly refused to leave the house.
When several members of the family expressed reluctance to allow him to remain home alone, he grew impatient. Was he still the sick 9-year-old who needed a baby-sitter? As his mind followed that thought to its uncomfortable conclusion, his response to his family was a bit harsher than he had originally intended.
"You know, I do manage to live alone in Nevada without needing constant supervision!"
Significant glances were exchanged among the various members of his family. Nick knew that his uncharacteristic, and increasingly short, temper was becoming a topic of concern for them, but he just couldn't seem to keep his emotions in line these days. Forcing himself to a calmer frame of mind, he tried to reason with them.
"Look, I'm sorry, I snapped at all of you, but I think I'd like some time to myself. Please, just go out, have a good time. I don't need a chaperone. I'll be fine. Please, just go."
As he had anticipated, it was his mother and Allison that were the most reluctant to leave him. His sister took him aside as everyone else was preparing to leave. "Nick, I'll stay, it's no big deal. I really don't think you should be alone right now."
"I'm fine, Al. I'm really kind of tired. I think I'll just lie down for a while."
"You're not going to take any more of those pills, are you? It's certainly not going to do you any good to get addicted to sedatives. You need to face your nightmares and learn to deal with them."
"Thank you, for the advice, Dr. Freud," Nick said dryly. "Don't worry, Mom has the pills and has appointed herself my personal pharmacist."
"Well, good for her... Look, are you sure about this?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I'm getting really tired of everyone watching me, waiting to see what I do next."
"Nick, we're just wo-."
"Just go, please."
"Fine."
With the house finally empty, Nick returned to the library and sprawled out on the couch. He was completely emotionally drained. It was amazing to him how taxing it was becoming just to deal with his family. He had come home to relax and recuperate and instead he was more stressed now than he had been in Vegas. Perhaps it was time to head back to Nevada, to deal with this psychologist and get back to work. He supposed that the sooner he returned to his normal routine, the sooner he would start to feel better.
But even as he told himself this, he felt a sort of confusing sense of dread, or perhaps anger, at returning to work. The confusing part wasn't that he would feel these emotions in connection with his job, but that he was feeling them in connection to his co-workers. Part of him desperately missed them and wanted to talk to them, but another part was... angry with them? No, that didn't make sense, he was simply afraid of how they would respond to him... They had saved his life...
Nick gave the bridge of his nose a squeeze. He was starting to give himself a headache. Taking a deep breath and forcing his mind to let go of these confusing, contradictory thoughts, he settled himself into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes...
He sat bolt upright on the couch, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, probably only a few minutes, but he'd heard a noise. He sat completely still, all of his concentration trained on his hearing. He flinched slightly when he heard it again, a muffled thump coming from somewhere within the house. Almost reflexively, his eyes traveled upward to stare at the ceiling. Like many of the houses in the western half of the U.S., where the water tables tended to be high, the Stokes' ranch house had no basement, but it did have a large attic...
Hearing the sound again, he determined that it was not coming from the attic. It was coming from the ground floor. There was someone in the house. Moving as quietly as he could, Nick went to the window of the room and pushed down several slats of the blinds. The window looked out onto the front lawn. Angling himself to the side, he could see the driveway. It was empty. No one from the family had come home early.
He jumped when he heard the thump again. His entire body was trembling and he was breathing heavily. Moving cautiously to the door, he pushed it open and glanced into the hallway. The house was completely dark. The noise sounded like it was coming from the opposite end of the house, from the direction of the garage and the side door, but he wasn't entirely sure. He glanced back into the room, checking for some kind of weapon.
Remembering that his father had always kept a pistol in the top drawer of his nightstand, Nick headed for his parents' room, which was next to the library. He entered the room cautiously, checking each corner. Satisfied that it was empty, he went to the nightstand and pulled the drawer open. His father's Walther PPK sat right where it always had. Picking up the small 9mm, he released the clip and checked to see if it was full. It was. Pulling the slide back, he found a round already chambered. Damn, Dad..., he thought. Well, at least the safety was still on.
Releasing the safety, he noticed a flashlight in the drawer as well. He considered grabbing it, but decided against it. The light's beam would give away his position and ruin his night vision. He was better off, staying in the dark. Heading back out to the hallway, he quickly moved to the guest room, directly across the hall. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside quickly, pointing the gun into each of the room's four corners in turn, clearing it methodically, just as he had been trained.
Finding the room empty, he moved to the one next to it, repeating his actions. By this time, his hands were shaking so badly that even with his two-handed grip he could barely keep the gun steady. Cold sweat was trickling down his temples and between his shoulder blades.
A quick perusal of the living room and dining room, revealed both to be empty. He checked the door to the back porch and found it locked, so he continued on to the kitchen. Hearing the thump once more, he could pinpoint that it was coming from the vicinity of the laundry room. Taking a deep breath, he took a firmer grip on the gun, but kept it low, pointed at the floor in front of him.
Moving through the kitchen, he stepped into the short hallway into which the door from the garage opened on his right. On his left was the large family room. Directly in front of him, across the square space, was the swinging door which led into the laundry room. As he was about to check the family room, he heard the noise again, very loud, very distinct, and very definitely coming from the other side of the swinging door. He heard a sort of hollow scratching sound as well.
Raising the trembling gun, he slowly inched closer to the door. In one swift movement, he kicked it open and stepped into the room, gun at the ready. Aggie jumped guilty, raising her head from the plastic garbage pail she had been happily rooting through. Seeing him, she wagged her tail enthusiastically. Almost dropping the gun in his relief, Nick gave a slightly strangled sob and sank to his knees, his body weak and shaking. The retriever went to him and began licking his face.
He smiled and tried to fend the dog off. He suddenly felt exhausted, as if he had just had a grueling workout, which in a way, he supposed he had. A distinct ache was beginning to throb just between his eyes. Shifting to a more comfortable position, with his back resting against the door jamb, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
The unmistakable sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen brought him instantly back to full alert. He had assumed that the noise he'd heard was only the dog, but what if he'd been wrong? Aggie wasn't a guard dog. She was simply a family pet and an exceptionally friendly one at that. Would she necessarily bark and carry on if a stranger entered the house?
Hearing the footsteps moving towards the laundry room, Nick climbed to his feet, quickly and quietly. The swinging door had closed behind him and he moved to press his back against it. He raised the gun, barrel pointed at the ceiling, and braced himself for another charge into the unknown. Bursting though the door, he pointed the gun out in a two-handed grip, ready to fire.
"Jesus, Nick, what the hell are you doing!" Julia gasped, instinctively clutching her sleeping daughter tighter to her chest and twisting her torso to shield the child's body with her own.
"Oh, god!" Nick breathed, immediately dropping the gun barrel to the floor. "I'm sorry! I didn't... I'm sorry. I thought someone was in the house."
"Yeah, the people who live here! What the hell are you doing with a gun! There are children in the house!"
"Julia, what's going on? Nick, why do you have a gun?" Allison asked as she came to join her two siblings.
Nick pushed past the two women and headed for the library. He needed to get away from his sisters for a minute so he could think. Closing the door behind him, he sank down on the couch and laid the gun on the cushion beside him. He had just pointed a loaded gun at his sister and her infant daughter. What the hell is happening to me? he asked himself, staring down at his still shaking hands.
There was a soft knock on the door. Before he could even respond, it opened and Allison stepped into the room. She came to stand in front of him. When he wouldn't look up at her, she bent down and picked up the gun. She pulled the slide back and checked the chamber. Bill Stokes collected antique rifles and owned several pistols. All of the Stokes children had been taught gun safety at early ages.
"Damn, Nick, this is loaded and the safety's off," she said quietly. "Care to tell me what happened while we were gone?"
"I heard something and I thought someone was in the house," he said softly.
"And your first thought was to get a gun?"
"I thought there might have been someone in the attic."
"Why would you think that?"
He didn't answer. He had never told his family about Nigel Crane, the stalker who had been living in his attic and who had tried to kill him.
"Nick, even you have to admit that your actions were irrational. Do you always go for your gun when you hear a strange noise?"
He still didn't answer. He couldn't admit to her that after the encounter with Nigel Crane, he had slept with his gun under his pillow for several months.
After waiting several minutes without getting any response, Allison sighed heavily and said, "Fine, don't talk to me..." With an exasperated shake of her head, she tuned and left the room, taking the gun with her.
When Bill and Jillian Stokes walked into the house nearly an hour later, they found Brett, Julia and Allison sitting in the family room, each drinking a beer and staring despondently at each other. A grim tension hung over the room like a funeral pall.
"What's happened?" Jillian asked, immediately sensing the mood.
"Nick pulled a gun on me," Julia said. She was calmer now, but there was still a strained note to her tone. "I was holding Hannah at the time."
"What the hell would he do that for?" Bill demanded.
"Apparently he mistook us for intruders," Allison said. Standing, she handed the pistol to her father. "I think you should lock this in the gun safe with all the others, at least until Nick leaves."
"You're not suggesting that Nick would actually harm any of us, are you?" Jillian asked, appalled.
"Actually, at this point, I think he's more of a danger to himself than to any of us."
"What!" Bill exclaimed.
"That's ridiculous," Jillian said. "Why would Nick hurt himself now after he fought so hard to survive that nightmare he went through?"
"Mom, I went through all of this with my friend, Rachel. According to her therapist, fighting to survive is purely instinctive. It's ingrained into our psyches. It doesn't require conscious choice. You just do it. But often, when people have survived a traumatic event, they become suicidal once the danger has past. They no longer have that drive for survival to focus their energies on. All they have left are the memories of their ordeal. And those memories play out over and over in their minds, until they simply can't take it any more."
"And you think that's happening to Nick?"
"I think it's starting to. Can you honestly tell me that you don't think his behavior is getting increasingly erratic?"
"He's been through so much..."
"Yes, he has and he needs professional help to deal with it."
"He doesn't want to talk to a professional."
"Well, of course he doesn't," Allison said. "He doesn't want to think about any of it, but that doesn't change the fact that he needs to. And if he won't do it willingly then we need to make him."
"What are you suggesting, Allison? That we have your brother committed?" Bill asked.
"... You could..."
"Allison! Even if I wanted to, the law says that he has to have demonstrated that he is a danger to himself or others."
"I think waving a loaded gun around constitutes a danger to others, don't you?" Julia spoke up.
"She has a point, Dad," Allison said. "Besides, you are a state Supreme Court Justice. If you signed committment papers, I seriously doubt there's a single lawyer in this state that would contest them."
"I should hope to God there would be. Allison, you are talking about railroading your brother into a mental institution. Is that what you really think I should do?"
"...No, I don't," she said with a groan. "I just think we need to get him some help."
Nick sat on the couch in the library, staring blankly into space. His body was screaming at him to lie down and go to sleep, but he refused to do so. He was afraid the nightmares would come back. He had already amply demonstrated to his family that his mental stability was questionable. He didn't need to give them any more ammunition.
He had heard his parents come home and he knew they were talking with his sisters and brother-in-law. He couldn't hear any of the discussion from the other end of the house, but he didn't need to hear it to know that his most recent escapade was the main topic.
After nearly a half hour, he heard a soft knock on the library door. Even though he had been half expecting it, he still jumped slightly at the sound. He looked up as the door opened and his father stepped into the room. Bill Stokes looked very grave. He was still holding the small pistol.
"Your sisters told me what happened," he said.
"Yeah, I figured they would."
"Nick, what were you thinking? You knew the girls would be coming home soon. Why would you go and get my gun?"
Nick said nothing. He had no explanation for his behavior. In hindsight, he knew that he had completely overreacted to the situation. But at the time it had all seemed so threatening and so very familiar.
"Nick, why won't you talk to any of us?"
Because you don't really want to hear what I have to say, Nick thought. He knew that his family meant well, but they simply wanted him to 'get over' his problems so everything could get back to normal. They didn't really want to know all the unpleasant details. And while Nick understood this, he also resented it. Allison understood, but she wanted him to face his demons and he just wasn't sure he was ready to do that yet.
"I think it's time for me to go back to Las Vegas," he said at last.
Bill sighed heavily. "Nick, we don't want you to leave. We just wa-."
"I know," Nick interrupted. "But this isn't working out and I don't want to cause any more stress for the family."
"You're not causing any stress."
"Yes, I am. I'm disrupting everyone's lives and we both know it. It's time for me to go home."
"You are home, Son."
"No, Dad, sorry, but Vegas is home."
To be continued...

***

Chapter 6
Two days later found Nick once again sitting in first class of a Boeing 757, awaiting take off. The other passengers were still boarding, but he was already getting antsy. He wasn't sure how he was going to survive the long flight. The small bottle of sleeping pills was tucked in the pocket of his leather jacket, weighing heavily with the promise of oblivion. But he knew how groggy the drug left him and he wasn't sure he wanted to leave himself so vulnerable when he was flying alone. He also couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't dream and he really didn't want to freak everyone in first class out by waking up screaming. No, he would need to stay awake for the entire flight.
He was beginning to wonder if perhaps he should have accepted Allison's offer to fly back to Vegas with him. But at the time, he had been determined to prove to his family that he could do this on his own, that he wasn't completely helpless. Now he wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have swallowed his pride. Of course, he had also been worried that if Allison did come back with him, he wouldn't be able to get rid of her. He loved his sister, but he really didn't want to be alone with her and her insistent, probing questions.
It had been difficult putting her off. She had been most insistent about coming with him. And even as he had been about to board the plane, she had left him with a veiled threat to simply show up on his doorstep in Vegas, with or without his permission. Oh well, he thought, I'll deal with that if, or when, it happens. There's really no point in trying to influence Allison's behavior, she'll do whatever she wants, regardless.
His brooding thoughts were distracted as another passenger moved in to take the seat beside him. He glanced up at the woman and smiled. She was probably in her mid-to-late-forties, with big hair, dyed an unnatural shade of carrot-orange. Her generously curved figure was encased in skin-tight jeans and a very low-cut top which barely managed to contain her ample cleavage. But despite her rather extreme appearance, she was not an unattractive woman and seemed well aware of that fact. She returned his smile invitingly.
As the plane finally began to taxi into position for take off, Nick turned his attention to the window on his right to watch as the plane rocketed down the runway, rushing toward the embrace of the clear morning sky. He loved the sensation of take off, when his body felt like it was being pulled in two different directions. His stomach felt like it was being pulled toward the ground, while his head felt like it might float away, as the plane fought against gravity and clawed its way toward the heavens.
He had always wanted to learn to fly, but somehow he had never seemed to find the time. It was part of his fascination with birds. He had always envied them their ability to leave the earth-bound world behind and soar up into the open sky, to a world where the rules of gravity no longer seemed to apply. Now that was true freedom. It was an incredible high he had only experienced when he had tried paragliding. Unfortunately he hadn't really had the time to do much of that either. You know, he thought, I should try that again while I still have some time off.
As the plane reached its cruising altitude and the passengers were told they could remove their seat belts, the red-head beside Nick turned to face him. She extended a perfectly manicured hand toward him and, speaking in an over-the-top Texan accent he felt sure was deliberately affected, said, "Hi, my name is Abby Scarsdale..."
From the expectant look she gave him, he realized that she was waiting for him to introduce himself. Shaking the offered hand, he said, "Nick Stokes, nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you too, Nick. I'm sorry to bother you, but this is my first trip to Vegas and I am just too excited to sit still. My husband and I recently divorced. My lawyers made sure that I was very well provided for and well, I just decided that I needed to reward myself after dealing with all that emotional trauma."
Nick nodded and smiled blandly at the woman thinking, Lady, you have no idea what emotional trauma really is. He chose to completely ignore the blatant, 'very well provided for' hint that she had dropped.
"So, what takes you to Las Vegas, business or pleasure?" she asked.
"Uh, business, I guess. I live there."
"Oh, is that right? You know, I was hoping to meet some nice local person who could, you know, show me the sights..."
Damn, Nick thought, I just walked right into that one.
"I mean, a girl traveling by herself can never be too careful. It's always good to have a strapping, young man on hand to make you feel safe." She laid a familiar hand on his knee and beamed up at him as she spoke. "So, tell me, what is it that you do for a living?"
"I'm a crime scene investigator."
"Really? I've never heard of that. Is that like a cop?"
"Uh, no, more like a scientist."
"No... You don't look like any scientist I've ever met before..." she gushed.
And just how many scientists have you met? Nick thought.
"Scientists are usually those nerdy-looking types with thick glasses. You don't look anything like that..." She gave his knee a slight squeeze.
Oh, God, he thought, groaning inwardly, this is going to be a long flight.
And it was a long flight. But at least Nick needn't have worried about how he was going to make it through the flight, as he was too busy fending off Abby Scarsdale's wandering fingers, which kept creeping higher and higher up his thigh, to be affected by the crowded, pressurized cabin. She also kept making none-too-subtle comments about the Mile High Club, which Nick pretended either to not hear or not understand. Luckily for him, Ms. Scarsdale was well-bred enough not to make any overt suggestions. Four hours later, Nick found that never in his life had he been happier to see the approaching runways of McCarran Airport.
As he walked off the plane and headed into the terminal, Nick scanned the gathered crowd for the tall, dark head of Warrick Brown. He had called the other CSI the night before and Warrick had readily agreed to come and pick him up from the airport, even though it meant losing out on precious sleep, as Nick's flight arrived in the late morning.
"Nick!"
Hearing his name, Nick turned to see, not only Warrick, but Greg Sanders as well. The younger man was waving his arms wildly, while the other man seemed to be edging away, trying to create distance between them, as if to say, he's not with me, I swear. Smiling, Nick gave his head a slight shake. He'd only been gone for a few days, but he had truly missed his friends.
Moving to join them, he and Warrick did the shoulder-bump, slap-each-other-on-the-back-thing that seemed to be the accepted masculine equivalent of a hug. Greg, on the other hand, gave Nick the real thing, a full body hug, apparently not caring that people were starting to stare at the three men.
"Thanks for picking me up," Nick said, when Greg had finally released him. "I know this is prime sleep time for you guys."
"Don't worry about it, man, that's what friends are for. Besides Greg and I both have the night off," Warrick said. "But, hey, you're looking good. Those welts look to be completely healed."
"Uh, yeah," Nick breathed, suddenly self-conscious.
"Uh, Catherine and Sara wanted to be here too, but your father called last night and warned us not to overwhelm you," Greg said, trying to cover the sudden tension in the air.
"My father called you guys?"
"Well, he called and talked to Grissom..." Greg let his voice trail off as he belatedly realized that he had said the wrong thing, making the tension worse, not better.
"Look, don't worry about it," Warrick said quickly. "Everything's fine. Listen, what do you say we go grab something to eat. I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."
"No, thanks," Nick said, as the three men started out of the terminal toward the area where Warrick had parked his SUV. "I really just want to get home and lay down. I'm really tired."
"Long flight?" Warrick asked.
"Don't ask."
"You guys don't have to stick around, you know," Nick said. "I'll be fine. I'm just going to lie down for a while."
The three men were seated in Nick's living room. Greg had been telling the other two about the latest video games he had purchased and brought with him. When it had become apparent that neither Greg nor Warrick were planning on leaving anytime soon, Nick had decided to try tactfully asking them to leave.
It was nothing personal against his friends. It was just that he was tired of being fussed over and he really just wanted to be alone for a while. For the last two days of his stay in Dallas, his family had barely let him out of their sights. Someone even checked on him while he was sleeping. The only place they had allowed him to be alone was the bathroom. In those two days, he had taken several very long showers.
"Oh, well, it's no big deal. We don't mind keeping you company," Warrick said dismissively.
"Yeah, well, that's the thing; I don't really want any company right now. I'm sorry, guys, I don't mean to be rude, but I'd really kind of like to be alone."
The other two men exchanged uncomfortable glances and Warrick said, "Yeah, uh, here's the deal; your dad also told Grissom about the incident with the gun... Look, man, we're not leaving. Like I said earlier, Greg and I have the night off. Day shift is helping out with covering all our shifts. Catherine said she'd come by in the morning after she got Lindsey off to school... Sorry, dude, you're stuck with us."
I don't believe this, Nick thought. I should have seen this coming. I should have known that my father wouldn't just let that incident go. I should have known he'd make arrangements to have his wishes carried out.
"So, Grissom doesn't trust me to be alone either?" Nick asked out loud. "How long are you guys going to keep doing this?"
"I don't know, probably until you start your sessions with Janine and she says you're okay."
Abruptly standing, Nick went to his bedroom. He returned a moment later with his service gun in its holster. He handed the weapon to Warrick.
"You should probably lock this up, since apparently I can't be trusted with it," he said, his voice dripping with bitterness. "There's also a back-up gun over there in the drawer. You don't want to miss that!" He pointed to the small end table where the telephone sat.
"Nick, you don't have to do this. No one's say-."
The Texan cut the other man off with a curt gesture. He turned on his heel and returned to his bedroom. And this time the other two heard the door close firmly behind him.
"Well, that went well," Greg said dryly.
"Can't say that I really blame him," Warrick said. "I don't think I'd be too pleased about a bunch of people making themselves at home in my place, whether I liked it or not."
"What, you think we should leave?"
"Hell, no, I'm not leaving him alone right now! He can try to throw my ass out if he wants, but I'm bigger than him and I'm not leaving. Listen, Greg, if you're not comfortable with this, you can take off. I understand, this is a touchy area. I'll stay here alone."
"No, no, I'm staying!" the younger man said quickly.
"Good man."
The two men spent the next couple of hours playing video games on Nick's game system, while their 'host' remained shut up in his room. About mid-afternoon, when Warrick's stomach began rumbling, he remembered that he hadn't eaten all day.
Turning to Greg, he said, "Hey, you getting hungry?"
"Yeah, I could eat."
"Cool, how 'bout I go make a pizza run or something?"
"You think we should ask Nick if he wants something? I doubt he's eaten anything for quite a while and it's not like there's any food in the house."
Both men glanced toward the bedroom then back at each other. By unspoken consent, they each raised a fist in preparation for rock, paper, scissors. Warrick made the sign for rock, while Greg opted for paper, thus winning the game. With a sigh, the older man stood and headed toward the bedroom.
Knocking softly, he said, "Yo, Nick, I'm going for pizza. You want anything?"
When there was no answer, he knocked again. "Nick?"
Trying the door handle, he was somewhat surprised to find it unlocked. Opening the door, he stepped into the room, which was dark. The lights were out and the heavy curtains drawn. Nick was sprawled out on the double bed, sleeping soundly. He had stripped down to a pair of flannel pajama bottoms.
"Nick?" Warrick called softly.
Getting no response, he started to turn to head back out of the room, when he spotted a plastic prescription bottle sitting on the nightstand. Picking it up, he saw that it was for sleeping pills, the heavy duty kind. The bottle was nearly empty. How long has Nick been taking these, he wondered.
The sky above was a flawless, liquid blue, a fathomless ocean he could fall upward into, free of the confining plastic prison that bound him to the earth. Once again, he was lying at the bottom of the steep-sided pit, staring up at a sky he couldn't reach. The faces of his friends were there once more at the top of the pit, as was the priest with the unseen face.
The priest was speaking, but this time Nick paid no attention to his words. He was trying to get free of the box. Unlike the previous dream, he could move this time, but he couldn't seem to get out of his prison. There was no lid to the plastic coffin. He could see his freedom right there before him and yet, he couldn't reach it. He was trapped in the box by some invisible barrier. He could see his friends, but they couldn't seem to see him.
As he saw them turning to walk away, his movements became more frantic. They were going to leave him behind. They were going to leave him to die! Didn't they see him? Panic flared within him. He needed to get out now! He needed this to end, now.
Don't leave me here! his mind screamed, but no one seemed to hear. In his frantic flailing, his hand touched the cold metal of his gun. He grabbed onto it as if it were a lifeline. Yes, this would end, now, one way or another.
Suddenly, he saw Grissom's face above him, inches from his own. He had no idea how it got there, but there it was. He couldn't touch the other man. The invisible barrier still held him captive and separated them, but he could hear the man's words.
"You have to hold still. You're going to have to stay there for a little bit longer... Poncho, stop moving!"
Those last three words seemed to jolt into him like electricity, touching some primal chord within him. But how could he stop moving? If he stopped moving, he'd die. He knew he would. His hand still clutched the gun. He had always trusted Grissom implicitly. How could the man ask him to simply lie still while they left him to die? How could Grissom betray him this way?
He saw his former boss' face disappear from his view, as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving him alone. The others were gone as well. He was alone, alone in a plastic box with his gun...
"No!"
He sat up in his bed, his body covered in sweat and shaking violently. The explosion of the gun's report was still ringing in his ears. He had to run a shaking hand over his head to make sure that it was still intact, that he hadn't really blown the top of his skull off. He flinched violently when the bedroom door was flung open and both Warrick and Greg burst into the room.
"Nick, it's okay," Warrick said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "We're here. You're safe. We got your back."
Still shaking uncontrollably, Nick hugged his arms around his chest and began rocking slightly back and forth. He didn't fight when the other man pulled him close, burying his face in Warrick's shoulder. All the while the taller man repeated his mantra, "You're safe. I got your back, man. I got your back."
He didn't know how long they sat this way, before his mind gradually calmed. As his panic receded, it was quickly replaced with humiliation. He had just made a complete ass of himself in front of two of his closest friends and co-workers. How could he ever live this down? Wasn't it bad enough that they had all seen him panicked and out of his mind during the hostage crisis, did he have to reenact it for them, live and in person?
Close on the heels of his humiliation, came irritation. He hadn't invited them to stay with him. They had simply made themselves at home. Why, so they could amuse themselves watching him fall apart? He was doing that just fine on his own, he didn't need an audience. And although he knew in the rational part of his mind that they hadn't abandoned him that night, they had saved his life, he couldn't seem to let go of the image of them leaving him in the box.
Slowly, he pushed himself away from the other man, who was still holding him. Nick kept his eyes averted, not daring to meet Warrick's gaze.
"You okay now?" his friend asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Nick said tightly, still not meeting the other man's eyes and very much aware of Greg standing awkwardly beside the bed.
"You want to talk about it?" Warrick asked gently.
"No, I'm sorry, I just want to be alone... Please... just leave me alone." As he spoke, Nick reached for the bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand. It was gone.
"I have the pills," Warrick said. "I don't think you should take any more today. I think you've had enough."
Nick gave a soft, bitter laugh and shook his head. He didn't need this. He just wanted to sleep, undisturbed by haunting memories. Was that too much to ask for? He didn't need the drama or the hassle. He just wanted to be left alone.
"Get out," he said softly.
"Nick..."
"I said, get out!" he yelled. "Get out of my room and get the hell out of my goddamn house!" Turning his back on his fellow CSIs, he flopped down on the bed, effectively dismissing them.
When Warrick appeared ready to continue the confrontation, Greg grabbed his arm. "Come on, let's go," he said quietly, gently pulling the older man toward the door.
Once they were back in Nick's living room, Warrick began pacing the perimeter of the small room in agitation. Greg watched this for a minute before saying, "Don't be angry with Nick. He's just scared."
"I'm not angry." Seeing the skeptical look on Greg's face, he admitted, "Okay, I'm angry, but not with Nick. I'm angry with this whole messed up situation. I'm angry at that sonofabitch, Gordon, for causing all this! ... But I'm not angry at Nick. I know he's scared. Hell, I'm scared, too. You didn't see it, Greg. You weren't down there in that hole when we first found him. He had his gun pressed up under his chin. If it had taken us five minutes longer to find him..."
"But it didn't. We found him and he's okay... relatively speaking..."
Warrick smiled bitterly at that comment and sank down wearily on the couch. He was exhausted. How was it that dealing with heavy emotional stuff always seemed to wipe you out physically? Resting his elbows on his knees, he lowered his head into his hands.
"Hey, why don't you go for a walk?" Greg suggested. "You know, clear your head a bit. I'll stay here with our little ray of sunshine."
"Yeah, that's a good idea. I think I'll take you up on that offer. Thanks, man."
As Greg had anticipated, it only took a few minutes, from the time the door had closed behind Warrick, for Nick to emerge from the bedroom. If he was surprised or disappointed to find Greg still there, he gave no indication. He glanced around the living room.
"Did Warrick leave?" he asked.
"Yeah, he went for a walk, but he'll be back in a little bit. He didn't leave for good. You're not getting rid of us that easily. Like he said, you're stuck with us... So, did we pass the test?"
"What?"
"Come on, that's what you were doing back there, wasn't it? Trying to see if you could push us away, testing the limits of our friendship?"
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Nick said, while thinking to himself that perhaps he did. But he wasn't so petty that he would deliberately provoke his friends, just to gage their reaction, was he?
"Look, man, even if that was what you were doing, it's okay. I understand. You've been through some pretty rough shit. You're not sure where you stand anymore. I know. I've been there. You know, my little explosion at the lab?"
"Oh, shit, Greg, that's right. I forgot all about that..."
"Yeah, don't worry about it. You've had a few other things on your mind... Now, I know that what I went through was nothing like what you did, but I have stared Death in the face. Okay, so it was only for a few seconds... not over 24 hours... I do have an idea of what you're going through and any time you want to talk, I'm here."
Nick sank down heavily on the couch, with a sigh. "Aw, man, Greg, I have been acting like such an ass to you and Warrick all day. I'm sorry, dude."
"It's okay. We understand. Like I said, you've been dealing with some major emotional shit. You're allowed to be selfish for a while." Seeing the confused look on the other man's face, Greg asked, "You come from a big family, right?"
"Yeah, I'm the youngest of seven, why?"
"Wow, no, I suppose no one ever has told you that it was okay to be selfish once in a while, have they?"
"...No..."
"Well, I hereby give you permission to be selfish for... the next few months. Think of it as a 'get out of jail, free' card. Nick has permission to be a total dick for... hmm, I don't know how long. After all, we can't have you abusing this power. You must promise to only use this power for good."
Nick laughed and shook his head. It was the first laugh he'd had in... years it seemed. It felt good. But he couldn't help wondering how long this good humor would last. Lately he felt like his emotions were completely out of his control and he knew the darkness was still lurking close by.
"Hey, what do you say I kick your ass at NHL Hockey?" Greg asked.
"Oh, not in my house!"
When Warrick returned to the house, an hour later, he found Greg sitting on the floor, playing video games and Nick sound asleep on the couch. He had definitely missed something during his walk.
"How did you...?" he asked softly, gesturing to Nick.
"I got the mojo..." Greg said smugly, giving a slight shrug.
"Evidently..." Warrick said, his voice tinged with a slight bitterness.
"Don't sweat it, man. He'd calmed down by the time you left. We talked. He apologized."
"Oh, and I missed that?"
"He apologized to you, too. You just weren't here..."
"I don't get it. He bites my head off, but he talks to you. I thought I was his best friend," Warrick said, lowering himself to sit beside the younger man.
"Maybe I'm less threatening."
"Threatening? You saying Nick's afraid of me?"
"No, that's not it. I just meant that, maybe, Nick doesn't think of me as competition. I mean, you don't let on to your weaknesses during a big game, right? No, you keep your game face on."
Warrick gave a reluctant shrug. "Yeah, I guess you got a point. You know, sometimes I really think it would just be easier to be a woman. They're allowed to show their emotions."
"Yeah, but I'm sorry, man, you'd make an ugly chick."
The bigger man raised an eyebrow and fixed his companion with a hard stare. "I'll give you ugly..." he said in a mock threatening tone.
"Hey, you'll wake up Nick!"
"You're lucky, Sanders."
To be continued...

***

Chapter 7
Late the next morning, Nick was awakened by the hollow rumbling from his stomach and the tantalizing smell and sound of frying bacon. Emerging from his bedroom, still pulling a t-shirt on over his head, he found Catherine in his kitchen, making breakfast. It smelled wonderful and he abruptly remembered that, between the stress of the flight and the queasiness from the sleeping pill, he hadn't eaten anything all day yesterday.
"Wow, I didn't know you could cook," he said, as he entered the small kitchen and leaned a hip against the counter, watching the woman work. "That smells great."
"I have a great many talents you know nothing about," the red-head replied with a mysterious smile. "Of course frying bacon and scrambling eggs doesn't require a whole lot of skill, but thank you anyway. By the way, there's coffee made."
"Oooh, will you marry me?" he asked, grabbing a mug and moving toward the coffee maker.
Catherine chuckled. "Sorry, been there, done that. Not going there again."
Glancing around, he noticed a couple of plastic grocery bags still sitting on the counter. "You went grocery shopping," he said.
"Had to, there was no food in your house."
"Thank you. I'll pay you back."
"Eh, don't worry about it. I didn't buy that much. And don't get too comfy. We're leaving as soon as you've eaten and taken a shower."
"We are? Where are we going?"
"To the lab. Sara and Grissom both got stuck pulling doubles and they want to see you. You also need to check in with Ecklie and make an appointment with Janine."
"So, do you have anything else planned for my day?" he asked, a bit sullenly.
"Oh, you are so cute first thing in the morning," she said cheerfully, pinching his cheek just bit harder than was strictly necessary.
He couldn't help, but smile. He always found it so hard to stay miffed at Catherine. She had the uncanny knack for saying just the right thing to make him feel like a spoiled, selfish brat. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that she was a mother. He wondered if this was some ability that women developed during pregnancy.
She allowed him a half hour to enjoy his breakfast before she started pestering him to get in the shower and Catherine Willows was nothing if not persistent. At last, Nick was forced to admit to her that he really didn't think he was ready to face going back in to the lab yet.
"Nick, unless you're going to quit, you have to go back some time," she said gently, laying a hand on his arm. "The sooner you deal with it, the better. It's not going to be any easier tomorrow or the day after. Warrick told me that you spent almost the entire day yesterday sleeping. That needs to stop. You can't hide from the world by sleeping all the time. You need to get out and face it."
"You sound like my sister Allison."
"Well, she sounds like a smart lady. Now, go take a shower, Nick. Or are you going to give me a hard time?" she asked, giving him a hard look, her hands on her hips.
"Uh, no ma'am, I like my boys right where they are," he said quickly, passing a hand surreptitiously over his crotch.
"Good answer."
Nick's feelings of apprehension began to increase dramatically the moment they stepped through the doors of the police station. His heart rate had sped up considerably, a feeling he was becoming aggravatingly familiar with, and he felt slightly light-headed. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to keep moving and simply followed Catherine. He honestly wasn't sure where they were going, because they weren't headed for the wing where the lab was located.
Leading him down an unfamiliar hallway with offices on either side, Catherine stopped at a particular door and knocked. Nick noted a plaque on the door, bearing the name 'Janine Geller' and felt his stomach clench. He really did not want to deal with the psychologist right now. After a moment or two, the door opened to reveal the same round-faced woman who had briefly visited him in the hospital. She smiled warmly at the two investigators.
"Catherine, how nice to see you. And Mr. Stokes, you're looking very well."
"Thank you," he mumbled uncomfortably.
"I hope we're not disturbing a session or anything," Catherine said. "I just wanted to bring Nick by so he could make an appointment."
"Excellent! No, you're not interrupting anything, please come in." The woman opened the door wide and stepped back to allow them entry.
The room they stepped into was small, but homey-looking. The long couch had several pillows scattered across it and a folded quilt laid across the back. Several potted plants crowded along the sill of the office's single window. The desk was cluttered with stacks of folders, an odd assortment of small toys and several super-hero action figures.
Picking up a small replica of Wonder Woman, Nick commented, "Spider-Man was always my favorite super-hero."
"Well, that makes sense. He was a science geek, after all. Personally, I've always been partial to Batman," Janine said, picking up a six-inch representation of Gotham City's Dark Knight and holding it up. "I'm not sure what that says about me... perhaps that I have a thing for billionaires who dress up in black latex..."
"I'm just going to leave that alone," he said with a smile.
"That would probably be best."
Nick smiled again. Maybe this therapy thing wouldn't be so bad after all. This Janine seemed all right. At least she seemed to have a sense of humor and that was always a good thing.
Rifling through the paperwork on her desk, Janine uncovered her appointment book. Flipping through the pages, she found her spot and looked up at Nick, smiling, "I can see you tomorrow afternoon at 3:00."
He felt a flare of panic... tomorrow? Oh, no, that was way too soon... "Uh, I don't-."
"He'll be there," Catherine said firmly, smiling broadly.
Knowing better than to contradict his boss in front of a colleague, Nick kept his mouth shut and flashed a tight smile at the psychologist.
"It's a date," Janine said, making a note in her book.
"Great, well, we'll see you tomorrow," Catherine said quickly, before Nick could change his mind and try to back out of the appointment. "Say good-bye to the nice lady, Nick."
"Bye."
She hustled him out of the office and, once they were back in the hallway, started leading him back the way they had come.
"Where are we going now?" he asked.
"To see Ecklie."
He groaned, "Why do I have to see Ecklie? I know what the man looks like."
"You need to let him know that you're back in town and that you've made an appointment with Janine."
"Couldn't I just call him and tell him all that?"
"Yes, I suppose so," she said with a chuckle, "but you're here, it would be rude not to go and see him in person. It'll be all right, Nick, I promise. Ecklie's actually been fairly human since the incident. I don't know, maybe it shocked him into growing a conscience."
As they walked through the halls of the police station, toward the lab, Nick was aware of the many stares of the officers and detectives they passed. He could hear the faint murmurings of their whispered voices and he could just imagine what they were saying. 'Hey, isn't that the guy that got buried alive and munched on by ants?'
He picked up his pace a little, forcing Catherine to jog a couple of steps to catch up. She must have been aware of the whispering as well, since she didn't comment on the increased pace. Rounding a corner, just a little too quickly, Nick almost ran headlong into the solid frame of Jim Brass.
"Hey, Nicky, you're back!" the older man said, smiling broadly. "When did you get in?"
"Uh, yesterday morning."
"You are staying, right? I mean, you're not here to turn in your resignation, are you?"
"No, why would I do that?"
"Oh, well, Gil got a phone call from the Texas Rangers and we were worried that you were gonna jump ship on us. You know, go work with Chuck Norris."
"Oh, that... Yeah, that was entirely my father's idea."
"Ah, well, father's are allowed to try and look out for the best interests of their children."
"Yeah, whatever..."
"Well, you're looking good. Are you going to see Grissom?"
"Yeah, and Sara."
"Good, they could both use a break."
"Yeah, I'll see ya," Nick said and continued down the hall.
Catherine started to follow after the younger man, but the detective stopped her with a hand on her arm. "How's he doing?" Brass asked quietly. "He seems a little skittish."
She shrugged. "It changes minute by minute. And yeah, he's a little touchy."
"Well, that's to be expected, I suppose."
"Yeah, he's coming in to see Janine tomorrow."
"Oh, that's good. I don't mind admitting that she helped me get through all of this. Anyway, keep me posted and let me know if there's anything I can do to help."
"No problem, thanks, Jim." she said, squeezing his arm.
Realizing that Catherine was no longer with him, Nick stopped and turned around to look for her. Seeing her still speaking quietly with Capt. Brass, Nick gave a sigh. He knew they were talking about him. He didn't need to hear the conversation to understand the quick, concerned glances they were casting his way. He was getting really tired of being on the receiving end of those looks. He turned away from Catherine and continued down the hallway as soon as she rejoined him.
As they approached the doors to the lab, his uneasiness increased. He wasn't sure why. The people in this wing were his co-workers and, in many cases, his friends. Why should he be uncomfortable about seeing them? Because they saw you at your worst, he thought to himself. They saw you break down and fall apart. They'll be looking at you with pity.
He slowed his pace and eventually came to a stop, facing the double doors across the lobby from the reception desk. Catherine gave him a minute, before slipping an arm over his shoulders and squeezing gently.
"It's okay," she said softly. "Everyone just wants to see you, to know that you're all right. It'll be fine."
He flashed her a tense smile and nodded. With a slight push, she propelled him through the doors and into the lobby. The next several minutes were a blur of faces, as people emerged from labs and offices to give him hugs, slaps on the back and mouth inconsequential words of encouragement. And while Nick was grateful for the sentiments behind the actions, several times he had to bite back the urge to tell these people to get the hell away from him. He was starting to feel trapped and claustrophobic.
Perhaps sensing his growing distress, Catherine intervened. "Hey, do you know where Sara and Grissom are?" she asked one of the day-shift technicians, who had come to join the mob.
"Yeah, Sara's in the garage and I'm pretty sure Grissom's in his office," the woman answered.
"Okay, well, we gotta get going," Catherine said, to the group in general and, taking Nick's arm, she began leading him down the hallway toward Grissom's office.
They only got a few feet before they came to a stop again. In order to get to the night shift supervisor's office, they had to walk past Ecklie's. They found the Assistant Director standing in the doorway of his office, his arms crossed over his chest, watching them expectantly.
"I wondered what all the commotion was about," he said evenly. "It's good to see you back, Stokes."
"Uh, thank you... sir."
Ecklie's eyebrows went up slightly at that last word, but he made no comment on it. "Could you two please step into my office for a moment?"
The two investigators followed the older man into the small office and seated themselves in the two chairs that sat across from the desk. Ecklie walked around the desk to take his own seat. He cleared his throat for a moment before speaking.
"You may not remember much of my visit to the hospital, it was fairly soon after the, uh... but I explained to you that you would have to receive counseling before you could return to you duties..."
"Yeah, I remember," Nick said. "I just made an appointment with that Janine woman."
"Oh, good, I'm glad to hear that. She's a good woman. You'll like her."
I'm not sure how you think you would have any idea what I would or wouldn't like, Nick thought sullenly, but kept the comment to himself. Regardless of how supportive this man may or may not have been during the crisis, Nick still couldn't forget that four years ago Ecklie had been ready to have him arrested for a murder he didn't commit.
"Well, there's also some paperwork that you're going to need to sign that pertains to your medical leave, but it can wait until you return to duty..." Ecklie's voice trailed off. He seemed to have something more to say, but apparently couldn't decide how to say it. "Listen, Stokes, I know I haven't always been particularly supportive of the night or swing shifts, or you in particular, but... well, I just wanted to say that I am glad that you're all right."
"Thank you," Nick said warily, wondering what the catch was.
"Well, that's it. That's all I have to say... Just tell Janine to keep me posted on your progress and to let me know when you've been cleared for duty." Without another word, the man returned to his paperwork, dismissing them from his mind as well as his office.
"See, that wasn't so bad," Catherine said smugly, once they were back in the hallway.
"Yeah, you were right. I just have one question. Have we managed to track down the aliens who are controlling Ecklie's brain?"
She chuckled. "Come on, let's go find Grissom."
As they proceeded down the hallway and drew closer to the night shift supervisor's office, Nick's stress level increased even more, as did his already rapid heart rate. It wasn't the idea of dealing with his former boss that was causing this spike in his anxiety level, it was the knowledge of what he would find in the man's office, jars of dead things, insects tacked to boards, framed and displayed like family portraits, the ant farm, and worst of all, that damn, gargantuan, hairy-assed spider.
He stopped abruptly in the hallway, about ten feet from Grissom's office. "I'm sorry, Cath, I can't do this," he whispered.
"Nick, Honey, it's just Grissom... I mean, you faced Ecklie..."
"I know, he's not the problem. I can't go into that office. There's too many... things, with too many legs... I can't go in there."
Her expression softened with her understanding of the situation. "Okay, don't worry about it. Why don't you head on into the garage and see Sara. I'll bring Grissom in to you."
He nodded and ducked his head, embarrassed once again at this display of weakness. Why the hell can't I get my shit together? he asked himself for the hundredth time. "Thanks, Catherine, I'm sorry."
"It's okay, don't worry about it."
She watched him turn and head back the way they'd come, to take a different path to the garage, one that wouldn't take him past the windows of Grissom's office. With a sigh, she continued on her way. She gave a couple of raps on the door with her knuckle as she pushed it open. She wasn't worried about disturbing Gil. She had called him before she and Nick had left his house, so the man should be expecting her. He looked up from his desk as she entered.
"Where's Nick?" Gil asked, seeing that she was alone.
"He's in the garage with Sara. Why don't you come and join us?"
"I'm right in the middle of something. Just bring him by here when you two are done with Sara."
"Uh, he won't come in your office, Gil."
"What do you mean? Why not?"
She glared at him. "Look around you, Gil. Do you honestly think, after everything that Nick's been through, he's going to be comfortable sitting here chatting with you while surrounded by the entire insect world?"
Grissom glanced around the office and gave a slight shrug, conceding the point. "Yeah, I get it." He sighed. "This is going to be a problem, isn't it? I mean, it's not as if we don't encounter bugs in our line of work. If Nick can't even come into my office..."
"Yeah, I know. We'll just have to hope that Janine can get him through it."
"Okay, just give me a minute and I'll meet you in the garage."
Walking into the garage a few minutes later, Catherine found Nick and Sara leaning over the engine of a '98 Pontiac Grand Prix, discussing the cracked radiator.
"Hey, Sara, he's not supposed to be working," the older woman called out in mock indignation. "He's still not cleared for duty yet."
"Oh yeah, right, 'cause looking at a radiator just might be too much for my delicate mental state and push me over the edge," Nick said dryly. Despite the fact that both women knew he was joking, the comment didn't strike either of them as particularly funny and an uncomfortable silence settled around them.
The awkwardness was shattered as Grissom entered the garage, seemingly oblivious to the tension. He smiled warmly at Nick and stepped forward to shake the younger man's hand.
"We're glad to see you back, Nick," he said. "So, what, the Rangers don't pay as well as Vegas P.D.?"
Nick smiled. "No, that was never going to happen. That was my father's work."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that. The lab wouldn't be the same without you."
"Uh, thanks..." Nick mumbled. Did Grissom just give me a compliment?
"So, have you seen Janine yet?"
"Tomorrow afternoon."
"Good, the sooner you get that out of the way, the sooner we can get you back in the lab. We've been very short-handed and we need you back."
"Grissom!" both Sara and Catherine cried out, almost in unison.
"What?"
"Way to make Nick feel guilty for taking some much-needed time off," Sara said. "Just because you have no feelings and work non-stop, doesn't mean Nick should have to. Some of us are actually human."
"Yeah, what she said," Catherine agreed, giving Gil a light smack on the shoulder.
"I wasn't trying to make him feel guilty. I was just stating a fact. We are short-handed..."
"Gil, just... hush," Catherine said, with a sigh. Turning to address the younger man, she said, "Nick, don't pay any attention to Mr. Insensitivity, here. You take as much time as you need."
"It's okay, but thank you anyway, Ladies," Nick said, laughing. He did, in fact, feel guilty about leaving the team understaffed, but he'd been feeling that emotion long before Grissom's comment. He found the fact that both women had come to his defense so quickly quite touching though and it eased his conscience somewhat.
Nick paced around Janine's office, picking up random objects then putting them down again, all the while studiously avoiding eye contact with the psychologist. Janine watched this with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. While she found his fairly obvious attempts at distraction humorous and even somewhat endearing, it wasn't getting them anywhere.
He'd been here for almost a half hour and yet they hadn't discussed anything of any real substance. They had briefly talked about his family and his co-workers, but that was all. Whenever Janine tried to bring up the subject of the abduction, he found a way to change the subject or simply shut down, refusing to speak at all, as he was doing now.
"I know what you're doing, Nick, and it's not going to work," she said at last.
"Excuse me?" he asked, pausing in his circuit of the room to face her.
"This session is only an hour long. You're thinking that if you can put me off for the entire hour, you can put in your mandatory counseling time, without actually having to talk to me. Am I right?"
He said nothing.
"Well, it doesn't work that way," she continued. "There isn't some minimum requirement. I decide how many sessions it takes for you to be ready to return to duty. If I say it's going to take a hundred sessions, then it takes a hundred sessions. And I'll tell you right now, I'm certainly not going to clear you if won't talk to me."
"I have been talking to you. What is it you want to hear?"
"I want to you to talk to me about the abduction."
He groaned. "Why? Why does everyone want me to talk about it? What good is talking going to do? It's not going to change anything! It's not going to magically make my nightmares go away!"
"Nightmares? Tell me about them."
With a resigned sigh, he flopped down on the couch across from the desk, where Janine sat. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I'm in my box-."
"You mean the Plexiglass coffin?" Janine interrupted.
"Yeah."
"Okay, go on, I'm sorry."
"I'm in my box, lying at the bottom of a deep pit. I can see my friends, my co-workers, standing at the top of the pit, looking down at me. There's a priest, but I can't see his face... but I'm pretty sure the priest is Grissom..."
"Why do you say that if you can't see his face?"
"I don't know, maybe just because he's not standing with the others, but I know he's there... I'm aware of his presence... so, he must be the priest."
"All right, go on."
"Anyway, they throw dirt on me and walk away. I keep trying to call to them, but they can't hear me. They're leaving me to die. But then, suddenly Grissom is in the pit with me and he's trying to calm me down. He tells me to lie still... He called me Pancho..."
"Excuse me?"
"It was a memory. He used that name the night they found me. I was panicking and he was trying to calm me down. He called me Pancho."
"Is there some significance to this name?"
"It's just a silly nickname that my father used to call me when I was a kid. I don't even know how Grissom knew about it... I never really thought about it before just now."
Noting the troubled look on the young man's face, Janine said, "Does this bother you, that Grissom used that name?"
"Yeah, it does... I mean, it's one thing for my father to call me that, but Grissom shouldn't..."
"Why? Does it mean something?"
"The name came from an old black and white television show, a western, that I used to love when I was a kid. The Cisco Kid?"
"I'm sorry, I was never a fan of westerns," Janine said, with an apologetic shrug.
"Well, the Cisco Kid was basically just like the Lone Ranger. You know, misunderstood hero? Anyway, he had this goofy sidekick named Pancho. Now Pancho wasn't a particularly bright guy and he was kind of a screw-up. Cisco was forever having to rescue him from one jam or another. Basically, he was comedy relief. He existed on the show solely to make Cisco look good."
"Ah, I get it. Kind of like Batman and Robin, the Boy Hostage?"
"Exactly."
"And you're thinking that because Grissom called you by this name, that he thinks of you as a... 'screw-up'?"
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time," Nick said softly.
"We need to talk."
"Oh?" Grissom asked, looking up from his paperwork to find Janine standing in the doorway of his office. "We didn't have an appointment, did we?"
"No, this isn't about you... well, it sort of is. It's about Nick."
"Come in and sit down."
Closing the door behind her, she seated herself in the chair, Grissom had indicated.
"So, what's this about?" the investigator asked.
"I'm not really getting anywhere with Nick. He's made it very clear that he doesn't trust me and he doesn't want to talk to me. And until he does, I can't help him."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"Well, I can't get into any specifics, doctor-patient confidentiality and all, but one of the things I did manage to glean from our conversation, is that he has a great deal of respect for you. I think you should talk to him."
"Me? I'm not a psychologist," Grissom said with a laugh.
"Oh, I don't know. I think you have a pretty good grasp of the subject. You've certainly observed people enough. I think you'll be fine. I'll help you."
"This is not a good idea, Janine. I'm not a people person. We've discussed this. I'm not sure what would even possess you to make the suggestion."
"I think Nick is feeling a little insecure right now. He's just been through a terrible ordeal and he's unsure of how this affects his place, in the lab, in the world at large. Now, as I said, he respects you tremendously. I think he feels that respect may not be mutual."
Gil sighed. "This again... I thought he and I had put all this behind us."
"Well, that's the thing with this kind of trauma. It tends to open up old wounds. So, this feeling of his actually does have some merit to it?"
"No... I mean, yes... I know where he got the idea from... Four years ago, I told him that I didn't think he was ready to work a case involving a dead body alone. He took it very personally. I didn't intend to imply that he was... incompetent, just that he wasn't ready. Since then, I have allowed him to work such cases alone and he's done fine. I think my words helped to spur him on, to make him a better CSI. I mean, just last year, I recommended him for a key position, and over Sara, no less."
"Oh, was that supposed to make it up to him?" Janine asked dryly.
"What? No! I didn't recommend him to appease his ego. I recommended him because I thought he was the right person for the job. He's made tremendous strides in the past few years and he's better with the human element than Sara is. I thought that was important."
"Did you tell him any of this?"
"Well, no, I thought the recommendation spoke for itself."
"You know, Gil, sometimes people actually do need to hear the words. We're human. We're weak, humor us."
Hearing the sarcasm in her voice, he said, a bit defensively, "See, this is why I shouldn't be the one to talk to Nick. I don't get people."
"Yeah, but is it from a lack of understanding or a lack of trying? That particular excuse has become quite a crutch for you, hasn't it? You know what, Gil, never mind. I know a couple of excellent therapists at Desert Haven Trauma Center, maybe one of them can help him. I'll try to talk Nick into checking himself into the center." She stood abruptly and started for the door.
"Janine, wait..."
She waved a dismissive hand at him as she left the office, her disappointment an almost palpable residue lingering in the air. Gil sighed heavily. He was not accustomed to the feeling of having disappointed someone and he hated it. But most people knew better than to even try and ask him to deal with something potentially emotional. It had disaster written all over it. What was Janine thinking?
To be continued...

***

Chapter 8
"Let me get this straight, you want me to have myself committed?"
"No," Janine said, smiling, "it's not a mental institution, it's a crisis center. You would be voluntarily checking yourself in and you can leave any time. It's more like rehab center than a mental institute."
"A rehab center?" Nick asked, skeptically.
"There's no medication, unless absolutely necessary, no restraints, no isolation. You would not be treated like a mental patient. They use one on one counseling and group therapy."
"Oh great, group therapy. What is this Victim's Anonymous? What do I have to do stand up in front of everyone... 'Hi, I'm Nick Stokes and I'm a vic-tim." He stumbled over this last word as if it had stuck in his throat. It was a testament to how uncomfortable he was with the word that he had trouble using it even in sarcasm.
"No, Nick, it's not like that. It's not all that different from what you and I are doing now, just in a more enclosed setting. And sometimes there would be other people present. But they would all be people who have been through similar experiences. You wouldn't be the center of attention and it would be a neutral environment."
"What do you mean by a 'neutral' environment?"
"Well, you've never been there before, no one knows you. When you meet with me, you come here to the police station, your place of employment. Everyone knows you here and what you went through. I know that's got to be uncomfortable for you. Desert Haven is outside city limits. It's highly unlikely that you would see anyone you know."
He nodded thoughtfully. He had to admit the idea had some appeal. He did like the idea of getting out from under the well-meaning, but intrusively concerned gazes of his fellow CSIs. And it would be nice to not be the sole focus of everyone's anxiety. But this whole group therapy thing... he wasn't so sure about that. He had enough trouble just talking about his experience to Janine, how was he supposed to talk to a whole group of people?
"How long do I have to be there, a couple of days?"
"The standard course of therapy is two weeks, possibly longer, if necessary."
"Two weeks! Oh, no way, I'm not staying at this place for two weeks."
"Well, think of it this way, you wouldn't have to deal with your friends camping out in your living room any more. They would be free to get back to their own lives."
Nick sighed and nodded. "But the lab would be short-handed for two weeks. I can't do that to them."
"The lab is short-handed now and they're surviving. And you have not made anywhere near enough progress for me to clear you for duty, so whether you're here or there, the lab is still short-handed. If I talk to Ecklie, there shouldn't be any problems with getting your medical leave extended. And if you're going there under my referral, your insurance will pay for it."
"Oh, great," Nick said unenthusiastically.
"I really do think this is the best option for you."
"I don't know, Janine..."
Gil walked through the labyrinth of glass-walled offices and labs, munching on an apple and reading through the test results on his latest case. As he approached his own office, he became aware of the sound of voices coming from within. He stopped in the doorway and found Greg Sanders and David Hodges kneeling on the floor of his office amid scattered glass fragments and dirt. Both men were scrabbling about on the floor as though searching for something. They were arguing as they looked around.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" Gil asked.
As both men looked up guiltily, Hodges said quickly, "Oh, hey Boss, this wasn't my fault."
"Well, it wasn't my fault either!" Greg denied hotly.
"Hey, you were the one waving the lab results around like a signal flag!"
"I was just trying to keep you from taking them and trying to pass them off as yours."
"I would nev-!"
"Children, enough!" Grissom interrupted. "I don't care who did what. I just want to know what happened. What broke?"
"Um, your ant colony," Greg answered.
"My black Argentineans?"
"Yeah, I think we managed to corral most of them, but there's still a few that are MIA." He held up a glass jar with several tiny, black ants crawling around inside. Hodges held up another jar, with a similar amount of insects.
Looking at the two jars, Grissom said, "I'd say there's more than a few still missing."
"Oh," Greg said softly, glancing around him. "Sorry."
The entomologist sighed and said, "Hodges, clean up the mess. Greg, go in the break room and see if there's any flat soda in the fridge, preferably not diet. We'll set it out and see if we can lure them back into my office. I'll try and convince the building manager not to set out any poison traps."
The younger man nodded and left the office, headed for the break room. He hadn't gotten far before he encountered Nick and Sara walking towards him.
"Hey, Nick, what're you doing here?" Greg asked.
"Oh, I just got done with my second session with Janine. And seeing that it's almost 5:00, I thought I'd stop in and see if anyone was around. And look, everyone's here."
"Well, Catherine and Warrick aren't in yet. They're working the late shift tonight."
"Yeah, Warrick babysat me last night. I finally convinced him to go home and get some sleep early this afternoon."
"Well, you get me tonight," Sara said with a smug smile, placing a hand on Nick's shoulder.
"Oh, joy," the Texan man said dryly.
"Hey, a little more enthusiasm, please. I mean, you could give a girl a complex that way."
Turning his attention away from Sara back to Greg, Nick noticed that the younger man was staring at him apprehensively. It was almost as if he was afraid that the other man might freak out at any moment. Nick gave an inward sigh. Did Greg really think that his mental state was so fragile that he couldn't handle a little bantering with Sara?
"Greg, what's wrong? Why are you staring at me, man?"
"Uh, just hold still for a second." Reaching out, Greg carefully plucked something from the sleeve of Nick's long-sleeved t-shirt. He quickly dropped it on the floor and stepped on it.
"What was that?" Nick asked.
"Nothing."
Frowning at the younger man's strange actions, but accustomed to Greg's personality quirks, Nick turned back to Sara, who seemed equally mystified. Feeling something tickling him, Nick reached up and ran a hand across the back of his neck, expecting that a shed hair had lodged itself in his collar and was brushing against his neck. Glancing down, he saw a small, black ant scurry across the back of his hand.
With a slight, involuntary gasp, he gave his hand a convulsive shake, trying to dislodge the tiny invader, but as ants so often do, it clung tenaciously. In its instinctive bid for self-preservation, the insect headed for the nearest shelter, the sleeve of Nick's shirt. As it disappeared from his sight, under the cloth, Nick's panic immediately flared. Still feeling the tiny little legs on his skin, he was suddenly transported back to the Plexiglass coffin. In his mind he was once again covered with biting, stinging ants, slowly devouring him alive.
"Get them off me!" he cried out, frantically clawing at the sleeve of his shirt.
Seeing the rapidly growing hysteria in the man's eyes, Sara thought only to calm him. Grabbing onto his flailing arms, she said, "Nick, it's all right! There's only one ant and it's harmless. We'll get it in a second, just calm down."
But in that moment, Nick was not prepared to tolerate any attempt to restrain him in any way. He jerked one arm away from Sara and, in his panic he did so with entirely more force than was required to break her grip. His momentum carried him back against the glass wall of the nearest lab, his elbow shattering the glass with the force of his impact.
The sound of the glass shattering was like a switch being thrown in Greg's mind. Everything around him suddenly became muffled, as though his head was filled with cotton. It was just like the day the DNA lab had blown up, with him inside it, although his memories of that event were fragmentary and fuzzy. Looking down, he saw Nick now sitting on the floor surrounded by broken glass and blood... so much blood. There was a long, deep gash running up the back of Nick's right arm. Sara was kneeling in front of him, trying to hold the wound. She was looking up at Greg, her lips moving. She was speaking to him, but it took a minute for the words to register in his sluggish brain.
"Greg, get to the morgue! Get Doc Robbins! Greg, go!"
Her words snapped him back to reality, back to the present, and he pushed past the people who were beginning to gather in the hallway, drawn by the sound of the breaking glass. Once past the crowd, he broke into a run, headed for the county morgue in the next attached building of the complex.
Bursting into the autopsy room several minutes later, he found both Robbins and David Phillips about to begin their work on a male corpse. Gulping down a few breaths and trying to slow his racing heart rate, the young CSI quickly explained the situation to the two pathologists.
"David, you go. I'll catch up with you two," Robbins said decisively.
"Yes sir." the younger doctor responded, removing his surgical gown and latex gloves.
Arriving back at the lab, they found the crowd in the hallway had grown much larger and included both Grissom and Ecklie. The Assistant Director appeared quite agitated and was asking questions which everyone was apparently ignoring. Gil was kneeling beside Nick, looking calm and in-control as always, holding a blood-soaked towel over the younger man's arm. Nick appeared to be in shock and was sitting completely passive, staring into space. Sara stood nearby, not looking much better. All of her previous decisiveness seemed to have evaporated now that someone else had taken charge. She was pale and stood awkwardly staring at her bloody hands as if she'd never seen them before.
"Let me take a look," David said, as he knelt beside Grissom.
Gil peeled the towel away, allowing the young medical examiner to look at the wound. "Oh, this looks bad," David said softly.
"There's an ambulance on the way."
"Good. Let's get some more clean towels on this. Continue to keep pressure on it."
Someone produced more clean towels from one of the labs and passed them down to Gil. Taking one of the towels, David expertly wrapped it around Nick's arm and pulled it tight. He glanced up as Dr. Robbins elbowed his way through the crowd to join them.
"Apparently there is an ambulance coming," David informed his boss.
"Cancel the ambulance, we'll put him in my vehicle and I'll take him myself," the coroner announced. He looked over at Greg and Sara. "You two, help me get him out to the parking lot. You can come with me."
Both investigators turned to Grissom for approval. "Do as the man says," Gil said quickly.
After getting the injured man back on his feet, Greg slipped a shoulder under Nick's good arm and began leading him out toward the parking lot. Sara walked along on Nick's other side, maintaining the pressure on his arm. They followed Doc Robbins out to his SUV.
After meeting with Ecklie and filling out an accident report, Grissom met with Catherine and Warrick to get them updated on recent events. As he was heading out to his car, Gil promised to call them as soon as he found out about Nick's condition.
Arriving at the ER waiting room at Desert Palm, Gil had an unsettling feeling of deja vu. Didn't we just do this? he asked himself. Walking over to where his two CSIs were seated with the coroner, he asked, "Any news?"
"The doctor said the wound isn't as deep as it had appeared to be, thank goodness," Robbins spoke up. "But it is still pretty bad. They're stitching him right now. There will probably be internal stitches as well as external, so it could be a while yet. He also lost a fair amount of blood, so they'll probably top him off as well."
Grissom couldn't help but smile at the visual analogy, picturing in his mind Nick hooked up to a 'gas' pump, dispensing blood into his arm. Suddenly completely exhausted, Gil sank down on the nearest chair, across from Sara and said, "Exactly what the hell happened?"
Greg and Sara glanced at each other before the younger man answered, "It was the ants, the ones that Hodges and I accidentally liberated. There was one crawling on Nick's arm and he freaked."
"He said, 'Get them off me,'" Sara said softly. "It was like he thought he was covered with them again. He panicked. I thought he was handling things pretty well, but he's not, is he?"
"Apparently not. Who's supposed to stay with him tonight?"
"I am," Sara answered. "But Grissom, I don't think I can handle this right now, not after this. This whole thing has brought up a lot of... stuff. I'm sorry, but I just don't think I'd be of much use to Nick right now."
"I understand, Sara, it's all right," Gil assured her. "I'll stay with Nick tonight."
"Thanks, Gris... God, I'm sorry, guys, I feel so useless."
"It's okay," Greg said, reaching over to take her nearest hand in his. "Don't feel guilty just because you understand your limits. You can't save a drowning person if you can't swim yourself. This whole thing has been pretty rough on all of us. There's nothing wrong with knowing when to step back."
"Greg's right," Gil said. "Nick's not going to thank you for making yourself a basket case on his behalf. Besides, we need someone to hold down the fort at the lab."
"That I can handle," Sara said with a smile. "Thanks, guys."
The four sat for nearly an hour, discussing their latest cases, when they were interrupted by a tall, African-American woman in pink scrubs and a white lab coat. She glanced around for a moment then asked, "Where's Mr. Stokes?"
"Well, he was with you..." Robbins said.
"We released him about 15 minutes ago. I just forgot to give him this prescription for pain killers. I was hoping I could catch him. Did he leave already?"
"He never came in here," Grissom said, frowning.
As the group was exchanging confused glances, a petite Hispanic woman in her late fifties who had been sitting near them, abruptly spoke up, "Are you looking for the skinny-ass honey with the short, dark hair and the tight, blue t-shirt?"
"Yeah, that's Nick!" Sara said, standing and moving closer to the woman.
"Oh, he left ten minutes ago."
"What?" Gil demanded, moving to stand beside Sara.
"Yeah, he walked in, took one look at y'all sitting there talking, turned around and walked back out."
Gil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had a feeling this was going to be a long night. To the woman who had provided the information, he said, "Thank you, very much." Turning back to the others, he said, "Let's go find him."
"Well, he can't have gotten too far, he's on foot," Robbins commented as they were leaving the hospital.
"Don't be too sure of that," Gil said ominously.
Out in the hospital's parking lot, they saw no sign of the Texan and no indication as to which direction he might have gone. "Well, you three may as well go back to the lab. Maybe that's where he headed. That's where his car it, after all," Gil said. "I'm going to drive out to his house. Hopefully, I'll see him along the way. If he's not there, I'll call Brass and see if he can put out a BOLO for Nick. If you learn anything, call me. If I learn anything, I'll call you... Oh, and Sara? Let Catherine and Warrick know what's going on."
"Right."
Grissom saw no sign of Nick as he drove to the other man's house either, nor was he at the house when the entomologist arrived and knocked on the door. Gil drove around the vicinity of the hospital, but did not find the younger man. After an hour of this fruitless search he went home, hoping to find a message on his answering machine.
As he approached his front door, after parking his vehicle, he found something even better than a message. Nick was sitting on his front steps, staring down at his lap. His right arm was in a sling, to lend support to the damaged tricep muscles and to keep the arm immobilized so the wound could heal. Relief flooded Gil's mind at seeing the other man safe, but that relief was short-lived. As he moved closer, he saw what was holding Nick's attention. Grasped awkwardly in his left hand and cradled in his lap, he held a 9mm pistol. Gil felt his heart skip a beat and he slowed his steps.
"Nick?" he called out softly, not wishing to startle the other man.
The dark head lifted and narrow, dark eyes slowly focused on the man before him. "Grissom..."
"Nick, what are you doing here? Why did you leave the hospital?"
"I don't know. I wanted to be alone for a while, to think... I thought I could handle it by myself. I always have before. You know, when I was a kid, after Nigel Crane... but it's not working this time. I can't make it stop. I can't bury it this time..."
The Texan was speaking softly, his accent suddenly heavier than usual, and he didn't seem to be talking to Gil, but more to himself. "I'm so tired. I just want to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I'm back in that damn box. I just want it to stop. I just want to sleep..." As he spoke, he made a slight, unconscious gesture with the gun.
"I understand, Nick," Gil said, speaking softly, in that gentle tone one uses to try and calm frightened children or to coax wild animals. "I understand completely. Why don't you give me the gun and we can talk about it."
"There's nothing to talk about. I'm messing up everybody's lives, my family's, yours, everyone at work... I have to stop it."
Gil began slowly inching closer, a little bit at a time, doing his best not to seem threatening in any way. "We will stop it, I promise. We will, but you have to give me the gun, please, Nick."
With a confused expression, the younger man looked down at his lap. He seemed to be seeing the gun for the first time. Looking back up at his former boss, he whispered, "Okay." He handed the weapon over to the older man.
Taking the gun and checking that the safety was on, which it was, Grissom released a long sigh of relief. Suddenly feeling very old, he slowly moved to sit heavily on the step beside the other man.
"Gris, I wasn't gonna, you know..." Nick's voice trailed off as he gestured vaguely to the gun.
"No, of course not, I just didn't want you to have an accident," Grissom said, not entirely sure if he believed what either of them was saying.
"I'm sorry, Gris. I messed up again, didn't I?"
"No, you didn't mess up. We just need to find you someone who can help you, someone who can help you make it stop. Why won't you talk to Janine?"
"I don't know. It's hard. I don't like talking about it. It makes me remember and I don't want to remember. I want to forget!"
"But you need to remember it, so that you can get rid of it, purge it out of your system once and for all. Those memories are like a poison inside of you. And you know how poisons have to be treated. They have to be flushed out of the body."
"Yeah, but what happens after the poison is gone? What if there's nothing left?"
"Nothing left? Nick, there's more to you than just your experiences."
"I'm not so sure about that anymore. Lately I feel like my entire life has been nothing but a series of unhappy events. I know there've been some happy ones too, but right now, they seem rather weak in comparison."
"Yes, you have had more than your share of trauma, haven't you?" Grissom said, with a sad smile. "But it brings to my mind the words of Frederick Nietzsche, the German philosopher. 'That, which does not kill us, only makes us stronger.'"
"Oh, well, I must be pretty damn strong then," Nick said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
"Yes, you are."
The younger man turned to look at his boss, not sure if he had heard him correctly. Seeing Grissom's serious expression, Nick asked, "How can you say that? You've seen me reduced to tears because some woman pulled a gun on me."
"Yes, a desperate and mentally unstable woman, who had already killed once, and who was about to pull the trigger... I have seen many investigators pack it in and quit after experiencing much less. But you came through it all right, you always do. After everything you've been through, you always got yourself through it and you never lost your smile or your compassion. You are strong, Nick, probably one of the strongest people I know."
"But I don't think I can do it this time."
"And that's okay. It doesn't make you weak. I know I haven't exactly been the best example for this, but it's okay to ask for help. No one will think any less of you for it. We all know how strong you are. You don't need to prove it to any of us."
The other man was silent for a long time, simply staring down at his lap. When he finally did speak, it was in a small, quiet voice, but Grissom heard the three words loud and clear. "I need help."
The older man released the breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding. "Let's go call Janine."
It was after midnight when Grissom's black Tahoe pulled up in front of Desert Haven Trauma Center. The two men seated inside the vehicle could see into the well-lit, glass-enclosed lobby of the modern, brick building and saw Janine Geller already waiting. The psychologist had pulled a few strings to get Nick admitted to the center on such short notice and in the middle of the night, so neither man was going to begrudge her insistence on being present when Nick was admitted.
When the younger man made no move to exit the vehicle, Gil asked gently, "What is it?"
"Once I get in there and I'm all signed in, how do I know they're not just going to decide to keep me there indefinitely?"
Grissom smiled. "They won't, Nick. And if they do, just give me a call. I'll get the rest of the team and we'll come down and bust you out."
Nick chuckled at that bold statement. "Thanks... I'm scared," he whispered, deliberately looking out the car's window, away from the other man.
"I know. I'm scared for you... Do you want me to come in with you?"
"No," the Texan said self-consciously. "Janine's in there. I don't need too many people fussing over me... but thanks for the offer." He turned to face the entomologist. "Gris, I... thank you. I think you might have saved my life."
"No, Nick, you saved your own life. I... just gave you a ride."
"Well, thanks for the ride."
"Anytime. Call me when you're ready to come home."
"Okay."
Clearing his throat noisily and ducking his head, Nick fumbled with the door handle, trying to open it with his left hand. Finally getting it open, he climbed out of the vehicle and turned back to get his bag, which was tucked under the passenger seat. Giving the older man a nervous smile, he closed the door and headed toward the building.
Grissom watched the other man's retreating back all the way into the building. He watched as Janine approached the Texan. Even from a distance, Gil could see the look of consternation that crossed her face as she gestured to Nick's arm in its sling. Grissom continued to watch as a receptionist appeared with paperwork for Nick fill out. Janine assisted him with this, but the younger man still had to sign the papers painfully with his right hand. A short, stout woman with short, gray hair, wearing a white lab coat stepped forward. Janine apparently performed introductions and awkward handshakes were exchanged. And then Nick was led away by the unknown woman, disappearing from Gil's line of sight.
He continued to sit and watch as Janine left the building and walked toward his SUV. Recognizing the vehicle, she walked around to the driver's side, where he had already rolled down the window. She stepped up to him, a sort of smug smile playing about her lips.
"You did good, Gil, very well done."
"Thank you," he said, somewhat surprised to find that he was genuinely pleased by her praise.
"See? Give yourself half a chance and you do alright with people. Maybe you don't 'get' the general populace, but you do know your own people and that's a start. We'll work on the rest. Which reminds me, I'll see you tomorrow for our next session?"
"Yes, ma'am... Uh, Janine, may I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you continuing to see Sara Sidle?"
The psychologist didn't answer for a moment. When she did, she said, "Well, I suppose, as her supervisor, it is your business... Yes, I am."
"Good," he said simply. "Good night, Janine."
"Good night, Gil."
Grissom heaved a sigh of relief. He found that he was truly looking forward to going to bed. He hadn't been sleeping well for the past few weeks, but perhaps tonight he would finally be able to get a good night's sleep, content in the knowledge that his CSI was safe and in capable hands.
To be continued...

***

Chapter 9 Epilogue
or The Cisco Kid Rides Again
The sound of his pager going off, startled Gil Grissom out of the reverie he had fallen into, contemplating the inexplicable granules of kitty litter, found on the body of the female D.B. he was currently investigating. The woman was found strangled to death in her completely cat-free home, so where did the granules of clay come from? And what did they mean?
Glancing down at the small device, he saw that it was a text message from Jim Brass. Two 419s had been called in from a local convenience store, could Grissom send over a couple of CSIs? Gil sighed, it had been a fairly busy night. Sara and Warrick were out in the desert with Det. Vega investigating a body dump. Greg and Catherine were at the Bellagio checking out a possible suicide, with suspicious circs. There really wasn't anyone left in the building to send.
Frowning in thought, he swiveled his chair around to glance into the lab across the hall from his, where Nick was analyzing some foreign hairs also found on Kitty-Litter-Woman's body. It had been almost a month since the Texan had been cleared to return to the lab. Janine had cleared him to return to the field a week ago, but Grissom had discovered that, while Nick might have been ready to go back into the field, Gil was not yet ready to let him. So, he had continued to keep the younger man in the lab. To his surprise, Nick had not complained.
Watching the man work, Gil had to admit that Nick had returned from his stay at the crisis center a much calmer and more centered man. The trademark Nick Stokes Smile was back, although it was a slightly dimmer version than the previous one and it didn't appear quite as readily as it had before. But Gil supposed it was only natural that the trauma the other man had experienced would leave some permanent changes.
Perhaps it had been a by-product of his natural boyish charm, but there had always seemed to be a certain... naÃ¯vetÃ© about the younger man, that was now gone. In the past that naÃ¯vetÃ© had worried Grissom, leading him to believe that Nick might not have been emotionally ready to handle the stresses of the job. Now he found himself greatly mourning its loss.
Reaching his decision, he took a deep breath and stood up from the lighted evidence table to walk across the hall to the other lab. He made a point of making as much noise as he could manage as he entered so as not to startle the other man. Nick was still occasionally exhibiting the exaggerated startle response so common among those who have undergone a recent trauma. He looked up from the microscope as Gil entered.
"Hey, Boss, what's up?" Nick asked.
"I just got a page from Brass. He's got a couple of D.B.s at a local convenience store. He wants someone to check it out. Care to join me?"
Gil saw the dark eyes light up, although he thought he also detected a brief flash of fear. "Yeah, I'm up for it."
"Okay, grab your kit and meet me out front. We'll take my vehicle."
A half hour later found them pulling into the parking lot of the Kwik-E-Mart. The faint rosy light of dawn was just beginning to paint the eastern horizon as Gil turned the SUV's engine off. He turned to his companion, saying, "Are you ready for this?"
"Yeah, I'm good," Nick answered, his voice only slightly tighter than normal.
"Okay, let's do this."
Entering the store, they found Capt. Brass speaking to a painfully young-looking uniformed officer, who looked like he might faint at any moment. The detective looked up from his notebook as the two investigators stepped inside.
"Hey, Nicky, so they finally let you off the leash, huh?" he called out.
"Yeah," the other man responded with a good-natured scowl. "So, what've we got?" he asked, while pulling latex gloves over his hands.
"Apparently, a robbery gone bad. Officer Belton, here, was the first one on the scene. I'm getting his statement right now. He said he didn't touch either body, other than to determine that neither had a pulse."
"Has anyone from the Coroner's Office been here yet?" Gil asked.
"Not yet. Anyway, this is Jimmy Tran," Brass continued, gesturing to the body lying at the end of the check out counter. He was an Asian man, probably in his mid-twenties. He had been shot in the chest at fairly close range. A sawed-off shotgun lay on the floor beside him. "He was the overnight clerk. His father owns the store. He's on his way done here."
As the captain spoke, both Nick and Grissom wandered carefully around the front of the store, examining at the tile floor. Abruptly Nick crouched down and picked something up from the floor. "I got a shell casing," he announced. "From a 9mm."
Reaching into one of the many pockets of his black, nylon field vest, he removed a small paper envelope and dropped the casing inside. Producing a pen, he quickly jotted down the pertinent information about the casing and tucked the envelope and pen back into his pocket.
"You said there were two bodies, where's the other one?" Gil asked.
"That would be our unidentified perp. He's at the back of the store, near the back office," Brass said, gesturing toward the rear of the small store. "I'm guessing he thought it was a rear exit, but it isn't. This place apparently only has one entrance or exit and that's the front door."
"I'll go check it out," Nick said and started down the nearest aisle toward the back.
Grissom nodded absently and returned to the body of the clerk. He carefully photographed it and briefly looked it over for any obvious evidence, careful not to touch it until the medical examiner could do his thing and officially pronounce time of death. Turning his attention to the shotgun, Gil snapped a few photographs then picked it up. Snapping the breach open, he checked to see if it had been fired. It hadn't. It was still fully loaded. An uncomfortable thought crept into his mind.
"You did clear the store, didn't you?" he asked Brass, who was crouched down on the other side of the body.
The detective turned to the young uniform. "You cleared the scene when you first arrived, didn't you?" he asked.
The question seemed to bring the young officer out of a daze. "Huh? What?"
Grissom felt his heart plummet into the region of his stomach. "Nick!" he yelled.
Nick found the other body, lying face down, his head pointed toward the front of the store. He had been shot in the back. Taking up his own camera, Nick photographed the body. Zooming in to get a close-up of the perp's face, he saw that the man was even younger than the clerk, probably barely out of his teens. Damn, he thought sadly, two people dead and both of them hardly more than children.
Lowering the camera and gazing at the body thoughtfully, it occurred to the investigator that it was odd that the man was facing the front of the store, but had been shot in the back. Crouching down beside the body and setting the camera aside, he leaned in for a closer look. He didn't need to be a medical examiner to recognize that the man's wound was not made by a shotgun. So, if the clerk didn't shoot the perp, as he had originally assumed, then who did?
He got his answer seconds later as an arm suddenly wrapped around his upper chest and he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel shoved roughly up under the right side of his jaw. A low, slightly shaking voice spoke harshly in his left ear, "Get up slowly and don't do anything stupid."
Keeping his hands out at his sides, Nick did as he was told and rose slowly to his feet. The arm around his chest was removed and he felt a hand clawing at his right hip, removing his weapon from its holster. Seconds later, he heard Grissom call out his name.
"How many cops are up front?" the man with the gun asked.
"Two cops, one criminalist."
"Crimi-what?"
"Crime scene investigator, like me."
"Whatever. Is he armed?"
"Yes," Nick answered, although he honestly wasn't sure if Grissom had his gun or not. The man frequently didn't carry one.
"Okay, there's only one way out of this dump," the man said. "So, we're going out the front door, nice and easy. You do exactly as I tell you and I won't hurt you. Move."
The two men moved slowly toward the front of the store. Halfway down the aisle, they met Grissom walking toward them. Seeing the gun against Nick's jaw, the lead CSI held his hands out, to show they were empty and slowly backed down the aisle. Reading Grissom's body language, Brass drew his own weapon, but kept it lowered.
Stepping into the open space at the front of the store, still holding Nick in front of him like a shield, the gunman said, "Hey, watch it, Cop! I swear I'll kill him!" To emphasize his point, the man dug the gun a little deeper into the CSIs jaw.
"Take it easy. No one wants to get hurt here," Brass said soothingly. "But you don't honestly think I'm going to just let you waltz out of here with one of my guys, do you?"
"Yeah, I do, Old Man. 'Cause if you don't back off right now, I'm going to splatter this guy's brains all over this store!"
"Oh, well now, that was just mean," Brass said calmly, referring to the 'Old Man' comment.
Nick stood silently while the detective exchanged threats with the gunman, but he wasn't really listening any more. Strangely, he wasn't frightened, not even a little. He was pissed, really, really pissed. He was beginning to wonder if there was some large, neon sign over his head, which read 'Victim- please, take me hostage!'
After his two weeks at the crisis center, he was beginning to feel like his life was his own again. The nightmares hadn't completely stopped yet, but at least they were manageable now and didn't completely disrupt his life anymore. He no longer jumped at every shadow and could even go into Grissom's office with only mild discomfort. His life was, for the most part, back under his control. And now this...
He was beginning to feel that he was doomed to spend the rest of his life as the hapless Poncho, dimwit, screw-up,... hostage. But he was getting very tired of playing that part. Damn it, for once he wanted to be Cisco!
His rebellious thoughts must have shown on his face, as Grissom abruptly said, "Nick, let us handle this. Don't do anything rash."
"Yeah, Nick, don't do anything rash," the gunman repeated mockingly, again digging the gun in a little deeper for emphasis. He seemed satisfied that he'd made his point when Nick gave a slight grunt of pain.
Looking out the windows at the front of the store, the man saw the black Tahoe parked out front, blocking in his own get-away car. "Whose car is that?" he demanded.
"Mine," Gil answered.
"Good, give me the keys."
"Sure," the investigator said amiably, immediately fishing the keys out of his pocket and holding them out. "Of course, I do know my own license plate number and it'll take us no time at all to have every cop in the city on your tail. Are you really sure you want to do this?"
The gunman made a sound which was rather like a cross between a sigh and growl. Unfortunately he didn't have much of a choice. He would certainly stand out if he tried to take the police car. So, his only option was the Tahoe. Besides, he told himself, he still had his hostage. He snatched the keys from Grissom and gave Nick a slight shove, propelling him towards the parking lot. Despite his bold words to the contrary there was really nothing Brass could do to stop it and he stepped aside to allow the gunman and his hostage to pass. He followed them out into the parking lot, his gun still at the ready.
Moving to the driver's side of the Tahoe, the gunman made his first mistakes. The wise thing would have been to go to the passenger side and for him to force Nick to unlock the vehicle, but being young and overanxious, the man tried to do it himself. As he fumbled with the keys one-handed, he let his attention fall away from his hostage. Sensing this, Nick immediately took advantage of that lapse.
He threw all of his body weight against the man, pinning him against the Tahoe. At the same time he grabbed the man's wrist with his right hand and wrenched the gun away from his head. The two men struggled for a moment, before the perp simply released the gun, shoved Nick violently away from him and took off running. Before Brass could assimilate what had just happened and raise his own weapon, the CSI was tearing off after the would-be burglar, effectively spoiling any shot the detective might have had.
"Nick, let him go!" Grissom yelled, jogging up to join Brass.
"Ah, damn it, I am too old for this," Brass groaned. The two younger men had already disappeared down a side street, barely visible in the still faint early morning light. Without a word, Grissom started running toward the direction, in which the other two men had disappeared, with Brass directly behind him.
In the alley across from the convenience store, Nick was rapidly gaining on the perp. The man may have been younger than him, but the investigator was obviously in better shape, even despite his two-week hiatus from running. As he drew within arm's reach of the man, he put his skills as a high school running back into use and launched himself at the other man, wrapping his arms around the man's waist and dragging him to the ground.
The perp immediately rolled onto his back and threw a punch, which caught Nick squarely on the jaw. Of course, a blow of that nature generally hurts the person who threw it as much as it does the person who caught it. Only slightly stunned, Nick took advantage of the man's pain to deliver a blow of his own. When the man failed to retaliate, Nick delivered another one for good measure. And feeling his adrenaline surging in his veins, he was about throw a third punch, when a pair of strong arms grabbed him and dragged him off the other man.
"That's enough, Nick!" Brass yelled, pinning the younger man to the street. The CSI allowed his body to go limp, indicating his surrender to the detective.
Both men were panting heavily as Brass climbed slowly to his feet and held a hand out to help the younger man up. As he reached out to accept that hand, Nick saw that the knuckles of his right hand were raw and bloody. Grissom stood nearby, his gun trained on the suspect. After Nick's abduction, he had begun carrying a weapon regularly once again.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Brass demanded of the younger man. "You were unarmed! Did you forget that he still had your weapon?" To underscore his point, the detective bent down and retrieved the gun in question from the waistband of the suspect's pants. He held it out to Nick.
"Oh, yeah, I guess I did," the Texan said softly, eyes slightly wide.
"Unbelievable," Brass groaned, with a shake of his head. "It's a wonder my hair isn't pure white."
Back at the lab, Nick sat in Ecklie's office, a bag of ice resting on his swollen, bandaged hand, and listened while the Assistant Director ranted and lectured about improper conduct in the field and potential lawsuits. Ecklie informed him that he was suspended for the next three days and sent him to report to Grissom for any further disciplinary action the supervisor wished to impose.
Walking into Gil's office, Nick was too angry and in pain to be bothered by all the insects surrounding him. He found his boss sitting behind his desk, looking concerned. Catherine was perched on the edge of the desk, arms folded over her chest, giving him that same 'I'm so disappointed in you' look his mother had always given him when he'd messed up as a kid. Nick felt his stomach tighten as he slid into the chair in front of the desk.
For a few months after the incident with the babysitter, he'd gotten in a lot of fights at school. This felt just like all those times he'd been called into his father's study to 'discuss' one of his latest fights. He felt the same conflicting sense of injustice and shame. He tried very hard not to fidget under the steady gazes of his older colleagues.
Abruptly breaking into a smile, Catherine slid off the desk and moved closer to inspect his chin. "Ooh, that's going to be pretty tomorrow," she said with a pained smile, looking at the bruise already forming on the left side of his jaw. He had a smaller, matching bruise on the right side, from the barrel of the gun, as well. "So, what did Ecklie say?"
"I'm suspended for the next three days."
She nodded. "You're lucky. You could've been fired."
"I know," he said softly, his anger abruptly melting away. "So, Ecklie said you had some further punishment for me..."
Catherine returned to the desk and looked down at Gil, who said, "I don't know that I'd call it punishment... I want you to resume your counseling with Janine. In fact, she's waiting to talk to you as soon as we're done here."
Nick wasn't surprised. He had already anticipated that stipulation. "Okay, what else?"
"That's it. Go talk to Janine then go home, Nick, relax for a while. We'll see you in three days. I'll deal with Ecklie."
"Thanks, Gris."
Arriving back at his house, Nick flopped down on his couch, beer in hand; ready to spend the day with a persistent buzz, watching television. As daytime TV sucked, he flipped the station to ESPN, hoping to catch Sportscenter, or with luck, maybe even a women's tennis match. He certainly wouldn't object to killing a few hours watching Anna Kournakova running around in her tight, little short shorts.
He had only made it through half his beer, when his afternoon plans were interrupted by the doorbell buzzing. With a groan, he stood and went to the door. Gazing through the peephole, he saw Warrick Brown standing on his doorstep. Opening the door, he fixed the other man with a hard stare. He was really not in the mood for another lecture or even a friendly chat, for that matter.
Unfazed by the glare, Warrick asked, "Aren't you going to invite me in and offer me one of those?" He gestured to the bottle in Nick's hand.
With a sigh, Nick stood aside and waved the other man into the house. He noticed that Warrick appeared not to have come straight from work. He was wearing a pair of black track pants and a snug, gray t-shirt. While the new arrival made himself comfortable on the couch, Nick went to the kitchen to get another beer.
"Oh, yeah, it's even good beer," Warrick said appreciatively as the Texan handed him the ice cold Heineken. "Much better than that Bud Light swill that Sanders drinks."
"Sanders drinks Bud Light? Man, that's chick beer," Nick said with a grimace and a slight shudder. "It's like drinking water. That ain't right."
"Tell me about it... So, I heard about your Mike Tyson impersonation. Want to talk about it?"
"No, I've already been talked at by Brass, Ecklie and Janine. I am all talked out."
"Yeah, what did Janine say?"
"That I need to find a 'better outlet for my anger issues'."
"Sounds like a plan to me. In fact, let's do something about that. Go, put some comfy clothes on and let's get out of here."
"Why, where are we going?"
"Just get dressed and you'll see."
Nick had never particularly liked surprises. He was even less fond of them now and he found all this deliberate mystery irritating. But his curiosity was piqued, so he drained the last of his beer and headed for the bedroom to change into a pair of navy blue sweat pants and a white t-shirt. Returning to the living room, he sat down on the couch and pulled on his cross-trainers, while Warrick finished his beer.
"You ready?" The tall African-American asked.
"So, where are we going again, Warrick?"
The other man just smiled as he stood and headed for the door. "Nice try," he said. "I'll drive."
"Right."
Forty-five minutes later they pulled into the parking lot of The Fun Zone Family Entertainment Center. It was a large, garishly painted, cinder-block box of a building, with a miniature golf course on one side and a go-cart track on the other.
"Gee, Dad, what are we going to do here?" Nick asked, in a slightly disgusted tone. "Play video games all afternoon?"
Ignoring the other man's tone, Warrick asked, "Haven't you ever been here before? There are batting cages back behind the building."
"Batting cages?"
"Yeah, I thought smacking some balls out of the park might lighten up that attitude of yours."
Nick had to admit the idea of whacking something very hard with a baseball bat did sound rather appealing. He gave a slight shrug. "Okay, lead on."
"Greg was supposed to get here and reserve a cage for us," Warrick said, rummaging around in the back of his vehicle and producing a couple of beat up, aluminum bats.
"You invited Bud Light Boy?" Nick asked.
"Yeah, he wanted to come along. I figured maybe we could teach him a few things and then he wouldn't embarrass us again at the next intra-lab softball game."
"Good point."
They found Greg waiting for them at the assigned cage. The former lab tech was dressed in a pair of faded, well-worn jeans and t-shirt which read 'I think, therefore I'm dangerous.' After exchanging greetings with the younger man, Warrick handed one of the thick plastic batting helmets they were required to wear to Nick. He held both bats out so the Texan could choose his weapon. Hefting them both experimentally, he selected one, opened the chain link door and stepped into the batting cage.
Stepping up the 'plate', he signaled to the operator in the booth nearby that he was ready to have the pitching machine turned on. He struck out on his first two pitches, much to the howling delight of his audience.
"Strike two!" Warrick yelled. "Oh, one more, Bro, and I'm gonna have to sit you down!"
"So, is this how you played at A&M?" Greg asked. "No wonder you never made it to the pros."
"Shut up, Sanders!" Nick snapped. "I'll take that crap from Warrick, but not you! I mean, let's see you do better."
"Oh, no, no, I'm just here to provide moral support."
"Then do it!"
"Hey, when you give me something to support, I will."
Nick finally found his sweet spot on the third pitch, knocking it all the way back to the far fence.
"Woohoo!" Warrick whooped. "Now, that is a home run in any park!"
"And the crowd goes wild!" Greg cheered.
After connecting with all of his next several pitches, Nick's arms started to get tired. It had been years since he'd been in a batting cage and he had forgotten how grueling this kind of sustained hitting could be. Pleading exhaustion, he traded places with Warrick. He sat back on the narrow, wooden bench and enjoyed watching the other man slam balls back to the fence with apparent ease. Warrick had obviously been a power hitter back in his playing days. Nick's preferred position had always been short stop, so his was more of a mental game.
But after 15 minutes or so, even the bigger man's energy began to flag in the afternoon heat and he yelled for Greg to step into the cage. The younger man balked at first, obviously nervous about making a fool of himself in front of his older and more athletically-minded friends, but Warrick promised to help him with his technique and Greg finally agreed to try.
Nick sat and watched his friends, laughing at Greg's rather feeble attempts to hit the ball, occasionally throwing out words of advice of his own. For the moment, all of his troubles and traumas were forgotten, fading away in the bright, Nevada sunshine and the presence of good friends.
Yes, he could do this. He could, not only survive his ordeal, but could actually move past it and leave it behind him. And he knew he had caring friends and family who would help him along the way. As he had learned at the crisis center, his experiences would always be with him, and while they did help to shape his character, they did not define who he was. He was still the person he chose to be, not something someone else had made him. And Nick Stokes chose to be a survivor.
THE END
Author's note: Okay, everybody say 'Awww'. Wow, that got a little sappy at the end there, didn't it? Sorry, about that. I guess that's what I get for listening to sad music while writing ('The Village' Soundtrack. Yeah, I know, lame movie, but great music). But I was trying to show how Nick got from being totally traumatized, to that scene at the very end, where he was telling Kelly Gordon that she didn't have to take her experiences with her. When I saw that, I thought, wow, that was quite a mental leap. So, I just wanted to fill in that gap and show how Nick got to that point.

***

Main CSI page
The new stories
Gil/Greg stories
Gil/Nick stories
Gil/Warrick stories
Nick/Greg stories
Nick/Warrick stories
Greg/Warrick stories
Nick/Bobby stories
Jim Brass stories
David Hodges stories
f/f stories
CSI: New York stories
CSI: Miami stories
Other pairings & threesomes
Gen CSI stories
C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation: The Complete Ninth Season
Chance's Archive on Reddit
My Midnight Moon on Reddit