Title: Comfortably Numb
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Rating: PG-13 for language
Warning: None
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them
Summary: Nick tries to deal.

He's losing it. That's all there is to it. He is losing it.

He wants people to treat him like normal. He wants people not to expect him to be normal. He wants to be with people. He wants people to leave him alone. He's happy that nobody treats him like he's a fragile victim. He's mad that they make demands of him and don't understand he's not quite up to speed yet. He's up. He's down. He's a basket case.

----------

"Nick, why don't you call home? Mom and Dad are worried about you."

He grits his teeth and tries to remember if there was ever a time his oldest sister didn't think she could order him around or lay guilt trips on him.

"I'm pretty busy right now. And phones work both ways; if they're so worried, why don't they call me?"

"They don't want to disturb you. And they've had a tough time over this too. They're not young any more, you know."

"OK, I'll call them tomorrow. Gotta go. Talk to you later, sis," he says shortly and hangs up on her protesting voice. He starts to fling the phone at the wall, but at the last moment stops himself and lobs it gently onto the couch. Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck. He stalks out of the house and climbs into his truck. He's already shifted into drive when he realizes he has no place to go. He shifts back into park and just sits, trying to control his breathing, his rage.

Weekends are the worst. At work he can forget himself. He can joke with Warrick, tease Greg and Hodges, lose himself in the cases. But during weekends, there's nothing to distract him. Fuck Walter Gordon, for doing this to him. And fuck himself, for being a victim once again.

He shifts into drive once more and slowly drives away. He needs a drink.

----------

Somewhere around the 3rd scotch and beer chaser he decides getting shit-faced is a great idea. So he orders a 4th scotch.

"Are you driving, hon?" the barwoman asks him. She looks like she might have been pretty once, maybe 10 years ago. Now she's trying too hard, bony instead of slender, the black eyeliner making her eyes smaller, her lipstick too bright on thin lips.

He pulls out his key and holds it towards her. "Just keep ‘em coming," he says. She takes the key from him and then pours him another scotch and refills his beer.

"That bad, huh?"

He nods.

----------

"Hey, hon? Can I call someone?"

It takes him a while to realize she's talking to him and a little longer to form a response: "What for?"

"To come and get you?"

"Nah, I'm fine here. I'll have another beer." He has this weird feeling, like he's in his body and out of it at the same time. "I have become comfortably numb," he sings to himself. Gil likes Pink Floyd, he thinks suddenly, and the numbness gives way to a sharp stab of pain.

She shakes her head at him, but she brings him another beer.

----------

"Hey. Hey!" His shoulder is being roughly shaken and he protests weakly, trying to jerk away from the strong grasp. He looks up blearily, but it's hard to make out much more than a vast expanse of white T-shirt, stretched over a large round stomach.

"What?"

"Time to get yourself home. We're closing."

He slides out of the booth and walks towards the door. He pushes it, but it doesn't budge. He struggles with it for a while until Big Belly walks over, shoves him to the side and pulls the door inward.

"That's a fire hazard," he says. "Doors should open outward in public places."

"Yeah, you be sure and report us tomorrow," Big Belly responds, then ushers him roughly outside.

He digs into his pocket for his key and has a slight panic attack when he realizes it's not there. Then he remembers having given it to the barwoman. Well, shit. He turns around and bangs on the door.

Big Belly opens the door again.

"You have my car key."

"Hey, Jen. You got this guy's key?"

Jen comes out from behind the bar. "Bob, we are not giving him his key," she scolds. "Hon? Come on, who can we call? Help us out here."

He's a helpful guy, everybody says that about him. So he tries to think. Warrick? No, he's with what's-her-name. Cath? No, he might as well call his mother. He giggles at the thought of the look on his mother's face, if she saw him right now.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, we're going to be here all night," Big Belly groans.

Sara? Yeah, that should be alright. He pulls his cell phone out and tries to scroll through the name list, but he's finding it hard to focus and bile rushes to his mouth.

"Uh, I've got to sit down," he says and does so, on the floor, the room spinning crazily around him. Jen squats next to him and takes the phone.

"Who do you want to call?" she asks.

"Sara," he mumbles, then concentrates on not throwing up.

----------

"Nick. Come on, get up."

He opens his eyes reluctantly. "Hey, Gil, what's up?"

Gil is bending over him. "Not much. What's up with you?"

He shrugs. "Not much. Waiting for Sara."

"Sara's at work. She called me," Gil says.

"She shouldn't have done that," he grumbles. He doesn't want Gil seeing him like this. He struggles off the floor and feels Gil's hands under his arms, pulling him up. "It's OK," he says, but he leans on Gil nevertheless, allows Gil to guide him out of the bar.

"Do you remember the words to the song?" he asks Gil.

"Which song?"

"I have become comfortably numb" he sings again. "What comes after?"

"Nothing. Those are the last words of each verse. Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Become comfortably numb."

"Yes. No. I don't know." The need to throw up returns urgently and he bends over, retching. It's oddly effortless, like it's someone else puking their guts out. "Shit. Sorry," he says when it's over.

"No problem." Gil puts an arm around him, holding him up. "OK to keep on walking?"

"Sure, it's fine," he says, but he turns towards Gil, burrowing into his warmth, nuzzling into his neck. He breathes in Gil's smell.

"Hey," Gil says softly. "Nicky."

He feels Gil's fingertips trace the tip of his ear, stroke his hair.

"I don't think you want to do this," Gil says, easing him away.

He stands there uncertainly, his heart beating heavily in his chest. He looks at Gil, his eyes, his lips, his eyes again. "Gil?"

Gil cocks his head to the side, like he always does when he's paying attention.

There are a hundred things he wants to say, but he can't bring himself to utter a single world. Please, he thinks, please, but he doesn't really know what he's asking for. That's not true. He does. He wants that sense of peace back, when he used to lie with Gil and daydream about the future. He wants Gil to erase the past for him. He wants more than Gil can possibly give him and he's angry because of that. Angry at Gil, even though he's being unfair, and angry at himself, because he can't let it go, can't get on with his life.

"What are you fighting, Nick?" Gil asks, his voice gentle. "How can I help you?"

Nick feels the tears rush to his eyes and his jaw is aching. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

"What for? You didn't do anything."

He shakes his head. "No, I…" He stops, then tries again. "You saved me! You saved me and instead of thanking you, I'm…" and he runs out of words again.

"I didn't save you, Nick. We found you, but you're the one who stayed alive along enough to be found. You saved yourself."

He shakes his head again, but Gil ignores him. "You don't me owe thanks. You don't owe me anything."

He feels so weak. Weak and tired and confused. He wants to lean on Gil. He wants to be strong, so that Gil doesn't pity him.

"Take me home with you," he whispers. "Please."

Gil puts his arm around him again and they start walking.

----------

He comes awake slowly, painfully. There's no moment of uncertainty, he knows exactly where he is. His head feels like it's clamped in a vise and there's a foul taste of stale beer and vomit in his mouth. He staggers to the bathroom shakily, finds the aspirins and takes two, cupping his hand under the flowing water and drinking thirstily, rinsing out his mouth. Then he goes back into the bedroom and lies down again, pushing all thoughts away.

----------

When he wakes up again, it's dark. He doesn't know what time it is. The room is quiet, except for the humming of the old fan Gil uses. The light draft feels good against his skin. He should get up and go home, but he doesn't want to move. He can hear soft music coming from the living room and a feeling of contentment sweeps over him.

Later. He can get up and deal with things later.