***
Bodies swarmed around him, organized and doing their job, moving fast, but Brass did not take notice of the SWAT team's activities. His eyes were fixed on Nigel Crane - dead. He would never see a courtroom, never face up to what he had done here, never feel guilt for his crimes - instead he had died relatively quickly at his own hand, throat slashed. Brass was glad he was dead but wasn't sure if this was justice. He was supposed to suffer a punishment of the law's choosing, not what he decided he deserved himself, but then again, since he was mentally unstable he never would have gotten the death penalty anyway so maybe this was better. At least he wouldn't hurt anyone again."Let's get him down, now guys, let's go! Where's that medic, he's still losing a lot of blood!"
The shouting drew Brass's attention and he tore his gaze away from the lifeless body of Nigel Crane to watch the progress of the SWAT team members. The rope holding Greg up from the ceiling was cut, his handcuffs were removed and his body was slowly lowered to the floor, one man carefully taking each of his arms trying to prevent further injury to his battered body. Brass stepped forward, breaking out of his brief stupor of shock and relief to take charge of the situation.
"Easy, don't lay him down, there's glass everywhere," he instructed, kneeling down to take the young man's pulse as a SWAT member leaned Greg against his chest, sure to hold his neck and head steady. Brass sighed when he felt the weak heartbeat still pumping through him, but frowned when he looked up and noticed the cop on Greg's left side, holding a bandage over the lab tech's stomach that was quickly turning red. Brass hadn't been able to see the wound from his previous vantage point.
"What is that? Is it bad?" he asked, still struggling to keep his professional tone. The kid looked like shit, bruises everywhere with just as many cuts and abrasions on every inch of skin plus there must have been a broken bone or two somewhere. But what was worst was the blood, it was everywhere; his pants were completely stained with it, not to mention the floor beneath him. Clearly he had been through hell but he was alive and he would stay that way.
"Looks like a stab wound, I don't think it hit anything vital but he's been bleeding out for awhile," the SWAT member answered, indicating the pool of blood at their feet that had dripped from Greg over the last few hours.
Brass nodded and since he didn't really want to look he turned to the doorway as he heard loud, rushed footsteps approaching. If that's Grissom and his crew I'll kill them, he thought. But it was the paramedics, rushing in to do their jobs. They had been forced to wait outside until the house was given the all clear but now they moved quickly, taking in the scene; there were six of them with two pairs hefting a stretcher between them prepared for anything, even this.
"Just these two," Brass instructed, pointing to Nick and Greg, then indicated Crane, "He's gone."
"All right, let's move," the chief medic ordered as they split into two groups and took charge of the victims. God Brass hated that word: victim. Just the connotation was horrible and not something he liked relating to two people he worked with. But that's what they were, victims of a madman's sick delusions and even with Crane dead Nick and Greg would still suffer, if not physically then mentally.
Noting he was in the way Brass stepped back to let the paramedics work, "Give them room guys," he ordered his men and swung his gaze around to check on Nick.
The Texan was no longer handcuffed and was quickly laid out and transferred to a waiting stretcher. The chief medic was cutting away the bandage already covering Nick's shoulder, and they all talked over top of him as they worked.
"Looks like we have a gunshot wound, no exit point, bullet's still in there. Minimal bleeding for now but it's not fresh he's lost a good amount already. Let's start him on antibiotics, reduce risk of infection early and then we'll start a drip."
Brass got closer; Nick was bruised, not as extensively as Greg but he clearly hadn't had an easy time of it either. The bullet wound wasn't pleasant but could have been a lot worse, bruising on his body was sporadic but dark and there was blood on his wrists; he had fought, Brass wasn't surprised. Judging from the somewhat relaxed demeanour of the medics Brass guessed there was little risk of fatality, but it was always better to check.
"How is he?"
The second paramedic looked up, "He needs a blood transfusion and the bullet out of his arm but it doesn't seem to have hit anything too serious. His pulse is good but if his pupils are any indication he's got a concussion, I'd say he's going to be all right eventually though."
"Thanks," Brass replied casually, downplaying his encompassing joy at the news that the CSI may come out of this unscathed, at least physically. Urgent shouting from a few feet away quickly changed his feelings though and the brief joy he had felt turned to ash.
"Let's move, we have to get this guy to a hospital now. We have serious blood loss and his pressure's dropping, thirty over one eighty."
Greg was motionless as he was being strapped onto the stretcher hurriedly, neck braced and railings up, his chest barely expanding, they were moving him out of the room in moments. Brass followed, shouting for the chief medic.
"Hey, is he going to be all right?" Brass shouted, running with them so as not to slow them down.
"We'll know better when we get him to a hospital," the man replied but from the look in Brass's eye he could tell the cop wasn't happy with that answer, so shrugged and continued apologetically, "We'll do our best, he's lost a lot of blood, not to mention all the internal problems he must have judging by these bruises. Right now, I'd have to say it's fifty/fifty."
They had reached the front door of the house, Brass's chest felt uncomfortably tight as he took a final look at the lab tech then nodded, understanding, "Okay, get him out of here."
The medics hadn't even slowed when he stopped and soon they were gone with their patient; he could hear the others coming down the stairs after them, most likely with Nick. At least he was far from critical.
Sighing he stepped outside and began to jog across the street, he had news to break to some worried CSIs.
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The SWAT team had gone in a few minutes ago but the CSIs were yet to see or be told anything, and they were all working hard to hide their anxiety.
Catherine paced, arms crossed, Warrick sighed, tapping his foot impatiently, Sara ran her hands through her hair, trying not to scream in frustration, Grissom just watched the horizon, stoic.
They had moved closer than they were supposed to when the SWAT team went in, but they still kept their distance from the house, having not gotten the all clear yet. Each of them were worried and anxious but they waited and hated it. They could see nothing in the house's windows, all the activity seemed to be centered in rooms not facing the road, and they could only hear a muffled word or two of the loudest shouts coming from inside. Their hearts had leapt into their throats and they all moved even closer when they saw the paramedics had been sent in. The medics were good, it meant someone was alive to be cared for.
Minutes passed and still they were told nothing.
"Come on, what's going on in there?" Catherine mumbled irritably, needing answers as they all did.
Then they saw the paramedics come back out, working furiously on whoever was strapped to their stretcher, but they couldn't see who it was due to the neck brace and people in the way. It would have taken an act of God to keep them on the sidelines then.
As one they sprinted across the street towards the house, desperate to know what had happened, to find the fate of their friends but before they got there Brass intercepted them, keeping them from their goal.
"Wait, you can't go in yet," he said, already sounding tired.
"Brass, what's going on, who is that?" Grissom asked, indicating the stretcher being pushed towards the medi-vac chopper.
"Where are Nick and Greg?" Sara added before he answered.
Brass held up his hands to stop their questions, "Nick and Greg are alive, we got them, that's them on the stretchers. Crane's dead, looks like suicide."
"Are they okay?" Catherine asked, not having to elaborate who ‘they' were.
Brass looked away first before replying, trying to sound positive, but he was never known for being comforting, "They think Nick's going to be all right, there's nothing too serious except a shoulder wound, but Greg ... he ..."
"What?" Warrick demanded. Brass decided not to sugarcoat it, knowing the CSIs would see right through him.
"They said it's fifty/fifty. He's been bleeding out awhile and there may be internal injuries, we're flying him out now, Nick'll be in the ambulance," he said, finally allowing some of his emotions to show in front of the only people that were as worried as he was.
"Oh God," Catherine mumbled, pacing again, unable to stand still. "So, he might not make it?"
"That's what they tell me," Brass said apologetically, both for delivering the news and not having more information. Catherine seemed to crumble a bit more as the others remained in a state of overwhelmed shock.
"Can we go with them?" Grissom asked, eyes drawn to the house once more as Nick was gurneyed out.
"Just one with each," Brass replied, knowing there was only so much room.
Grissom nodded and looked at his team, unhesitant with his decisions, "Catherine, go with Greg, Warrick, you got Nick. Keep us posted on how they are."
"Sure thing," Warrick promised, jogging away to catch up with Nick's stretcher.
"Thanks Gil," Catherine said before she went after Greg, only barely making it into the chopper before it lifted off.
Grissom watched them both leave and then turned to Sara, "How are you doing?"
"I'm good," Sara replied automatically, not about to bring up the mental drain this was having on her or her desire to be with their friends when they woke up or sit with them as they recovered, but she understood why Gil had chosen Catherine and Warrick to leave.
"You feel like processing?"
She was tough, she could still function amidst this chaos and push aside her emotions until she had time to deal with them, "Yeah, let's go." And she really wanted to see Nigel Crane dead for herself.
"Get your kit, we'll make it fast and then go to the hospital, it'll be hours before we're allowed to see them anyway, might as well keep busy," Grissom said, sounding casual, as if that were the real reason he was willing to process such a personal case. He was convincing too, few would have realized that he just couldn't stand the waiting at the hospital, the uncertainty and powerlessness, and all that time to brood and ponder his emotions not to mention be plagued with endless ‘what if' scenarios. It would be too hard, all that time to contemplate what he could have done differently, nothing to do but think of his own emotions, his worries and fears and have them escalate and grow. No, this job, the detached way he looked at crime scenes, was much easier and he welcomed it.
He looked at Brass who didn't appear to be going anywhere either; another man who avoided the complexities of his own feelings.
"Top floor?" Grissom asked and Brass nodded.
Sara had her kit and was back in a moment. Silently she and Grissom entered the house, Brass not far behind. They reached the top of the stairs and took a deep breath before continuing, believing they were prepared for anything. They may have been wrong.
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Catherine could see the Medi-vac helicopter getting ready for take off and ran faster than she had in years to catch it. The paramedics inside were too busy working on Greg to notice her trying to make it there in time and they were rather startled when she suddenly latched on to the railing and pulled herself inside.
"Who are you?" the first medic asked, surprised.
She took out her badge as she struggled to see around the man and get a glimpse of Greg, "Catherine Willows, Crime Scene Investigator."
The man rolled his eyes, incredulous, "Look, I know you guys like collecting your evidence as fast as possible but we're trying to keep this guy alive so if you could wait until later to gather your samples ..."
"No, that's not it. He's a friend, I work with him, I'll stay out of the way, I promise, I just have to be here," Catherine said earnestly. The medic could tell it was true and that she was honestly concerned, he indicated a seat she could take close to Greg's head but out of their way.
"Thank you," she said sincerely and moved to sit down but stopped when she got her first real glimpse of the young CSI in training. "Oh god, Greg."
He looked far worse than she had ever seen him, even after the lab explosion. Whereas then his face had been covered only in smoke residue, this time there were small abrasions on his face and arms, with larger ones near his stomach, seemingly inflicted more exactly than the others. Bruising was extensive to say the least, there were few parts of his body that weren't a purplish brown, especially his face and chest, and Catherine understood what Brass had meant by possible internal injuries, she didn't see how he couldn't have damage internally. Clearly he had suffered; she thought he looked like pain.
She was so stunned by his appearance that she had to be led to her seat by one of the paramedics.
"How's he doing?" she asked on reflex; she thought her voice sound automatic, unfeeling despite the wealth of emotions shifting through her.
The man that answered didn't look up as he worked, "He's lost a lot of blood and who knows what's happening internally. He has a few broken ribs but his breathing sounds good so it's not likely he punctured a lung. There's also some severe head trauma. We'll do our best his chances aren't good."
A female medic saw the harrowing effect this had on Catherine when she dropped her head into her hands and wanted to distract her somehow.
"What's his name?" she asked.
"Greg, Greg Sanders, why?" Catherine responded.
The medic smiled, appearing reassuring, "It's good to know in case he wakes up and we have to talk to him. Talking helps sometimes."
Catherine nodded, understanding then turned from the woman and reached out to stroke Greg's blood matted hair, trying to hold back her tears at the thought of what had been done to him.
"Hey Greg, it's Catherine, we found you kid. You just hold on all right. That son of a bitch Crane is dead, he won't hurt anyone again. You're safe now, Nick too, so just stick in there, don't let go on us," she whispered this as she continued to stroke his hair, it was supposed to be a comforting gesture but all she saw when she looked at him was pain and nothing could change that. Bruises and wounds like these didn't just happen quickly, it indicated hours of torture, of pain that never should have happened. Her emotional barriers broke down at the injustice of it, the cruelty. He was so young, he didn't deserve the horrible things that kept happening to him. Her hands began to shake as tears slipped down her cheek and she leaned forward, oblivious of the medics, to kiss him lightly on the forehead. "You're safe now ... you're safe, I promise."
The paramedics continued working, accustomed to concerned friends and family speaking to their patients, they didn't mind as long as they stayed out of the way.
"How's that drip coming?" the chief medic asked.
"It's in, how's the bleeding?" the woman asked.
The chief removed the bandage he had over the stab wound and checked, "Slow, but only because he's lost so much. HB's still too low, he's in shock. Get a mask on him."
Catherine watched as they did all this, put on the oxygen mask, inserted the IV, and attached the monitors, all with a detached interest, as though all of it was so common, it happened every day and it didn't mean anything. It didn't mean Greg was in serious condition, it didn't mean he was barely hanging on, it didn't mean they could lose him because of the delusions of some psychopath. It was just procedure she thought, they do it for everyone, he'll be fine, he always bounces back. She actually smiled when she realized she had thought that because she remembered when she had met Greg when he first started, his enthusiasm and energy had forced her to comment on his likeness to Tigger, always bouncing around. The thought encouraged her, yes, Greg would bounce back, and play his music, and crack his horrible jokes, and earn the CSI certification he was working so hard to get because that would be fair, that would be right. That was what had to happen, all other possibilities were not to be conceived.
"Pressure's dropping."
Harsh reality had a way of easily destroying Catherine's wishful imaginings as things in the helicopter suddenly became hectic.
The consistent beeps that had filled the cabin for the past few minutes slowed and then abruptly disappeared to be replaced with a horrifying, steady wail. Beside her, the female paramedic said the most horrible words imaginable:
"He's flatlined."
Catherine prayed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Warrick sighed; he was getting really tired of riding with Nick to the hospital. Technically this was only the second time, but it was still two times too many, especially since both occasions were caused by that sick bastard, Nigel Crane. Trying to focus elsewhere for a moment, Warrick looked out the back window, watching the desert pass by them, but as always his gaze eventually settled on Nick, beyond thankful his friend was alive, but astronomically angry about the state they had found him in.
He watched the paramedics treat the injuries as best they could. The bruises were extensive, stretching across his face, chest and arms, but there was nothing to be done about those, the bullet wound had been cleaned and bandaged, and an IV drip of antibiotics was started, which was about all they could do before they got to the hospital where the bullet could be removed, and then there was the true sign of Nick's imprisonment, his wrists. One medic was cleaning and bandaging them now, it almost looked like a poor suicide attempt. Clearly Nick had been handcuffed for some time and judging by the cuts and blood on his wrists he had definitely fought back, which didn't surprise Warrick, he knew his friend wouldn't go down without a fight, but was thankful the cuts weren't deep and no arteries had been hit. He asked the medic and he had said there would be no scars. That was important, scars were reminders and he knew Nick wouldn't need those.
"You're sure he's going to be all right?" Warrick asked for what he knew was at least the third time.
"Yes sir, none of his injuries are severe; I don't see why there would be any problems in his recovery, I don't even think all this blood is his," the medic remarked. It had been meant to be reassuring but Warrick was not comforted; if the blood wasn't Nick's he knew the only other person's it could be and it wasn't something he wanted to think about.
Seeing Nick so beat up, so weak, was very hard though, and Warrick cringed just thinking about what he and Greg must have gone through to end up like this. It must have been Hell, pure and simple. He felt his anger rise as he looked at his friend; broken. It wasn't right, Nick didn't deserve this. He was a good guy, he treated everyone with respect, he worked hard and people loved him; it was sick that it was those very attributes which drew Nigel Crane to Nick in the first place, which made the stalker idolize him and caused Nick to be the victim of Crane's delusions. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but Warrick knew it was something Nick could have lived without from Nigel Crane.
As they made their way to the hospital Warrick was lost in thought, but not so much that he didn't notice as Nick's head began to lull and his eyes started to flicker. He was on his feet in a second, practically pushing the paramedic out of the way to get to Nick's side.
"Nick, can you hear me? You there man?" he asked intensely, gripping Nick's good shoulder to draw his attention if he was about to regain consciousness.
"Take it slow with him if he does wake up, he's going to be disoriented," the medic warned but did not dissuade him from talking to him. Warrick gave a barely detectable nod, not looking away as he saw Nick's eyes start to open.
His eyes were glazed and he was clearly confused, but Warrick still couldn't keep the smile from his face as Nick woke up, another wonderful reminder that he was indeed very much alive.
"Hey man, good to see you. It's Warrick, it's okay, we're in an ambulance, you're safe, you're gonna be fine," he said, sounding assuring and believing it. Nick nodded, mostly indicating he understood where he was, and opened his mouth to speak but his throat was so dry it turned into a coughing fit, and his face creased with pain as he was reminded of his injuries.
Warrick took a water bottle offered by a paramedic and gave Nick a drink, "Here man, take it easy."
Nick drank just enough to wet his mouth and throat, the water seemed to rejuvenate him, and his eyes were less clouded but heavyset with worry as he was finally able to ask, "Greg?"
Warrick's stomach clenched and he looked away for a moment, preparing his answer and hoping Nick was still disoriented enough not to notice his hesitation.
"We got him, he's all right. They flew him out in the chopper, you know how impatient he is, couldn't wait for the ambulance, you can see him when we get to the hospital," Warrick promised, fervently hoping he was not lying. He did not forget what Brass had said - a fifty/fifty chance - but he desperately tried not to dwell on it. It was an impossible future in his eyes, far removed from reality. Greg couldn't die, the doctors were wrong he convinced himself because if he did the ramifications would destroy everything, their team, their work - everything. So he didn't think about, did not let himself imagine the worst case scenario, instead he kept his focus on Nick, it was him who needed him now though he sent out prayers for Greg's recovery and well being.
Nick had not noticed Warrick's hesitation though, or his fear, he had heard only that Greg was alive. His sigh of relief at the words sounded like it came from the depth of his heart, it was deep and seemed to expel all the tension from his body, deflating him and smoothing the lines of worry on his face, "Thank god, oh Jesus, thank god. I thought he was dead. I thought that bastard killed him."
This Nick had said to himself, revelling in his own peace of mind, but Warrick still felt the urge to reply, "Yeah, he's alive. You did good Nick, we never would have found you if you hadn't made that call to Grissom. But we got there in time, Greg's a fighter, he stuck in there."
A sad laugh escaped Nick's throat.
"You have no idea," he said, his voice tinged with sadness but also a good dose of pride.
Knowing Greg was alive and safe had dispelled the last of the soul encompassing fear and tension that had plagued Nick throughout this entire ordeal. He suddenly found that it was replaced by a profound sense of relief and joy but also by an overwhelming urge to rest and allow his wounds, of body and mind to heal. Warrick saw his eyes were getting heavy again but had to tell him one last thing before he fell asleep.
"Nick man, I don't know if you were awake or not when it happened, but Nigel Crane's dead too, he won't be back again. He killed himself."
There was no sign of surprise or further relief in Nick's eyes as they drifted shut as this news was delivered and it was clear to Warrick that Nick had already known Crane was dead. Yet he still shook his head once, as if in denial of the fact and started to speak. Warrick leaned closer as Nick whispered his last words before falling back to unconsciousness.
"No ... Crane ... didn't kill himself."
He took in a deep breath, enjoying the sensation of his chest expanding with wonderful oxygen and no longer being constricted by his own fear or pain. There were no knots of tension in his stomach, no mind numbing terror that a madman was about to attack him or his best friend. There was just safety and comfort, it was over and he was so tired.
"I did."
Sleep overtook him, and Warrick sat stunned.
***
"Woo hoo, yeah, Falcons rule!" Greg waved his foam finger around enthusiastically as his team scored what he called a ‘too sweet touchdown'. It was a perfect day for a football game and he couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Man, did you see that Nick, it was amazing!"He turned to his left expecting to see a crestfallen Nick - he was a Vikings fan after all - and was beyond surprised to find the seat beside him empty.
"Nick? Nick!" Greg looked all around him, down the aisles, up the stairs and at the vendors but did not see his friend anywhere in the stadium.
For a long moment he focussed solely on the empty seat beside him, sure Nick had been there moments ago. He had poked him with his foam finger for about the fiftieth time and had fought to keep the Texan from taking it from him. So where did he go? Greg wondered.
He looked up from the seat and the world became a vacuum. All sound disappeared and suddenly he was alone in the huge stadium becoming more nervous by the second. It didn't disturb him that all the people were gone, that somehow didn't seen significant, he only cared where Nick was.
Then the world began shifting around him. Colors blurred into one another, sky melded with ground and the earth tilted for just a moment. Slowly the scenery began to reconstruct itself into a facsimile of reality and Greg found himself in a well lit hallway, standing in front of a picture window with people bustling around him in lab coats, none paying any attention to him.
"Where ...?" he asked aloud of no one. At first he thought he was in the lab, the hallway was a little different, but there were lab techs and machinery everywhere. The smell was wrong though. It wasn't just a chemical smell like he was used to at work, it was more ... medical.
Gulping, he took a step towards the picture window that had appeared in front of him to see what lay beyond it. His stomach clenched and eyes widened at the sight.
"No ... Nick?"
Nick lay still on the hospital bed, eyes closed, bruised and battered but breathing, no machines or equipment helping him. Greg noticed the cast on Nick's wrist and realized where he was. After Nigel Crane had attacked Nick the first time Greg had come to visit and this is how he had first seen him, through the window. Nick, the rock, the infallible, the friend, broken. The thought made him feel guilty because he knew that wasn't right; Nick was not broken, not completely at least. Despite how badly his body was hurt, Nick's strong personality and spirit would be intact. Greg instinctually knew Nick would be all right, he would not be bitter and feel like the world was against him, or angry that he had been put through this hell, he may be afraid but he would overcome that, he was just that kind of guy. It reminded Greg of something he couldn't believe he remembered from high school - "a man can be destroyed but not defeated." Nick was never one to accept defeat after all.
Greg smiled with the thought that Nick would be okay, but then he remembered their real day that had been far less than perfect. Memories quickly cascaded over him, frightening in their detail - Nick would not be okay because Nigel Crane was back. Crane had hurt them both, could still be hurting them and with this thought Greg's surroundings changed again. His breathing became harsh as he grew agitated, afraid. Nick began to fade from view, as did the hospital around him. Everything faded to black and he clenched his eyes shut and tried to calm his breathing but he was gasping now; he suddenly felt heavy and he knew he was somewhere else, somewhere he didn't want to be.
"Hello Gregory."
Nigel Crane.
"No, no, no," Greg didn't open his eyes, if he didn't look maybe it would go away. A new burning slice across his chest ruined his plan. He screamed and opened his eyes as Crane's knife slid further down his chest. Wide awake from fear and pain he saw where he was and felt his chest tighten even more.
His arms were still secured above his head, preventing escape, Nigel Crane stood directly in front of him grinning, holding up the cursed knife and lighter, the room was just as dark, just as dirty and terrifying as before but something was missing and unfortunately it wasn't the pain. He could see the radiator behind Crane, just where it had been all the time, but that was all that was there.
"Nick?" he asked softly, wondering what could have happened to him, what this psycho may have done to him. He was beyond surprised when he heard a calm Texas drawl answer from his left.
"I'm right here buddy."
Greg's head shot around, relieved then confused. Nick was here and he was all right, too all right. There were no bruises anywhere, no blood, he was even wearing a different set of clothes, clean and fresh.
"What?" Greg couldn't seem to form full sentences, he was shocked and overwhelmed. Nick only smiled, the wide, amused sympathetic smile Greg often saw on his face. It was wrong though, something was wrong.
"Look, we need to talk," Nick began, placing a comforting hand on Greg's shoulder. It was the eyes he realized, they were lifeless, soulless. "I've been doing a lot of thinking and you just aren't the kind of friend I need right now."
"W... what are you talking about?" Greg sputtered, breath hitching. Why was it so hard to breathe?
"It's just Nigel here has made some good points, really got me thinking. You really aren't worthy of my friendship, especially not now, if ever. I mean look at you, bleeding everywhere, defenceless and ... are those tears in your eyes? Now come on, I can't be seen with someone like you," Nick scoffed at the idea and a look passed between him and Crane.
"I told you," Crane said, smiling.
"You did, you tried so hard to warn me, you're a good friend Nigel. Just wish I had listened. Now I have to cut you loose Greg."
"Nick, wait," Greg pleaded, eyes wide. Nick slapped him.
"Now come on, don't embarrass yourself any more than you have to by pleading and begging, some things just have to be done." Still smiling, Nick willingly and gladly took the knife Crane offered him.
Greg could not believe this was happening and what was wrong with his chest, he couldn't breathe at all.
"Clearly I have to move on, but I can't let you just keep following me around like a puppy, it's time to end all this."
Greg wanted to say something, talk to him, but there was no air in his lungs, felt like there hadn't been for a long time. He could only watch as Nick continued, unhesitant, Crane behind him, grinning madly, satisfied.
Nick shrugged almost apologetically, then stepped towards him, placed one hand on Greg's shoulder and touched the blade to his skin.
"Bye Greggo."
The knife slid into his stomach and ...
"He's breathing!"
"Oh God," Catherine collapsed against the helicopter wall, sick with fear and exhausted with worry. She put a hand over her eyes and had to turn away as the medics kept working, hearing them clearly but unable to watch anymore. God, she had seen a lot in her days but nothing prepared her for this; watching them take that huge adrenaline needle and stab it directly into Greg's heart. It was an image that would stay with her for a lot of nights but she thanked God it had worked. The adrenaline had awoken Greg's systems; his heart was pounding again and he was breathing on his own.
After a few more deep breaths she willed herself to turn around and face the friend she was praying for. She wanted to believe he would be all right, but he didn't look like he ever would be again; his face was creased with pain and there was so much blood and so many injuries. How would he ever recover? He was already so still, not a natural state for Greg under any circumstances, and she couldn't take the thought of him staying that way forever. She wanted to take comfort in the medics, they were professionals, they knew the odds, but their words crushed her heart.
"Keep those paddles charged, we could lose him again any second."
"Breathing's not improving."
"He's dropping again."
And suddenly she couldn't take it anymore, not alone. The masks, the monitors, the needles, the IVs and paddles, she knew they were keeping Greg alive, but it seemed so brutal, so wrong. Turning to face the helicopter wall again she pulled out her cell phone and dialled, hoping desperately for an answer, a comforting word was all she needed.
"Brown."
"Warrick, it's Cath, how's Nick?" she asked, focussing on his voice and her own, anchoring herself to the moment and not the chaos happening behind her to keep Greg alive.
"They said he's going to be all right, he even woke up for a minute, asked about Greg. How's he doing?" Warrick asked, knowing she would not be calling without a reason but trying to sound calm about it.
Catherine turned around. The paramedics seemed to be moving in slow motion, she could barely see Greg's chest rising. Tears formed.
"He ..."
Her hesitation made Warrick fear the worst, "Cath, what happened?" he demanded, no longer calm.
"Warrick he flatlined, he was dead. He was dead and I just stood there. They ... they brought him back but he's getting worse. They don't know ... Oh God, they're shocking him again."
Catherine could not hear Warrick talking to her through the phone anymore, she could only see Greg as the paddles came down on his bare chest, sending thousands of watts of electricity through him. His body lifted off the table, giving a devastating illusion of consciousness, but when he came down he was once again breathing on his own.
"... Cath? What's happening? Talk to me."
"I'm here," she whispered. "He's still alive, they got him back. Warrick, I don't know how long I can take this."
"Easy, take it easy. We'll all get through this, everything will be all right, okay?"
Catherine wanted to believe him but it was so hard, "When? Tell me when Warrick. When is it going to be all god damn right, cause I've been waiting a long time."
"I don't know, but we got to be strong and wait. So be strong for Greg, stay with him, keep him with us, I know you can do this Cath."
And she could. She had needed Warrick's calm, his unyielding faith in her, but she could be here now, and would stay there.
"Yeah, I can, I'll be all right. I have to let you go, we're almost at the hospital."
"Okay, I'll find you when I get there," he promised.
"Thanks, I'll see you soon." She closed the phone and retook her seat by Greg's head. The medics had slowed in their administrations and she could feel the ease of tension in the chopper.
"How is he doing?" she asked of anyone, never turning from Greg's face as she stroked back his hair, cautious of the bruise along his temple.
"A little better, he's stabilized for now, the doctors will be able to tell you more after surgery," a voice to her left replied; still she did not turn away. She was there for Greg; she already felt as though she had turned away from him once and she would not leave again.
Her composure was solid now and she forced a smile on her face, reassuring and comforting, she would be the pillar of support.
"You listen to me Greggo, you are not going to die. There's so much you still have to do kiddo. You're going to get your certification and then you're going to be a great CSI. You've earned it, you've worked so hard and we're all proud of you. So you're not going anywhere Greg, and we're all going to be here for you when you wake up, you hear me. So just hang on."
As she finished her final plea she reached down, careful of the IV, and squeezed his hand.
"Don't leave us, Greggo."
She gasped. He squeezed back.
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Sara took a deep breath to steady herself as she followed Grissom and Brass into the ‘little child's room of horrors', only half a step behind them. Her trained eye took in the scene and she subconsciously came to the most likely conclusion of how it came to be that way, with everything she pictured involving pain. She saw shards of glass, torn pictures, almost no furniture, Nigel Crane's dead body and blood, blood, blood.
Greg and Nick's, she thought pangingly.
No, she reprimanded herself, don't think like that, stay objective. It's just another crime scene. It's just another crime scene. It's just another crime scene.
She repeated the mantra to herself as she began processing and going on automatic as she began snapping pictures, finding it helped to detach her from the crime and the people she knew. At least, it helped until Brass began explaining the scene as they had found it.
"Crane hasn't been moved, far as I know no one touched him. Nick was here, handcuffed," Brass's voice became subtly softer, respectful, as he pointed to the radiator, "Greg was here," he continued, pointing out the rope above the puddle of blood, "also handcuffed."
Sara closed her eyes and swallowed, unable to keep the images that she didn't want to see from forming in her mind: Nick, usually cocky and supportive, trapped, shot, defenceless. Forced to bend to the will of the madman that was obsessed with him. Greg, always smiling, always energetic, restrained, bleeding, tortured by a man he did not know for reasons unknown. Dying. Nick would have been able to do nothing as Greg died in front of him only three feet away. So little distance, but so little choice; they had to watch each other suffer, it was no wonder they were both unconscious when they were found, it was so much better than the alternative of being awake.
The images hurt and tears tried to form in her eyes, but she fought them back and forced the images away. Forced herself to work.
Just another crime scene, just another crime scene, just another crime scene.
"My god," Grissom whispered softly, his face contorted in a rare visage of disgusted shock and empathy as he looked over the scene. This never happened to him, he was always so distant from the crime, so detached. He thought he could work this professionally but as he examined the pool of blood on the floor, knowing full well that it was Greg's, and he was possibly dying in a helicopter somewhere, he began to doubt that he could stay objective, let alone calm and focussed. Maybe this was a mistake.
Sara could read the doubt in his eyes and sighed, knowing it was time to stop pretending like it didn't affect them, like this was normal.
"Come on Gris," Sara said suddenly, breaking him out his deep thoughts as he stared at the room's contents. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right. Nick and Greg deserve that much."
She felt strong as she said it, hefting her camera up for her first few shots of the room. Grissom was noticeably surprised for a moment but followed suit, snapping on a pair of gloves and taking out the ALS.
"You mark the glass, I'm going to start on the stairs," Grissom said, following Sara's lead and slipping back into professional tones.
She nodded, already engrossed in her work.
Just another crime scene.
She took an overview shot of the room and then moved straight to the body of Nigel Crane. Technically they couldn't touch it until the coroner arrived to pronounce the death but they could still photograph. She lifted the camera up and focussed but lowered it before snapping a shot. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw set as she looked at him. He was dead and she still hated him. He had hurt their team once before when he attacked Nick and that had been bad enough, but this was so much worse. Crane had inflicted pain purposely, with calculated movements and now Nick was hurt again, probably mentally more than physically, and Greg could die. Not surprisingly she could not feel sorry Crane was dead, she only wished it had happened sooner.
She snapped her pictures, focussing on Crane's dead, open eyes, slit throat, and the knife he tightly clutched.
When she finished her pictures a grimace adorned her features, despising Crane for causing so much pain.
Grissom was across the room and never heard as she whispered her thoughts about this man and what he had done to their team:
"Bastard."
Not just another crime scene.
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"Nick, can you hear me?"
Yes, Nick wanted to answer. He could hear Warrick clearly, but he found he couldn't talk, could barely keep his eyes open actually. He didn't even know where he was to be honest, the exhaustion and pain medication were doing a number on him, but he could hear Warrick and wanted to answer.
Thankfully, Warrick judged from his eyes that he was at least semi-coherent and continued, "Nick, they're taking you into surgery now, you're going to be fine but they gotta get that bullet outta your arm. I'll be right here waiting when you get out, okay?"
Nick tried to open his mouth but talking would take so much energy, he settled on nodding and attempting a weak smile which Warrick returned.
"I'll be right here," Warrick promised once more, getting father away.
That was the last Nick saw of his friend as his stretcher was pushed through the ER doors and Warrick was told he could go no further. Nick wanted to ask where they were going but he was so tired he didn't care, so he contented himself to watch the lights pass overhead, oblivious to the IVs being inserted, or the monitors being attached. He only knew exhaustion as his eyes drifted shut into what would not be pleasant dreams.
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Warrick sighed as he rubbed a hand over his eyes, having done all he could for the time being. After taking one final long look at the ER doors he left the waiting area and headed for the front desk, having one more friend to check in on.
"Hey, I'm looking for Gregory Sanders, patient, came in about twenty minutes ago," Warrick said as he leaned against the counter, noting the nurse on duty was cute but in no state of mind to even consider flirting. She checked the chart.
"Oh, the fly in, we don't get many of those. He's on third being prepped for surgery," she replied.
"Thanks," Warrick jogged to the elevator. He knew it was too early to hear from a doctor on Greg's condition but he did not want to leave Catherine waiting by herself any longer than necessary. After visiting a second information desk he was led into a doored off waiting room where he found Catherine staring distantly through a picture window.
"Cath?" he said softly.
She turned around quickly, eyes red but she had long stopped crying, hair somehow still perfect as always, but she looked haggard. Screw a double shift, she looked like she had done a quadruple; Warrick realized he probably didn't look much better.
"Hey," she replied softly, meant as greeting and as a way of saying ‘thanks for being here'. She smiled and moved towards him; they hugged. It was a long embrace, strictly of comfort and support which they both needed. The tension seemed to seep out of Catherine as he held her tightly, and he gladly took the strain from her.
When he released her Warrick looked up through the window for the first time and found it looked in on a hospital room. Most surprising was the occupant of the room; Greg lay motionless in the white hospital bed. Almost every piece of visible skin was bandaged. The non-bandaged parts were deeply bruised or very pale, there were two IVs in his arms, one clear, the other blood and machines beeped all around him. He looked horrible, tortured, but he was alive.
"I thought they were taking him in for surgery," Warrick said, surprised. Greg's heart had stopped twice on the trip to the hospital, he assumed they would rush him right to the Operating Room upon arrival.
Catherine shook her head as she left the strong arms and composed herself once more after her brief moment of release.
"He's lost too much blood, they have to get a few pints in him before they take him in," she explained, having already questioned the doctors.
"Refuelling him. Do they know if he's going to be all right?" Warrick asked, leaving one arm around Catherine's shoulder after they broke apart from their embrace.
"Not yet. They won't know for sure until after surgery, but he's fighting, holding on," she said, not mentioning when he had squeezed her hand but remembering it and drawing strength from that, taking it as a sign that Greg would not give up. "It almost doesn't seem real you know, like this is too impossible to be true."
"Yeah, I know, it's hard to believe. It's not everyday you got a madman kidnapping your friends in broad daylight. Unfortunately we got our proof sitting right in front of us," Warrick said, indicating Greg, who looked so small and weak, though they prayed for him to be strong.
There was silence for a moment before Catherine asked, "How's Nick?"
"They said he'll be fine, they're removing the bullet. They don't think it hit anything vital so his arm should be one hundred percent again once it heals up," Warrick replied, sticking to the facts. But Catherine didn't want facts, she wanted observations, thoughts, opinions.
"What about mentally?"
"Good I guess, all things considered. He wasn't awake long, just asked about Greg, was relieved he was alive and pretty okay with Crane being dead. He'll be all right, they both will, they're tough."
Warrick said this strongly but in the back of his mind he wondered and did not mention Nick's ominous last words, not certain exactly how coherent the Texan had been at the time of his murder confession. If it was true, well, that was definitely a few more mental barriers that Nick would have to go through, but that could wait to be dealt with. Right now the physical well being of their friends was the most important, all other issues could be solved as long as Nick and Greg were alive.
Catherine's mind began to wander to the rest of their team, "I wonder how Grissom and Sara are doing."
"Should we call them?"
"Why, to tell them everything we don't know?" Catherine retorted harshly. She shut her eyes and swallowed, immediately regretful. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."
"Don't worry about it, you're right. And I can't exactly say I'm eager to find out what they found either," Warrick replied. Looking at Nick and Greg, it was clear they went through Hell, he didn't need the experience laid out for him in detail.
"It seems wrong, but I kind of wonder what they found."
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"Hey Grissom, Sara. I got here as soon as I could."
Grissom looked up from his inspection of the blood spatter on the baseball bat he had found on the stairs, "Hey David. There's no rush, the body's over there."
Sara was processing around Crane, marking glass and snapping pictures. David nodded and crossed the room to join her.
She smiled as best she could for him, "Hey David."
"Hi. Um, is there any word on Nick and Greg yet?" David asked haltingly. They were not team members or friends by any means, but David still knew both of the CSIs fairly well and wanted to know if they were okay, something the police had been unwilling to divulge to him.
Sara stopped taking pictures and stared at the floor for a moment before answering.
"Nick should be fine, it's just some kind of shoulder injury. Greg, we're not sure what even happened to, but the medics said it was fifty/fifty when they found him." Her voice was monotone, automatic, as if she wasn't letting her mind consider what the words she was saying actually meant. Instead she continued snapping pictures and marking glass.
"Oh, all right. Let's take a look at this body then," David said, lifting his kit and moving to crouch next to the body.
"Nigel Crane, I'm sure you've heard of him. Looks like suicide," Sara said pretty much unnecessarily as she knelt on Crane's other side. Now that David was here to pronounce the death they could process the body, which she was eager to do.
"So this is the guy that's responsible for ... all this?" David asked, almost in awe that this small man could be responsible for all the chaos that had happened that day. The police station and crime lab had been in a frenzy all day over this case; apparently a lot of cops had lined up for the chance to be part of the rescue team. Despite the dire circumstances, it was nice to see that the police considered the CSIs part of their group and were eager to protect them like their own people.
"Yeah, he's our kidnapper, we got him on tape. But technically, right now he's our victim."
"Well, first impression, I'd have to guess COD was blood loss from the massive slash in his jugular. Liver temp suggests he's been dead a little over two hours."
As David wrote on his chart Sara photographed and then removed the bloody knife from Crane's right hand to inspect it.
"Ten to one on this being our murder weapon," she commented, about to bag it.
David looked up from his inspection, eyebrow furrowed, "I'll take that bet."
"What do you mean?" Sara asked, surprised.
"Well, off hand it doesn't look like this wound was caused by that knife or any other. Suicides like this are almost always one long slice across the throat," David explained as he examined the wound. "This has no slash pattern at all, it looks like it was one hard stab into the neck, almost unheard of. And it doesn't look like it was caused by that knife, probably something wider and thinner."
Sara stood up, confused. A bloody knife in the vic's hand, but it wasn't what killed him. She scoured the floor, noting how the bright yellow markers she had placed were impossible to miss.
"So, wasn't killed by the knife," she knelt down and shone her light on the shards of mirror. "Piece of glass then, maybe."
David nodded, "Yeah, that would work."
"Grissom, you get that?" Sara called out as she started looking over each piece of glass, noting any with traces of blood.
Grissom was still on the far side of the room, inspecting the bat and doorframe, "Yeah, I heard."
"I haven't seen any shards that looked big enough to cause that kind of wound, or bloody enough for that matter," Sara reported as she continued looking over the floor.
David looked up and pointed to a spot near the radiator, "What's that over there?"
Sara turned and dismissed the idea, "Used to be Greg's cell phone, there's not much left of it. Nothing sharp or big enough to do that kind of damage anyway."
She looked for a few more minutes while David finished up and then announced quite certainly, "I've marked all this glass, if that's what killed him it's not here."
Grissom turned to her and his eyebrows went up, a clear sign he was thinking, "At least, it's not somewhere we can see it. It could be under the body."
Sara looked at David who appeared as though he wanted to finish writing in his chart but sighed when he saw the look she gave him. He put the chart away to finish filling in later and motioned for two medics to help him move the body. Sara watched as Nigel Crane was hefted onto a stretcher and moved out of the room, not offering him a second glance, then knelt down to inspect the floor beneath; no glass.
"Nothing, we have no murder weapon," Sara announced, having no idea where else to look.
"It'll show up," Grissom said quite certainly as he marked another evidence bag and gave it to David to bring back to the lab for them. "It always does eventually."
He tried to sound reassuring but Sara was not pleased, "Well, I don't feel like waiting. I want to wrap this case up as quickly as possible."
Grissom nodded; he could understand that so said nothing as she began inspecting every inch of the floor once more. As she worked he finished tracing the blood spatter on the wall. It was a few minutes before he was done and he was about to move outside to inspect Crane's car when he heard Sara cry out behind him.
"I got it," she announced, very relieved since with a murder weapon they were now much closer to wrapping up this case and putting it behind them. Placing her flashlight on the floor, she laid on her stomach and carefully pulled the long shard of glass out from underneath the radiator. She held it up for her own inspection and Grissom's, who was quickly crossing the room.
Shining the light on the mirror piece it was impossible to not see the coat of blood on the end of the long shard. But while Sara looked triumphant Grissom appeared slightly confused. Looking from the radiator to the spot on the floor that was Crane's final resting place, he had one question.
"Okay, we found it, but how did it get all the way over here?" he asked. Sara looked up and also noticed the unlikely distance between Crane's body and the murder weapon.
"Crane might have thrown it or kicked it under, who knows what happened here or what was going on in his head?" Sara hypothesized.
"Only two people that we know of, and they aren't talking just yet," Grissom commented as he took a step back to better envision the events as they happened.
Sara thought it was a cold thing to say, it was Nick and Greg they were talking about after all, but then she remembered they were supposed to be detached from the case and the victims, something Grissom seemed to be doing a lot better than her.
"Well unless you think there was someone else here, then Crane must have been the one to knock it under the radiator. I mean, Greg and Nick were both handcuffed ..."
"Right here," Grissom interrupted.
"What?"
Grissom didn't hesitate to meet her eye, "Where you found that shard, underneath the radiator, it's almost exactly where Nick was handcuffed."
Sara opened her mouth to reply and couldn't. She looked from the radiator to where Crane had been and knew that it made sense, more sense than suicide, but they still couldn't be sure. There were simply too many variables to be sure of anything. Right now the evidence they needed was eyewitness testimony and she knew where to find it. Shaking her head and bagging the evidence she stood up with an air of finality.
"I'm going to the hospital," she announced, already striding out of the room.
"Yeah," Grissom was just as sick of this crime scene. "I'm right behind you."
***
After stopping briefly at the lab to drop the evidence off to the replacement lab tech to be processed, Grissom and Sara headed straight for the hospital. It took almost an hour to drive there from the crime scene and Brass had promised to stop by as soon as possible."Catherine?"
She was sitting alone in the waiting room when Grissom and Sara came in, looking tired but still strong.
"Hey guys," she greeted them, standing up. They shared brief hugs then Grissom asked:
"Where's Warrick?"
"He's on the second floor sitting with Nick, he just came out of surgery."
"How is he?" Grissom continued.
"They got the bullet out fine, there's no permanent damage. Once it heals up he'll be back to normal. Pretty much all his other injuries are just cuts and deep bruises, not much they can do," Catherine explained.
"That's good," Sara said, relieved Nick would walk away from Nigel Crane once more physically unscathed. Mentally was a different story. "What about Greg?"
Catherine shrugged, clearly frustratingly angry that she had little to tell them, "They only took him up to surgery about half an hour ago. He flatlined in the chopper." She announced abruptly, letting it sink in just how dire the situation was.
"God. Cath I'm so sorry, it must have been horrible," Sara said emphatically. "Was he ...?"
"Not for long, they brought him back pretty quickly. He lost a lot of blood though so they had to do a transfusion before they took him to the OR. They haven't told me anything else except that he was stable when he went in."
Sara rubbed Catherine's arm comfortingly, "He'll be all right, they have good people here."
"Yeah, I hope so. Did you guys find anything at the scene?"
"Murder weapon, blood, the usual. A few things we can't explain yet but Nick and Greg will probably be able to tell us what we can't piece together," Grissom supposed.
"The doctors said Nick should be awake and coherent in a few hours, we can find out then," Catherine pointed out.
"We'll need their statements no matter what, with Crane dead it doesn't really matter when they give them," Grissom said, not planning on pelting Nick with questions about the most traumatic event of his life as soon as he woke up.
Catherine looked like she was about to say something but was interrupted by the loudspeaker system.
"Doctor Matheson, OR 2, code blue. Doctor Matheson, OR 2, code blue."
The look of fear on Catherine's face told it all.
"Is that where Greg is?" Sara asked. Catherine nodded, biting her lip and sitting down, knowing they would tell them nothing even if they were to run to the Operating Room doors. They could only wait and it sucked.
"We'll just have to hope for the best," Grissom commented, then shuffled uncomfortably. "I'm going to go check on Warrick, let him know we're here."
Sara and Catherine nodded and watched him leave silently then they settled into their seats. It would be a long night of waiting for all of them.
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A floor below them Nick and Warrick sat in similar silence. As the hours passed Warrick sat fidgeting in the bedside chair, trying hard to find some reason for this violent attack on his friends, and justification for the repercussions that were to come. Grissom visited briefly and they talked, but then he left again to sit with the girls upstairs. Warrick stayed where he was, he had promised Nick and wouldn't let him wake up alone after the traumatic events of the past day. And through it all, Nick slept. It was a sleep of recovery, in body at least, for in his mind he dreamed unsettling nightmares. Unlike Greg, his dreams were not fabrications of the truth distorted by his imagination or fear, but detailed recollections of what had actually happened. Of the terror that they had lived through.
In Nick's mind he saw Nigel Crane, so twisted with delusions that he would switch from violent to overjoyed at the drop of a dime. He saw Crane's horrible black car, the rundown house of his childhood, so full of pain even before they had gotten there. Next were flashes of the torture they had endured, shattered mirrors, handcuffs, Crane's knife, his gun and then finally, in stark detail and high quality images, as if it were the main attraction, Nick saw Crane die. He saw himself kill him and then he awoke with a start.
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"Crane? Where?"
It actually took Warrick a moment to react. He had been sitting so long in silence waiting for some kind of sign of life from Nick, that when the Texan awoke suddenly, gasping and wide eyed, he wasn't sure what was happening. It didn't take him long to figure it out and then he moved, buzzing a nurse and standing close to the bed.
"Nick, it's all right, it's all right, you're safe," Warrick assured him, seeing the wild look in his eyes diminish as he took in where he was. "Crane's dead, you're in the hospital." Nick locked eyes with Warrick and nodded, relaxing as his breathing evened out. He laid his head back down, closing his eyes as he remembered everything that had happened.
"Warrick. Right, I remember." A few more deep breaths. "How long have I been out?" he asked, his voice dry.
"A couple of hours. Here," Warrick said, as he handed him a glass of water. Nick realized he was very thirsty and drank greedily.
"Thanks," He handed the glass back and then asked immediately, "How's Greg? Can I see him?"
"He's still in surgery last I heard, he was stable when they took him in. We won't know anything for sure until he's out," Warrick replied.
Nick closed his eyes, "Okay, that's good I guess." A pause.
"Hey, I know this isn't gonna count for much but I'm sorry for what happened to you guys. We're all gonna be here for you if you need anything, no matter how big or small. Don't hesitate to ask," Warrick said, his voice resonating with the epitome of support.
Nick smiled briefly, "Thanks man, I'll be all right, I've dealt with Crane before, I survived. I'm just worried about Greg, he never should have been there," he replied, his voice becoming a dark whisper at the end, overflowing with guilt.
Warrick laid a hand on his good shoulder, "None of this was your fault, Nick, none of it. It was all Crane."
"Yeah, I'll keep telling myself that, maybe I can believe it," he said, then tried to push himself into a sitting position and jarred his injured shoulder. "Oh god," he exclaimed, almost having forgotten he was hurt.
"Yeah, that's gonna be tender for awhile, I don't think you should move until a doctor sees you anyway," Warrick said wisely, not wanting Nick to pull out an IV or rip his stitches.
"That's excellent advice Mr. Brown."
Nick jumped at the voice, his nerves shaky, but made himself calm down when he saw a doctor in the doorway, chart and pen in hand. Warrick had talked to him several times over the last few hours and liked him, he seemed to care a lot about his patients.
"I'm Dr. Connell, the attending. How are you feeling Mr. Stokes?" he asked, quickly checking Nick's pupils and writing on his chart.
"Call me Nick. I'm all right considering." Nick replied, his eyes haunted briefly with memories.
"That's wonderful. Now, your arm should heal up nicely, we found nothing too serious once we got the bullet out. It'll take a few weeks to heal and some physio but after that you should have full mobility again. Other than that you're basically fine except for a mild concussion and the lacerations on your wrists, they were rather deep. The police told me you were attacked, do you want to talk about it?" the doctor was only doing his job, often patients had the most detailed memories of their attacks and were most willing to talk upon waking, but Nick was not one of these patients.
"No," he replied flatly, almost angry just by the memories of it. "My attacker's dead, there's not much to talk about."
Dr. Connell took this in stride, not pushing, "That's fine." He moved to the end of the bed and lifted the sheet off Nick's feet. "Can you wiggle your toes for me?"
"Doc, I was shot in the arm, not the spine," Nick complained.
"Humor me."
Nick did as asked and wiggled all his toes, then certain ones and repeated the process for his fingers on his injured arm. Assured there was no nerve damage the doctor seemed pleased and ready to leave.
"Wait, a friend of mine's here too, when can I see him?" Nick asked as Dr. Connell was leaving.
The doctor looked at Warrick briefly, already knowing who Nick was talking about, "Mr. Sanders is still in surgery, if things go well you should be fit enough to see him by the time he's taking visitors."
"And if things don't go well?" Nick asked, very scared by how uncertain the doctor seemed about Greg's fate.
"I don't have all the facts on Mr. Sanders but from what I hear his injuries are severe, we're doing our best." And then he was gone.
Nick laid back down, not comforted in the least and once again very tired. Warrick sat down beside him, trying not to be intrusive, only supportive.
"He'll be all right Nick, he's a fighter, he'll pull through," he said, placing a comforting hand on Nick's unbandaged shoulder.
Nick shook his head, eyes clenched tight in anger, "He went through so much Warrick. Crane was sadistic, unreasonable. I couldn't blame him for giving up now but somehow I think I'd hate him if he did."
"Hey, you both went through hell, but if you're going through hell, keep going. You kept going, you're out of it now, things'll turn out in the end," Warrick promised, knowing all of them, Grissom, Sara, Catherine and himself would fight and push as much as it took to make sure things were all right for both Nick and Greg.
"Yeah, maybe." Clearly Nick was in pain. Not physically, but mental torture could be just as bad, but it was clear from the haunted, hard-set look in his eyes that he was not handling the situation with as much ease as he led his friend to believe.
Warrick tapped his fingers on the bedside table, fighting his internal monologue, but eventually decided to ask the question that had been burning inside him for hours.
"Nick, listen, I don't know what you remember and I didn't tell anyone yet, but you told me on the ambulance that you killed Crane, it wasn't a suicide. Do you remember that?" Warrick asked, his way of gently asking Nick to elaborate, to explain or deny what he had said earlier.
Nick nodded, eyes still closed, appearing exhausted, "Yeah, I remember." A long pause. "Is Brass here?"
The question came from nowhere and Warrick was flustered for a moment, "Uh, no, not yet. He said he'd probably be another hour or so."
"How about you sit in when he gets here and I make my statement? I'm really not up to telling it twice," Nick explained, clearly sorry he was holding back, but also unwilling to talk about it more than he had to.
Warrick understood, "Yeah, that's fine, no problem. You get some rest, I'm going to go see the others, tell them how you're doing. Maybe I can get an update on Greg."
"Okay, wake me if you find out anything."
"No problem." Warrick stood to leave and heard Nick sigh heavily. He wondered if the injured man would indeed sleep or lay alone in silence worrying and arguing with his conscience. Though he hoped for the former, he somehow knew it would bethe latter.
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"Hey guys, any news on Greg?" Warrick asked as soon as he entered the waiting room the other CSIs were occupying.
"No, they haven't told us anything else, but a lot of doctors have been going in and out," Sara replied then looked away, back into the dark of her swirling, cooling coffee.
"What about Nicky?" Catherine asked, knowing Warrick was probably there for a reason.
"Yeah, he woke up. Doctor checked him out again, said he'll be all right. He's sleeping now, he's pretty exhausted. I told him I'd check on Greg for him," Warrick explained.
"How was he when he was awake?" Grissom asked.
Warrick thought about it a second and replied, "He was all right. Coherent, remembered everything. Mostly worried about Greg and working hard to deny that any of this has affected him but you can see it, he's jumpy, nervous. He's not opening up yet but he said he's ready to make his statement whenever Brass gets here, get it out of the way."
"That's soon," Grissom noted. "Maybe he can answer a few of our questions about what we found."
"What exactly did you find?"
"Anomalies. Crane may not have killed himself," Sara replied but was clearly still sceptical of the idea.
"But, Nick and Greg were both tied up weren't they?" Warrick continued questioning.
"Thus the anomalies," Grissom said, as matter of factly and even as always. "The evidence doesn't lie and it's telling us Crane didn't kill himself."
Warrick ran a hand over his face, even more exhausted, "Oh man, this day just keeps getting better and better."
"Great, I need to hear some good news," Brass announced, startling the CSIs. He had only just arrived and all he had heard were Warrick's last few words.
"Hey Jim," Grissom greeted him.
"Thanks for coming," Catherine said as he stood by her, waiting.
"No problem, so someone fill me in. How are they?" he asked, able to keep his voice relatively calm. He didn't see any tears in anyone's eyes so he guessed the news wouldn't be life shattering but the room was thick with tension, meaning the news wouldn't be uplifting either.
"Greg's been in surgery since he got here, all we know is he was stable when he went in. Nick's out already, they said he'll be fine, they got the bullet out of his arm. He's just resting now," Catherine explained.
"That's great. What about the scene? Did you process it all?"
Grissom nodded and filled Brass in on what they had found, what could be explained and what couldn't. Brass listened intently but had no explanation for their strange findings and somehow they all knew they wouldn't get answers until Nick or Greg was able to give them.
"Nick actually wanted to see you when you got here, he seemed pretty eager to make his statement," Warrick added.
"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," Brass said. Trauma victims usually wanted to talk immediately or never at all. It made sense Nick wanted to talk soon, especially since he knew it would have to be done eventually. Best to get it over with quickly. "So we have no idea how long until Sanders is out?"
Everyone shook their heads dismally; there was seemingly not an ion of positive energy in the entire room. Even the air felt heavy, the fluorescent light somehow dark. It wasn't pleasant. The concern and worry of the CSIs was palpable and Brass was eager to leave and try to distance himself in an attempt to avoid the plunge into brooding they all seemed to have taken.
"I'm going back down with Nick if you want to come," Warrick offered as he started for the door. Brass nodded.
"Yeah, I'll be right there. I gotta get some stuff if he's going to make his statement now."
He and Warrick began down the hallway in silence. Once they were a decent distance from the waiting room Warrick spoke.
"Look, I didn't want to bring it up again in there but ... Greg flatlined twice on the chopper ride over, to me that means things are probably bad."
"Jesus," Brass swore on instinct. He had hoped the situation was less critical than that. The crazy lab rat had looked bad back at the crime scene but he had hoped it was all superficial. But hope didn't always pan out.
"Yeah, but the doctors are working hard it seems. I can't see how it could be much longer, it's been hours," Warrick pointed out as they got in the elevator.
"Well, as long as he's in there, he's alive. As they say, ‘no news is good news,'" Brass said.
"We could sure use some good news right about now," Warrick replied.
Brass had nothing to offer.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nick was awake when they got there, confirming Warrick's suspicion that he wouldn't sleep.
"Hey Jim," he said in greeting upon seeing Brass.
"Hey Nick, glad you're going to be all right, you gave us a scare," Brass replied clearly somewhat uncomfortable and not accustomed to being a pillar of support. He was accustomed to dishing out attitude and aggression to suspects, his was a rough exterior which he found hard to break.
"Yeah, didn't mean to," Nick said, then turned to Warrick. Before he even said anything Warrick shook his head.
"Sorry man, no news on Greg yet."
Nick sighed deeply and laid his head back, frustrated, "Damn."
"Look Warrick said you wanted to make your statement but there's really no rush, I just came to see how you were, you should get some rest. I pulled some strings, got you the day off work," Brass joked lightly, actually bringing a small semblance of laughter from Nick's lips.
"No, I'm not tired, I just want to get it off my chest, avoid all the questions that are going to pop up later," Nick replied, sitting up and obviously getting ready for the question period.
And oh the questions Brass had, but he had to do this right and start from the beginning. As he was setting up the tape recorder, not bothering to take hand written notes, Nick was curious.
"Hey, if I cover everything with a good amount of detail is there any way Greg won't have to do this?" Nick asked, trying to sound casual but knowing his real reasons for making a fast statement were coming out.
Brass thought about it a moment, "Well, we're going to have to talk to him no matter what, but if you give us enough we can just get him to verify your story. It'll be brief."
Nick nodded, accepting that, knowing it was the best answer he was going to get. Brass recorded the date, time, and interview subject and laid down the recorder.
"Okay, let's start at the beginning."
And so Nick did. He started from that morning and continued straight through, making little eye contact, concealing the emotion in his voice, barrelling through the tough memories quickly, not dwelling on the pain or fear, just the facts - just what they needed to know, no frills, just the facts.
"We were leaving Greg's, on the way to a football game ..."
"He was waiting in the parking lot for us..."
"I came around and Greg was on the ground ..."
"... had a gun ..."
"... something different about him ..."
"Wanted to take a trip ..."
"He made me drive out into the desert ..."
"Greg eventually woke up in the trunk and started yelling ..."
"He hit Greg, put him back in the trunk. I tackled him but ..."
"... left it behind for Grissom ..."
"We took a side road and got to this little town, Crane said he grew up there ..."
"He handcuffed me to the radiator and went back for Greg ..."
"...wanted me to understand ..."
"Crane started ranting ..."
"He hit him over and over..."
"... I couldn't do anything ..."
"He went to the closet and came back with a baseball bat ... kept hitting him and yelling about his childhood ..."
"... threw him through the mirror, glass was everywhere ..."
"I had to do something to stop him ..."
"... wanted me to understand ..."
"Greg's phone went off ..."
"He shot me ..."
"Greg got up somehow and hit him ..."
"...wanted me to understand ..."
"He came back with the rope ..."
"Tied Greg up ..."
"I tried to stop him."
"Told him he would be like his father ..."
"He said ‘death always has a way of changing things'..."
"Hey, maybe we should take a break," Warrick suggested suddenly, surprising both Nick and Brass. Nick's monologue had been going for some time, Brass asked few questions, and they had both been entirely focussed on the telling and listening of it. But Warrick saw how exhausted Nick was and what a toll this was having on him. His shoulders were slowly slumping even more and his eyes were becoming more distant, haunted.
"Yeah, that might be a good idea," Brass agreed standing up, emotionally drained from just listening, it was hard to imagine how Nick could even bear to tell it, let alone have just lived the horrible tale.
But Nick shook his head, determined to finish now that he'd started, "No, there's not much left, just ... let me finish."
Brass sighed and nodded, sitting back down, "Okay, we'll keep going."
Warrick took a deep breath, unsure how much more of the horror story he could take, but he would stay. He had promised Nick and he was forced to admit, sheer curiosity kept him from protesting the continuance; he needed to know what had happened to his friends, how Crane had been killed.
Nick focussed on the spot on the wall he had been watching and continued as if they hadn't stopped, "Crane turned back to Greg ..."
Crane wanted me to see how much better he was than Greg.
"Well Gregory, I think it's about time Nick sees the real you, don't you?" Crane sing-songed as he stepped in front of the lab tech, making sure to hold the knife in Greg's direct line of vision.
Greg saw the knife and knew something was going to happen but he was having trouble concentrating on anything besides the pain radiating down his entire left side. His dislocated shoulder was holding up half his weight from the rope he was hanging from and the pulling of the torn tendons and muscles was enough to make him want to scream until he blacked out. But he stayed conscious, determined to stay awake and not leave Nick alone with this madman, but he was also scared to sleep. Sleep meant he would lose awareness of what was happening to him and when he woke up ... well, he knew chances were he wouldn't wake up.
For this reason he found the will to lift his head and watch as Crane stepped towards him and quickly cut away what was left of his tattered t-shirt.
"Nigel, stop. What are you doing?" Nick demanded from across the room, but Crane did not answer. He just smiled a little and continued with his task. When the shirt was gone Crane came around to Greg's back and his eyes widened with a mix of wonder and almost approval.
Crane liked Greg's scars, wanted to know what caused them.
"My my Gregory, these are lovely. How did you get them?"
Greg was confused for a moment, unsure what Crane meant, but then felt the cold knife run slowly down his back, over the scarred flesh on his upper back and neck. His burns, Crane admired his burns.
Though he was having some trouble breathing Greg choked out an answer, "An explosion ... in the lab."
"Sabotage?" Crane asked.
Greg shook his head, "Accident." He affirmed.
"Even better. I think I'll just leave these as they are, they're almost perfect," their kidnapper commented as he pulled the knife away and walked slowly to stand in front of Greg once more, between him and Nick.
As this went on Nick stood, helpless, as helpless as he had been through this entire ordeal and he felt it to his core. He watched, hoping things would not escalate but knowing they would.
He was right.
Crane took a moment to study his knife and his victim and then casually took a lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on and placing it underneath the metal weapon, heating it up.
He wanted to show me that he was a more deserving friend than Greg.
As the knife grew hotter, Crane explained himself, freakishly calm and reasonable, "Time for business. Now Nick, now you're going to finally see what I mean. Once and for all you'll see this worthless annoyance for what he really is; weak, unworthy, a leech that has latched on to your life to live in replace of his own miserable existence."
Then Greg kind of made him mad.
"Not like anyone else in this room, huh?" Greg remarked bitingly, instinct making him fight back. He saw undiluted anger flash in Crane's eyes and regretted talking despite how good the comment felt.
"You will not turn this inquisition back on me, it's you who is lacking here," Crane hissed, taking a step closer to Greg but also continuing to run the knife over the flame.
I tried to get him off Greg's case.
"He's right Nigel, you admitted it yourself. You ‘get confused about what's yours and what's mine'. Even if Greg were guilty of that so were you," Nick pointed out, wanting Crane to turn, to be mad at him, but the killer would not be swayed. His eyes never strayed from Greg, even as he replied.
"That's different. I acted out of admiration and respect, I appreciate so much everything that you do Nick, everything that you are. His actions are motivated by jealousy and envy, it is an insincere form of flattery." Again, Crane sounded calm, scaring Nick. It seemed less and less likely he would be deterred from his actions, whatever they were.
Crane couldn't be reasoned with, he was determined.
Nick tried to form a response but Crane kept talking. His words came out slowly and thoughtfully, with only Greg able to see the insanity in his eyes, "I did some research while I was locked up, you know, learned some more about what you do. One thing I found particularly interesting was that if a wound is inflicted with a metal weapon that's hot enough, it'll cauterize itself. I found that so interesting, I've wanted to try it ever since."
He started to cut Greg.
Without warning Crane tore the knife blade across Greg's abdomen, cutting a long gash from his ribcage to his naval. Greg cried out in surprise and tried to pull away but there was no where to go. He choked on air for a moment and tried to breathe but mostly he concentrated on holding back any tears of pain; he would not cry for this madman, not anymore.
Nick tried to pull forward; it was futile but there was nothing else he could do.
"Nigel!" he yelled. Crane stepped out of the way, frowning. Nick saw the cut was long, but not deep, with a thin line of blood dripping down.
"Hmm, guess it wasn't hot enough," Crane mumbled as he started heating up the knife again.
I couldn't stop him. Everything was so clear to him. The insanity all must have made sense in his head.
"What does this prove?" Nick demanded, his anger briefly boiling over his fear.
"That I'm stronger, I'm the more deserving. You must really see it Nick, I don't know how you haven't already," Crane replied, his voice was still calm, reasonable in its twisted logic.
I couldn't do anything, couldn't stop him. I almost gave up.
Nick didn't know what else to do, to say. He had tried everything. He closed his eyes, exhausted, so impossibly tired he could barely stand and when he heard another sickening slice, followed by Greg's cry of pain, he could no longer find it in him to even react. Instead he actually collapsed; his soul feeling like it was crumbling as hope finally waned. He sat helplessly on the floor and put his head in his hands. He couldn't watch anymore, it would drive him insane, and he knew he couldn't stop Crane. He was unreasonable, illogical; to him all of this made perfect sense. There was nothing he could say to make Crane understand that this was wrong.
Nothing.
But it was Crane who wanted him to understand, wasn't it?
"I think I'll just assume it works, this is taking too long. Besides, I'd hate to see the blood stop flowing, wouldn't you Nick?" he heard Crane comment. He made no move to reply.
Crane just kept hurting him.
"Stop, please," Greg pleaded, panting through gritted teeth, biting down so hard on his own jaw he could barely speak. Crane seemed urged on by the request and sliced him quickly again, right beneath the ribcage, the deepest cut yet.
"Ah, god!" Greg yelled, shaking with pain and exhaustion. "Jesus, stop. You don't have to do this, please, there's no point, he's not going to understand whatever the hell you're trying to teach him. Ah! ...God stop, don't do this ..."
I could only think of one thing to do.
"Oh my God, can you ever shut the hell up for two minutes!" The outburst was sudden and both Greg and Crane turned wide eyes to stare at the speaker.
I had to hurt him too.
When Nick saw he had their full attention he continued, standing, tense with anger, "All you ever do is whine and run your mouth 24/7, you never shut up for a god damn minute, I can't even hear myself think for Christ's sake! God, you're just always following me and rambling on and on about your crappy music and your stupid pop stars like you think I care or something. And if not that you're always running around so proud of your damn lab results that a monkey could process, and then there's your whole pathetic little quest as a CSI wannabe which got old and annoying really fast. Why do you even bother if all you're going to do is screw up anyway? So why don't you just do everyone a favour and shut it for once!" he sounded honestly fed up, annoyed, and best of all to Crane, mad.
Greg's jaw hung open, sucking in a breath as his heart felt like it was sucked into a vacuum. The emotional pain of the words quickly overtook the physical torture he had suffered and for the first time since this began, he felt alone. He had endured it all, every physical blow, because Nick had been behind him, supporting him. He had taken the pain because he believed it had protected Nick, because he was standing by his friend like Nick was for him. Every cut and bruise and blow he had taken without tears, strong in the soul. But now Nick wielded his own knife and it cut deeper than Crane's; his barriers fell and his eyes watered.
"Nick ... what?" he couldn't even form a complete sentence.
I ... I hurt him a lot.
But Nick showed no sympathy, only further disgust and incredulousness, "Come on, you're a freakshow, Nigel here has made some good points, really got me thinking. You really aren't worthy of my friendship at all, especially not now, if ever. I mean look at you, bleeding everywhere, defenceless and ... are those tears in your eyes? Now come on, I can't be seen with someone like you," Nick scoffed at the idea and a look passed between him and Crane.
I gave Crane what he wanted.
Nigel seemed to study his captive for a long time, measuring the emotion in his eyes, the sincerity of his expression and tone in his voice. It all seemed right. He almost didn't dare to hope, but it seemed true; he had gotten through to Nick. Looking behind him, he indeed saw tears on Gregory's cheeks, which he tried to hide by lowering his head.
Greg closed his eyes as he looked down, unable to see anymore. He didn't want to process what Nick had said and in a desperate attempt to block out the emotional pain he actually pulled on his own injured shoulder, relishing in the distraction of physical agony.
I made him think I understood.
"Nick, you understand, at last. I told you," Crane said, smiling. "I told you he was unworthy, he was a shell of the friend I could be to you."
"You did, you tried so hard to warn me, you're a good friend Nigel. Just wish I had listened sooner. I see now, he's been a horrible waste of my time," Nick continued, laughing derogatorily as he saw Greg shudder at his words. "I needed a reality check as much as he does."
"I did all I could Nick," Crane said with fake modesty, yearning for more praise from his new friend.
I made him think I was his friend.
"You did. You tried so hard to show me he wasn't worth my time and made me see how much better I deserve. You did so much and ... God, I made you go through all this hell. I put you through so much and ... you were right all along," Nick's angry, arrogant attitude faded as he went, to be slowly replaced by honest regret and sadness. "I'm so sorry Nigel about everything I made you go through. God, you went to prison for me, you killed for me, and all I did in return was hurt you, betray you. I'm so sorry. Jesus, how could you forgive me? How? I'm just, so sorry. I'm so sorry Nigel. I'm sorry, I'm sorry ..."
Crane watched as Nick seemed to collapse in on himself, overcome with guilt for his actions as he slid down the wall and brought his knees to his chest as he sat down, rocking slightly.
Greg worked hard not to listen, he heard words but focussed on not understanding them when put together. The physical pain was strong and easy to focus on because there was so much and he decided he would rather feel that than listen to Nick and Crane degrade him even more and crush what was left of his will.
As he watched Nick crumble with guilt, Nigel moved closer to him, exuding an air of immediate forgiveness while inside he was filled with extreme satisfaction. Nick's head was down as he rocked and Nigel knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
I got him to trust me.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry ..." Nick mumbled quietly, eyes closed as he leaned over himself.
"Nick, it's all right, I understand it can take awhile to see what later seems so clear. It's okay, we're both okay, we have each other now," Crane said comfortingly.
And then I betrayed him.
But still Nick didn't look up. He kept mumbling, even quieter now and Crane leaned forward to hear him better. He never saw Nick move, he never saw the brief glint of sun off the glass in his hand, he never heard the wind whistle as it travelled, or the flesh tear as the shard imbedded deep in his jugular. He didn't feel the blood rushing out of his body and down his neck. He didn't even feel the pain of the stab. He felt only betrayal as he saw the truth in his friend's eyes.
I guess you could say I stabbed him in the back, but technically it was the neck.
"I'm sorry," Nick repeated one last time, softly and sincere.
Crane did not forgive him. He stumbled back, hand flying to his throat but his gaze never left Nick's. He'd been betrayed, fooled. He was dying and it would be alone at the hand of someone he considered a friend, his only friend. In his last few moments as he quickly bled out, he did not think of redemption or heaven or hell. His thoughts dwelled on what most who die suddenly consider most: revenge.
He looked so betrayed. I think he wanted to hurt me back at that point.
Nick threw the bloody shard away, noting that it slid under the radiator, then watched Crane back away and manage to stand, wobbly with surprise. Their eyes stayed locked and he saw the shock in Crane's expression and the hurt of betrayal. But that look faded as quickly as the blood gushing from his open neck. His eyes furrowed and there was anger, malice that he felt to his core at such a betrayal and it was clear that with his last actions Crane would make Nick pay.
And he immediately thought of the greatest way to hurt the Texan.
And he did.
He swung around quickly and with all his strength and body weight he fell into the body hanging behind him, pushing his knife as deeply as it would go into Greg's unprotected abdomen.
There was nothing I could do.
"No, don't!" Nick cried out too late. The words came more from denial than any real hope of stopping Crane as the damage had already been done.
Crane won.
Greg had not seen the attack coming. He had been so focussed on his own internal monologue he hadn't even seen Nick stab Crane first. The pain hit immediately though and his head shot up, but soon the agony was so over powering he felt nothing at all, just a strange numbing through his body. He tried to breathe and found his lungs would not comply. Still not quite sure what had happened, he looked down just as Crane fell back and saw the entire length of the knife slide slowly out of his torso, leaving a gaping wound behind. He focussed for long seconds on the blood that ran down his stomach, oblivious to all else around him. There was so much, he wondered what was left inside. The blood gushed and he knew he was dying, the numbness was a sign, and he wondered where the flash of his life was, the bright light in the tunnel or maybe even that last burst of superhuman strength that some experience. He pulled on the ropes holding him but they didn't budge; no superhuman strength. As his mind began to wander his body relaxed and he was able to take a long, comforting breath of air into his starved lungs. Almost immediately afterwards his eyes started to droop and just before blissful unconsciousness overtook him, he looked up, and though he saw Nigel Crane's lifeless body and Nick desperately trying to get to him somehow, he heard nothing and could not piece together what it all meant. Somehow he was content not to know what had just happened, he embraced the comfort of knowing that at least it was all over. Then he slipped quietly into the darkness and dreamt about pain.
I couldn't react for a minute, I think I was in shock.
Nick sat numbly at first. It had all happened so fast he could barely process it. It had been hard to take a life, but he knew not nearly so hard as to watch Crane slowly torture Greg to death. But it had gone so wrong, Crane had been so furious about his betrayal that he had taken revenge. Nick's stunned gaze slowly turned to the far wall when he heard a thump and saw Nigel Crane had fallen in what would be his final resting place. Blood seeped through his fingers as he clutched his throat and his wide eyes locked with Nick's, still full of anger they sent a clear message to the CSI: now we're even. Crane smiled in his final triumph, then his head tilted back and the blood stopped running through his fingers.
Nick began to hyperventilate as what had just happened sunk in. His breath came in with quick, short gasps and he whirled to look at Greg. The younger man was still conscious, barely, his blurry gaze fixed in shock on the hole in his side.
Greg was ... barely awake. Hurt, bad.
"Greg, oh my God, Greg can you hear me? Oh shit, oh hell, this can't be happening, Greg! Greg talk to me, look at me! Just stay with me buddy," Nick demanded, pulling and tearing at the cuffs, fiercer than ever. Crane was dead, he didn't care now that he'd killed him, but that left him with no way to gain his freedom. Nick watched as Greg managed to lift his head, having yet to make a sound, and stared at the body of Nigel Crane.
I don't think he could hear me.
"Greg, no, look at me. Over here Greggo, talk to me, please! How bad is it?" Stupid question, he knew. There was blood, and no doctors, and no one coming which equalled no chance. But Nick had to hope, "Just hold on G, we'll get out of here, somehow, I promise."
Greg's gaze flicked to Nick, and the Texan had hope that he would talk to him, but there was no lucidness in Greg's eyes. He was barely awake, practically incoherent.
"Greg, just stay awake, stay here with me, you'll be fine, I swear buddy. Goddammit!" Nick pulled at the cuffs, they didn't budge. "Just keep looking at me, stay awake. Greg? No! Greg, don't! Don't close your eyes! Greg!"
He passed out.
It was too late, Greg was unconscious, head resting on his good shoulder as he hung, helpless, bleeding.
"Greg? Greg wake up!" Nick yelled, but got no response. He began gasping harder, panic taking hold as grief and guilt attacked his mind. "Greg ... I ... I'm ..."
He gasped and felt the first tears slide down his cheeks as he realized he had not told Greg he was sorry. Had not apologized for his actions that had led Crane to stab him, or for the hurtful words he had used earlier. He had not asked for redemption for anything, and now, for it seemed there was no hope, he would never find Greg's forgiveness.
I ... I couldn't do anything. I couldn't explain to him ... I couldn't ... take it back, nothing. I couldn't help him. All I did was hurt him.
"I'm sorry, Greg. I'm so sorry," Nick said from his heart. His breathing did not calm in any way as he panicked and grieved more with every second. Greg would die and it was his fault. He had killed a man, to save his friend, and now he was going to die anyway. It was a cruel twist of events and Nick didn't think he could handle it. Sitting on the floor, resigned, tears fell as he prayed, asked for forgiveness and took comfort only in the rise and fall of Greg's chest. He couldn't tell when, but eventually the emotional and physical toll overtook him, and he unknowingly fell into unconsciousness. When he blacked out he knew Greg was still alive, but he was no closer to forgiveness ...
***
The room was silent as Nick finished the torturous story.Knowing more than he wanted to, Brass sighed and swore softly, "Jesus," then added, louder, "that's ... that's great Nick, you did great. I gotta get back to the station, write up my report, you feel better, okay." He excused himself with words that felt hollow after the horrific tale he had just heard and left the two friends alone.
Warrick sat shocked, holding back rage, grief and pity as he pictured over and over what his friends had gone through, so much pain and adversity and yet somehow they hadn't lost their sanity.
"My god," Warrick whispered, softly enough that not even Nick heard as he ran a hand down his face. Then Nick broke the silence, his voice beginning to crack with the emotion the entire ordeal had left in him.
"So, that's it, the twisted tale of Nigel Crane. Think it's movie of the week material?" Nick asked, trying desperately to hide his emotions with humor and failing. Warrick couldn't speak for a moment and Nick continued, rambling, his walls slowly breaking, "I mean, I could sell the rights no problem. Get some over the top method actor to be Crane, all wiry and eccentric ... I think I'd want the names changed, maybe the setting could be the woods instead ... yeah ... give it some snappy title like "Be Careful Who's Watching". Greg would play himself ... I think ... I think he'd do a good job..."
Warrick could hear Nick's resolve dissolving the longer he rambled and he finally got up and stood by Nick's bed, touching his shoulder to make him look at him.
"Nick, stop," he demanded firmly but not unkind. Nick looked at him, through him, with watery eyes as Warrick lowered himself to his eye level. "It's over okay, just let it go."
The horrific story had taken an emotional toll on Nick. The CSI had met no one's gaze during his testimony, he just kept staring at the far wall, contemplating his guilt and regret. Now he took a shaky breath and shook his head, tears running down his cheeks as he slammed his eyes closed. In a harsh whisper, filled with overflowing emotion, he announced his fear, "He can't die Warrick, he can't. It's not right and it's my fault ... I hurt him so bad."
Warrick didn't hesitate to move to sit on the bed next to Nick and wrap an arm around his shoulders as the tears continued, "Hey man, he's going to be all right, just believe that. You did everything you could Nick, everything. Just like the doctors are doing everything they can right now," Warrick assured him. He wanted to wipe clean Nick's guilty conscience, knowing the Texan had done more than anyone could be expected to, but he also tried to provide him with hope that things would be all right.
Nick looked sceptical and Warrick continued, "Greg's tough, tougher than we give him credit for. From what you said he took everything Crane gave him and still fought back; he won't stop fighting. He's too damn stubborn."
"I know," Nick replied wiping his eyes, and a small smile appeared as he briefly thought of the times Greg's humor and energy had kept them all going on late nights in the lab. Sometimes he could provide a few tidbits of obscure knowledge that helped crack a case, but mostly Greg kept them all laughing and made life interesting. He hated things to be boring and worked hard to be entertaining. The brief smile of Nick's was welcome by Warrick but it quickly faded as more recent, painful memories of Greg took hold in his mind. "No, he shouldn't have to be fighting at all. There was no reason for Crane to bring him into this, it should have just been me."
Nick was clearly wallowing in guilt and Warrick wanted to help, "Nick, Crane is a psycho that needed help, who shouldn't have been allowed to get near you or Greg. More importantly man, no one blames you for any of this, and Greg won't either. It was all Crane. None of this is your fault. You gotta keep telling yourself that. There's nothing you could have done, no way you could have prevented this, and you did everything possible to deter Crane, you did more than anyone could ask."
A curt, dismissive nod was the only reply Warrick got. Nick didn't really care about his own conscience. He thought he could forgive himself easily, anyone could forgive themselves, but he wanted forgiveness from only one person. And if that person couldn't give it to him he would understand, but he mostly just wanted him to survive.
A light knock at the door drew both their attention. Nick flinched noticeably but did not jump this time; Warrick didn't comment, he knew his friend's nerves would be on end for a long time. It was Dr. Connell who appeared in the doorway, clearly not staying long.
"Hi, I thought you'd want to know, Mr. Sanders is out of surgery," the doctor said in his professional tone.
Nick bolted to full attention, "Is he going to be okay?"
"There are no guarantees at this point. He's stable but could go critical again at any time. We're watching him closely but the next 24 hours will be crucial. We'll just have to wait and see in time."
Time. It commanded the fate of all, and now the entire Las Vegas Crime lab would be praying for it to be on their side. But Nick didn't feel like waiting and praying. After hearing this news he suddenly pulled the IV out of his arm, uncaring of the pain or his need for it, and swung out of the bed. Warrick was so surprised he couldn't react until Nick was on his feet, his good arm supporting his weight against the bed frame.
"Nick what are you ..."
"You can't get up yet, you'll ..."
Nick silenced both protests.
"I want to see him," he demanded. His eyes and stance were solid determination, stopping Warrick and the doctor's protests.
Dr. Connell sighed and stood in Nick's path, knowing he wouldn't be able to walk past him and stay upright, "Look, I understand that you want to see your friend, but it's far too soon for you to be out of bed or for him to take visitors. He's in the most delicate stage of recovery and needs his rest."
Nick breathed hard in frustration as the doctor stood in his way and asked curtly, "Is he awake?"
"No," Dr. Connell replied, his voice calm and respectful to the trauma Nick had gone through.
"Then it doesn't matter if I'm there, does it?" Nick said, trying to one up the doctor.
"Exactly the point," Dr. Connell said, looking him straight in the eye. Nick wanted to argue but he understood what the doctor was trying to say; it would make no difference to Greg's recovery or his own if he was there with him.
In short, there was nothing he could do at this point.
Nick stood silently for a moment, considering this, simmering, and then he erupted.
"Ah!" Nick screamed in frustration and spun around quickly, knocking over a serving tray with his good arm. He watched it crash to the ground and then collapsed against the bed, tears returning as he tried to fight his pain. It was hard for him to accept and he didn't think he could handle it again; Greg was in pain again, possibly dying, and just like before, he could do nothing, he was helpless. He hated this feeling and it drained what little emotional control he had regained over the last few hours of consciousness.
Almost immediately Warrick was at his side again, a comforting presence. He took Nick's good arm, "Come on Nick, get back into bed, you're exhausted."
Nick had no will to argue anymore and laid back down. Dr. Connell slowly moved closer, having backed off when Nick exploded. He quickly but efficiently replaced Nick's IV and since it was clear he was calmed down, but hurting, decided to make the best offer he could.
"Tell you what, I'm going to have a nurse bring you something to eat then I want you to get a few hours sleep. After that, if I think you're up to it, I'll get an orderly to come down with a wheelchair and you can go see your friend, but it'll probably be through viewing glass."
Nick sighed in relief and nodded, "Okay, that's fine, thanks and ... I'm sorry."
"No problem, the nurse'll be right in," Dr. Connell assured them both and then left to finish his rounds.
Warrick watched Nick try to calm down without success and sighed, "Nick, you gotta let this go. It's not your fault."
But Nick shook his head, unable to believe, "I caused this, I caused it all. I was the one Crane was after, I was the one he wanted to impress and Greg got hurt."
"By Crane. He's the one who hurt him," Warrick pointed out, trying to make Nick understand. But the other CSI turned to him slowly, eyes almost dead.
"And by me. Worse by me. Crane only managed to hurt Greg's body, he couldn't break him though, he kept fighting, he wouldn't let Crane beat him. But I ... what I said. After that he ... stopped fighting, I ... I may have destroyed his will."
"Come on man, that's ridiculous. Greg was hurt physically, Crane stabbed him, it's not like he would have been able to heal himself or something if you hadn't done what you did," Warrick said, trying to laugh the idea off as ridiculous, but it was clear Nick believed this very seriously.
"You don't understand ... Greg was fighting the whole time, he took every chance, all the pain Crane gave him and rolled with it, but he couldn't take what I did. I got him hurt and I hurt him back ... I took away his will to fight and that may kill him. How do I live with that Warrick? If he dies, how do I live with knowing that? How could I ever ask him to forgive me for that?"
Nick's look was intense and it was clear he was desperate for an answer, but Warrick had none to offer. He turned away and tried to come up with some response, but was saved by the door opening, admitting a thirty-something blond nurse with a meal tray.
"Here you are Mr. Stokes, then Dr. Connell says to get some rest," she said, leaving the tray. Neither of the men responded and she did not notice the seriousness in both their expressions so she departed, completely unaware of the intense conversation she had broken up.
Nick looked at the food but made no move to touch it. Warrick shuffled, unable to come up with any words of comfort, instead he opted to get out, to escape Nick's pain and regroup.
"I'm uh, gonna go see how everyone's doing. I'll be back soon man, all right?"
Nick nodded uncommittedly but did not make eye contact or watch him leave. When Warrick reached the door he turned around and paused but Nick was still unresponsive.
"Get some rest," Warrick said and when Nick did not reply once more he quietly left, now harbouring his own guilt as he felt as though he was abandoning his friend. But Nick did need to rest and even though he probably wouldn't sleep again he would at least have time to deal with his own emotions and maybe come to realize that this indeed was not his fault.
Once he was in the hall Warrick didn't make it much further. Confused and unsure, he headed straight for the nearest wall and leaned against it, closed his eyes and tried to think.
"That was some pretty tough stuff in there."
Warrick jumped at the voice, much like Nick had been doing but relaxed when he saw it was Brass. Apparently the cop hadn't made it far from the room either and came to stand next to the CSI.
"Geez Brass, what they went through. I mean, I've seen some disturbing things in my day but ... they ... they were tortured. There's ... there's no other way to say it," Warrick said reluctantly, clearly not liking or wanting to accept the fact.
"Yeah, all those crime scenes, sometimes they start to meld together. You never think it could happen to someone you know," Brass added.
Warrick huffed and studied the floor, "It already happened to someone I know, I just didn't think it would happen again." He said, his long time mentor and his deceased daughter now in his mind.
Brass nodded in sympathy as he remembered the case that had affected Warrick so badly, "Right. Yeah, I almost forgot. Sorry."
"Nah, forget about it, old Vegas." A pause. "I just can't get my head around it you know. What Crane did, to both of them, it's nuts, it was pointless, but ... it's real," Warrick pointed out, confusion and grief marring his features. "It's not some neat little casefile I can just forget because it's been solved, we're all going to be hurting for a long time because of what this guy did."
"Well, people do crazy things when they're lonely and envious. Not condoning Crane's actions in any way, the bastard deserved what he got, but makes you think what desperation will drive people to do."
"Crane wasn't people, he was an animal, a totally off the wall exception to the human race," Warrick replied, dismissing Crane as being as far from humanity as possible. "What he did though, the pain he caused. I don't know how they survived it."
"Well, it sounds like they only had each other to rely on," Brass said, pushing off the wall to stand.
This seemed to strike a cord with Warrick. He looked thoughtful and didn't reply.
Brass took this as a sign to go and did just that, "I gotta get back to the precinct, write up my report, see how the evidence is coming."
"Anything to keep from sleeping, huh?" Warrick asked knowingly, but his gaze did not stray from the door to Nick's room.
"Something like that. I'll catch you around if you're still here when I drop by later," Brass said and started down the hallway. Warrick gave him a half hearted wave and let him go then stayed a few more minutes, staring, thinking and contemplating Brass's words.
They only had each other to rely on.
That much at least was true and Warrick began to wonder if Nick had been right in thinking he had hurt Greg more than Crane had.
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The window was two way, she reminded herself, meaning he could see her and she could see him, if he ever opened his eyes.
Catherine rubbed her arms as she stood, watching, waiting. Normally she only did this with suspects, watched through the glass, waited for that moment when the suspect breaks, only here the suspect was her friend and the break she waited to see was consciousness even though the doctors explained it could be days before Greg woke up. Looking at him, that was understandable. Almost all his skin was bandaged with white gauze, covering big and small lacerations, Greg's face was more bruised than cut, one armed was laid out bare, an IV dripping fluids, the other arm was pulled to his chest in a sling. It hurt to look at him, so still, but he was alive, and he was going to stay that way, she would ensure it somehow, if only by force of will.
Catherine knew Sara was beside her, watching just as intently, feeling just as strongly but neither of them spoke. They both turned as footsteps approached behind them. It was Grissom with a doctor. Catherine read the tag: Dr. Preston.
"How's he doing?" Catherine immediately asked, knowing the doctor must be there to report on Greg.
The doctor took a breath, knowing these situations were always tense, "Please, why don't you take a seat?"
They all sat and looked expectantly.
"Well?" Sara finally demanded when the doctor did not speak right away.
"Mr. Sanders' condition is not great. Before I go into further details I have to ask if any of you know of any blood relatives he may have," Dr. Preston questioned.
Catherine and Sara shook their heads. Grissom thought a moment and replied, "He mentioned he had a Grandpa Olaf from Norway, but I don't know if he's alive or how to find him."
"Greg doesn't talk about his family much," Sara realized, but if one really thought about it, none of them did except maybe Nick or Catherine, and that was always about Lindsay.
"Well then it may be he has no blood relatives alive, or that he wants contacted in any case since he has," Dr. Preston checked his chart, "Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes listed as his emergency contacts and next of kin."
"Did you know that?" Catherine asked Gil, who looked just as surprised.
"I had no idea," Grissom replied, shrugging off the point.
"Technically I am only supposed to release details on Mr. Sanders' condition to you, Mr. Grissom, since Mr. Stokes has been admitted himself," Dr. Preston pointed out.
Grissom shook his head, "Whatever you tell me I'm just going to repeat to them anyway so you might as well tell us here."
The doctor had expected that and nodded, not put off, "That's fine. Well, Mr. Sanders is stable for now, after the transfusion we were able to fix the damage done by the stab wound. He was very lucky. No major arteries were hit or vital organs, we had to remove his appendix due to some bleeding but as you know it is not a necessary organ. Along with a great deal of bruising and lacerations the only other major injury was to his shoulder, it was dislocated and the muscles have been torn quite severely, it'll be a few weeks at least to heal."
He paused a moment and Sara leaned forward, "But he's going to be okay, right?"
Dr. Preston offered no false hope with his reply, "He's stable as I said, but even though he made it through surgery he's not completely out of the woods. His body is very weak, vulnerable from the long term strain placed on him and his wounds weren't treated for hours in what I am guessing were very unsterile conditions because he's already showing signs of infection. We're pumping him with antibiotics but if it gets worse we may have some problems; his body isn't strong enough to survive the strain for long."
"Oh god," Catherine sighed, putting her head down, hands in her hair.
Gil placed a hand on her shoulder then turned to the doctor, "I'm sure you're doing all you can, thank you."
"It's no problem. If you have any questions or concerns a nurse can page me. For now, just be with your friend," Dr. Preston suggested as he stood to go.
Sara stood up as well and grabbed his arm, "Can we go sit with him?" she asked, wanting to somehow help Greg, if only through unconscious comfort and support.
But the doctor shook his head, "I'm sorry, we're keeping his outside exposure as limited as possible so the infection won't get worse. Maybe in a day or two if he improves."
Accepting this for now, Sara nodded and Dr. Preston took his leave. The three CSIs were left alone again, staring at the glass at their friend they could not touch. Helpless.
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Hours passed and there was little change. Warrick came up and related the story of the ‘Room of Horrors' to everyone, if not only so they could close the case, but so they could be prepared emotionally for how Nick and Greg may react to their experience. Their reaction was the same as his had been, amazement, pity and outrage.
Catherine eventually had to go home to be with Lindsay but promised to return. Grissom left after a few hours, stating that there was still work to do as his excuse. He knew their cases wouldn't solve themselves but it was really only a justification to leave the well of human drama he felt trapped in. Sara agreed to spend the night, promising to call them if anything changed with Nick or Greg. Warrick also came upstairs with her since Nick was resting on doctor's orders. Little was said in those long hours, coffee was drank, and sometimes they slept but besides that there was only worry.
Sara was woken up from a light nap by the sound of activity to her left. She was immediately awake, worried it was doctors coming with bad news, but she smiled genuinely when she saw who it was.
"Nick." She got up and gently hugged her fellow CSI who had been wheeled in by an orderly, careful of his injured shoulder. He was in a wheelchair and was heavily bandaged, not quite as bad as Greg but almost. He tried to smile but it felt wrong.
"Hey Sara," he replied, returning the hug gratefully. Warrick also stood to greet him, putting a hand on his good shoulder.
"Hey man, how you feeling?"
"I'm all right," Nick replied, without thinking or meaning it. "I'll be better after I see him." His eye was drawn to the window that looked in on the next room where he knew Greg must be; he couldn't see in because the chair was so low and he slowly started to rise.
"All right, take it easy," Warrick suggested, taking his arm but also trying to brace him for the shock, "Remember, he's doing good. He's still stable and improving even if he doesn't look it."
Nick ignored the comment as he concentrated on the few steps he needed to take. There was nothing wrong with his legs, but he was weak from surgery and his body ached with bruises.
Sara stood a few feet back, having seen enough of Greg's injured form, and gave Nick his space.
When he knew he was close enough Nick stopped following his own feet, and he looked up and saw Greg. The returning shock and grief that hit him was enough to cause his already wobbly knees to buckle. Even Warrick was surprised by the effect the sight had on him and he would have fallen forward if he had not caught himself with his good hand on the window sill. He stayed like that for a minute, leaned over and breathing deeply, wishing this wasn't true. Looking up again confirmed that it was. Even though he was now clean and bandaged Nick thought Greg looked worse than he had. The bruises had darkened, the sling emphasized the dislocated shoulder he had paid no attention to before, the bandages covered him like a cocoon and IVs and monitors invaded his space. Worst of all was the expression as he slept; it was not peaceful or relaxed as one may hope. No, Greg's face was tight, seemingly with pain, and his brow was furrowed as if thinking too hard; there was no sign of restfulness or healing which is what perhaps disturbed Nick the most.
Suddenly Nick couldn't breathe. It hurt to look on his friend and the pain he had helped cause. He looked away again, ashamed.
"God Greg ... I'm sorry," he whispered to the floor. A new comforting touch drew his attention and he saw Sara had moved beside him. She wanted to help, they all did, but he didn't want to talk about what had happened or how he was feeling or how sorry they all were, so instead he just asked what he wanted to know, "Can we go in yet?"
Sara hated that she had to shake her head, "No, he's fighting off a bad infection, the doctor wants to keep his outside exposure down."
Nick's eyes somehow seemed to sadden even more, "So he's alone in there."
"I think he knows we're here," she replied comfortingly and he gave her a shadowed smile in thanks.
There was a long silence as Nick took comfort in watching Greg's chest rise and fall and listening to the reassurance of the heart monitor beeping consistently. A monitor that wouldn't be necessary if it wasn't for him, thought Nick.
Beep ... beep ... beep ...
"How long is Dr. Connell letting you stay?" Warrick asked softly, trying to pull Nick from his guilt-ridden thoughts.
"I'm not sure, I wasn't really listening when he was talking to me," Nick replied absently, keeping his gaze locked on Greg.
Beep ......... beep ......... beep ......
"How are you doing anyway?" Sara asked and tried not to notice when Nick flinched at the question.
"I'll be okay, worry about Greg, he needs it more," he replied, clearly still not focussing on those offering their support. It was clear he did not want to answer their questions and they got the idea and lapsed into silence.
Beep ............ Beep .............. Beep ..............
They still watched Nick though, and as he stood silently they saw his features slowly change from withdrawn to very worried, causing Sara and Warrick to move in slightly closer.
"Nick, what's wrong?" Warrick asked, on guard in case Nick suddenly collapsed or did something drastic again.
Beep ............... Beep .................. Beep ................
"Greg, something's wrong, his heart's slowing down," Nick announced.
Beep ...............................
"He's not breathing!" Sara shouted, hoping to draw someone's attention. Warrick was already moving out of the room in an attempt to find someone when doctors and nurses suddenly appeared in the room by Greg's side and started working to keep the young man alive.
"What's wrong with him?" Nick asked, eyes more focussed than ever on the scene in front of him.
"I don't know ... but the doctor said his body may be too weak to handle the strain of the infection," Sara reported dismally as they watched the doctors check the monitors and prepare the crash cart but they could hear nothing of the diagnosis. Along with being airtight the window was also soundproof. The three friends waited with baited breath to see if the heart monitor would spring to life once more, but just as the doctors were charging up the paddles a nurse pulled a curtain over the window, cutting off their view.
"Goddammit!" Nick yelled in anger, striking the glass with his good hand. Sara and Warrick were both surprised into stillness by the outrage, and Nick stayed that way for many moments, with his clenched fist against the glass and head bowed.
"Come on Greggo, don't give up now," he muttered.
Warrick risked touching him, though he could see the Texan was pure tension, and suggested gently, "Hey, maybe you should head back downstairs man, get some rest, we'll let you know what happens."
Nick moved surprisingly fast and knocked Warrick's arm away. His eyes reflected barely controlled anger as he grit out his response, "Don't you dare try to get me to leave him." Then he turned back to the window and the subject was closed.
"All right," Warrick backed off slowly, nodding. Sara followed suit and their eyes met, reflecting their understanding; Nick needed time and space, which was what they would give him.
A few more minutes passed with awful silence until finally Dr. Preston returned to talk to them. Nick nearly lunged at the man.
"Is he all right? Can we see him?"
Dr. Preston put his hands up to stop their questions, "Relax, as you probably saw he did suffer temporary respiratory failure but we got him back." That said, he pointed behind the three to the window. They turned around to see the curtain being pulled back again and rushed to the window to see Greg, alive and breathing, but this time with some help.
"What happened to him?" Sara asked when the doctor came to stand behind them.
"As I mentioned before Mr. Sanders's body is terribly weak from the strain of his trauma and the following infection, it simply became too much for him to keep breathing. We've intubated him and put him on a respirator so his heart rate's back to normal for now," Dr. Preston reported trying to sound optimistic, but one of the CSIs was in no mood for optimism.
"Is he dying?" Nick asked, his voice almost sounding calm but the underlying emotional turmoil was obvious.
The doctor hesitated, "Mr. Stokes you really shouldn't be here, Dr. Connell has ..."
"Is Greg dying?" Nick demanded, cutting off Dr. Preston's distraction attempts.
He sighed and shrugged, "I can't say. At this point it's really up to him."
Nick stood silent for a moment, digesting this and what it meant, and then he crumpled; collapsing into a chair behind him as his breath came in short gasps. Sara and Warrick were beside him immediately, making sure he was all right and again offering their support until it would be accepted.
This time it was.
Nick did not shake away their arms, he simply took the comfort offered.
"He's not fighting Warrick, he's just letting go like it was all pointless. Hell, it was pointless. He's not fighting anymore, not after what I did. He's dying, he's dying and it's my fault," Nick mumbled as tears threatened to fall once more.
Warrick shook his head, "Nick, it's not your fault, you tried to save him, you did everything you could and more. You couldn't have known what would happen and you didn't make Crane a psychopath. It'll be okay, it'll be okay, it's not your fault."
It was clear that Warrick and Nick had established some understanding about this situation that she was not aware of, so Sara excused herself to give them room, "I'm gonna go call Cath and Grissom, let them know what's happening."
Warrick nodded in clear thanks for her departure and turned back to Nick, who hadn't looked up. He appeared lost once more in self pity and Warrick was becoming desperate to restore his faith and hope.
"Nick, please, snap out of it. He'll make it man, Greg always bounces back. He just likes to draw things out and leave us guessing until the last minute. You know him, he's got a flare for the dramatic, always holding back our results on us, making us jump for answers. He's keeping us on our toes, he's just being Greg, we almost should have expected this from him; he'll do anything to get a reaction from us."
This actually made Nick laugh because it almost sounded believable. It was something Greg would do, lead them to the wrong conclusion, leave them guessing until the last minute and then drop the bombshell of their lab results, usually surprising them all and breaking a case wide open.
Warrick was glad to see the smile on Nick's face, it looked like hope, and then more seriously, perhaps to provide faith, he added, "Greg will be all right Nick, believe that. Believe in him, it's all he's ever really wanted." Nick looked slowly up at Warrick as if he had revealed the answer to Nick's life or death question and Warrick smiled back, knowing it was what Nick needed to hear, "All the work he does, he just wants us to believe in him."
Nick wiped the lone tear from his cheek and answered resolutely, strong, "Yeah, you're right. I can do that."
Warrick was glad to hear it and was about to suggest that Nick get some more rest when he suddenly got up and walked straight for the door to Greg's room. Warrick was right on his heels to stop him and Dr. Preston also stood in his way.
"Let me by, please. I have to see him," Nick pleaded, trying to get around the doctor but unable to move fast enough.
"No one is allowed in with him, least of all patients who should be resting themselves," Dr. Preston pointed out, stopping all Nick's weak attempts to get by.
Even Warrick tried to pull him back by his good shoulder, "Come on man, you heard him, let's get you back downstairs."
Nick shrugged him off, amazingly determined, "I have to see him, it'll help, you have to believe me."
Dr. Preston crossed his arms unconvinced, "How?"
"It's hard to explain, it's just ... the things I said ... he might not have the will to keep fighting ... because of me. I have to try to fix what I did, what I said," Nick stammered, unsure how to explain the certainty he felt to this stranger.
But Dr. Preston was still reluctant to move, unconvinced Nick's motives were to make Greg feel better or himself, "He can't even hear you, he's unconscious."
Nick met his eye and shrugged as if it didn't matter, "Then how can it hurt to try?"
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For that the doctor had no argument.
Another gruelling hour passed as Dr. Preston conferred with Dr. Connell about Nick's health and state of mind, debating whether letting him visit with Greg would be beneficial to either of their patients. In the end they came to the same conclusion Nick had; it couldn't hurt to try, at least for awhile. Eventually they dressed him in sterile scrubs and walked him through a disinfectant room to destroy as many germs as possible that may come in with him and then they finally allowed him to go in.
A nurse walked in with him. They moved slowly to Greg's bedside and Nick sat down heavily in the chair they had set there for him, partly from exhaustion and partly from grief at seeing Greg's weak form even closer. So much pain.
The nurse made sure he would be all right and then patted his good shoulder.
"I'll leave you alone, but I'm not far away. If you need anything just buzz," she instructed. Nick nodded and smiled briefly in thanks. She returned it and then left, closing the viewing curtains as she went to offer some more privacy; she knew how serious the younger man's injuries were and she assumed the Texan was only there to say good-bye to a dying friend, not to coax him into fighting to live.
When he was finally alone with Greg, despite the certainty he had felt that he had to be there, Nick suddenly found he didn't know what to say. He fidgeted and was silent as he watched the respirator force air into Greg's lungs - it was intrusive and seemed horrible, but it was keeping him alive. Nick laughed suddenly, it was brief and unexpected, it might have been to keep from crying.
"I'm not good at this G, you know that. You're always the conversation starter, hell, you're a conversation all itself most of the time." More silence. Another nervous laugh. "Look at the two of us, we must look like quite the pair, at least when you get out of here we can start a new fashion trend back at the lab, by the end of the week I bet all the guys will have their arms in slings."
Nick shifted again, careful of his own bandaged arm. He looked at Greg again, unmoving, expression pained, and very quickly all his nervousness left him to be replaced by a deep solemnity.
Pulling the chair closer, he leaned towards the bed, careful of the IVs and machines and pleaded his case, "Greg, I'm sorry. I know you said I shouldn't be, but how can I not? I'm the reason you're in this bed and I'm the reason you're not trying to get out of it. You're letting go Greggo - don't. Don't give up, not because of me. I'm sorry about what I did ... what I said. I didn't mean any of it Greg. I'm lucky to have you for a friend, I mean that, and I'm so proud of you for what you're trying to do. It takes so much courage to set aside a good career and start fresh, and it's because you believe you can do more, that you have more to give, and you do. You have so much to give Greg, don't let it all go to waste. I ... I never wanted to hurt you ... believe it or not I was trying help, I was trying to protect you, it just kind of backfired on me. But Crane's dead, I ki ... well, he's dead, he won't be back to hurt you or me again.
"Geez, I want you to fight Greg, I need you to fight, and it's not just for me, the whole team's here. They're watching, they're praying, and I don't think you'd let them down because they believe in you. I believe in you. Fight. Don't let Crane win, and if you hate me that's all right, I deserve it, but don't let what I did stop you, I'm not worth it. Fight for you, because I know you want to live. Maybe you're scared about what you'll have to face when you wake up, but it'll be all right, everyone's here for you, we'll face it together, it's not impossible. Just give me another chance Greg, please don't deny me the chance to make this right - believe in yourself Greggo, and keep fighting. Please, keep fighting."
Nick was shaking by the time he finished, exhausted from the emotional plea. Looking up he saw that Greg had not moved, the rhythm of the respirator was the same, and the beeps of the heart monitor were consistent - nothing had changed. Nick sighed, there were no guarantees that Greg had even heard him. He was too tired to try and say any more and in truth he felt there was nothing left to say, but he stayed where he was, watching, praying, hoping for any sign that Greg may improve, that he was listening to Nick's plea, but there was nothing. An hour later the nurse came back and told him his time was up, the doctors insisted he get some rest and Nick could make no objections - his words had not helped, they had changed nothing, and that returning feeling of helplessness was crushing what little hope he had left.
As the nurse slowly walked him out Nick felt such hopelessness that he could not even turn around to look once more at his friend, because he felt that if he did it would be for the last time ever and he could not bear that. As the door clicked shut behind them the lone figure in the room remained still and on the outside nothing changed.
But in his mind the shadows that had haunted him passed and his dreams began to take a much brighter turn.
***
Three days passed and though the change was slow, it was there. After a day the infection had become less of a worry, so much so that Nick, Sara and Catherine were allowed in to see Greg again, one at a time. After the first two nights the other CSI's had to go back to work. As much as they wanted to be there full time, life went on, though admittedly most of their hours at work were spent thinking of their injured friends, and their free hours passed at the hospital.Nick improved slowly. He wasn't sleeping well or eating as much as he should. The doctors had hoped he would heal faster than he was, but there was little they could do; it was stress and concern that was stunting Nick's recovery and though there were pills to prescribe to help with such things, Nick refused them all. He spent as much time as they would let him in Greg's room. He watched the bruises slowly darken, hating their presence, but knowing that it was the first sign that they were starting to heal. He was reassured by watching Greg breathe, knowing he was alive, and most of all by the expression he now wore. Gone were the lines of pain and tension that had once been present, instead he looked restful and sombre, not content, but no longer hurting at least.
Sometimes he would fall asleep in the large chair by Greg's bed, lulled to sleep by the steady beep of the heart monitor and respirator. It was upon waking from one of these naps that Nick felt a horrible fear as he opened his eyes and realized he heard nothing, absolutely nothing. There were no beeps from the heart monitor, no pulses from the oxygen tank, no air rushes from the breathing tube - there was nothing.
It sounded like death.
Pushing himself up quickly, he searched for the nurse's buzzer.
"Greg," he exclaimed in panic, scared beyond reason and hoping it was only a power outage of some sort. But the lights were still on, there had to be power if the lights were on, then where were the machines? The machines that kept Greg alive.
His single fumbling hand finally found the buzzer but before he pressed down he noticed a third presence in the room and paused. Dr. Preston had come around the bed quickly when he saw Nick wake up so disturbed and tried to calm him down.
"Mr. Stokes, it's all right," he said comfortingly.
Nick wouldn't listen, "The machines, they're ..."
"It's okay, calm down," Dr. Preston interrupted him. Nick looked at him, worried, but saw he was smiling and felt himself relax. "It's all right, there's no problem with Mr. Sanders, in fact he's doing much better. I turned off the heart monitor while I was taking him off the respirator, he doesn't need it anymore."
Nick's eyes widened, "Really?"
He looked to his left and it was true, Greg was breathing, deeply and easily, and on his own power.
"That's great ... that's good to hear," he sat back down with a sigh, and said, more quietly, as he laid his hand on Greg's, "You're doing great Greggo, keep it up."
"He's really a lot stronger than he was, and recovering nicely," Dr. Preston reported, enjoying seeing the smile and loss of tension the news caused in Nick. He knew the other man had not been resting and therefore not getting better and hoped good news would help him recover.
"When do you think he'll wake up?" Nick asked, quickly turning sombre once more as he thought about what that moment would be like.
But Dr. Preston could give him no definite answer, "There's no way to know. The swelling from the head trauma has gone down and he's getting stronger everyday, but it's up to him when he wants to rejoin the living. It could be anytime."
The doctor left shortly after and Nick was left alone with Greg once more and smiled. The removal of the respirator was a big improvement, it meant Greg was fighting and winning, that he wanted to live. Nick squeezed his hand briefly.
"Take your time G, wake up when you're ready, I'll be right here," Nick promised. He leaned back and then sat up straighter as Greg shifted as if trying to get comfortable, which was uncommon; Greg never moved. His head lolled and Nick held his breath, but it was for nothing. Greg did not wake up.
Nick sighed and leaned back again, settling in and repeating softly, "Whenever you're ready."
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A few hours later he had some more company, company which was much more welcome than just the doctors he saw all day. As the end of the night shift rolled by Sara and Warrick entered the room quietly, beating their supervisors who were bogged down with paperwork. They knew Nick would be there but it was not until they were certain he was awake that they made any noise.
"Hey guys," Nick greeted them, standing up for a brief hug from each and actually showing a small semblance of a smile.
"Hey Nick," Sara replied when she pulled away, encouraged by the increased glow in the Texan's skin, "how you feeling?"
"I'm all right, arm still hurts, but check it out," he pointed behind him towards the room's official occupant whom they had all come to see.
"Look at that, respirator's gone. When'd that happen?" Warrick asked, returning Nick's hopeful smile.
"Couple of hours ago, doc says he's getting a lot stronger, could wake up any time," Nick answered.
Sara also smiled and moved closer to the bed, taking up Nick's vacated seat and reaching to hold Greg's hand, "Good work Greg, you hurry up and get better though, I'm getting really sick of this replacement they have in for you. He's not smart enough to run my evidence first, like some people."
Warrick and Nick laughed behind her, something they hadn't done in awhile, then Warrick leaned a tall bag against the wall.
The card on the side read ‘Greg' and Nick pointed to it, confused, "What's in that? Doesn't look like flowers."
Warrick smirked, "Nah, that's too traditional for Greg, he'd hate that, us treating him like everyone else. It's a Pink poster, thought I'd put it up on that wall, give him something he likes to look at for when he wakes up, sort of an incentive."
This was followed by another laugh, a second for that night, a new record in recent days.
Nick hit him on the shoulder approvingly, "That's a great idea, he'll love it. I'd help put it up but I'm kind of the one armed bandit at the moment."
"I can handle it. I was gonna get some coffee first though, I'm dying for some caffeine."
"I'll come with you," Nick offered, following Warrick to the door, "I've been sitting for too long, I gotta stretch my legs. Sara, can you stay with him for a minute?"
Sara rolled her eyes and replied sarcastically, "I suppose I can find some way to survive with him alone for a little while, but only because he's unconscious." Nick didn't really laugh and she turned serious as well. "Go, I'm here with him, it'll give us time to catch up."
At this Nick smiled, nodded then left with Warrick to get some coffee a few floors down. His movements were still somewhat stiff, but he had improved in the past few days. His bruises and cuts were healing and his body didn't ache as bad, so walking wasn't as big a chore as it had been. But now with Greg definitely improving Sara thought Nick's mental state would do a one-eighty as well, which seemed to be the case. He was smiling, somewhat relaxed, and had actually just left Greg's room without anyone forcing him to. That was a big step, and she was glad to find out that both her friends seemed to be recovering.
But as she leaned forward to take Greg's hand again, she knew they weren't out of the woods yet, there was still a lot of healing to happen. She was actually glad the guys had left, it gave her a real opportunity to talk to Greg one on one, something she didn't think anyone had gotten to do except Nick. And she had a lot of things she wanted to say to the young man.
"Hey Greg, it's Sara. I hear you're doing better, that's great, must be good to get that tube out of your throat." A pause. "Why don't you wake up now Greg? You know, I understand why you would wanna stay asleep, the world probably seems scary and doesn't make a lot of sense, but you can survive it. Even if you don't feel like you can ... you'd be surprised what people can survive. Even people who are close to you. They can survive and put it behind them, and turn out pretty well. Least I hope they can. And I know you will. But it's up to you, just remember, we miss you, and I know you'll be all right. You're stronger than people think and I see that, so don't you forget it."
There was another long pause. She knew it would be a few minutes before Nick and Warrick came back so she pulled the chair a little closer and slowly reached out to touch Greg's hair. She was tentative at first, but smiled as she smoothed back his bangs once or twice, noticing that the hair had grown quite flat without Greg tending to it with his assorted hair products. She'd always noticed how much time Greg spent on his appearance and in a way it had even made her start to think more about her own. The thought brought out of her a new train of thought, which she shared aloud in hopes that Greg heard her.
"There's still a lot I have to teach you, you know, about being a CSI, but not much. You learn fast Greg, you're smart, but you're also persistent. I know you've been studying and taking classes, because you know way more than you could have picked up offhand at the lab, but I also know from first hand experience that you're stubborn when you're going after something you want. I think you should know, all those times I turned you down ... it's not that I wasn't flattered, and it's not that you weren't sweet or adorable, cause you were, it's just ... you have so much fun Greg, you enjoy life and the truth is, I don't. I envy that in you and maybe I'm even jealous and I wasn't about to take that enjoyment away from you by bringing you down with my problems, you deserve better than that. I wasn't going to be that person who causes the first tension lines on your face or keeps you from going out on a Friday night. But I wanted to say yes, because I want what you have, freedom, in body and mind. I just couldn't risk taking it away from you in the process. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that everything I've taught you about being a CSI is nothing compared to what you've shown me about how to live life, and I really should have said this sooner, but I'm saying it now, and I hope you can hear me."
That said she leaned forward, pushed back his hair once more and placed a kiss on his temple. Greg did not move, which she had expected, not wanting to hope for too much, but she did lean back with a contented sigh, feeling better for having said what she had wanted to say for so long. She sat quietly for a minute, enjoying watching Greg breathe so easily, but eventually she started to get bored and wondered how Nick sat here all day; it was for more than just friendship, it probably had a lot to do with guilt. But an experience like Nick and Greg had would bond people together and Nick was probably having trouble letting go.
She shook her head, not liking where her thoughts were going and looked for a distraction until Nick and Warrick got back. Spotting the poster in the corner she got up to look at it. She pulled it out of the bag and unrolled it carefully, not wanting to crease it and cringed; Greg certainly had unique taste. Smiling, she shook her head as she rolled it back up but it was very soon forgotten. A sound to her left made her turn; Greg's head was lolling and he moaned as his eyes fluttered, his first signs of life in days.
"Greg? Greg, oh my god!" Sara hesitated for a moment after dropping the poster and rushing to his side. Unsure whether to touch him, speak to him or leave him to wake on his own, all she was sure to do was hit the nurse's call button. While she waited for a response she couldn't help reaching out to squeeze his hand and try to coax him into waking, "Greg, it's Sara. I'm right here, it's okay, you're doing great."
A nurse walked in, "Is everything all right?"
Sara turned, startled and almost panicked, "I think he's waking up."
"I'll try to find Dr. Preston," the nurse nodded but did not rush to leave. Though Sara was nervous and on edge, this was everyday for the nurse and she did not run down the hall, but strode patiently to locate the doctor.
Sara didn't care at the moment as she turned to see that Greg was not only shifting but his eyes were slowly opening. It was slow and unsure, the light must have been painful, but eventually he was looking at her and she found she could not speak.
Choking a little with emotion at first, she gently touched his less bruised cheek, "Hey Greg, it's Sara, we missed you. You're at the hospital, how you feeling?"
His eyes were barely lucid, there were a lot of pain meds in his system, but he did open his mouth to speak, though nothing came out but hoarseness. Sara was ready immediately; she grabbed the glass of water on the bedside table and brought the straw to his lips.
"Here, drink slowly," she instructed and he did, just taking enough to cool his throat and dropping his head back the inch he had brought it off the pillow to drink.
"Greg, can you talk to me? Are you okay?" Sara asked again when he still did not speak. He slowly looked to his left and then right, barely moving his head, for that was all he could manage.
Finally he looked at Sara and she could barely hear him ask, "Safe?"
She was not prepared for that and just looked at him, confused, "What?"
Deep emotion set into his eyes, he might have been remembering, it might have been the pain, "Before ... it wasn't safe."
Tears threatened to come but Sara wouldn't let them. She shook her head and forced herself to smile as she looked Greg in the eye, "You're safe, I promise. Crane's dead, he won't be back to hurt anyone. You're safe Greg, we've all been with you the whole time. Me, Catherine, Warrick and Grissom come and see you as much as we can and Nick's here all the time, he hardly ever leaves."
Greg didn't react to everything she said, just listened. And then she said Nick's name and he flinched and looked away. She leaned over him again, trying to make eye contact.
"Greg, what's wrong? The doctor will be here in a second, okay, and Warrick and Nick are coming back. Just stay awake for me, come on," she said, trying to sound cheerful for his sake, though his reaction was worrying her.
He shook his head, not comforted by her words and turned even more.
"Not safe then," he whispered and his words were so painful she nearly cried. She stood in shock for a moment and was about to speak when a hand on her shoulder made her turn - it was Dr. Preston. He gently moved her to the side and took her place closer to Greg's head.
"Excuse me," he said absently as he took out a penlight and shone it in Greg's eyes, "Mr. Sanders, I'm Dr. Preston, I've been treating you. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"
Greg closed his eyes and shook his head, smiling sardonically, "You don't want to know."
Dr. Preston stood up straight at the response and was silent for a moment then seemed to remember Sara, who was watching over his shoulder.
"Can you wait in the hall for a moment, Miss? I have to do a few exams now that he's awake."
Sara was obviously reluctant but then nodded, "Yeah, sure. Greg, I'll be right outside, okay."
He did not reply or even acknowledge as she left the room; he simply stared at the wall and did not turn.
Once she was in the hallway, Sara sat down in the nearest chair, suddenly exhausted. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself, all the while trying to get the image of Greg's haunted eyes and frightened words out of her mind. What he had been through was traumatic enough, but she suddenly had a feeling that while he slept he had found little peace of mind. His words confused her and she played them over in her head. Then suddenly she was pulled from her thoughts when she heard her name being shouted down the hall.
"Sara!" Nick repeated as he and Warrick drew closer, finally getting her attention. "Why aren't you with Greg? What's going on?"
Both men clearly feared the worst due to Sara's grim expression, but she quickly plastered a fake smile on as she stood up, "The doctor made me leave. Greg woke up, he's examining him."
"Greg's ... awake? That's great. I gotta see him," Nick said immediately pushing for the door. Warrick's hand stopped him.
"Easy there Nicky, if Sara got kicked out what makes you think you're allowed in there?"
Nick clearly hadn't really considered it and nodded in agreement, then silently cursed that Greg had been put in a non-windowed room; he had no way of seeing how his friend was doing.
The three could not relax in the seats in the hallway, but instead stood tensely, waiting impatiently. Nick and Warrick sipped their somewhat forgotten coffee and Sara listened as Nick rambled in disbelief.
"He's been doing really well, but I can't believe it, two days I've been sitting in there and he wakes up the second I leave the room. Go figure," he mulled.
"Maybe it's because you left the room," Sara commented softly, immediately regretting it when she saw Nick had heard her and the reaction it caused in him.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing," she backtracked quickly, forcing another smile.
"Sara, tell me," Nick requested, not mad but desperately curious.
"Really, it was nothing," she defended.
Then there was a long hesitation on Sara's part until Nick came up beside her and looked her in the eyes, "Please."
She shook her head, hating what she was about to say, "Look, I'm probably looking too much into this ... I just ... what Greg said when he woke up ... I don't think he feels safe around you."
It hurt Nick to hear this, it was written on his face, but it was not a complete surprise either. He laughed sadly and sat down in a hall chair, "He doesn't trust me. That's why he wouldn't wake up when I was there, he's afraid of me."
"Nick ..." Warrick began but was interrupted by the doctor's return.
"Doc, how's he doing?" Nick asked immediately.
"I'm sure you're aware he woke up briefly, unfortunately he's already fallen back to sleep, but from what I saw his reactions were good. Pupil dilation, speech, memory and movement were all just fine, I can't foresee any problems in his recovery at this point," Dr. Preston reported happily, but was surprised by the sad look in the eyes of the three, though he did not comment.
"Can we go in with him?" Warrick asked when Nick seemed unwilling to speak anymore.
"Sure, and if he wakes up again there's no need to call a nurse unless he's uncomfortable or needs anything," he instructed and then was gone.
"Thank you," Sara called out to him, but then turned to Nick who made no move to enter Greg's room. "Aren't you going in?"
Nick shook his head, "He doesn't want me in there."
"Nick, you have to explain to him what happened, it's the only way you're going to get over this and the only way he'll understand. And he will understand and forgive you, but you have to be in there to do it," Warrick advised, not pushing but laying out Nick's options for him.
Nick thought about it for a long moment, unsure what was the right thing to do for Greg. Clearly Greg didn't want him in there, but the sooner he could explain what happened, the sooner he and Greg could have some peace of mind.
After considering everything, he decided and opened the door. Sara and Warrick followed closely behind and though there was silence, there was also unspoken support.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
More hours passed. Warrick and Sara had to return home eventually but were replaced by Catherine and Grissom, who both stayed for a few hours before visiting hours ended, promising to return. Greg did not stir and Nick did not speak, now worried about letting Greg know he was there.
Time passed slowly as Nick waited, no longer worried that Greg would survive, he was in the clear according to the doctors, but hoping that Greg would somehow believe him and forgive him for what he had been forced to do in an attempt to save his life.
Nick's eyes threatened to close in sleep several times, but he always fought it, determined to be there, alert, when Greg woke up. And that was precisely what happened.
Just as Nick was about to ask a nurse for another cup of coffee, he noticed Greg start to shift again. Before Nick could stand Greg's eyes opened, quicker than before, and his more lucid gaze swept the room. Nick held his breath as this happened, scared of startling him and deciding to give him a chance to wake up on his own. Greg did look around, just curiously at first, as Nick made no noise, but when he laid eyes on the other man he immediately tensed. His gaze went no further after that, it stayed on Nick and fear began to build in Greg's eyes, as if he was scared to look and scared to look away.
Nick racked his brain for something to say and after a long moment of silence could only come up with, "Hey Greggo, it's just me, take it easy. How you feeling?"
Greg swallowed and did not reply, only pushed himself up as straight as he could manage in his condition.
Looking at the floor and then around the room, becoming more nervous, Nick tried to think of something else to say, "Hey, Warrick got you a poster, what do you think?" He asked, pointing to the wall behind him.
Greg did not look, his gaze stayed fixed on Nick, studying him, taking in everything - remembering.
"Come on man, say something. Are you okay? Are you mad? Are you confused? Are you hungry ... what? What's going on in your head Greg? Let me know," Nick requested, his voice sincere and honestly curious.
At this Greg finally turned away. He focussed on the floor in the other direction and closed his eyes. He appeared deep in thought, cringing and sometimes flinching as he sat silently, then finally he turned back to Nick, his eyes were still wide but now ... uncertain.
Nick waited with baited breath and then finally, Greg spoke.
"Just ... tell me one thing, Nick."
His voice was hoarse from lack of use and the breathing tube, but it was loud enough that Nick nearly jumped out of his chair to please his request, "Anything, whatever you want."
Greg nodded and blinked back tears as his thoughts kept running, "What was real?"
Nick couldn't say he didn't understand the question, and instead asked, "What do you remember?"
Greg laughed slightly, "That's just the problem ... I don't know. In my head I see all these things that happened, but it's not clear, they change in my mind. And some of them can't be real and some of them have to be ... but I don't want them to be. I know that Crane was the one who ... did this, but something in my head keeps telling me ... keeps telling me it was you and I don't want to believe that, but it won't go away. So just, tell me - what was real?"
Nick took a deep breath and couldn't look at Greg as he tried to think of an answer. Finally he pulled his chair closer, only slightly as he noticed Greg flinch, and explained.
"This is what's real," he began, aware he had Greg's full attention. "Nigel Crane kidnapped us and wanted to hurt you to get to me, but by the end he wanted to hurt me too. After everything else, we were both tied up and he was hurting you some more ... cutting you ... and I couldn't stop him. I ... I couldn't do anything, I couldn't move, but I wanted to. I wanted to so bad, Greg. So I did the only thing I could think of. I made Crane believe I was his friend, to get him to stop hurting you. I said some horrible things to you Greg ..."
Greg cringed and pulled back suddenly, as if this memory hurt more than that of Crane's knife. He had remembered Nick's words, they floated through his head over and over, but he had hoped somehow it wasn't real, that it hadn't happened because that betrayal hurt so much more than his physical injuries.
"Those things you said ... were real?" Greg asked with utter sadness and disbelief.
"No. No," Nick said firmly, leaning even closer to make his point, "I said them, but they weren't real. I didn't mean any of it Greg, but I needed to fool Crane, and I had to make it believable enough that it would fool you too or Crane would never have believed me. Ah Greg, the things I said were horrible, but none of it was true, none of it, I don't believe a word of what I said to you. You're a great friend, you're an amazing person, and you've never been a screw up, or a wannabe or an outcast - you're just a guy who works hard and likes to be unique, which I respect. And I'm proud to be your friend ... to have been your friend at least. But most of all, I would never hurt you like that. I swear, I was trying to protect you, as twisted as that sounds."
Nick waited for Greg's reaction. The younger man was sitting up even straighter, listening to every word, but was also deep in thought. He looked at Nick, undecided and overwhelmed.
"What happened next?" he asked in a whisper, still unclear in his head about what followed.
Nick shook his head just thinking of the ironic events that happened afterwards, "Well, it worked, Crane believed me. He left you alone and believed that I would be his friend."
Nick paused to compose himself as the visions of death came back to him; a death he had caused.
Greg thought the silence meant he was finished and asked, "Then why did he ..."
"I killed him," Nick said abruptly, cutting Greg off. Greg's eyes widened in shock at the news and the despair in Nick's eyes. "I knew he wasn't going to stop, he couldn't be reasoned with, so I killed him. I ... I waited until he came close enough and I c ... I cut his throat, with a shard from the mirror." He paused to breathe and watch Greg's reaction, but the labrat was just listening in shock and did not move to speak. Nick continued, first rubbing a hand over his face to destroy the evidence of tears, "After I uh, I stabbed him, I don't know, he must have wanted revenge or to get the last blow in or something ... who knows how that screwed up mind of his worked? Uh, anyway ... um ... he stumbled away, after I stabbed him, but he didn't come after me, he stabbed you instead, because of me. I ... I couldn't do anything, I just ...watched. Then he stumbled across the room and ... and he died ... he died because I killed him. I killed him ... he's dead ... God, I killed a man."
The stress of the last few days really hit Nick then and the guilt he had been harbouring overpowered him. He had been tormented with the thought that Greg would not survive, and if he did, not forgive him, but even worse than that was the incredible remorse he felt for what he had been forced to do. He had taken a life and felt it in his soul. Self defence or not, no matter what the circumstances, he had killed someone, permanently. Nigel Crane's blood would forever be on his hands and he was only now beginning to realize it.
The tears flowed with the realization and Nick bowed his head as he repeated again in disbelief, "I killed a man, I killed him."
"For me."
Greg's voice was unexpected and Nick's head shot up to meet his gaze, which no longer showed any kind of fear. Instead he looked sympathetic, less tense and had shifted his position to sit closer to Nick.
"You killed him for me," Greg said again, partly to have Nick confirm it, and partly to make himself believe it, for it was unbelievable.
Nick brushed away the wetness from his face and nodded, unable to speak any more except for a weak, "Yeah."
Greg took another long moment to try and put the whole situation in perspective, to make it right in his mind. When he felt he understood what had happened, what was real, he leaned towards Nick and placed his good hand on Nick's shoulder to force him to make eye contact. Nick did. He was surprised but looked him right in the eye, waiting.
"Thank you Nick," Greg whispered, so sincere it threatened to crack Nick's heart with joy. Nick choked back another sob as he shook his head in disbelief.
"No Greg, thank you, thank you for fighting back. I'm so sorry this happened Greg, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry ...." By now Nick had collapsed in on himself, head bowed down, forehead resting against the edge of the bed as he released everything he had been keeping pent up the past few days; the guilt, the regret, the pain, he let it all go.
Greg held back his own tears, he was exhausted himself and in pain but felt he had to be there to help Nick in his hour of need, as he had tried to help him. He put his good arm on Nick's shoulders, supportive and hopefully comforting and just stayed there as Nick let it all go.
"It's okay Nick, it'll be all right. We'll both be all right, you'll see."
Time passed and eventually both men fell asleep from physical and emotional exhaustion. They instinctively knew that even though their bodies were still scarred from their experience, their minds had begun to heal.
***
Nick was officially discharged the next day. He had been well enough to go home for awhile, but because of his refusal to leave until Greg's health was ensured they had never bothered with the papers. After waking up awkwardly with his head on Greg's bed, and Greg fast asleep, still sitting up slightly, Nick decided he should leave his friend to rest without him snoring beside him. He tried to escape quietly, but yawned and stretched as he stood, waking up Greg, who had been in a light sleep."Morning," Nick greeted, sitting back down and smiling cautiously when he saw Greg's eyes open.
Greg returned the gesture genuinely, and replied lazily, "Hey, you leaving?"
Nick shook his head, "No, I'm here as long as you need me."
But Greg wouldn't have him and shook his head, "I have a feeling you've probably been here long enough. You should go home for awhile, get a shave and some real sleep; no offence, but you look like hell, the seventh layer of." Greg's brow furrowed when he looked at Nick's wrist and saw the hospital bracelet, "Have you even been discharged yet?"
Nick shrugged like it was no big deal, "Not exactly."
"Come on man, go home, I'm fine, you should take care of yourself," Greg implored him.
"How about I stick around until you go back to sleep?" Nick offered.
Greg laughed a little, "That's probably going to be any minute now." He lifted up his arm with the IV, "I think this thing knows when I wake up and just gives me more drugs. Damn thing doesn't even ask if I want them first ..."
Greg's voice trailing off at the end was proof enough that the drugs had indeed hit him, as his eyes slowly closed and he was asleep again in seconds.
Nick thought about what Greg said and looked for a mirror, finding one in the room's bathroom. Greg was right, he looked like he'd lost a fight with a gorilla, or a psycho, which he had. He decided it would be a good time to start taking better care of himself so escaped the room quietly, was discharged, then took a cab home, getting a shower, a shave, a good meal and some decent clothes. He had hesitated at the door. He was still jumpy and nervous, especially when he was alone, but it wasn't hard to keep reminding himself that Crane was dead (especially since he was the one who had killed him) so there was nothing to be afraid of.
It felt good to be clean and back in his apartment for awhile; it made him feel more like himself. But he did not stay long. He wasn't really comfortable being alone and he knew Greg wouldn't be when he woke up either. Driving his own car back to the hospital made him feel more in control though, like he was moving on, and he took pride in that.
When he came back Greg was still sleeping and he took his usual spot, but all the activity seemed to have exhausted him and he was soon asleep as well, able to rest easy and take comfort in the reconciliation that had taken place the night before.
A few hours later Greg's door opened a crack. Greg was sitting up in bed, watching TV with the sound down, a snoring Nick in the chair beside him. His pain medication had been reduced so he could stay up longer and be more lucid, which he liked despite the discomfort he was in from his many bruises and injuries. At first he tensed when he saw the door open, wary of any unexpected noises or surprises, but then he recognized Catherine's hair and motioned her in. He also indicated she should be quiet, then pointed to his sleeping companion.
Catherine nodded and came in quietly and Greg smiled to see that it was not just her, but the entire team. He motioned once again for quiet when they were in and they all seemed amused as they gathered around to watch Nick snore.
"Hey Greg, glad you're awake, you gave us all a scare. How are you feeling?" Catherine asked in a whisper as she gave him a hug.
"I'm okay, doc thinks I'll be able to leave in a few days," he answered just as quietly.
Sara pointed at Nick, seemingly debating an idea, "Do you think we should wake him up?"
Greg shook his head, smiling slightly, "No way, he watched me sleep for three days, this is my payback."
Warrick was laughing and trying to keep it quiet, "What did you do to him?"
Greg smiled proudly, "It's a game I made up."
He demonstrated by taking a straw from a pile on the side table and then leaning over to carefully balance it on Nick's wrist. He drew his arm away with a flourish and the straw stayed in place, along with about twenty others that Greg had somehow managed to balance along Nick's shoulders, arms, legs and even behind his ears.
"I've been practicing, I'm building up to trying to get them in his nose," Greg said. His voice was slightly louder than it had been and everyone laughed easily, causing Nick to wake up with a start. He quickly took in where he was and smiled.
"Hey guys ... what the hell? ... Greg?" Nick asked with amusement as he watched the straws fall from his limbs and onto the floor.
"I got bored," Greg said, his tone even and not really joking. This made Nick meet his eye; there was a look in Greg's gaze that he wanted to make clear now that he was more coherent, it said that they were okay, they could joke and be friends and there would be no barriers between them. It was a look Nick returned with a smile, showing they would be all right, with each other and with what had happened.
It was Sara who broke the brief moment. She cleared her throat loudly to get Nick's attention, and when he looked she made a show of scratching her ear. Nick got the idea and did the same, surprised and a little embarrassed to find a straw behind each of his ears.
Not wanting to get yelled at, Greg turned to Warrick to avoid taking the blame, "Hey, thanks for the poster, I love it. It kind of makes waking up a treat."
"That was pretty much what I was going for, I'm glad you like it," Warrick replied, happy it had made a difference.
"I'm surprised they let you keep it up," Grissom noted, not recalling ever seeing a temporary patient put up decorations before.
"Don't you think that it's been easy. I woke up and a nurse was trying to take it down. I had to take matters into my own hands, it got extreme. I had to threaten her," Greg replied dramatically.
"With what?" Catherine asked.
Greg shrugged, "I have my ways."
Nick huffed, "A bedpan." Greg looked at him in surprise, "The nurse told me on the way in, very scary."
Greg was not put down, "My ways are not everyone's ways, I've accepted that."
Everyone smiled and then Sara stepped forward, "Well, if you liked that then this should go over just as well." And handed him a small wrapped box. He took it excitedly and shook it.
"What is it?" he asked, not moving to open it, but trying to guess as he shook.
"Telling you would kind of defeat the purpose of me wrapping it, wouldn't it?" Sara asked. Greg eyed the professional looking wrapping paper and looked sceptically at Sara. She shrugged nonchalantly, knowing she was caught in her lie. "Okay, it would defeat the purpose of the store clerk wrapping it, happy?"
"Yes. Yes I am. Thank you," Greg said, smiling as he started to tear the paper off, which wasn't an easy task one handed. His dislocated shoulder was hurting pretty badly, but he covered it up well, not wanting his friends to be uncomfortable and also not wanting to be pumped full of meds while they were visiting. The rest of his body was sore too, ribs especially, but he was not willing to complain and just tried not to move a lot instead.
"It's from all of us," Sara added as he unwrapped. When he got to the box underneath he was surprised, but not unpleasantly. It's just, he had expected music.
"A cell phone," he declared, half a statement, half a question.
"Well, we found yours kind of ... destroyed, thought you'd need a new one. State of the art, of course," Catherine commented.
"It's not like you can do field work without one," Grissom added, knowing the promise of added field hours would boost Greg's spirits, although they already seemed strangely high.
"Yeah, I guess I forgot I didn't have mine. Thanks, I love it," Greg said then quickly passed it to Warrick to rip out of the case for him so he could play with it.
"You're lucky man, I'm probably going to have to wait a week or two until mine's out of the evidence locker," Nick said, remembering how he had left his behind very early on their day from hell. He was proven wrong though as Grissom pulled a familiar object from his pocket.
"Ask and thou shall receive," he commented.
Nick was surprised but accepted the phone, "Oh, thanks Gris, that's awesome. So, the case is closed then?"
Grissom nodded, "Yep, Nigel Crane's file is officially shut. You can both move on, as far as PD's concerned it's over."
Nick nodded hesitantly, showing little emotion as he was unsure if it would be morbid that he was glad he had killed someone and would pay no consequences. The excited voice behind him didn't give him a chance to contemplate his remorse though and he turned around to watch what was happening behind him.
"Hey, it's got a camera!" Greg exclaimed, hitting buttons furiously to learn how it worked. He pointed the lens outwards, "Sara, smile."
"Don't even think about it, unless you want another broken arm," she warned, putting a hand over her face.
"You wouldn't dare, I'm practically a cripple," he replied, not lowering the phone.
She lowered her hand and her eyes narrowed in mock seriousness, "Try me."
Greg looked contemplative and then slowly lowered the phone, "All right, you win."
Sara relaxed and looked triumphant, but Greg quickly hit a few buttons to turn off the sound and flash and then snapped a picture from below. Warrick suppressed a laugh as he watched over Greg's shoulder as the sneaky labrat quickly put the phone away afterwards, leaving Sara oblivious to what had happened.
The rest of the visit passed by quickly. Everyone's spirits were up with the obvious improvement in Nick and Greg's health, both mentally and physically. The conversation was kept light, work was talked about for awhile, specifically when Nick and Greg could return. Physically they were recovering well, but Ecklie was set on waiting until they passed a psychiatric exam to ensure they were both fit for work after their traumatic ordeal. Grissom didn't mention this just yet, but knew both men would have to face it eventually. The mood remained cheerful throughout the visit, as the team was just happy to be complete once more. No one mentioned Crane or what had happened, and at this point, probably never would. It seemed an unspoken agreement had been reached to work hard to put this behind them all, as though it had never happened, which seemed fine to everyone.
As much as he was enjoying their company though, it was not long until Greg was yawning and was barely able to keep his eyes open, let alone take part in the conversation. The team took this as their cue to leave and let him get some rest, despite Greg's protests that he was fine and wanted them to stay. Nick would have none of it and ushered them out and ordered Greg to sleep. He checkmated this by leaving himself so Greg would have no distractions, and it worked; he was asleep in seconds of their departure.
The team said good-bye in the hall and left one by one until it was just Warrick and Nick.
"He seems to be doing really well," Warrick commented, "I'm guessing you guys talked."
"Yeah, last night. He didn't remember too clearly what had happened, so I told him ... everything. And he ... accepted it. What I did, what I said. He forgave me and he ... thanked me, for trying to help him," Nick said in awe, still shocked by Greg's willingness to forgive what he had seen as such a grave betrayal.
Warrick smiled, beyond happy his friends were healing from their ordeal, "I told you he'd understand, you didn't give him enough credit."
"Just like Crane," Nick mumbled, then looked Warrick in the eye, "I guess none of us really give him enough credit."
Warrick nodded then touched Nick's good shoulder to lead him away, "Come on, I'll give you a drive home."
"Actually I drove myself, but if you want to follow I wouldn't mind some company for a few hours."
In truth, Nick yearned for the company, not looking forward to being alone any time soon. He knew he was covering it well, but he was still jumpy and paranoid every time he walked outside or entered his own home and Warrick's presence would easily distract him, keep him from being scared. His wish was granted as Warrick nodded again.
"Sure, let's go."
Nick smiled in relief as they made their way to the parking lot.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was alone.
It was dark. There was glass everywhere, blood everywhere, screams in his ears, pain in his body.
He was alone.
Metal glinted in the darkness. Rope, pain, guns, everywhere. So dark, but he could see. So scared, but there was nothing for support, for courage. Just pain.
He was alone.
Footsteps in the dark. Cellphones. Footsteps. Cellphones. Pain! Knife.
Crane.
Nick.
He was alone.
Dark.
"Nick!"
Greg was breathing heavily when he realized he was sitting up. He stared ahead, wondering where he was, for a moment only able to see the horrible dream. He felt a hand on his shoulder and spun around quickly, nervous and tense. He saw the hand belonged to Nick, who looked worried, and Greg immediately began to relax, forcing himself to breathe and calm down.
"You okay, man?" Nick asked. He was standing, but leaned over slightly to be at Greg's eye level.
Greg saw a book discarded on the floor and guessed Nick had been reading while he slept. It seemed a thoughtful gesture of Nick just wanting to watch over him, but in truth Nick had been unable to sleep at home, especially alone in the entire house and had come back here, feeling strangely comfortable in the hospital room.
Greg tried to smile as the haunting images washed away in his mind, but he didn't quite make it, "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. Too much hospital food I guess."
Nick smiled sadly in understanding as he sat back down; they both knew what Greg had dreamt about, but neither wanted to speak about it. Enough had been said for now.
"I hear that stuff can get to you. Did you pull something? Do you need a nurse?" Nick asked, becoming concerned again when he saw the pain lines on Greg's face when he laid back down.
"No, I'm fine, I just moved too fast," Greg explained, placing his good hand over the arm that wore a sling so he wouldn't jostle it further as he moved. Nick still looked concerned so Greg decided to try and distract him. "Hey, I thought we were both gonna sport the look? What happened?"
Nick raised an eyebrow and then followed Greg's eye to his shoulder, which was no longer encased in his sling, "Oh, doc took it off a few hours ago, says I don't need to wear it as long as I'm not doing any lifting or straining myself."
Greg looked at his own sling in disdain, "What about me?" he asked hopefully.
"Sorry, you've got a few weeks; muscles and bone heal a lot slower than a bullet wound apparently. Actually I wanted to thank you for patching me up the way you did back at that house, Dr. Connell said it was pretty much the only reason I didn't get any kind of infection like you," Nick said thankfully.
Greg brushed him off, "No big deal, I didn't have anything better to do." Then he became serious, "Besides, that's what we do isn't it? We help each other."
Nick smiled almost sadly and nodded, "Yeah, yeah we do."
A pause as both reflected and then put it behind them.
"You should get some sleep," Nick suggested.
Greg nodded and laid back down, not having to ask if Nick would be there when he woke up.
The next day Greg was all ready to be discharged. He had healed enough to be allowed to go home as long as someone was there with him, not only to help him around the house, but also to help him cope with the mental difficulties of trying to ease back into his everyday life. Luckily for both of them Nick was recovered enough physically to be that person, and gladly agreed to stay at Greg's place to help any way he could.
When Greg woke up in his hospital bed for what would be the final time, he was not surprised that Nick was already there, but smiled when he saw he was fast asleep in the chair next to him, something Greg had not caught him doing for days. Then an idea struck him and his grin turned mischievous as he reached into the drawer of the bedside table.
Beep beep, beep beep.
Nick awoke with a start and had to grab the arms of the chair to keep from toppling out of it.
"Wha ..." he asked sleepily as he fumbled to open his phone as quickly as possible as the ring continued beeping. He hit talk and brought it to his ear. Not wanting to wake Greg, he whispered, "Hello?"
"Morning."
Nick turned around when he heard Greg's voice on the other end and gave the grinning man a look of mock annoyance as he put his phone away.
"You phoned me from two feet away?" Nick questioned, already knowing what the answer would be.
Greg shrugged but did not put his phone down, "I waved but you didn't see. I also got a great pic of you sleeping. Look," he held out the phone, "just a tiny bit of drool."
"Give me that," Nick demanded, trying not to laugh as he lunged for the phone to erase the picture. He didn't question when Greg didn't try to fight as the phone was torn from his hands. Then Nick swiftly hit delete and then whooped in victory, "Ha! It's gone!" as he handed it back.
His victory was short lived and he was not encouraged when Greg looked amused instead of defeated.
"Not really, I emailed it to everyone before you woke up, night and day shift. I only had to hit like three buttons, and zip, it's gone. Don't you love technology?"
Nick looked crestfallen and then looked at the phone; it indeed had internet capabilities, "No, not really, it's too often used for evil, you little creep."
Greg flinched at the name. It wasn't a big deal, it had been said jokingly, but just the words, coming from Nick, brought back intense memories of being back in that horrible house, of the deep sense of betrayal he had felt in those moments.
The mood immediately became sombre as Nick realized too late what he had said, "Geez, Greg, I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. I didn't mean that. I ..."
Greg made himself smile, not willing to let these memories ruin what had been a very comfortable friendship before, "No, it's okay. You've called me worse before, and not just, you-know-when. It's cool, I want us to be cool, and not only in the obvious MTV way that I am always cool."
This thankfully made Nick smile, Greg's humor was odd but it worked, "Yeah, we're cool, no problem. So, are you ready to get out of here or what?"
"Definitely," Greg answered immediately, buzzing for a nurse so she could get a doctor who could officially let him out of this healing cage.
It took about an hour to get everything ready and signed and listen to the doctor's instructions for when they got home, but eventually Nick was finally wheeling Greg out the front doors of the hospital and into the sunlight he hadn't seen in over a week. Once they were past the doors Greg slowly stood and got out of the wheelchair, which an orderly took back inside. He stayed like that for a moment, just enjoying being outside and standing on his own two feet. It may have been a little painful but it was freeing.
Nick smiled to see him so happy but had to snap him out of his trance and nudged his good arm, "Come on, I'm parked over here."
"Yeah, I'm coming," Greg replied absently, breathing deeply as he followed Nick stiffly. Nick kept the same pace as Greg, eager to be there if Greg needed anything, but he was doing fine on his own. That is, until they rounded the corner to the parking lot.
Greg immediately froze at the sight of the lines of parked cars. It was ridiculous, he knew. This was a different parking lot, at a hospital, it was the middle of the day and it was above ground. But either way he still could not help flashing back to where their horrific journey had started, the underground parking lot of his building where Crane had abducted them. And as irrational as it seemed to even him, he felt cold terror paralyze him at the thought of going into this parking lot.
Beside him, Nick stopped when he did, and had no trouble reading the expression on his face and empathizing. He had frozen up the same way a few days ago when he pulled in to visit and had been unable to make himself even park in the lot; instead he parked on the road a block away just to avoid using the lot. But he had slowly forced himself to face his fear, to make himself believe that nothing would hurt him, and now he was ready to do the same for Greg.
"Hey man, it's all right. Just a parking lot, nothing special, nothing to worry about. Nothing," Nick emphasized, trying to gently coax Greg to move.
Greg looked up at Nick, trying to believe him, but was ashamed that he was still unable to move, "It's just hard ... to get it out of your head."
Nick nodded, understanding, "Yeah, I know, it's all right G, the same thing happened to me. It gets better every time, trust me. You can do this, we both can, little steps okay. I'm right here, Greg. I'll always be right here."
Greg met his eye and saw the sincerity there and believed him. Nick would be there, as he had always been there, and they would both survive this, and heal, with each other's help.
Trusting Nick, Greg took a breath and then took the next step.
The end.
***
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