Title: Wreck of the Day
By: nancy
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: R
Author's note: lyrics from Anna Nalick, Wreck of the Day.
Summary: After Nick's rescue.

Driving away from the wreck of the day, and the light’s always red in the rear-view.

Desperately close to a coffin of hope, I'd cheat destiny just to be near you.

And if this, is giving up, then I'm giving up.

If this is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up.

On love. On love.

 

When Gil got to the hospital, it was a couple of hours after Nick had been taken away in the ambulance with Warrick and Catherine. After his involuntary words, “I want my guys back,” Ecklie had offered to take care of the clean-up, but Gil had needed the time to regain his control. He couldn’t go tearing off after the ambulance because then he would reveal far too much of himself to everyone, not just Nick. So he’d let Ecklie go off to brief the Sheriff, who was waiting for the report, and taken over the crime scene.

Dealing with the crew, the cops, Greg and Sara, organizing, counting and measuring, interviewing the nursery staff who were on hand, all of it had soothed Gil back into his public persona. He’d grasped at the familiar routine like a drowning man, sending Greg and Sara off to the hospital as soon as humanly possible so that they could go see Nick alive and whole for themselves.

Though Gil knew that anyone who thought of Nick as ‘whole’ for the next several months, maybe for years to come, would be fooling themselves. No one went through a trauma like this and survived intact. It took incredible strength of will, not killing himself while the ants had been feeding on his flesh, to not let the fact that his prison was crumbling around him and the dirt would suffocate him, to not let all that drive him over the edge and end it with a bullet. Despite that, the damage had been done to an already emotionally fragile man.

Nick hid things really well. He disguised his fear and repressed the trauma with a skill that had clearly been learned early on in life, though from what, Gil still didn’t know. He’d had loving and supportive parents and a close-knit family life. There’d been nothing in the papers or Nick’s personnel records to indicate trauma of any sort. And yet Gil knew, he knew that something had happened, if only because no one recovered from having a gun shoved in their face or being stalked for weeks as quickly as Nicky supposedly had.

But Gil hadn’t questioned any of it. Hadn’t investigated. Had allowed Nick to get away with ignoring the trauma of both the gun and the stalking for several reasons; not the least of which was his own cowardice. If he dug into Nick, it meant exposing himself and his own interest in the other man. A boss didn’t do that. A co-worker didn’t do that. Even a friend allowed secrets, offering support without getting invasive. Only those with a stake in the emotional well-being of another, a serious stake, delved as deep as Gil wanted to go.

Now he was paying the price of his continued cowardice because he wasn’t the one sitting beside Nick’s bed, holding his hand; that position was held by Nick’s mother. And standing directly behind her as Nick’s voice spoke softly, hand on her shoulder, was Judge Stokes. None of the team was present, which meant that they’d gone home probably a long time ago. Somewhere he should be, but Gil knew that if he went back to the emptiness of his condo, he’d go over the edge.

And wouldn’t that be the irony of the century?

So there he stood at the doorway, looking in silently, drinking in the sight of Nick...exhausted, mumbling, eyes fluttering as he tried not to give in to the drugs that had to be coursing through him, bitten and bruised and scrubbed clean so that his skin was pink, like with a sunburn. And yet Nick was breathing, and relatively uninjured physically, and Gil felt almost giddy with relief that it was so.

“You came.”

Warrick’s flat, almost angry greeting startled Gil enough that his shoulder dug into the doorframe. Glancing over at the taller man, he saw the cold blue-gray of Warrick’s eyes and wondered what he’d missed. Subconsciously drawing up to his own height, and not unimpressive breadth, Gil made a quieting gesture and walked down the hall, not wanting to disturb Nicky with what he knew was going to be an argument, knowing that the other would follow. Stopping a sufficient distance, Gil asked, “Is there a problem?”

“You mean other than Nick asking for you since he was conscious of his surroundings and you not being anywhere to be found? No, man, not a single damn problem,” Warrick snapped.

Startled again, Gil managed not to show it this time, instead just gazing calmly back at Warrick while he replied, “Someone had to clean things up, Warrick. Nick was barely aware of anything, let alone who was there and who wasn’t. I couldn’t just...”

“Yes, you could’ve!” Warrick interrupted furiously. “And Nick being conscious or not isn’t the fuckin’ point, Grissom! He wanted you. You. And you weren’t anywhere around. You never are!”

Taken aback by the tremendous anger and high-emotion Warrick showed in those words, Gil reached out for him, but Warrick yanked back, out of reach, and stalked away. Stymied, he didn’t follow, not wanting to push and maybe make Warrick do or say something they’d both regret.           Sighing, Gil scrubbed tired fingers through his hair and slowly turned back to find Judge Stokes looking at him from his recently vacated spot at the door. Then the other man deliberately went back into the room and closed the door.

Well. That was clear enough.

The exhaustion was overwhelming, now that he had nothing to do, and for several long moments Gil just stared at the closed door. He knew he was pathetic enough that if there’d been a window set in it, he’d have stood at the closed door and looked inside from there. There wasn’t anything he wanted more than to claim a place beside Nick, but he couldn’t. He had no right to gather the battered young man into his arms and hold him until the shaking stopped. There was no option for him to crawl into the hospital bed with Nick and listen to his heart beat, to touch him and reassure himself that Nicky was truly all right. He had no rights to any of that whatsoever.

Feeling heavy in heart and body, his soul dragging along the floor, Gil walked slowly towards the elevators.

*  *  *  * 

Driving away from the wreck of the day and I'm thinking ‘bout calling on Jesus.

‘Cuz love doesn’t hurt so I know I'm not fallin’ in love, I'm just fallin’ to pieces.

And if this, is giving up, then I'm giving up.

If this, is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up.

On love. On love.

 

 

Watching the way Grissom walked towards the elevators, shoulders bent, the defeat evident in the slump of his shoulders, Warrick was tempted to run after him. What he would do on reaching the other man, he wasn’t all that sure about, though. He just knew that that particular emotion should never wear Grissom like a cheap suit. That he’d never seen Grissom so...alone. Warrick sighed, leaning against the wall as he continued to watch Grissom until the other man was hidden by the closing elevator doors.

All through the ambulance ride to the hospital, even though it was his hand that Nick held, it was Grissom’s name that was whispered from too-dry lips. Grissom who was in Nick’s muddled mind. Grissom who had been down in that fucking grave with Nick instead of him. It had been Grissom who had cut through Nick’s panic with a single word. Grissom who had been the one Nick had reached for when that fuckin’ Plexiglas casket had been pried open.

Seeing Nick in such a state, holding his hand even though he knew pressing on the ant bites would be painful, had shaken Warrick to his core. Before this, he’d been able to bury how he felt down into a deep, dark crevice in the back of his head. With Nick’s kidnapping, with the complete and utter helplessness that had assaulted him and the certainty that they weren’t going to get Nick back, all of that had exploded inside him.

Warrick remembered the exact moment. He’d been in the locker room just after Nick had shot out the light. Except that Warrick hadn’t known that was the target. He’d thought that Nick had finally lost it and taken his own life. The worst of it was that through the anger and heartache, Warrick couldn’t summon a bit of blame. If it had been him, just like he’d told Catherine, Warrick would’ve killed himself, probably only within a few hours of waking up to being buried alive. With the diminishing air, the ants, the sheer aloneness that Nick had to have felt...No, Warrick couldn’t have blamed Nick one bit.

Sinking to the floor, Warrick hit the linoleum with a thump that jarred him to the spine. He welcomed the too-brief pain, wanting more to take away the ache in his heart and soul. Or, if not take it away, at least drown it out.

It was never him. Didn’t matter how much he wanted to protect Nick, he’d never been there when needed most. It was always fucking Grissom to save the day, whether it was a crazy bitch with a gun, a prostitute who’d accidentally framed Nick for her murder, a psycho stalker, whatever. Grissom came to the rescue every God damned fucking time, like the White Knight Warrick wasn’t.

Doesn’t really matter anyhow, he thought, exhaustion finally catching up to him. Nick’d never think of you like that even if he wasn’t in too deep with perfect-fuckin’ Grissom.

Resting his forehead on his drawn-up knees, Warrick did his best to ignore the tightness in his throat and the way his eyes stayed hot and dry even while closed. It was the bitter-most irony of his life that he was in love with someone, who was in love with someone else, who didn’t even know, let alone return the feelings that Nick had.

There wasn’t anything to be done, of course. It was what it was and Nick felt how he felt. Just like Grissom couldn’t help being as good and brilliant as he was. Just like Warrick couldn’t help wanting to be so much more to Nick than he ever would be. Life sucked and then you died and that was that.

His breath hitched painfully a few times before he was able to subdue the treacherous emotions straining to get free. Warrick prayed that he could hold it together long enough to catch a cab home. There was no way that he was in any shape to drive. What he needed to do was go home, take the longest, hottest shower he could stand, get blind, stinking drunk, and then go to bed.

Maybe if he was oblivious enough, it would hurt so much, at least for a little while.

*  *  *  *

And maybe I'm not up for bein’ a victim of love.

All my resistance will never be distance enough.

 

 

The bed was firm without being hard, clean and soft sheets rested beneath and on him, as Nick struggled to stay awake until Grissom could get to the hospital. He knew the other man was coming, knew it in his bones that he wouldn’t let Nick down, not in this. It wasn’t going to be any kind of declaration of love or anything, but it would be enough to know that the other man cared. That Nick wasn’t a complete loser for how he felt about Grissom.

Nick did his best to push away the horror that he’d been through, the horror that lurked in the black edges of the drugs that tried to suck him down into unconsciousness. There would be plenty of time later to go crazy, but right now all he wanted, was to see Grissom one time before going under.

“Why don’t you sleep, baby?” his mom suggested, oh-so-carefully brushing her fingers through Nick’s hair.

Blinking a few times, it took some doing for him to focus enough to answer, “Gotta see...Grissom first. Have to. Can’t go to sleep yet.”

His mother’s dark eyes, so like all his sisters, were pained and loving all at once and Nick knew that she knew. It wasn’t something he’d ever discussed with his parents, being into guys, but it occurred to him just then that the only one to be fooled by the lack of communication was himself. Of course they knew. His dad was a Judge, for God’s sake, not some idiot hick with no idea of what his son would be up to in the ‘big city.’ And if his dad knew, it was damn sure that his mom did too, since they were still best friends after all these years.

She tried again with, “Nicky, honey, you need to let your body heal and that can’t happen until you rest. Please, sleep for me, okay baby?”

Words that he would’ve obeyed in a heartbeat, had they come from Grissom, but they didn’t. Grissom wasn’t there yet and Nick didn’t know why not. His eyes roamed to the door, but his dad’s body blocked the view as he stood behind his mom. Meeting his dad’s gaze, he asked, “Where’s Grissom?”

“I don’t know, Son, I’m sorry,” the other man replied, not sounding at all sorry.

It wasn’t anger at him, Nick knew that, but he flinched anyhow. Everything was still so raw, so close to the surface, that it felt like each bite mark in his skin was eating into his heart.

His dad moved forward, careful to do so slowly, and gently gripped Nick’s shoulder as he apologized, “I’m sorry, Pancho, let me see if I can find him for you, okay?”

Reassured, just a little, Nick nodded and his dad headed for the door.

Strange, though, how hearing that old nick-name from his dad didn’t make him feel as safe as it had coming from Grissom. Where was he? Why had everyone been to see him except for the one man that he wanted to be there?

Close to tears despite the soothing touch of his mother’s delicate fingers through his hair, Nick finally faded slowly into darkness, unable to hold on any longer.

*  *  *  *

Driving away from the wreck of the day, and it’s finally quiet in my head.

Driving alone, finally on my way home to the comfort of my bed.

And if this, is giving up, then I'm giving up.

If this, is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up.

On love. On love.

 

 

In the sanctity of his SUV, Gil drove slowly through the city towards his neighborhood. Silence reigned, both inside him and the vehicle. The city glittered around him, a pretty bauble that was on display, 24/7, a wearing display that grated on his nerves under the best of circumstance.

After all these years, Gil still wasn’t sure why he stayed in Las Vegas. It wasn’t as if he had family in the area. All he had was his work. Preserving the integrity of the lab’s reputation. The reputation he’d spent his life building. When push came to shove, what did he have? Who would weep at his grave when his final reckoning came? Would others search as desperately for him, as they had for Nick?

There was a certainty deep inside that the answer was no. People respected him, admired him even, but didn’t really like him. Catherine used to like him, but now that he knew her secrets a little too well, she was wary with, and of, him. Sara used to love him, Gil was pretty sure of that, but anything they might have had, was gone. He’d made sure of that. Warrick hadn’t looked back once after showing how he felt about Gil, stalking away in the hospital and Nicky...

Nick was better off without being anywhere near him. There was no chance that the young man felt anything about him except pain and fear. Bad things had happened to Nick while on his team. And even though technically Nick was now assigned to Catherine, they were all still part of Gil’s team and always would be. It was like a stain none of them would ever be able to wash away. A potentially deadly stain that would sink into their blood and clot an essential artery to stop the heart.

Sighing deeply, Gil pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. Resting his head back, his eyes closed and let himself just be, if only for a few moments.

The pain would still be there when he opened the door, after all.