'I am one and who am I..I am one and who am I...I am one and who am I...'
Nick Stokes subconsciously clenched his jaw shut as he reached out with a trembling hand to thumb open his combination lock. The words, although unwelcome and uncalled for, repeated themselves over and over again in his mind as if they were a mantra. The tumblers on the lock caught, denying him access to his locker, and forcing him to begin again. 'Sometimes I forget what's yours and what's mine.' A shudder ran through Nick then, running up his spine until he felt goosebumps popping up on his scalp. 'You say her name in your sleep sometimes.' The shudder turned into all out tremors, coursing through his body with such violence as to rattle the lock against the metal locker. If not for that psychic, the strange, squirrelly little man that Nick had initially suspected, it was entirely possible that Nigel Crane would still be living in his attic, watching him live his private life through little boared out holes in the ceiling. Lock forgotten, Nick let his hands drop to his sides, fingers fisted until his knuckles stood out in stark white relief and his impossibley short fingernails bit painfully into his palms. How long had that deranged man been watching him? It was impossible to know exactly. Nick hadn't asked, and he was pretty certain that nobody quite felt comfortable enough filling him in with the gritty details. So far as he knew, Catherine, Sarah and Grissom were still processing his house, leaving Warrick to keep an eye out on Crane's interrogation. There was no doubt about his involvement in Morris Pearson's murder, and threatening a CSI was nothing to bat an eyelash at. According to Brass the last time he had talked to Nick, they were still trying to wring a confession out of him for the murder of Jane Galloway. Odd, they thought, since he had already admitted so much to Nick himself. Nick didn't care. He didn't want to think about any of it anymore. He could care less if Crane got the death penalty, or spent the rest of his life rotting away in a prison cell. It didn't matter anymore. The damage was done, and no amount of suffering on the part of Crane would make Nick feel any better about returning to his house. 'Good idea, keeping it right by the phone, next to your take-out menus.' The scene from several hours earlier flashed back to mind, and suddenly Nick was looking down the barrell of his gun again. Like he had told Crane, it hadn't been the first time a gun was pointed in his face. This time, though, he had been able to keep his head a little, and had at least tried to talk the maniac down. This time he was able to stop himself from completely dissolving into a teary-eyed fool. But if Brass' men hadn't arrived when they had...There was no telling how it could've ended. He shuddered again, and stepped away from the bank of lockers. It was okay now. Crane was in custody, Grissom was going to find every little tidbit of biological evidence that his stalker left there, and Nick could go on living his life like he had done before this whole debacle. He snorted sarcastically. Like hell. If past incidents were anything to go by, this was going to be with Nick for some time. Hell, he still had nightmares about black haired babysitters taking their 'help yourself to anything' priveledges a little too far. His hands itched with nervous energy. He wasn't an angry person by nature, but ever since returning to the lab in the passenger seat of Grissom's Tahoe, he had felt an uncommon amount of rage running through his system. He was angry at everyone and everything; himself, for letting this happen and not knowing any better, Crane for starting all this shit to begin with, Grissom for trying to explain it all away with some useless philosophy from ages ago, and Sarah, for her ignorant, 'it's over, Nick.' Something snapped in him then, and he slammed his first against the nearest locker. Instead of easing the tension in his chest, the action only seemed to fuel his hostility. He threw punch after punch at the metal locker door, none providing the comfort he ached for.
"Hey, easy there, Stokes,"a voice spoke up from next to him, immediately followed by a pair of strong arms wrapping around Nick's torso, and forcing him away from the locker. Warrick Brown pushed the younger man gently against the opposite wall, long-fingered hands holding him back, mindful of his injuries. His anger left him in a rush, and his shoulders slumped forward as if he no longer had the strength to hold himself together.
"I'm sorry,"Nick blurted out, pulling away slightly and rubbing fiercely at his face. "I...I don't know what I'm doing."
"No worries,"Warrick said gruffly. "I didn't think you'd still be here, though."
A sound forced itself out of Nick's throat, halfway between a sob and a bark of laughter. His hands dropped away from his face, and he turned to look at Warrick. "Where am I gonna go?" There was a vulnerability that the older man saw in Nick then, that he couldn't ever remember seeing before. Nick held his gaze for a brief moment, before looking down at his beaten and bloody hands, grimacing slightly as he flexed them slowly.
Warrick started speaking even before he had completely made up his mind. "I've got a spare room, man. You'll stay with me."
Nick looked up in surprise, but Warrick had already stood, and was opening his locker with considerably more success than Nick had found. There was something in the way the other man had voiced the offer, almost as if it wasn't an offer at all, but a command, that made it too difficult to turn down. Warrick pulled his jacket out of his locker, and slipped it on.
"Just let me hand in my shift reports, then we're out of here,"he spoke over his shoulder as he headed out of the locker room. Nick stared after him for a moment, then shook his head slowly in bewilderment. The numbness in his hands was receeding, leaving a bone deep ache that made him think of nothing but the saying, "hindsight is twenty-twenty." He glanced up at his locker, but decided against trying to open it again, instead standing and following Warrick out of the locker room.
"He may say he's alright, but he's definitely far from it." The worried frown etched on Catherine Willows' face seemed to have become a permanent fixture as of late, whenever the subject of her fellow CSI Nick Stokes came up. She looked aroud the small group of people gathered in the crime lab's break room, and noted similar looks of concern on their faces and evident in their body language.
Sarah Sidle replied with a lazy shrug. "Can any of us really say we would be alright after something like that? I mean, the guy was living in his house. We don't even know how long. That's gotta do something to a person."
"Well, he's staying with me tonight,"Warrick offered, perched on the edge of their supervisor's desk. "And I'm not taking 'no thanks' for an answer."
Grissom nodded his approval. "I think that's probably a good idea. I don't really like the idea of our Nicky in a hotel alone all night."
"Unfortunately, Grissom, that's not your concern."
All three sets of eyes whipped around to the door, where the very subject of their impromptu conversation was leaning against the frame. "I'm a big boy, and I can take care of myself."
"Nick, we didn't mean anything by-"
"It's okay, Catherine." Nick stopped her with an opened hand. "I understand your concern. I mean, I don't think I've ever given you guys reason to believe I can handle things on my own, right? I'm not exactly the lab Golden Boy, am I?" He held the gaze of those who could bear to look at him, before settling on Warrick. "Thanks for the hospitality, man, but I think I'll be alright on my own."
He turned his back to them, mumbled something unintelligible, then left, walking down the hallway at a brisk pace.
"Wow,"Sara said quietly. "Did we really do anything wrong? Surely he'd appreciate our concern."
Catherine shook her head slowly and glowered at the younger woman. "I'm sure you would've reacted similar if your roles were reversed."
"Nick thinks we don't trust him to handle this on his own,"Warrick said quietly, catching Grissom's worried gaze from across the room. "I think he's mistaken our concern for something else."
Grissom shrugged slowly. "I think at this point the best thing to do would be to give him his space. Let him know that we're here for him if he needs, but not that he's being coddled."
A/N: I know this is really short, but I found it on my hard drive and thought I would post it. If you think I should continue with it, please let me know.