Disclaimer: I own the plot only
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: kinda Nick/Hodges
Author: tenshinanashi
Rating: pg-13, T, FRT
Warning: sorta slashy, attempted rape, drug usage, no real spoilers.
AN: No, I'm not dead. I just got sick again and spent a lot of time writting crappy things. Tell me if grammer, spelling is off and I will fix it. Review.
Summary: He snorted, "Get that off the internet, Jacqui?"
He was striding down the hall to deliver the results of the test Grissom had ordered to the top of the pile. His lab coat swayed as he turned the corner and bumped into a blond man who was exiting the restroom.
"My apologies. I wasn't watching where I was going."
His scowl lessened only slightly, "Watch where you're going. Almost killed me…"
The papers were thankfully still in his hand and he once again began the trek to Grissom's office. He almost didn't feel the cold, blue eyes on his back, but something made him turn back just in time to catch the man's predatory gaze. He shivered and walked faster, wanting to be as far away from the creepy man as possible.
He turned to look back again and bumped into Nick, this time dropping his papers, and breathing heavily as he leaned over to pick them up. Nick's annoyance was almost tangible and he muttered an apology before glancing backwards worriedly. The man was no where in sight but the uneasy feeling still encompassed his body.
"No need to apologize, Hodges, I'm fine."
Nick's spiteful words reached his ears and made him look over at the CSI. Couldn't the man see that something wasn't right?
"Sorry."
"Whatever, man." Nick shook that handsome head and stalked off angrily.
The needle shined as he pushed it into his skin with a frustrated jab. No one at work understood him, and he could only imagine what they thought of him now. He spent the majority of his time at work, doing overtime, and trying to drive the memories out of his head with anything he could. How low he had fallen.
The parking lot was almost completely empty when he started out to his car for some pain medication. He could feel the slight ache of a migraine coming on and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. Catherine had been like a rabid dog, angry that Grissom's evidence had been made priority when her's had been there first, and she had made him well aware of her displeasure.
He fumbled for his keys, knocking them from his pocket by accident, and wincing when they hit the pavement with a clink. He shut his eyes and mentally berated himself as he bent over to retrieve them. He tended to get clumsy when in pain. If he didn't shake the headache he would begin messing up evidence as well…
Someone or something smashed into his back with enough force to make him see stars when his head collided with the car door. He was dazed for a moment and didn't struggle when he was yanked up by his shirt and slammed on top of the hood of his car. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw the glint of a knife before his shirt was cut from his body.
"Uh!" He cried out as his mind registered the pain of a blade edge slicing through his delicate flesh.
His mind raced as his tormentor held the knife to his throat. Screaming would most likely result in death, not screaming would most likely result in death, and he really wanted to find an option that didn't ultimately lead to his death. His pants were yanked down and pushed to his ankles so that he was bent face first over his own car with his underwear clad ass in the air.
His thumb gently eased the plunger down forcing the liquid into his body. He yanked the syringe out and dropped it to the side. He lowered himself onto his bed, laying on his stomach, mindful of the stitches in his back. Who cared what anyone thought of his newly acquired habit. He just wanted to stop the pain. Anyone would want to stop hurting if they had survived what he had.
His eyes shut tightly and his mind started to blank as his
attacker started rubbing against his backend. Pain caused his teeth to
clench and blood to pound in his ears. The knife cut into his back, he
squirmed and tried to escape from the sharpness, but his movements just
encouraged the man rubbing off against him. He didn't even realize that
with the knife at his back there was no knife at his neck…
"Yeah, like that."
The mind often takes one away from horrible situations. He was back in the lab working on evidence for the iron fisted Grissom. The machine was still working on the results but he was almost already positive that he knew the identity of the substance. Everything was safe.
"I have to kill you. If only, to make the world a better place…without you complaining about almost being killed."
He jerked his head up, eyes widening in recognition, and he forgot to breathe. The asshole from the hallway. The blond with the creepy stare. Oh God, he had brought this upon himself.
"Hey!"
Nick Stokes stood with weapon drawn. He had never been more glad to see the Texan in his life. Sharp metal cut into his back and he cried out in agony.
"Stop!"
"Want a turn?" Leer and suggestive rub of hardened flesh on cotton briefs.
"Mr. Silas, you hurt him and I shoot you. Then, if you live…it's attempted rape and murder of a law enforcement officer. Put the knife down."
"Huh. Well, I'm disinclined to acquiesce to that request."
He could see the determined stare of the CSI and the white knuckled grip on the gun. Nick was going to kill the man and probably get him killed by doing so. Who knew where that knife was hovering now?
"I'll give you to the count of three." Pause, "One. Two. Three!"
The room swirled and his sense of time left him. How long had he been laying on the bed? The numbing of the pain told him it could have been minutes to hours. He was beginning to think closing his eyes was a bad idea.
The gun went off and a cry was heard from behind him. He looked up to see Nick standing triumphantly ahead, which meant that his would be rapist was dead. He passed out happily in that knowledge.
"Hodges. Man, I thought you said you were doing better."
"I am…"
"Yeah, this is better alright."
He woke in the hospital to flowers that made him sneer and a balloon saying "happy birthday get well soon." Greg had no taste whatsoever.
"Get up!"
"Wha?" He gazed around at the stern faces of his coworkers.
Archie grabbed his shoulder and shook him, yelling, "Intervention."
"Archie!"
"What?"
"Stop shaking David."
"Oh." Archie stepped back. "Sorry, always wanted to do that."
"Now, you have a fulfilling life. Why would you want to go wasting it on drugs?"
He snorted, "Get that off the internet, Jacqui?"
"No, for your information…my cousin was a drug addict."
"Well, I am not."
"You should go home."
He glanced up at Grissom, "It's early."
"If you need to talk…my door is always open."
All he could do was stare blankly at the wall after his boss left. He had needed to talk plenty of times and Grissom hadn't given a damn.
"I'm sorry, David, but we had to call in the big guns."
He watched Nick enter the room and sit on the bed next to him.
"Hey, Hodges." Pause. "I heard you weren't doing so well…"
"If this is where you tell me drugs won't solve my problems, I already know that, and I've already gotten the lecture."
"Naw, I just wanted to tell you how glad I was that you were okay. I was really worried there for a while."
"I…"
"You killing yourself slowly also worries me, but I understand that you feel like you have to."
Nick stands in the doorway shyly and smiles when he approaches. It is with a slight smirk that he begins their daily banter, which has taken on a lighter tone then it used to have. It's almost like they've become…friends.
His hand seeks out the syringe in the side table, he touches the glass with longing, and picks the drugs up in his hand. It would be so easy just to pick up the drugs and make his memories stop hurting so much, but would it be so easy to keep upsetting his friends?
Nick smiles brighter then the sun, "That's what friends are for, Hodges."
He is so sick of being out of control. So sick of being painless. Life is all about pain, without pain there is no pleasure, and without pleasure…there isn't much to live for. He resolutely drops his drugs into the garbage.
He picks up the phone and dials the first number he can think of, "Nick…I did it."
fin