Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, any of the characters or plot lines. I do own my own ideas, and that's about it.
A/N: Okay, so I was bored and could not sleep, which resulted in this short, one-shot about Nick. Reference to the season two episode Overload. No pairings, Just Nick and Warrick friendship. Hope you enjoy. Please read and review. Note: this is a one-shot and is therefore complete.
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Warrick Brown pulled the car up to the curb next to the house they had been called to. He cut the motor and headed out into the warm night air. His partner, Nick Stokes, climbed out of the passenger side and followed him toward the house.
The distraught family was standing around the front lawn, talking with Detective Jim Brass. Brass waved them inside, to the body, and Warrick lead the way into the well-kept, two-story house. Upon walking into the boy's bedroom, Warrick shook his head. He glanced at the teenaged boy lying lifeless in his own bed.
There was blood pooled around each of the boy's wrists. Both bore a deep straight cut. From how undisturbed the scene looked, Warrick was quite certain it was a suicide. However, he noticed the knife was across the room on the floor near the closet door, so Warrick bent down to bag the bloodied knife. As far as he could see, the most logical reasoning was still suicide, and the boy had just tossed the knife away from him before he died.
Standing up, Warrick glanced over at his partner who stood staring blankly at the body. "It's a hard world when one so young gives up," Warrick muttered looking curiously at Nick who had not taken his eyes off the boy. "You all right, man?"
Nick pulled his gaze away from the 16-year-old decedent and nodded, "Yeah, sorry."
"I found the knife over here," Warrick said running his findings by Nick, "Still looks like a suicide to me though, I'll print the knife and check that they match to the vic just in case."
Nick nodded numbly, his mind clearly elsewhere.
After a final through of the scene, the two CSI's were satisfied that nothing else was amiss and they packed up their cases to head back to the lab. Getting back into the driver's seat, Warrick glanced at the car's built-in digital clock. Realizing their shift was nearly at an end he turned to Nick. "After we log this, you want to grab some breakfast?"
Nick hesitated a moment before he replied. "No thanks, 'Rick, I think I'm just going to head home. Got some sleep to catch up on."
"Okay," Warrick said with a shrug as he pulled the car onto the road.
When they arrived back at the lab, Warrick headed off to log the knife and Nick turned into the empty locker room. He sank down onto the wooden bench in front of his locker and stared blankly down at his own wrists.
The scars had long since healed, leaving no traces of what he had once done. Even all these years later he still vividly remembered watching the blood as it dripped onto the floor beside him. He could almost see the haze that had clouded around his eyes as he passed out.
Fortunately, his father had come home and found him unconscious on his bedroom floor. His parents never understood why he had tried it, and Nick had never told them. He was too ashamed, too disgusted.
He remembered the long trips to visit the shrink. He had never told her either. She had asked, but she did not care. Even at fourteen Nick, could tell she just listened because she got paid to listen. She did not care why the young boy, who sat in front of her, was hurting.
Lost in his past, Nick did not hear when his colleague entered the locker room. Warrick observed Nick silently from the door for a moment before gently sitting down beside him. "Hey, Nick."
Nick did not look up. His eyes still fixed on his hands. "I tried once, you know," He blurted quietly.
Warrick looked at Nick confused, not knowing what his friend was talking about. "Tried what?" he asked not expected the startling answer he would receive.
"To kill myself," came the muttered response.
Warrick stared at his partner stunned. He never would have thought that he would hear this from the man sitting beside him. He knew he should say something, but he had no idea what. Finally he stammered the only words that came to mind, "You want to talk about it?"
At long last Nick looked up at his friend, and Warrick could see unshed tears glistening in his brown eyes. "That was what my shrink always asked," he said flatly, turning his gaze back to his hands, "She didn't really care though."
"I care, Nicky," Warrick said sincerely. He could tell that his friend was hurting deeply and he wanted to help. To be there as a support if Nick would just let him.
Falling silent for a moment, Nick realized that his friend truly did care. Even still after so long it was so hard to begin, after a long pause he managed to force himself to say the words aloud. "I was fourteen," he stated.
He then went on to tell Warrick the entire story, the horrible, disgusting reality of what had begun when he was only nine. He had only once spoken of it once before, when he had revealed only a small part of the story to Catherine, during a case. However, he had never told anyone about, how for years after he had felt so ashamed and guilty that he had tried to end his life.
Even now when something brought him back to the time, like it had tonight, he felt the same feelings welling inside him. Even after years of working as a CSI, knowing it was never the victim's fault, he still blamed himself for what had happened that night.
Warrick sat and listened carefully as his co-worker and longtime friend reopened a horrible part of his past that he had long forced away. It shocked him to learn that Nick had lived through such an ordeal and had never spoken of it. Never allowing himself to begin to heal.
