A/N - Another prompt for lastficstanding on livejournal. The challenge was to use map, bucket and cut and keep it between 500 and 1,000 words. I added to it, cleaned it up, and here it is. This is really the first time I've written from Nick's perspective, so I hope I didn't mess it up too much. Enjoy!
Nick sighed and looked at his watch. He wondered why Greg was taking so long to get ready. They were supposed to meet at 1:00 in the locker room, and Greg was already 15 minutes late. He was making this already traumatic task more depressing. He knew Greg was high-maintenance, but this was a little too much, even for him.
Finally, Greg came rushing in, holding a sheet of paper and looking apologetic.
"It's about time, man," Nick said. "It's 100 degrees and it's only going to get hotter."
Greg nodded somberly. "Sorry, I couldn't find the address to put into Mapquest, then the printer wasn't working and then my car wouldn't start...you know how it is."
Nick's face softened. He knew Greg was doing the best he could.
"Let's do this," he said. They grabbed their stuff and headed out to Nick's Tahoe.
The urn was already in the truck, sitting in the front seat of the passenger side. Greg carefully picked it up, sat down, and gingerly placed it on his lap while he put his seatbelt on. Nick watched this as if it were in slow motion, not believing that this moment was actually happening.
"You got it?" He asked Greg.
Greg nodded. He handed the map to Nick and then they were off.
The topic of Warrick's grisly death was obviously still a sore subject a month after the fact. Nobody wanted to talk about it after the first couple of days; it was just too sad. The day shift was handling the investigation of the murder, and surprisingly enough, the remaining members of the night shift let them do their jobs without interfering. Warrick deserved that much.
Ecklie told them to take as much time as they needed to grieve, and Catherine took him up on that. She and Lindsey took off to Sam's abandoned ranch in Montana. Catherine said she'd be back eventually, but no one knew when. Apparently, Warrick's death was the last straw after an unending series of last straws over the past couple of years. She tried to move on with her life after the death of her ex-husband and then her father a few years later, but something finally broke inside of her when she found out about Warrick. Nick asked her about it before she left, and Catherine mumbled something about "missed opportunities" and refused to say anything else. Nick hoped she found whatever it was she was looking for.
Grissom was also taking some time off to visit Sara in California, where Nick had reason to believe they were finally going to get married. He was happy for them. After so many years of the strange dance they did around each other, they finally figured it out, and Sara deserved every bit of happiness Grissom could possibly give her.
And as far as Nick was handling it, well, he wasn't. The grieving process was taking its time for him, and he hadn't fully processed the fact that his best friend for the last decade of his life was gone forever. He knew Warrick had his issues, but he also knew his friend was strong--not only strong in body, but also in mind, character and heart. What Nick wanted to do was tell the day shift to step aside so he could use some good old-fashioned vigilante justice to catch the bastard that did this to Warrick. He was getting an itchy trigger finger just thinking about it.
But that's all he felt--pure anger. There was no sadness or grieving, just anger. The anger was keeping him going; the adrenaline that got him through the day. He knew in his heart Warrick wouldn't have wanted it that way, but what could he do? Everyone has a different way of grieving, and apparently anger was his choice.
It was left up to him and Greg to take care of the ashes. Nick wanted to do it by himself at first, but he soon realized that it might be too much for him. Having Greg with him would help take the edge off. Plus, Greg had every right to go with Nick; he was in mourning, too.
They were headed to the Lake Mead area, where Warrick had a small cabin that he liked to escape to from time to time. He and Nick had done some fishing out there on a few occasions. Warrick never said that when he died, he'd want his ashes scattered near his cabin, but Nick had never seen his buddy so at peace with his life as when they were at Lake Mead. It just made sense.
"This is weird," Greg said from the passenger seat. "I mean...it just doesn't feel right, you know?"
"Yeah. It wasn't his time," Nick said. "He was getting it back on track, I know he was. He never got the chance."
The two men were quiet until they got to the cabin. Even though Nick had been there many times, it was on a completely random road surrounded by dense trees, and he needed the map to navigate.
When they arrived at the small, comfortable cabin, Greg handed the ashes to Nick and they both trekked across the driveway to the back, where the property met the lake. They breathed in the fresh air; the lush trees; the quiet they sometimes craved so desperately. They each took turns emptying the urn silently, taking the time to contemplate their friend's life and death.
Nick found himself reflecting on his friend's life. How Warrick was raised by his grandmother. How he was such a troublemaker in his teens. How he turned to law enforcement for so many reasons, but mainly to keep himself out of trouble. How bad he felt about the Holly Gribbs thing right up to the end. Nick always tried to tell him that it was never his fault, but Warrick wanted to take the blame.
"She was my responsibility," he would say. "I was the one who was supposed to take care of the new girl, and I left, man. It's my fault, and nothing is ever going to change that."
Nick always said the same thing--Holly wasn't meant to be a CSI, she just wasn't strong enough, and accidents happen. But Warrick continued to blame himself, and nothing Nick said or did could convince him otherwise.
When he and Greg were done spreading the ashes, Nick snapped back to reality and took the map out of his pocket, just to be able to hold something tangible. He clumsily gave himself a paper cut doing this task. Wincing in pain, he put his finger in his mouth, tasting the metallic bitterness of the blood. Looking down at the blood, tasting it in his mouth, feeling the pain radiate from the tiny cut on his finger...something broke inside of him and he couldn't deny his sadness any longer. There was a bucket, once used to hold paint, sitting on the ground. He kicked it hard, sending it flying towards the warm water of the lake.
He sank down to the ground and put his head in his hands. He might have even shed a tear or two, he wasn't sure.
Greg stared at Nick, not knowing what to say.
"The paper...it cut my finger. A paper cut." Nick said through his tears. Greg just nodded.
"This is the first time you've cried since he died?" Greg asked softly.
"Yeah, man. I just didn't want to believe it's real. But he's gone, isn't he? Just like that, he's gone."
"He's gone. I still can't believe it. But I'm glad you're letting yourself cry now. We were all worried about you. We thought you might snap or something."
Nick chuckled. His friends knew him better than he gave them credit for, as usual.
"I don't get it. I mean...how did I survive getting buried alive and then almost eaten by ants? How can Jim survive getting shot twice? How can you survive first a lab explosion and then getting beaten by an angry mob? How did Sara survive getting buried under a car in the desert in a thunderstorm, and yet Warrick has to die? And we still don't know why? I will never in my life understand that, Greg."
Greg didn't have any words of wisdom, so he just shook his head. Nick appreciate having Greg with him on this trip. The guy always knew just what he needed.
"You know, when my dog Murray died when I was 8," Nick said, "my sisters would tell me stories about heaven and how beautiful it is; how it's practically custom-made for everyone who make it there. They'd tell me that Murray had a big room with lots of bones to chew on, with a little wading pool in the middle so he could always go swimming, and lots of people coming in and out all day to pet him and give him love. Obviously I know now that the concept of such a thing is ridiculous. But I like to think that Rick's in a place with Cowboy games playing on Plasma TVs, a piano in the corner and a constant stream of honeys coming in and out all day."
Greg chuckled.
"Papa Olaf used to say almost exactly the same thing about death. I guess it's just easier to mourn someone when you think it's not entirely over for them."
The sun was getting warmer, and the heat enveloped them until it was almost hard to breathe. But still, Greg sat down next to his heartbroken friend, and they both stared out at the water. The two of them grieved for their lost friend, giving each other comfort until it was time to go home.