Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or anything to do with it.
Warning: Spoilers for up through Season 8, language, and violence.
Italics depict past events.
The sickening shade of the curtain was finally forgotten as it was drawn back, revealing an even worse sight. Nicholas Parker Stokes was already strapped down tightly to the table he was laying on, his arms, legs and chest unable to move hardly at all. He was staring straight up into the bright lights above him, but when out of the corner of his left eye he saw the curtain recede, he turned his head to the left and caught sight of six expressions that made his already shattered heart break just a little bit more.
The front row of the small viewing area was filled with six faces he would recognize anywhere, under any situation. The first seat was filled by Sara Sidle, who had a tight grip on Gil Grissom's arm, who was seated to her left. Catherine Willows sat in between Grissom and Captain James Brass, who was more worried about the young Greg Sanders seated on the other side of him as he was about Catherine. And last, but definitely not least, was Albert Robbins, seated on the end. Everyone in that row had more than one thing in common with Nick Stokes. They all not only worked with him, were friends with him, and loved him, but now they were all here to watch him die.
Nick went down the line, locking eyes with everyone for as long as they could bear it before they had to look away and allow their built up tears to spill down their pale faces. They could hardly stand the sight before him. The bright lights were shining down on Nick, making it clear that he was accepting what was about to happen to him. He wasn't struggling against the restraints like most people did out of hope or fear. He was laying perfectly still, his breathing calm and even. His orange prison scrubs were cut open down the front to expose his chest. The heart monitor was already hooked up with the patches on his skin, waiting to show the flatline when his heart stopped beating.
Reporters and journalists filled the other rows of the viewing room, but Nick never looked at them. He only looked at his team, his friends. And in due time, not one of them could help but replay what had happened three years ago that lead to this devasting conclusion to a tragedy in and of itself.
Warrick Brown was murdered three years ago by the Undersherrif McKeen. The investigation had started off slow and with very little evidence, until a fingerprint was found on the window of Warrick's car and the re-enactment of the Undersherrif's statement proved that he had been the one who had shot Warrick. Gun shot residue had been found on his hands, which he claimed had been from handling a gun used in another case. No one believed him, and it became clear through further inquiry that he had been involved with Gedda and everyone knew he had been the one who had killed Warrick.
It should have been a slam-dunk case. The media and public all knew what had happened. The evidence was more than convincing. McKeen should have been sentenced to the death penalty. It should have been over, but it wasn't. It wasn't because the corrpution had spread farther than just the Sheriff's office. McKeen had more than cops in his pocket. He had judges too, and it was convienent for him that the judge that was assigned to his case was one of those judges.
Judge Marken was more than a powerful man. He was a scary man. In as little as two days, he had threatened all twelve members of the jury to the point where McKeen had gotten off the charges. No one could believe it. Everyone knew he was guilty, but he was going to walk because the jury had felt their families were in danger and didn't want to risk it. Marken and McKeen worked together to get him off the charges, and everyone knew that as well. But there was nothing anyone could do about it. McKeen couldn't be tried again because that would be Double Jeopardy. So it appeared he was going to walk.
"How could this have happened?" Catherine choked out through her tears.
Nick pulled her tighter against him as he shook his head. "I don't know," he said quietly.
"There has to be something we can do," Greg said desperately.
Grissom sighed. "There isn't."
"There isn't," Brass repeated. "The bastard is going to get away with it."
Catherine buried her face into Nick's shoulder and cried harder. Everyone in the room looked around at each other with somber expressions, no one knowing what to do or say. They stayed silent for a very long time and just sat there in the break room until Ecklie came in and told them all to go home and get some rest. Seeing no other alternative, that's what they did.
Nick couldn't remember a time he had walked any slower in his entire life. He felt like his legs were refusing to move forward, because that only meant that he was going to go home, drink until he passed out, and wake up to the realization that his best friend was gone forever without any justice coming from it.
Nick was ten feet from his car when he heard the voice behind him pierce through the silence.
"Giving up Stokes?"
Nick turned around slowly to face McKeen, who had an evil smile on his face. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"
McKeen laughed. "As far as the law in concerned, I have never done anything illegal."
"You murdered my best friend," Nick stated plainly.
McKeen shrugged. "Prove it."
"We did you fucker!" Nick yelled, his voice echoing off the parking garage walls. "But you're such a coward, you can't even accept the consequences for what you've done. Everyone knows you're a murderer."
"Then why aren't I going to jail?" McKeen asked as he walked up to Nick, standing toe to toe with the other man. "It's because I'm smarter than you."
Nick shook his head. "No you're not. You're not smarter than me, or Grissom, or Catherine, or Warrick."
"If I'm not smarter than Warrick," McKeen said quietly so Nick could barely hear him, his smile still on his face, "then how come I killed him so effortlessly."
It was taking everything Nick had in him not to hit McKeen as hard as he could. "Because you're a coward. You didn't even give him a chance to fight back."
"If I had," McKeen replied, "I'd bet anything that it would have only proven that Warrick was the one who was a coward."
At that moment, Nick didn't think it was worth it to stop himself from hitting McKeen. He punched the Undersheriff in the face as hard as he could, sending the other man stumbling backwards. He recovered quickly and tried to run at Nick, but stopped in his tracks when Nick pulled his gun out of it's holster and trained it on McKeen's head.
McKeen laughed flatly. "Like you could ever kill anyone. You're as much of a pussy as Warrick was."
"You didn't know him," Nick said. "So shut the fuck up."
"I know enough about him to know that he deserves what he got," McKeen said. "And you should have just killed yourself when you had the chance. It would have saved me this aggrevation."
"And you should be in jail, waiting to get the death penalty. So it looks like neither one of us should be here."
"So what are you going to do about it?" McKeen asked. "You don't have the balls to kill me."
"A year ago, you'd be right. But after seeing my best friend almost self-destruct from drugs and gambling, then just as he's finally getting better he gets killed. By you. Warrick never though I'd ever kill someone, but he probably never thought I'd get a chance to kill the person who killed him. So he was wrong too."
McKeen scoffed, but before he could say anything, Catherine's voice called out from behind Nick. "Nicky," she said, her voice full of fear. "Don't do it."
Nick didn't turn around. "Why not?"
Catherine couldn't answer, and neither could Brass, Grissom or Greg, who had just joined Catherine behind Nick. They stood there, rooted to the spot and holding their breath.
"So here it is," McKeen said, "the moment of truth. Are you going to let me go and accept that you lost, or are you going to do what we all know you want to and kill me."
"I'm going to kill you," Nick replied. "I don't care what happens to me anymore. My best friend is dead, and I couldn't do anything to keep it from happening. I couldn't do anything after it happened, until now. I'm going to kill you, because I deserve what's going to happen to me because of it as much as you do."
A split second after the last syllable left his lips, Nick pulled the trigger. The bullet exploded from the gun and ripped through the air, then through McKeen's skull. No one had had time to react, except Nick, who fired six more bullets into McKeen's body before dropping the gun at his feet and closing his eyes.
The general public opinion after they found out about what happened was empathy for Nick Stokes. Most people understood why he had done what he had done. The story spread across the country, and the trail was covered closely. Nick plead guilty to the murder of Jeffrey McKeen. And despite compelling testimonies from Catherine, Grissom and Brass, who all stated that Nick killed in self-defense, Nick was found guilty of murder and was sentenced to the death penalty, pending the automatic review.
"Your honor," Nick said after the verdict was given. "I'd like to request that there be no review."
The judge shook his head slowly. "What do you mean son?"
"I mean I don't want to go through the review process," Nick replied. "I murdered someone and was convicted of it. I want to be put to death as soon as possible."
"Very well," the judge agreed after very little thought.
Nick was going to get his wish, but not without some necessary paper work and precautions.
So Nick went to prison, for three years. He was visited every single day by Catherine and Greg. They never failed to come. Each day it was at different times depending on their work schedule, but they were always there. Brass came at least four times a week, and Grissom made the effort whenever he could. It wasn't easy for anyone to see Nick in jail, waiting to be put to death, but they made the best of it. When the execution date was set, it seemed that it came in a day rather than two months. Nick's parents, sisters and brother visited him a few times and they all saw him the day before he was to be put to death, but none of them could bear go to the execution. That was left all up to Nick's friends.
The media had made a huge three year long story out of the whole ordeal, and a week before Nick was going to be executed, he was interviewed by the news, not because he wanted to do it, but because his friends had wanted him to. So he did. Nick sat down with Mike Irving, a reporter from the news station.
"How does it feel to know that in one week you're going to be executed?" Irving asked.
"Kinda like finding out the ending to a movie before it's even released," Nick replied.
"Do you regret what you've done?"
Nick shook his head. "Not in the least."
Irving nodded slightly. "Was it hard for you to do it?"
"No, because I knew that he had killed my best friend because he was scared we were going to find out about his corruptness. We did that anyway, and it didn't get us anywhere. He killed my best friend, then tried to tell me he had deserved it."
"Were you surprised that your team lied to try and save you?" Irving asked.
"They didn't lie," Nick said. Now he was lying. "As I said before, they found me after I killed McKeen. They heard the gunshots and came running. They saw what looked like a struggle, and none of them would believe I could kill someone like that."
Irving nodded slowly. "I have just one more question, that I think everyone else wants to know as well. Why did you shoot him seven times? You had a full magazine, and it didn't get jammed. He was dead with one head shot. You could have stopped after one, or unloaded the whole thing. Why did you stop at seven."
Nick answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It took seven minutes for my best friend to die."
It was five minutes to noon when the doctors began prepping Nick for his death. They cleaned the spot on his arm and inserted the needle, taping it down to keep it in place. Nick paid no attention to them. He kept his eyes locked on his friends, who kept repeating over and over in their minds the last thing Nick had said to all of them before he had been taken away.
"Thanks for everything guys," Nick said. "Don't worry, everything's going to be fine. I'll miss you guys a lot." He paused for a moment then with a small smile, he added, "I'll tell Warrick you guys said hi."
The supervisor of the execution cued the doctors and viewers that it would begin in ten seconds. Nick heard this as well, and with one last scan over his friends he smiled, then turned his head back and stared back up at the lights.
The button was pushed, and the lethal injection flooded through the tubes and directly into Nick's bloodstream. He felt his muscles relaxing instantly, followed shortly by his chest becoming tight. His lungs began to burn and his heart began to slow down periodically each passing second. Still, despite the pain, Nick didn't struggle. He didn't try to move at all. He just laid there and waited, counting the growing number of seconds in between each heartbeat.
Then Nick couldn't take any more breaths. He couldn't count anymore seconds in between beats because he knew another one wasn't coming. He released what he knew to be his last breath and his head involuntarily turned to the left slightly as his eyes closed and the monitor flatlined. Sara, Grissom, Catherine, Brass, Greg and Doc Robbins watched through teary eyes as the supervisor pronounced Nicholas Parker Stokes dead.
It had taken seven minutes for Nick to die.