Title: Parallel Trajectory
Author: Battus philenor
Disclaimer: I still don't own CSI or its characters.
A/N: This is a story born out of a question in the Featured Writer thread at YTDAW. A little Brass thing that stuck in my brain.
He watches through squinted eyes, hoping not to see the younger man's parts scattered all over the surrounding area. And as the signal is given, he bends at the knees, squatting down and tilting his head but unable to look away. The need to see Nick make it out of that hole is too large; the need to see him move again, this time without that gun in his mouth is too heavy, he can't look away.
The cable is taut as the body, Nick's body, is being yanked out. Freed from its hole he flies through the air and as an explosion can be heard, debris follows his path through the air. Even in his distant and compact stance, Brass is still pelted with sand and larger particles, yet his eyes remain open slightly, fixed on the body that's now landed hard on the dirt pathway. He watches Nick's arms move, hands roaming and searching all over his own body, exploring, apparently checking to see if he's really alive.
Brass lets out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding as he flashes back to the live video of Nick in that box, gun to his head. A struggle between choosing a spot; the temple or inside the mouth. A choice he himself once had to make.
It had been a rocky marriage and even rockier pregnancy, but he was in love and Jim Brass figured his wife was too. The mood swings and alone time were all part of the deal, hormones at their worst, but it would all be worth it in the end, so he thought.
Then a slip up during an argument as labor began, clued him into the affair. An affair with a guy who he just couldn't stand. That made it even worse. And as the contractions wore on her, she screamed at him through clenched teeth that the baby he'd waited eight months for was not his.
Rage filled his entire body, but he stayed as she squeezed his hand to get through the pain of squeezing out another man's child, a child that should have been his. A wrinkly little girl with debris clinging to her small shaking form, still attached to her mother and screaming at him as the doctor removed her from her mother's womb. The tiniest of beings innocent and helpless before him, she would now be the constant reminder of her mother's most heinous betrayal.
He left the room then, with mother and baby both crying. It was a scene he just couldn't deal with, one which he figured he didn't need to deal with; they were no longer his responsibility. Infidelity was a word without much meaning to him, a soulless noun that could never describe the turmoil which was currently plaguing him, the uncontrollable shaking and piercing pain in both his head and chest.
He drove out of the city, following a path he'd once taken to a crime scene, to a dead body which had yet to be identified. His fists were white, gripping the steering wheel with a force it hadn't known before. Sweat ran down his face, his back soaked with it even with the air conditioner working its hardest. Skidding to a halt he threw open the door, stumbling out he fell to his knees as his stomach let loose. The acid taste preceded his stomach's offerings which ended up splattering back on his knees and thighs.
His head pounded as the desert sun and the disloyalty beat him down. Helplessness overwhelmed him as he thought back to the few women he'd turned down and ignored because he had a wife. He always thought she'd done the same. Rage and embarrassment filled him as the thought of seeing the man who'd impregnated his wife caused his stomach to revolt once again.
And as he knelt there beside the still warm pool of vomit, he knew he couldn't do it. The hurt and the humility were far too great; he couldn't go back and face any of it. Reaching to his side he flipped the snap holding the leather strap which secured his gun. Gripping the handle he felt comforted by its soft smooth feel and the way it was perfectly form fitted to his fingers.
The gun slid out of the holster with an ease he hadn't expected as a new knot was born in his stomach. He looked at his distorted reflection in the shiny metallic finish of the weapon, his nose appearing comically large as it ran the length of the barrel of the gun. He brought it up slowly to his right temple, flinching slightly as the cold metal kissed his skin there. His trigger finger was already on the move, before an image flooded his brain, one which had him lying on the desert floor half dead, not completing the job at hand because of poor execution.
Easing the pressure from his finger he removed the gun from the side of his head and brought it towards his mouth. Opening wide he slipped it in, the strong metallic taste taking over all other senses as it even slid down his throat. He closed his lips around the barrel, cold and smooth. With eyes wide open he could see half moon marks on his hand which was holding the gun. Blood-filled fingernail marks from just an hour ago. He thought of the baby then, so small and shaking, still connected to her mother by the umbilical cord, ripped from her home of nine months, screaming at him, the only man who'd shown up for her birth.
Sweat still beaded on his forehead, and it now mingled with the tears that had started to fall. He knew the father of that baby, and he'd never take responsibility, he'd never be a dad to that little girl. A sensation of duty and honor began to fill him, casting a sense of calm over his entire body. With the barrel still in his mouth he began to doubt his actions. Somebody needed to be there for that baby, and he knew it needed to be him. So small and innocent, she needed him to be her father, to be somebody she could look up to. Pulling the barrel out of his mouth, he shivered as the front sight caught on his upper lip.
He shivered again now, standing tall above Nicky, having seen everything the young man had gone through. He shared something with Nick now, something that nobody, not even Nick would ever know about. To come that close to the end, to feel so helpless and empty, but to hold on anyway, they shared a strength that few had. He knew he would never look at Nick the same way again. It was a great weakness to contemplate what they both had, but he had a new respect for the young man. And as he thought about his Ellie now, all grown up, he hoped that whatever Nick's reasons for not pulling the trigger, the Texan would use his second chance more wisely than he had himself.
End
Battus philenor