Sometimes, when you need them the most, that's when there's no one there beside you…

By joey

Note: I don't own any of the csi characters.. this isn't really a story as much as nicks thoughts when going through a tough time.. please tell me what you think.. and if you know me well enough, you should be able to guess who the person is at the end :) LOL

Oh, and it's kinda sad…

How is it that life always works out this way? One minute, you're running on high, the adrenaline pumping through your veins… the world in front of you couldn't seem any clearer. Black and white. That's how everything looked. There were the good guys, and the bad guys. The rights and wrongs. The ability to forgive and forget, because hell, you only do ever live once.

It doesn't help that the job I occupy places me face to face with the worst humanity can do day after day. I see the violence that roams our streets. I know what that violence can do. I know the statistics, and I know that they aren't just numbers, that they numbers represent people. Once living and breathing people who are now resting, hopefully peacefully in the ground, their lives shattered just by that unfortunate coincidence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or having said the wrong word to the jealous husband, boyfriend, co-worker. Believe me, I know that males are behind most of the crimes committed. I've met them.

But that doesn't mean that the woman is automatically innocent. They've done their share… more than their share. No one should ever do any of this to anyone. No one should be woken in the middle of the night to be told what has happened. No kid should feel what I felt at age nine.

I guess it must seem like I hold grudges. Why can't I just forgive and forget? Well sorry, it's just not that easy. You try having your childhood ripped from you hands before you're old enough to understand the beauty of childhood. The years that are suppose to be spent having fun, playing jokes, trying to skimp out on the homework.

No one should ever experience something that separates them from their family, their friends, their neighbors. Something that makes you feel alone. Utterly alone to the point of … the point of what? What can you do when you feel like that?

But that's besides the point. That's not what I'm talking about now. I was on that high. I had that all this past week. But then… bam… it happened. I can't even specify when or what caused the change, but all of a sudden there wasn't that cloud below me anymore. Now I could see it above, dark, gray, gloomy, ready to burst into the rain that I knew was about to come pouring into my life.

And everyday, every case, every comment I seem to sink a little lower. I know, logically, that there is suppose to be ground below me. That something will break my fall, but there's always that doubt. That little nagging voice at the back of you head… what if it misses you this time. What if you fall right on pass? What if.. what if… what if….

I'd like to think the others noticed the change. Noticed the difference in my behavior. I would have thought Warrick would've. That he'd have said something to me, I have always felt closest to him. He reminds me of my best friend growing up. But no, he's been too caught up in his new girlfriend to be noticing things aren't going that well for me.

And Catherine? Well her daughter always comes first, not that I blame her. A child deserves the best childhood they can get, and I know it's been rough on Lindsay having her parents divorced, and her mom working nights.

There's still Sara and Grissom. Definitely two people I'd never label as people persons.. both too caught up in their work to notice anything. I don't think I can remember a day that Sara's not been at work, even when she's technically on her day off. She's always there, searching for that extra clue.. the extra piece of the puzzle that will make things alright, restore that peace to the family. And Grissom, he'd never notice there was something wrong with a person until they were dead.

I've been living in Las Vegas for the past 4 years now, but I don't feel like I'm moving any farther in my job or in my life. I have no life besides work. I use to be the big party guy. If anyone had a party, I was there in an instant, but now… I don't even think I can say I have friends really anymore. At least none that live near me.

A week ago I would have called my co-workers my friends, but now I don't know. If they were my friends, wouldn't they have said something?

I guess this seems almost a little odd. Like here I am telling you that I'm depressed, and that I need help, but yet I can't seem to get help unless people will ask me what's wrong. I don't know what it is that holds me back. That prevents me from seeking the help that I know I need.

I sit silently in the break room, waiting for shift to begin. I know Grissom and Sara are already here. I passed by Grissom's office on my way to the break room, and I saw Sara with Greg in the lab.

I know I look like shit, and probably shouldn't even be here.. but I didn't know where else to go. I have sick days I could use up, but then I'd be sitting in my house, trying to ignore the holes I can still see in my ceiling every time I look up.

I haven't shaved the last couple of days, and as I run my hand over my chin and I can feel the rough texture of the stubble against my palm. I'm not even wearing the clothes I'm known for. The gap pants and tight shirts. Instead I'm wearing my comfy pair of jeans and an old University of Texas sweatshirt, that's a couple sizes to big, but at least I feel I can disappear into the folds of the sweatshirt to avoid any looks sent my way.

I hear someone enter the room, but I'm too absorbed in my thoughts to look up. The person leaves as quickly as they entered, and it's not until they're gone that my curiosity gets the better of me and I look up, hoping to catch a glimpse of who was in the room, but all I see is the empty doorway and hall.

I turn back away from the door, forcing myself from my seat to move towards the coffee maker. After pouring myself a cup and doctoring it full of sugar I moved back to the couch, collapsing on it, holding the cup in both hands, letting the heat that it generated through the sides spread through my body, trying to fight of the invisible chill that seemed to surround me.

The next person to enter the room was Grissom. It was from the look on Grissom's face that I could identify who had come in earlier. It had to have been Sara, and she probably went straight to Grissom. Damn her. Damn them all.

"Nick?" Grissom's voice was as calm and steady as ever. Doesn't he have any emotions?

"Yeah Gris?" I refuse to raise my head in acknowledgment, instead staring continuously into my cup of coffee, watching it swirl about in the cup.

"Nick what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for work to begin?" I reply, rolling my eyes. Oh come on Grissom, way to state the obvious.

"Didn't I tell you to stay home today Nick? You look like shit," Grissom continued, pretending he hadn't heard me.

Once again, let's state the obvious. "Actually Grissom, I don't think you've said more than two words to me in the last two shifts, so I'm pretty sure you didn't tell me that. And thanks for the compliment. You can never get enough of those."
"Nick, let's be serious here. You're work has been suffering lately."

"Suffering? Damn it Grissom do you even know what that word means?" I've had enough, I know I'm about to blow my cool, but to be honest, it's feeling good.

"If you don't shape up Nick, I'm going to have to put you on suspension."

Okay, that does it. "For fucks sake Grissom, you don't know what the hell you're talking about. You don't listen to me. You don't respect me. You don't care for my opinion at all. I've been a CSI level 3 for a long time now, and yet I still don't get to do as much as Sara does, and she's only level 2." Grissom looks like he's about to speak, but the faucet's been opened, there's no going back now. "I don't even know why I fucking work here anymore. Day in and day out I try my hardest, yet it's like I'm still two steps behind everyone else. All I've ever wanted is your respect Grissom. Yours. And yet, you refuse to give me any. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a CSI. Maybe I should've stayed as a cop. Sara's obviously one of your protégé. Look at how she follows in your footsteps.. always lusting after you. It's sickening. And Catherine, well you rescued her from her old job, so I'm sure she's eternally great full. You're her knight in shinning armour, how could you ever do anything wrong. And that brings us to Warrick, he's obviously your favorite of us all. He's given any of the cases he wants. You help him out when ever he's in trouble," I lowered my voice, it falling to a whisper. "I use to think that you guys were my friends, my family, but now I'm not sure. I can't seem to get respect from any of you. I feel like when you need someone to do your grunt work, I'm the first one to call, but when I need something, no one's there to pass it over. No one wants to help me…" My voice sunk even lower, I think I was hoping Grissom wouldn't hear my next line. "No one's ever been there to help me…" I paused in my rant, my words finally sinking in. I stood up, I cold feel the tears burning my eyes, and I quickly headed for the break room door, not realizing as I left that Warrick, Catherine and Sara had all been standing by the door, listening to me.

I hurried past them, out of the swinging doors into the parking lot, before breaking into a run, rushing over to my truck, yanking the door open and sliding quickly onto the seat. I pulled the door shut beside me, before leaning my arms on the steering wheel, letting my head rest against them as the tears came.

As soon as I could see again, I turned on my vehicle, heading away from the parking lot, wanting to be anywhere but there. It wasn't until I was turning onto the street that I realized that still, after all that, no one had come looking for me. No one had cared enough to be there.

I pulled my truck to a stop beside a small park. It was void of people which was nice, I just wanted to be alone. I climbed the short incline before sitting, resting my back against the lonely tree, staring out over the city skyline.

I'd moved from Texas in order to get away from the stifling family life I had. I didn't want people to still be telling me where to go, or what to do. I also wanted to leave the memories behind.

I wanted a fresh start. I wanted to be free of everything that had happened in my life. I wanted to be me, not the person I felt I had to present to everyone.

Little did I know that my mask would precede me to Vegas. That once again I would be stuck behind that mask of perfection. That everyone would think I was always happy. That I was the golden boy from the south. I had the perfect charm, I lead the perfect life. I had all the ladies going after me. That's not the truth. That's not me.

It's been said that even if you present a mask, after a while it becomes part of you. But I don't think that can be true. Because how can I present a mask of happiness, and yet feel none of this happiness inside?

I told Catherine once, very briefly, about what happened when I was nine. I thought it would feel good to tell another person, but it didn't. I didn't feel better at all, instead I felt worse. I felt like now that she knew, if she looked at me differently, it must be because she pitied me, not because she cared. No one could ever care for me. How could they?

I didn't even realize that I was still crying until I felt one of the drops hit my hand, landing with a small splash. I watched it, trying to hold my hand still and predict where it would land. The chaos theory at it's finest.

I don't know how long I sat there. I don't even know when she came, but all of a sudden there was someone beside me. Just sitting their quietly, joining me in my watch of the city, tears sliding down her cheeks, paralleling my own. When she realized I'd finally noticed her, she didn't say anything. Instead, she reached over, taking my hand in hers, holding it silently, somehow knowing the comfort I needed didn't involve words. I looked at her, trying to force a small smile, but failing miserably, she didn't look away.

How is it, that the people you think don't notice anything, are always the ones who notice the most?