Mad, Mad World
It was bound to happen.
A person can only take so much.
And it wasn't like he was doing anything constructive about it.
These were the thoughts that were going through Gil Grissom's head as he waited for a
nurse to buzz him into the second floor of the Vegas Psychiatric and Addiction Institute. The nurses at the station were stricter than jail guards with their patients.
"Mr. Grissom, you can come in. Mr. Stokes is just getting his daily medications.", one of them said.
Then she asked the grey-haired, bearded man to hand over the bags he was carrying, for inspection. Gil had brought the fast food Nick had asked for when they spoke by phone this morning, when confirmation of the visit was made. Another bag held some magazines, including the latest National Geographic.
Gil walked into a sunlit hall and headed down to room 255 where Nick had been staying for the past three weeks.
The descent to madness begins
It all began around the time of the first year anniversary of his burial. Up until then, Nick seemed to be fine, even gregarious. However, a memory trigger came in the form of an insensitive reporter; the dingbat who showed up at every murder scene since the Strip Strangler looking for an edge to her story, contacted Nick to find out how he was doing a year after the burial. Nick was polite as always, but refused to go beyond the formalities, yet she persisted. She followed him around at crime scenes, e-mailed him, and telephoned him. Finally Nick finally gave in and said a short interview would be fine.
But the reporter brought post-burial video tape of him being wheeled into the hospital with ant bites on his face, and forced Nick to watch it, asking him how he felt at that moment.
Then an interview with calloused Kelly Gordon came on saying, "She had nothing to do with it and he could die for all she could care."
Then those ungodly questions came:
What were you thinking about when you were underground?
Were you convinced that you were going to die?
How do you feel about your colleagues who kept cutting off your air supply when they clicked the light on?
How does it feel knowing that your parents and your colleagues watched you the whole time on a web cam?
Are you embarrassed by the fact that almost the entire LVPD watched you cry and grab your boss, Gil Grissom's arm when they opened the lid? I've heard some of them mocked you afterwards and called you a 'momma's boy'. Tell me Mr. Stokes what do you think of those remarks?
Gil and Sara stood in the hallway near the Break Room watching Nick become more visibly upset, but trying to stay calm and collected while answering the invasive questions by this reporter. Grissom made a mental note that he would contact the Public Affairs department about this and make sure this particular reporter never came around and bothered one of his guys again. They went into the room and told the woman that the interview was over and demanded that she and the camera crew accompanying her vacated the premises, or be escorted off by an officer.
But for Nick, the damage was already done. As the reporter sauntered out gleefully, Nick simply sat on the couch staring at the video game Greg had left on the table earlier. Sara went over to Nick, sat beside him on the couch and put her around him. Grissom could see by his shrunken demeanor that the ordeal was being replayed in his CSI head. Nick had been dropped in to a 3D horror movie that wouldn't stop no matter how hard anyone tried.
"Nick, I'm going to talk to Brass to weed out any of those cops who have made those remarks," Sara reassured Nick, "They're probably on the fence because it was their own that should have been watching you in the first place."
Nick simply shrugged, got up and left the Break Room. Sara looked over at Grissom helplessly.
It was the beginning of Nick's descent into a mad world.
Visiting a Friend in Need
Grissom found the room and slowly walked over where Nick sat looking at a comic book one of the other patients had loaned him. He was dressed in jeans and a T, no belt of course. The nurses had taken everything from the patient deemed 'potential threat' including car keys, belts, even finger nail clippers.
Nick looked up hearing the sound of someone coming into his room and smiled, "Grissom." Carefully placing the magazine on the side table, the dark-haired, dark-eyed man stood up as his supervisor entered the room.
Grissom walked over with his hand stretched out towards his colleague, but as they got closer, something in their eyes changed and instead, Gil gave Nick a quick, one-armed embrace.
After all, Grissom was the one who found Nick at one of the lowest points of his life.
NO ONE KNOWS ME
The supervisor noticed something off about Nick about six weeks after the horrid interview. He started coming into work late, looking tired and not his usual immaculate self.
As well, Nick's reports seemed jumbled as if he sat down and shot them off without any thought or focus.
He was distracted at crime scenes. Nick would start to take notes of evidence and then would go blank and stare off. Sara constantly had to fill in space in his notes to cover for him.
And certain kinds of suspects would set him off. Such as older men, about Gordon's age, Gil deduced. Warrick and Greg had to pull Nick off a suspect in a crime involving the murder of a family where the grandfather was a casino owner who hung in the same crowd as Sam Braun.
Old men with dark secrets as Nick would label them.
Ecklie sent an e-mail to Grissom stating that while he sympathized with Stokes, Gil had better get his guy into shape or else. A meeting with the despondent CSI was set up. Catharine wanted to sit in, but Grissom refused. Nick didn't need any more of an audience than he'd already had in the past year. Catharine wasn't so sure Grissom and Nick, one on one, was a good idea. She was right.
It didn't go over well. Grissom felt as if he couldn't say the right thing to Nick. He just sat there staring at Gil with a frenzied look in his dark, dark eyes. Deep brown eyes growing darker as Nick suddenly lamented about the oddest of things.
"What's bothering you Nick?" Gil asked his subordinate gently, not wanting to sound like the stern supervisor he normally was for his impulsive CSI. "I know this is a rough time of year for you. Would you like some time off.? Just so you know, Amy in Public Affairs is filing a complaint with the local News Bureau about that interview. She feels that many of the questions violated some code of ethics they have."
Nick folded his arms and stared at one of the bug ornaments on Gil's desk unconcerned with the politics of a complaint process. Grissom saw Nick's eyes focused on the bug, and he snatched it and stuck into the drawer of his desk. He respected Nick's fears. Coming into his bug-adorned office was often a difficult task for his subordinate.
Nick looked up at a sheepish Grissom and then bemoaned his thoughts to his supervisor, "Gil it's a mad world. No one is safe Gil, not you, not me, not even Brass."
Nick's supervisor took off his glasses and rubbed the spot where his glasses rest on his eyes. Grissom then looked back at Nick as he continued.
"All around me are these familiar faces, Gil, same old faces.
All worn out, but ready for this daily race. DB, man, DB..then COD.
Then the perps, they just sit there with no expression, no tears, nothing. No regrets. Remember that chick that just sat there and I asked her if she felt bad for killing her boyfriend, and the funny thing was, she didn't. Isn't that unbelievable man?"
Gil didn't like where this conversation was going. It was if the glass of sanity in Nick's eyes was about to shatter right in front of him and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. So Grissom would do what he did best for his CSIs, just sit and listen.
The dark-haired CSI went on with his tangent, "I find this stuff too hard to tell you, but I find it harder to take. You want to know why I'm coming in late, because of my dreams. In them, I see you guys finding me, but I'm already dead. I've already eaten my gun and you know what? Those are the best dreams I've ever head. When I wake up in the morning, I'm pissed because I'm still alive. Sometimes during a shift, I'll stop and think, why didn't I eat my gun when I had the chance. It was there with me. I think I should, you know, but then I wouldn't look good at the funeral and that would upset my mom. So maybe I'll just take some of the meds I got last year and chase em' down with a 12 pack."
Alarmed, Grissom sat up sharply in his chair, "Nick, that's a sure sign of depression. Have you talked to our psychologist? Your family doctor? You really should have continued with your therapy last year?" Gil wished he had forced Nick to continue, threatened him with termination or suspension, or something. However, Nick Stokes was a stubborn man who once he made up his mind about something, he'd do it or not do it such as was the case here.
Nick smiled madly at his superior, "Hello teacher Grissom! Tell me, is this my lesson? Just to sit and listen, sit and listen right Gil? Should I end all of your sentences for you like Sara or Warrick do? Why should YOU of all people care if I had taken my gun that night and blown myself a part? Did anyone ever ask me how I was doing after Crane was in my attic? Did anyone? Oh no. Good ole, happy Nick Stokes, just a good ole country boy ready to be everyone's loyal whipping dog just to be shot once he's lived out his servitude."
"This isn't funny," The supervisor shot back, "You need to get help, immediately if you feel that death is the answer here."
"There you go, just looking right through me as always, and looking to the others, but not me because I'm just the black sheep of the herd. I'm nothing more then Grissom's bastard step-child." Nick slumped back in his chair, eyes now gone from madness to frenzied and angered.
Shaking his head, Gil said, "No Nick, I've never thought of you like that. In fact, you once told me you regret disappointing me, you never did Nick. Not once." Then Grissom regretted what he just said. Not so much telling Nick that he had never disappointed him, but reminding him of his last words during his burial.
Nick stared hard at Grissom.
"Bullshit." He said in a voice gone dead.
"Okay, I didn't want to do this, Nick, but you're on leave as of today. Hand over your gun, and your I.D" Grissom ordered, "For two weeks, and in that time I want you to start seeing our counselor. I can't have a suicidal member on my team, Nick. I'm sorry, but this is best for all of us. I'll call you in a couple of days."
Nick stood up, glaring hard at his supervisor as he handed over his I.D. and his gun , then without a word walked out of the office.
EVIDENCE IS ALWAYS GOOD BUT..
An hour later, Gil was staring at Nick's ID, the handsome face staring back at him almost accusingly.
He leaned back in the chair and didn't even hear the familiar walk of Brass come in as he ran his hand over his beard thinking about what the next action should be. He had a bad feeling about Nick Stokes.
"Everything okay Gil? ", the detective asked. By now the word about Nick's suspension was all over the lab, along with the jokes of Nick going all postal. Brass wasn't laughing, but deep down knew Nicky wasn't capable of such a thing.
"No. "Can you do me a favour and keep it confidential" Gil asked
Shrugging Brass answered, "I can do my best, no guarantees."
"Who's out on the road tonight that you can trust implicitly to keep a secret, even from the rest of your guys?"
Brass placed his hands into his pocket and said, "What do you want me to do"
"Try and find Nick before the shift starts."
NEVER IGNORE THE HUMAN ELEMENT
About ten p.m. the two men were in Brass's car racing over to Jensen's Park. A man in his mid 30s was found by a lady walking her dog, lying in on a park bench with vomit strewn over him.
The officer was knelt down beside an unconscious Nick to keep him from rolling off. The officer had carefully turned the drunken man sideways to prevent him from aspirating when he vomited. The salt-and-peppered seasoned officer turned to see his superiors running toward them, just as Nick started to lurch the contents of beer-reeking filth to the ground, Gil stepped back for a second to ensure he wasn't in the path of the spray. Brass quickly contacted someone at dispatch to send one, just one ambulance over to the park immediately. No fire trucks, no police cars and no questions asked.
"Jesus Christ!" Brass cursed as he removed his overcoat to cover Nick worried about exposure or shock, "What the hell happened to him, Gil?"
Grissom didn't answer Brass, just let the wave of guilt and anger wash over him. Grissom wanted to grab Nick and shake him, but what good would it do now?
The officer explained to Brass how he had gotten their call and drove around looking for Nick's car via the license plate. He was just about to give up when the elderly lady came over and told her she was worried about an unconscious gentlemen on the bench.
"By the grace of God, Brass," The senior officer told his superior, "It was Nick. Thank God for good Samaritans.'"
The ambulance arrived and Grissom stood back while they hurried over to Nick. Gil recognized one of the men who had worked with Nick the night he was buried alive. Grissom hoped Nick would stay out cold long enough so he wouldn't recognize the guy.
Fortunately, he didn't wake up until they got to the hospital and by then the paramedics had left.
The doctors worked on Nick to bring up his temperature which had dropped in the cold Nevada night air, and blood tests were done to determine how much alcohol he had drunken, and if anything else had been taken with it. Grissom stayed back as they started to revive Nick.
"Sir, Mr. Stokes, can you hear me. I'm Dr. Shymalan." A young East Indian hospital resident called to the CSI, his soft native accent resonating through the ER. Nick's brown eyes fluttered open and started to take in their surroundings. Confusion set in. The doctor continued to talk to Nick, "Sir, do you know where you are?"'
Nick looked up at the doctor and nodded.
"Good. Nick, did you take anything else that we should know about."
Gil held his breath, hoping the answer would be no.
Nick slowly nodded. Grissom slumped, hopes deflated.
"What else did you take Nick? Do you have it on you? In a pocket or something?"
Nick slowly nodded again, before closing his eyes.
Immediately, Gil seized Nick's coat hanging over a nearby chair. He had dropped it nearby before passing out on the bench, and it was only discovered by Brass after he was transported to the hospital. Grissom rummaged through its pockets and pulled out two empty prescription pill bottles, lorazapam, and xanax prescribed months ago. Neither drug was lethal if taken properly, but together could be fatal. The CSI supervisor handed them to one of the nurses, who thanked him and pulled the curtain around while they went to work on Nick who was flitting in and out of consciousness.
Gil went over to the waiting room to wait with Brass.
Brass sighed as his friend heavily slumped into the chair. Knowing that Nick's health was in jeopardy, Brass also wondered about his supervisor, Gil Grissom. In the past two years he's had to endure one CSI with DUI, a team split, almost losing two friends, one with a knife to her throat and the other buried alive.
As infallible as Gil tried to make himself look, Brass knew that even he had his breaking point.
"'It's a mad, mad world Gil."' Brass said as Gil took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes.
"I should have made him get help a long time ago." Grissom lamented putting his glasses on.
Brass thought about his troubled daughter Ellie and responded, "Gil, trust me when I say this to you, if someone doesn't want help, you can't force them to get it no matter how hard you try. Nick's a grown man and was too stubborn to get the help. And in the end you did help him when he really needed it."
A couple of hours later, they were still waiting. Gil tried to watch some TV while Brass laid down on a loveseat and dozed a bit. Gil had called Catharine shortly before grave started and told her that he wouldn't be at work, and not to expect Nick or Brass to show up. Catharine could tell by the tone of Gil's voice that this was not a time to ask questions, but to simply follow orders. Grissom would worry about questions later.
"'Mr. Grissom?" An accented voice called out.
Gil jumped up and Brass hearing movement also woke up and slowly got out of the couch to follow Gil over to Dr. Shymylan.
"'Nick's fine Mr. Grissom, he asked that his parents not be contacted, so you have been listed as next of kin. His stomach was pumped, the contents were potentially lethal and he hadn't brought up enough to keep from being poisoned, but it seems like we got everything."
The two older men looked at each in relief as the young doctor went on, "Physically, he's doing just fine. However, he's been seen by the On-call psychiatrist, and she's admitting him to 2 East for observation as we speak then he'll be transferred to a more suitable facility in the morning. I've gone back through his records Mr. Grissom, sounds like he's been through quite a bit." The doctor's face denoted sympathy through the professional exterior.
Grissom nodded while Brass asked, "Can we see him before he goes up?"
FRIENDS AND HUMOUR ARE THE BEST MEDICINE
"So Nick, I'll tape Animal Precinct for you on that channel of yours," Brass was simply trying to make some kind of conversation.
Nick stared up at the ceiling, his hands playing with the sheets, then smiled back at the detective, "Hey Brass, guess I'm going behind bars after all, did you ever expect one of us land in the loony bin?"
The two older smiled in relief at one another seeing that their guy still had his sense of humor.
"Yeah, but my bet was on Gil with all the fetal pigs he's collected." Brass laughed.
"Uh…irradiated fetal pigs."' Gil corrected.
"Sure, but I was thinking that Gil would go first, with Greg to follow. I mean the hair says it all." Brass continued to smirk.
"Really," Nick answered, "I always figured Hodges would be first."
"Give him time." Grissom answered with a wry smile, "You might be sharing a room with him."
"'Oh no." Nick answered, mocking a horrified look, "Anything but that."
Grissom became serious, "What about your parents Nick, shouldn't they know? I mean I don't mind being listed as next of kin, but should you keep this from them?"
"'Yes." Nick's answer was solid, and there would be no debate around the issue.
Nodding, Gil went on, "Okay."
"But, there should be a number for my sister on my file, can you call her and ask if she could come, and not tell Mom and Dad." Nick requested.
"Yeah, I can do that for you."' Gil said, inside he was venting at Nick and the stupidity of what he just did.
A nurse came in and ordered the visitors to leave, "Time's up gentlemen, we're taking the patient upstairs."
Brass patted the younger man's shoulder, "'I'll come visit you after you're settled in. I've got to be careful; they might mistake me for a patient."'
Nick smiled weakly and looked at Gil, who patted Nick's i.v. clad hand gently. A rare show of emotion for him, but it was only the three of them, one was great at keeping secrets, the other was so drained, he couldn't tell.
"'I'll come in tomorrow after my shift, if I don't have a double to pull."
Nodding, Nick closed his eyes as the nurses began to push the gurney towards the elevator.
I NEVER JUDGE
"Wow. I got a hug from Gil Grissom. That would make front page of Bug Week." Nick said in surprise at the rare show of emotion from the stoic man.
"Yeah just don't tell anyone," Grissom smirked, "They might get the wrong idea about us and well I've got a reputation with the ladies to keep Nick."
Nick nodded, "Secret's safe with me."
Grissom told Nick that if he wanted to go for a walk outside, the nurse would give him permission granted Grissom stayed with him. Nick agreed that he hadn't been outside in two weeks and he was getting cagey. But since he kept telling the nurses and his doctor that they shouldn't have bothered saving him that night for the first few days, they decided to keep him in for his own safety. Nick figured he was just being punished for chasing pills with a 12 pack.
On the way out, a huge, balding man wearing khakis with suspenders and a grey shirt stopped Nick and Gil.
"The Lord be with you Nick." He said placing his hand on Nick's shoulder.
"And also with you Stan" Nick responded dutifully. This was their daily ritual. Stan, a long time resident suffering from severe, debilitating Schizophrenia, liked Nick because he always took him seriously when no one else would.
"Nick someone tried to steal my guitar again."
"Oh I'm sorry to hear that Stan. Maybe we'll just have to find a better hiding spot for your guitar."
Stan noticed Grissom for the first time, "You're not leaving us Nick? I'll miss you when you go. Who else is gonna help me find my guitar?"
"Not leaving today Stan, but I will be soon. I'll make sure we draw up that map of places for you to keep your guitar safe and sound. I'm a CSI you know."
Stan nodded and looked at Grissom,"He tells me that everyday, but we just play along with him, let him think he's a crime guy."
Nick looked at Gil in surprise.
Grissom stifled a laugh, and said, "Let's go Nicky."
A young, pretty nurse stopped Nick on the way out, "Thirty minutes Nick and then you need to come back."
Grissom watched as Nick gave the nurse one of his smiles. He knew Nick well enough to know that this smile of his denoted, 'I hate you, but I'll do whatever you say to get you off my back.' The kind of smile Nick often gave Ecklie.
"You bet yah." Nick affirmed as the two men walked out of earshot, Nick mumbled for only he and Gil to hear, "Nurse Ratched."
Grissom smiled at Nick, "So that makes you R.P. McMurphy, the Jack Nicholson character from One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest."
"Oh yeah," Nick nodded. He liked Jack Nicholson, although that one movie would probably not be one he'd be watching soon. Too close to home.
"Don't give her too hard a time, remember what happened to him." Gil warned Nick about the hapless character who wound up in shock therapy for his rebel behaviour.
"Yeah, then I can be like Stan though. Half a functioning brain, but happy nonetheless. Maybe that's the secret to happiness, no brain."
Outside the sun was shining brightly. The hospital had gardens filled with impatiens and other sorts of drought-resistant plants. Grissom put his plantation hat on and while Nick put the Rangers cap on that Brass had bought him.
"Thanks Gil for talking the nurses into letting me go outside. I guess they think I'll fall asleep on a bench or something." Nick said sheepishly as the two men walked through the lunch area where students, doctors and nurses sat at wooden picnic tables having their breaks. Some ate boxed sandwiches or take out food, some played cards, and others smoked.
Gil found a picnic table by some rosebushes and sat down on one side while Nick straddled the other bench on the opposite side looking around before delving into the burger and fries his boss brought him. In the sunshine, Grissom could see Nick's improvement. The Texan was window pane when it came to emotions, everything he felt could be seen on his rugged face, but the glass of sanity was cracking in those last weeks. Threatening to shatter with any setback, any wind of change that blew his way. And unfortunately it did.
Now he looked calm and lucid, almost like the pre-burial Nick Grissom knew, physically it looked like the bulk of muscle Nick had dedicated himself to building had vanished and he looked even thinner than before the workout regimen. The clothes he had purchased to accommodate that muscular body now swam on him.
The silence between the two men was uncomfortable. Each had so much they wanted to say, but like always, could never find the right thing because they feared the wrong thing would just set their tenuous relationship back. Gil began by handing Nick a book on crossword puzzles.
"Uh thanks Gil never was really into them." Nick said taking the book and breezing through it. But the other two magazines he seemed happier over, National Geographic, and Sports Illustrated.
"I know, but you also told me on the phone that you couldn't seem to get your concentration back, crossword puzzles are good exercises for the brain, especially for people suffering from…Post Traumatic Stress and Depression."
The last two words hung between them. Nick was still reeling from the diagnosis the psychiatrist had given him after the hundreds of questions she had gone over with him the first three days of his stay. She told him she would base her diagnosis on the answers and whether they fit with a certain test. The questions asked every single thing about him, his life was probed, studied, deduced, hypothesized then concluded with not one, but two psychiatric labels slapped on him like a felony charge, or at least that's how Nick perceived them complete with a hodgepodge of meds to keep him calm, to help him sleep and whatever emotion they wanted to numb in him. Then of course the fun of group therapy, where he barely spoke a word in-which didn't help Nick any, thus threatening to keep him in longer.
Grissom warned Nick that if he didn't shape up, he'd wind up in there longer and then his everyone would suspect something was up other then time off in Texas, and Grissom would have to blow Nick's cover. Grissom had convinced them that Nick was taking extra time off beyond his suspension, and it was best to leave him be until he sorted himself out.
"Thanks for not telling anyone I'm here Grissom, especially my parents. My dad wouldn't understand." Nick quietly said, putting the magazines back on the table.
Shrugging, Grissom told him, "I think you underestimate the people around you and their ability to empathize with you Nick. I don't think the reaction will be as negative as you think. It would be understandable given what's gone on with you in the past year."
"Yeah, but as far as everyone else knows, I'm visiting my family in Dallas, and I'm staying with my parents"
"Who happen to be out of the country right now in case Warrick calls looking for you? Good cover up Nick. How long do you think it will last"
"Long as I can make it work."
"Nick, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone knew you went through a horrible ordeal. It was a matter of time before it had an effect on you, especially considering you weren't going for help, or at least not to our knowledge."
."So.." Nick began,." How come you haven't asked me why I did it Grissom?"
Grissom pondered the question then answered, "Honestly, Nick, I did ask that, but after some thought I concluded that wasn't you that day Nick, at least the guy I've known for six years. That was a guy at his wit's end. There's only so much you can take. We're not mortal"
Nick nodded then asked another question that had been plaguing him.
"So will I have a job to come back to, or does Ecklie…" Nick changed the subject like he always did when it became a sticky one for him.
"Ecklie thinks the same thing as the rest does. Brass and I are the only ones that know what happened. The officer and paramedics were specifically chosen by Brass and have pledged to keep quiet. Yes Nick, you have a job to come back to. When you are ready to come back that is, you will have to have a report done by your doctor. And I will lock that up when I get it. Okay. "
Nick smiled in relief.
"And you will see a therapist, or I'm going to have to report the whole thing Nick."
Nodding at the orders, Nick swirled around on the bench seat to face his superior.
"Gil, I didn't want to really die that night. I just wanted the pain to go away. The last few weeks, it was like I was reliving the whole thing again. I'd be working in the lab, and I'd hear that voice of Walter Gordon's again. I'd wake up in the night with Kelly Gordon hanging the phone up on me at the prison. I couldn't go into your office, I'd see those bugs. After I had a shower, I turned the vent on in the washroom, and it sounded like that fan. This is never going to go away Gil. It's always with me. Maybe not in the forefront of my mind, but it's still there. Something small just triggers the memories in me and the pain they bring is so bad all I want to do is just crawl away somewhere like an animal knowing its going to die and just crawls off under a bush to do so. "
Grissom nodded thoughtfully, "What you don't realize about this disorder, Nick is that there is a physiological element to it. Your thyroid function has been enhanced. The hormones in your body that are involved with response to stress have lower cortisol levels but higher epinpephrine and norepinephrine levels. Also, even after the trauma has passed, your body continues to produce higher then level opiates. Mentally speaking Nick, your body chemicals are operating higher then the capacity allows. You're on a permanent panic mode."
Digesting this information, since the doctor was too busy to explain it after she slapped the labels, Nick responded, "So what you're saying Gil that even the chemicals that run the parts in your brain that control personality, emotions and other soft functions can break down given enough stress. My personal trainer at the gym warned me many times not to overdue with the workouts because too much stress on the muscles can cause injury. It's the same thing, but with different body parts. One physical..."
"….one chemical, but both are equally important to care for one to have a quality life." Grissom concluded and smiled at Nick as he actually finished a sentence for him instead of vice versa.
"You know what Gil, if I were in the hospital because I'd been in a car accident, I'd have no problem letting everyone know. But my brain falls apart and I just don't want anyone to know about it. It's too humiliating Gil. People are more sympathetic if you get hurt physically and have no trouble visiting you, but not many people in here get a lot of visitors. As if their family or friends or going to catch whatever it is they have."
"People are afraid of what they don't understand." Grissom said knowing sadly that Nick was right about society's intolerance for the mentally ill.
"Yeah, but you think with all the information we have out there…" Nick picked at the fries in the cardboard container.
"You're talking about the rest of the lab, or your father?" Grissom asked, knowing Nick's father was a touchy subject for him.
"My dad doesn't buy that PSTD stuff, and I don't want to put anymore suffering on my mom." Nick said in a short, curt way that denoted the subject matter was closed.
"That's surprising, a well educated man like your dad, a judge." Grissom wondered.
"Don't mean squat where I come from." Nick shrugged. Then gave Gil a look denoting the subject matter was closed.
"Guess he wouldn't care to know that it's a common problem amongst war veterans. In fact, research shows that one third of law enforcement officials suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and don't even realize it."
Nick shrugged, his father wouldn't buy even that. He was an old school, hard-knocked
kind of judge and father, come to think of it. But that wasn't something he wanted to share with Grissom.
"Nick" Gil asked his subordinate, "You know that I almost lost my hearing."
Nick ducked his head down as his boss went on, "When I thought that I was going to lose my hearing, I learned to read lips, I coped. It's almost the same thing here Nick, you will learn to cope. You take your medication, you go to your therapy, you take good care of yourself, go back to your workout regiment to make sure you keep the endorphins up to fight off any of that despair that will come over you when you least expect it, find others with the same problems, and trust me there are plenty. You research as much as you can about it. Don't mention it to people whom your good hunches tell you won't understand, but make a point of sharing it with those that do. I know the feeling of just wanting to get through this alone, but believe me even having one person on your side through this can help you."
Nick looked at Gil, "Do you mind being that one person?"
Gil smiled, "Not at all Nick. But when you get back to work, you'll have to put up with my...overprotection...of you for the time being."
Snorting, Nick responded, "Well, I'm getting used to it. Actually that's even more of a reason not to tell Warrick about this. He'll never leave me alone. He won't even let me out of the vehicle if the scene doesn't fit with his idea of safety if this gets back to him."
"And Nick," Grissom looked at his CSI sternly, "No whining about any of the cases I give you. Slow and steady to start with. In fact, you can work with Greg and teach him a thing or two."
"Copy that," Nick smiled.
The bossy nurse who Nick called 'Nurse Ratched' approached the table telling the gentlemen that Nick needed to come back into the hospital as time was up, and he needed his afternoon dosage.
Gil went over to Nick's side of the table and patted his shoulder as they stood up and started back into the hospital with the nurse close by.
"When are you being discharged?" he asked.
"Soon, maybe this weekend. My sister, the one who knows I've been in the hospital, is coming to stay with me." Nick said as they entered the lobby and went over to the elevator. "If that happens, then I can blow this joint." Looking around nervously, "I mean figuratively speaking. They want to make sure someone is babysitting me."
"Takes time to built up that trust again Nick with these guys, but you will." Grissom told him.
"Yeah, I'll just have to walk around and pretend to be happy-go lucky Nicky until they believe me."
"Will you ever be happy again Nick?"
"I don't know. Is there such a thing?"
Once they got to the floor, they made their way back to the ward.
Stan was waiting by the door.
"Hey Stan, how are you doing?" Nick asked the large man.
Stan's face grew despondent, "I dunno, I think somebody stole my guitar Nicky."
Nick patted his friend's back, "Nobody stole your guitar, I'm sure it's still where you left it."
"Oh I hope so Nicky, I hope so."
"C'mon let's go find it. Then we can sing that U2 song, Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For."
"Nick, have you found what you are looking for?"
Nick smirked and looked at a bemused Grissom,"I don't know what I'm looking for Stan."
"Jesus loves you Nick." Stan told. Nick raised his eyebrows
"I'm sure he does Stan. In own his sick and morbid way he loves me."
Nick threw Grissom a bemused stare.
"Can we read the bible together again, Nick?"
"Oh I don't know Stan, you always get mad at me when I add my own words into the passages like conjugate, fellatio, foreplay and fornication. Maybe we'll play cards instead."
The nurse told them it was time for them to get back to the ward and get their meds. Nick scowled and turned to shake Grissom's hand.
"See yah Gil, thanks for everything."
Grissom watched as Nick shoved his hands into his pant's front pockets and walked back to the ward, his new friend and his nurse in tow.
"Nick's going to be okay," Grissom thought as he headed back to his car.
FINI