Aftermath
By Mellaithwen
Rating: K
Genre: Tragedy/Angst
Disclaimer: Everything recognizable as CSI belongs to Anthony Zuiker and is used only with the greatest fondness of the show and its characters.
Summary: AU for CSI finale 'Grave Danger'. Grissom and the team are too late to save one of their own and they have to deal with the aftermath of the tragedy.
Catherine sighed. It didn't matter how many times she cleaned the contents of her desk or emptied her drawers. Nothing would take her mind off of this.
"You're racing me, Nick. We're driving the same car." She said but Nick carried on walking.
"Nick! " Still nothing.
"Nick, I'll have you removed from the case. " Catherine said simply and saw Nick stop. She walked towards him. "You're confronting suspects before the evidence is processed. You're flying solo, cutting me out. What's going on?" More than anything else, Catherine was worried.
"Okay." Nick took a deep breath. "There are some people you're supposed to be able to trust, you know? I was nine. And she was a last-minute baby-sitter." There was no need to say more, Catherine was stunned.
"All I can remember doing afterwards is sitting in my room in the dark, staring at the door waiting for my mom to get home. But I've never told anyone before."
"I'm sorry." She said, dumbfounded.
"It's what makes a person, I guess."
"I'm sorry, Catherine." He said softly and he turned and walked away.
He'd been so vulnerable, but Catherine, though shocked and horrified that anyone could do such a thing, felt something, close to pride, knowing that he could trust her enough to explain.
"So, the current came into the vehicle from the roll bar, and it went
out through the undercarriage." Warrick explained having newly seen the explanation for their victim's death.
"It needed an entry point and exit point." Catherine said simply.
"Entry through the, uh, the watch on his wrist and then exit through the
rivets in his shorts." Nick said, somewhat surprised at the turn of events, but glad they had found out the truth.
"Right across his heart, stopping it cold." Catherine filled in and looked around once more. "So I know that I've never said this to you guys before, but…hide the evidence."
"Thanks for getting our back." Nick chuckled.
"We're a team, guys."
"Oh, since we're a team, you gonna help us clean up?" Warrick asked
"Yeah." Nick backed him up.
"No." Catherine laughed. "I'm the boss."
She had been his boss. Yes, she had applied for day shift, but it was a promotion all the same, and she couldn't have been happier to work with Nick and Warrick. Honestly, she didn't know how they'd do it without Stokes. Not just the job, but getting on with things, any things. It seemed impossible that only a few days ago he had been smiling on his was to a scene, and now…
Catherine looked up just as Warrick Brown walked into swing shift's supervisor's office. A black suit and tie that Greg, Grissom and Brass would be wearing too. There wasn't a single crease in the trousers, nor the jacket.
"Wow, look at you." Catherine said trying to lighten the mood. A reassuring smile came to Warrick's lips.
"I could say the same to you."
Catherine looked down. She had made the effort, of course she would. She had a long sleeved black top and matching skirt, and there were a pair of pearls around her neck. Her short blonde hair was straight and left down, framing her face.
"We should get going." Warrick announced quietly and Catherine nodded following him out.
As they walked down the corridor Warrick tried to ignore the memories assaulting his head as he looked at familiar parts of the lab.
"There he is. What's up?" Nick said in reply to Warrick's 'Hey' as he walked in and greeted his fellow CSI.
Warrick grabbed the SOLVED magnet off of the wall of the whiteboard and placed it in his own column just as Nick had done.
"Ninety-nine. You and me, dead heat. Next crime solved gets promoted to CSI-3, man." Warrick said enthusiastically, loving the competition.
"Yeah, yeah, choice of shift, $8,000 raise, extra week vacation, oh, it's all about Cabo, bro." Nick said wistfully.
"Twenty bucks, by the end of shift, I'm the man." Warwick said with confidence.
"Is there anything you won't bet on?"
"Nah. It's college football season, man. I won eight of ten this weekend. Kilt 'em. Outside the Huskers and them punk-ass Irish, I'm up about four G's." He replied
"Hmm, what's the line on us?" Nick asked.
"On us? I'm like tiger, man -- I'm heavily favored"
"Come on, give me a winner for tomorrow."
"Ah..." Warrick sighed " Green bay, minus seven and a half over niners. Always go with the better quarterback."
"Uh-huh. Cool. "
Warrick began to walk away when Nick's voice came to his ears
"Hey, good luck tonight, man." Nick held out his hand.
"Thanks. You, too, Nick. I hope you get that trick and roll. You'll never crack that in a shift, never." And Warrick Brown walked away with a smirk on his face.
"Yeah, well, we'll see, and I hope the pack wins by seven." Nick called after him, talking to his retreating back.
He sighed as he walked along the corridor, nodding every now and again to any other CSI's not being able to go. He saw Greg walk past in the opposite direction. A somber look on his face, with eyes raw and Warrick instantly felt for the guy.
"Hey, where are you going?" Warrick asked him. Greg looked up, his face paler than it should be.
"I'm gonna go get Sara." He explained and carried on his way, leaving Warrick and Catherine to proceed to their Tahoe's.
Greg wasn't taking this well. At all. Flashes of the webcam came back to him and he wanted to be sick. That was more than murder it was cruelty, inhumane and heinous.
Nick had been one of the first CSI's Greg could really call a friend. He and Warrick would tease, and gang up on him, but it was only messing around. Nick had his back and Greg knew it. Even after the shift had been split up they had still hung out, and Greg was glad the team separation hadn't changed that.
"Heard you were looking for me?" Greg said, leaving it open for questioning.
"Greg. Come here. I want to talk to you for a sec. " Nick said, and there was something about Nick manner that made Greg hesitate at the door.
"Come on." Nick called and Greg walked over to where Nick stood next to where Nick stood fuming something.
"What's up?" Greg asked casually knowing full well why Nick wanted him after hearing Warrick's warning.
Nick slapped Greg on the shoulder and grasped the lab tech's neck tightly.
"Stop invading my privacy, man, I don't like it. I'm just trying to do my
job around here. I don't need the extra attention." Nick said through gritted teeth.
"Okay. But, I mean, you are the one who's doing the "Forensic Spotlight" in the department newsletter."
The hand on Nick's neck tightened suddenly and Greg winced in pain, bending his knees trying to get away.
"I didn't do anything, man. Someone from the community wrote a letter of commendation. Public affairs ran it. Cool?"
"Cool."
Greg let out a sigh of relief when Nick let go of his neck and walked around the tank. Greg peered in and asked what was being fumed.
"Plastic bag from the crime scene. I'm trying to get lucky, see if I can get some prints off it." Nick explained, his anger gone, most of it anyway.
Nick opened the tank and the fumes billowed out. Greg stared intently at the plastic bag inside.
"Did she die of suffocation?" Greg asked.
Nick only stared at Greg, amazed that he had known that. Greg continued to stare at the plastic bag and when he got no response he looked up at Nick and back down at the tank. Nick followed his lead and walked around the tank to see what Greg had seen. There on the plastic bag was the imprint of Jane Galloway's face
Greg felt more than guilty when Nigel Crane got a hold of that newsletter. He wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially not Nick, but it had been his fault. If he hadn't been so immature…he sighed. He didn't want to remember Nick as being angry at him. He didn't want to remember that at all.
"It's all right, man. Stop apologizing." Nick said softly as he made his way down the hill.
"I feel bad. I just froze up." Greg said, holding on tightly to the bar, shivering from the cold.
"That's why we have fielding training, Greg. No disrespect, but you're not qualified to be out here."
"I guess I just wasn't expecting blood to look like that. Pre-collection…so different."
"Yup. I remember my first time in the field. CSI One. Green as could be. Initial call was a robbery. I get there, triple homicide. Blood all over the place, mother and two kids" Despite the gruesome tale, Greg felt a little better, knowing that it wasn't just him.
"How do you deal?" He asked, wanting to understand.
"You just do."
Walking down the hallway, he came to a stop outside the locker room. Peering in.
Sara Sidle sat on the bench in the dimly lit locker room, staring at the ground. She took a breath and swallowed the emotions catching in her throat. She stood up and straightened the creases in her black dress and looked down at the black, strapped shoes on her feet.
"Hot shoes." Greg noted, looking at Vanessa Keaton's shoe that lay in Sara's hand.
"You think these are sexy, huh?" Sara asked, a smile playing on her face. Greg only shrugged in return.
"Did you know that shoes like these put degenerative stress on the hip joints, throw off the curve of the spine, and the tilt to the pelvis, over time, women get headaches, sore backs, shortened calf muscles and bunions, of course."
"I take it back." Greg said, taken aback by Sara's speech.
She opened her locker and looked in the compact mirror. She fanned her hands around her eyes to get rid of any remaining red blotches from wiping her tears away hastily. She flattened her hair to ensure no static electricity and she pulled her black cardigan tighter around her shoulders.
Her eyes looked at the pictures on the inside of the locker door, and made sure her ID was tucked away in her jacket, currently stuffed on the top shelf.
"Hey. You back on?" Nick asked, calling into the locker room where Sara stood staring at her ID. Sara skipped a beat before replying.
"Yeah. I hear you're going to prison." She said smiling, and Nick smiled in return, before walking back down the corridor.
"I'll meet you outside." He called back to her and Sara followed him out of the locker room, and out of the lab.
That day hadn't been the best for anyone. She had gotten off lightly compared to Greg, who still bore the scars on his neck and back, and deep beneath the skin where none could see. Sara sighed. There was just toomuchdrama.
"I hear you think you're indestructible now, Sara." He seemed annoyed. Sara only stared at him.
"Have you ever had a gun drawn on you, Sara?" Nick asked, not letting her get away with silence.
"No, I haven't." The answer was simple, and yet it managed to cease the conversation entirely.
Nick had been through more in a few years than most CSI's ever go through. Another sigh and Greg decided to make his presence known.
"Sara?" He walked into the room away from the doorway. A black suit and tie, and his hair spiked, but nowhere near as eccentric as usual.
Sara smiled slightly and filled the gap between them. She loosened his tie so it was no longer choking him, and Greg couldn't bare to see her hands fiddling with his collar. He took them in his own and held tightly to stop the tremors. She looked at him hopelessly and he held her close letting her head rest on his chest.
After a few minutes he realized how long they had been standing there and moved his arm to be around her shoulders. He slowly led them out of the locker room and down the corridors to the car park outside of Las Vegas' esteemed Crime Lab.
Sara didn't look up once, she kept her head down on Greg's chest and relied on his guidance to ensure she didn't go walking into any walls. She trusted him, more than she could ever explain.
They passed Grissom's office. Greg nodded at Brass who did the same in return. Greg looked past the homicide detectives shoulder and saw Grissom's chair, occupied, and facing the other way.
"Gil?" Brass' voice usually loud, taunting or both, was quiet and concerned and he waited patiently in the doorway for the night shift supervisor's reply. Grissom was facing the back wall, his hands entwined, his eyes closed, lost in thought.
"Look Grissom," Nick began as he sat down. "I know this is a bad time to bitch to the boss but, I've been a CSI Level 3 for nine months now. I was a CSI before Warrick. Warrick works D.B.'S solo. Why can't I?" There was a pleading look in the Texan's eyes.
"Repeat after me. Silk, silk, silk." Grissom said simply, staring Nick squarely in the face.
"Silk, silk, silk."
"What do cows drink?"
"Milk." Nick said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Grissom shook his head.
"Cows drink water. They give milk. A simple riddle. Common sense disguised in a puzzle of words, but an excellent barometer for evaluating someone's readiness." Grissom hadn't meant to offend but the look on Nick's face told him he'd done just that.
"Look," He said frustrated "I'm not one of your suspects you can trick, okay? If I'm not ready, be a man, tell me I'm not ready."
"You're not ready." He said calling Nick's bluff.
"You know why I took this job? Honestly? I wanted to pack heat, walk under the yellow tape, be the man, but mostly, because I want you to think I'm a good CSI."
You are Nick, Grissom sighed. At least, you were…
Grissom looked up at Brass and got up from his chair.
"This is a lousy way to say goodbye." He said, his voice cracking. "I know you did the best to find me." His face scrunched up as he tried to calm himself down. Stop the shaking in his voice, in his heart. Grissom watched the screen, unbelieving, not wanting to watch but not having the heart to walk away. He couldn't do that to Nick. He watched Nick's lips move, reading them perfectly.
"Grissom" His name, "I never meant to disappoint you."
No, no, why would you think that?
"No, you never did Nick."
Nick's family had thought it best to have him cremated. Though he hadn't made his feelings clear on the subject, considering recent events, it was most definitely for the best.
It would be held in Nevada. The Judge and his wife had decided that his ashes would be split. They would take half back to his hometown in Texas and scatter them there, and they would entrust the rest in the hands of his colleagues and friends, to be scattered where they saw fit.
The members of the Las Vegas Crime Lab were in their cars, driving solemnly as they made their way to the service.
Brass sat in the Tahoe with Greg and Sara, Greg being the driver. While Catherine and Warrick went together.
As they neared the small white church in the middle of the desert, little black dots could be seen. People. The Judge was respected and his son's death was looked on with utter sorrow. People had come to pay their respects to the family and to a man they never knew. Conrad Ecklie stood speaking quietly to the Sheriff.
The Judge himself was inside, listening to another sympathy filled speech, not really listening. His eyes kept darting over to where his wife sat alone, and half way through a man's speech who he barely knew, he held his hand up and quickly sat by his wife in the front row of the church.
Greg stopped the car and rested on the steering wheel for a moment, containing himself. Sara, seeing this, squeezed his hand and smiled weakly at him. She got out of the car and straightened her dress once more, while Brass, Grissom and Greg did the same with their suits. None of them wanted to go in, because that would mean this was all real, that they would have to accept it, and then they would have to say goodbye.
Catherine and Warrick pulled up then, and they too looked as though staying outside was preferred, but everyone knew they would have to eventually.
Grissom looked towards the church and saw Ecklie motioning for them to come in with him. He looked around at his colleagues and knowing they had seen, led them towards the church.
The coffin had been set at the front near the priest, near the door that would take it to be cremated.
White lilies sat around it, and strangely enough, no weeping could be heard. Only an eerie silence could be heard.
Those not close enough to cry, and those too shocked, too stunned to comprehend that this was the funeral of their friend, their brother and son. It wasn't right.
Grissom lead everyone to the empty pew behind the Stokes family. Brass sat next to Grissom and Catherine on his other side, while Warrick sat in between Catherine and Greg, with Sara on the end, Greg's arm around her for support.
Grissom sighed as he looked down the seats at his fellow CSI's.
Maybe they would get through this, he wasn't sure, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. He knew the weight of Nick's death would be a permanent burden on his shoulders.
"Light bulb goes out other people fix it, get a new one. Light bulb goes out for the Catholic; he stands in the dark, says "What did I do wrong?""
"That guilt's not in me anymore."
Does guilt ever leave you? Really? Not in this job, not in any job, not in life. Guilt follows you around like a shadow casting darkness and doubt on every choice, making sure that every crossroad has to be scrutinized, thought out, the pro's and con's measured. And by the time you've finished, you've missed your chance, you didn't take the risk, and you can't help thinking you're life would have been better off if you had.
Grissom looked back over to where Sara sat in Greg's arms.
"And when you finally figure it out, you might be too late."
Why was he always too late?
Grissom looked away and back up to the large glass windows, the desert sun shining through them, casting different lights from their stories, on to the floor. Wanting to focus on everything but the funeral going on around him. Gilbert Grissom sighed.
"That guilt's not in me anymore."
Like hell it isn't.
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