Summary: Two years later, and Nick is still being haunted by his kidnapping. **WARNING: Slight spoilers for "Grave Danger".
Author's Note: This was only my third fic ever (Written in May of 2007). I was upset that TPTB gave us no continuity, so I had to write my own take on it. :) Sadly, I don't own Nick and Warrick (Or Grissom for that matter)... Jerry Bruckheimer does. (Lucky man), but the rest are my own O.C.'s. This was inspired by Kenny Chesney's "You Save Me" and, of course, "Grave Danger". ...All ideas belong to Angel Estrada at Stokes Fanficz, so please don't plagerize! ...Oh yeah, and this is completely un-beta'd. :)
His day started out like it always had. The sun was shining brightly in the Vegas sky. Birds were singing. People were walking, smiling, having a good time, and Nick Stokes still had trouble dragging himself out of bed like a normal person.
He feared facing the day, afraid of what might occur. The victims didn't just have faces and names; they each had a story. Some of which, he could relate to. Others, well, they were just too disturbing to think about.
Every morning, the nausea would return, bile rising in the back of his throat, his body aching, filled with fear of facing the day that lie ahead; Painful longing for someone to help him rid his mind of the images he couldn't shake- The ones that haunted him everytime he closed his eyes, and everytime he opened them.
Today was no different. Just like every other morning since 'the incident', he found himself on the bathroom floor, his face buried in the throne, agonizing dry-heaving after his bouts of emesis sent him into a state of whimpering, arms tightly wrapped around his abdomen, shivering, his head resting on the cool bathtub, wishing he had someone to take away his pain.
He found himself at the Crime Lab for his shift like he'd always had, an artificial smile painted on his face as he walked by his co-workers of the Graveyard Shift, acting as if his life were perfect. No one knew the real Nick Stokes, the man who, so desperately, just wanted a shoulder to cry on and reassure him that things would be okay. He valued his privacy, and verbally reaching out for help was something he just couldn't do.
"Hey, Nicky," Warrick exclaimed as the Texan entered the locker room.
"Hey," he replied, head down and tunnel-visioned.
"You okay, bro?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"Sure don't look fine, man. What's eatin' ya? Want to talk about it?" Nick glared at Warrick, slamming his locker after securing his firearm in its holster. It was his best friend. How could he be so afraid?
He found himself at the sink, splashing cold water onto his face, Warrick not far behind.
"Talk to me, Nicky. What's goin' on, man? Don't be pullin' my leg, bro. Your eyes are bloodshot, you look like a dead man walking, you're losing weight…"
Nick stood at the sink, his hands gripping the sides, arms so stiff they looked as if they would snap in half if you touched them the wrong way. After letting the clear liquid drip from his face, he felt it again- Something he masked so well- Something that he tried not to let happen at work- The rising bile that couldn't be suppressed.
He ran in the stall, retching horrifically with involuntary spasms, and a deep look of concern drew itself on Warrick's face. He watched in awe as his best friend hugged the white porcelain, searching for which action to take next.
"Nicky," he called softly, "You okay, man?" A visibly terrified Nick Stokes sank to the floor, back leaning against the wall of the stall, trembling, reaching out to his best bud with his eyes.
"Nicky, man. What's goin', buddy?" The taller CSI knelt down, gently rubbing his friend's back.
"Warrick," he moaned, "It… It hurts."
"What hurts, Nicky? Tell me."
"I… I can't d-do this a-anymore."
"Do what, Nicky?" Nick looked up at Warrick, just as his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Nicky! Come on, Nicky!" He shook the man, and seeing that there was no response, he screamed for help, hoping someone was nearby that would hear him- There was no way he was leaving Nick lay there all alone.
Grissom had just strolled by the locker room, reading a case file, when he heard the scream. He quickly ran in, dropping his folder on the bench, and running into the shower area. He saw Warrick trying to wake his best friend, then glanced at Nicky, a pale face with no response to verbal stimuli.
"Warrick? What happened?"
"I- I don't know, man! He… He didn't look very good to begin with. He got sick. He was talking, and then he just passed out!"
"Do you know if he's eaten anything today?"
"I don't know if he's eaten anything in the last week, Griss," Warrick stated, completely serious.
"Warrick, listen. Call an ambulance, okay? I'll stay with him." Wanting Nick to be safe, he did as told, not arguing that he had to leave him for the two minutes it would take to phone a squad.
"Nick," Grissom called out, receiving no apparent response. "Come on, Pancho. Open your eyes."
With no response again, he lay Nick flat, performing a sternum rub, which acquired a groan from the younger CSI. Grissom was satisfied with that, yet still deeply concerned.
Shortly after Warrick returned, EMS arrived at the pale, cool, and clammy CSI's side.
Warrick relayed what had happened, and they quickly performed a Blood Glucose reading.
"He's low on blood sugar," the female Paramedic stated simply, reading the glucometer that blinked the number twenty. "We're going to start an I.V. and push some D-50 to see if that wakes him up any."
As she applied a tourniquet to Nick's upper arm and swabbed an I.V. site with an alcohol prep, her partner took his vitals.
"BP's one-ten over ninety; Pulse is weak and thready."
The woman prepared her equipment, before inserting the catheter, which was a fourteen-gauge angio, and she was ecstatic that the CSI had such nice veins to be able to insert such a large needle. It was perfect for the drug she was about to use.
After flushing the catheter with normal saline to make sure she had a patent line, she secured it with a VeniGuard and taped the line in two areas on his arm, cautious that it wouldn't be pulled out.
"I'm going to push the drug now," she advised Grissom and Warrick. She pushed it slowly, so as not to occlude the line, still thankful that his veins accepted that large bore I.V.
Slowly, Nick came to. His heart began to race as he witnessed two, unfamiliar faces before him.
"Pancho," Grissom smiled at him, rubbing a hand over his damp forehead. "How're you feeling?" A groggy Nick looked up at him, completely embarrassed and lightheaded.
"What happened?" Nick whispered.
"Apparently, your blood sugar was low, Nick. Did you eat this morning?" Nick shook his head in reply.
"Nick," the Paramedic chimed in, "My name's Angel. I'm a Paramedic. We had to start an I.V. on you and give you a drug called D-50 to get you to come back to us." She offered a small smile. "I think you gave your friends a scare."
Warrick chuckled lightly. Scare wasn't the word. Heart attack? Maybe. He'd almost lost Nicky once, and the fear of losing him again is what kept him awake at night.
"The effects of that drug are temporary," Angel stated, "You're going to need to eat something pretty quick here."
"I'll make sure he does," Grissom replied, nodding reassuringly.
"I don't want to leave here without knowing he'll eat. I'd feel more comfortable watching him do it, because, technically, he's our responsibility right now."
"No. I'm fine," Nick jumped in, his voice raspy.
"I want you to know the possible complications of going against medical advice…"
"I-I do. I'll eat."
"I can't force you to do anything, but I don't want to see your face in a few hours, having the same problem, because you don't get a second chance with me," she smiled, though completely serious. "Next time, you'll be visiting the ER."
"Papers?"
The Paramedic shook her head with a chuckle. Evidently, Nick knew the system a little too well if he was asking for refusal papers.
"Now, we will have to write up your treatment, but if you don't want to go to the hospital, you'll have to sign at the X." Nick nodded, quickly grabbing her clipboard and signing his name.
"Thank you, Mr. …" She looked down, finally learning his last name. "Stokes. I hope I never have to see you again. Atleast, not like this," she smiled, "but if you need anything, you're more than welcome to call us back." He nodded once again.
"Thank you very much for your help," Grissom nodded. "It's greatly appreciated. I'm sure you guys get thanked about as much as we do here," he chuckled.
"Hey, we don't expect thanks, but it's appreciated on our end, too." Angel smiled. "So, you're going to keep an eye on him then?"
"I will."
"Sounds great. Make sure he eats and gets some rest."
"Thank you, Angel." She nodded at him, gently removing the catheter from Nick's right antecubital vein, applying pressure with a two by two gauze pad and securing it with a Band-Aid. Still with gloves on, she expunged the waste and hazardous materials, thankful that the Crime Lab was equipped with biohazard containers. She removed her gloves and picked up their jump bag.
"You take care, Mr. Stokes." The EMS squad smiled and waved as they exited and Grissom and Warrick knelt back down.
"Nick, talk to us," Grissom said, his voice nearly demanding, but soft. Nick closed his eyes, tremors danced through him as he did so.
"Nicky, come on, man. Open your eyes." Still, Nick was uncooperative. A single tear escaped and trickled down his face.
"Pancho, look at me. Tell me what's going on."
"I- I'm… I'm sorry. Grissom, I'm sorry!"
"What are you sorry for, Nick?"
"I- I never meant for it to happen." Warrick glanced over at Grissom, knowing full well what he was talking about, wondering if his superior caught on as well.
"Nick, is this about your kidnapping?" Nick released a quiet sob, and Grissom embraced him. Warrick sat back for the time being, fighting to suppress his own tears. Nick refused to speak, and Warrick conversed with Grissom through his eyes, convincing him to let the man take over.
"Nicky," he said softly, holding Nick as he sobbed. "It's okay, Nicky. It's okay."
Grissom left the room for a moment, returning with a glass of orange juice.
"Pancho, you need to drink this, okay? It'll help keep your blood sugar up." Nick sipped it, choking it down through the dryness of his throat.
"Just take it slow, Nicky. Take it slow," Warrick instructed, his arm rubbing the man's back.
"Nick, you're off the clock, and you're not going to argue it either," Grissom stated. "I'm going to stay with you, make sure you keep your strength up, okay?"
"No," Warrick interrupted. "I mean, I'll stay with him, Griss."
"Warrick, you're sure about this?"
"Positive."
"Fine. You're off the clock, too. I'll give you PTO, but Warrick, I need you back here tomorrow. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Nick, let's get you up, okay? We'll discuss what's going on with you later."
The two put Nick's arms around their necks, gently lifting him up to his feet, his legs extremely wobbly.
"How're you feeling, Nick?" Nick shook his head, as if to clear the cobwebs.
"Lightheaded."
"That's understandable. Why don't you lay down on the couch in my office for a while and get some rest?" Nick wasn't in the mood to argue, and it actually didn't sound all that bad. He looked at Warrick, apologizing with his eyes, and the taller man patted Nick on the back.
"No worries, Nicky boy," he whispered with a smile.
They managed to walk Nick to Grissom's office and lay him down on his couch.
"I'll be right here when you wake up, bro." Nick nodded, his eyelids already heavy, his head pounding. Warrick gave his best friend a gentle hug.
"It's okay, Nicky. We're going to help you, okay? You keep that big ol' head of yours up, ya hear me?" Nick smiled faintly.
"I… I don't know what I'd do without you, man." Nick responded. "You save me."