Two Lost Souls
Disclaimer: I do not own CBS or Nick Stokes
Season Five-After Grave Danger
Warning: Original character-do not flame! ;-)
This was written for the Nick Song Fic Challenge on CSI Files. However, this is version two as the original was only 2,000 words. This version also allowed me to expand a bit on Nick's POV.
A/N: I didn't have time to find a BETA for this, so any mistakes are mine.
One hand
Reaches out
And pulls a lost soul from harm
While a thousand more go unspoken for
They say what good have you done
By saving just this one
Its like whispering a prayer
In the fury of a storm.
The Change By Garth Brooks
Greg Sanders watched out the window as Nick walked by, threw a casual wave, and went about his day.
"I don't know, man," he said to Sara who pulled a mug out of the cupboard and waited for the Level One CSI to pour his Hawaian special into his own.
"What?" She stared pointedly at the pot.
Greg held onto his precious coffee. "For a guy who was buried alive, he's pretty chipper."
Sara smiled. "I think he's got someone special helping him out."
"Really?!" Greg beamed. "What's her name?"
Sara poured a cup of coffee and grinned. "Mary ."
xxXXxx
Greg walked into the locker room where Nick was sliding his leather jacket on and closed the door.
"How's Mary?"
Nick's head shot up. "How did you know about her?"
"Sara told me."
"Big mouth!" Nick grumbled. "Well Mary's doing great. " He smiled contently. "She's an awesome little lady."
"Oh she's young."
"Yeah, but not too young." Nick grabbed his baseball hat. "We like to go for walks and play Frisbee, but with her ribs she's not great at catching it yet."
"Oh yeah, she likes to play Frisbee?"
"Yep, but when she caught it in her mouth the other day, it kind of hurt a bit," Nick said nonchalantly.
Greg stared at him, confused, "Huh?!"
"Well, you know it's hard to play catch with two broken ribs, plus some of her teeth are kind of bad. I've got her booked in for dental surgery."
"What?!"
The two men eyed each until an amused smirk formed on Nick's face as he continued to finish packing up.
"My dog, Mary!" He finally laughed to a surprised Greg. "You remember the dog I found at the gas station."
"That dog!" Greg nodded with a chuckle.
"Yeah...remember that dog...belonged to the guy who we caught in the murder of his girlfriend?"
"Oh yeah!" Greg recalled and continued, "That dog, the one who had the collar on with the name Mary and the city tag we used to track the guy down."
"Yeah it had the murder victim's blood all over it." Nick nodded. "Well someone had to take her. She was a mess of a dog."
"Yeah but how much time do you have for her?"
"Oh, some of the girls here have helped out. Wendy, Mandy, and even Sara, and plus my next door neighbour, Mr. Milan. He's a dog trainer I found out."
"So what made you adopt her, Nick?"
Nick shrugged. "Just saw something in her that told me …" He didn't finish. "I've got to get going."
xxXXxx
Three Weeks Earlier
The orange sun beamed over ahead as the desert road spread out before him. Garth Brooks' voice assuring and uplifting voice filled the vehicle as he sang out pulling a lost soul from harm and Nick needed assurance after his harrowing ordeal at the prison where he had visited Kelly Gordon, daughter of the man who had kidnapped and buried him alive, leaving him to die.
But he didn't die, he was pulled to freedom by his friends who told him his courage had got him through those horrific 24 hours.
However, courage was an elusive friend and Nick wished it was simply stay static instead of vacating his soul when he needed it the most. One could argue courage was a fair weather friend. After all, he could have demanded she come back, could have demanded the guard bring her back to him, but he didn't have the strength as by the time the woman had hung up the phone and told the guard she was 'done', Nick was drained.
Safe in the vehicle, he allowed the tears to flow freely down his cheeks and his nose to run as he thought of the cold way she hung up the phone and charged off leaving him no answers to his questions.
Answers that would put an end to sleepless nights as it was bad enough the itch from the ant bites were waking him up, causing him to put Aveeno Anti-Itch Lotion on in globs and globs. But the nightmares were still intruding on what should be a time of restorative sleep It was impossible.
Nick glanced down and noticed his truck was running on fumes. Thankfully, a gas station was nearby.
Minor tasks he now took pleasure in, even pumping gas. Hell even smelling gas was enough to remind he still was in the land of the living. Nick took stock of fellow patrons including a harried women in khaki Capri pants, blue tank top and baseball hat yelling at one of her kids to stop 'bugging his sister'.
As he walked out of the store shoving his wallet into his back pocket he an angry shout and looked over.
His heart dropped and his jaw clenched at the horrid sight before him.
A young punk of a kid in a wife beater and jeans held a scared looking English Spaniel by the scruff, shaking him violently and dropping the poor animal to the ground whereupon it yelped in pain, a gut wrenching sound propelling Nick to charge over in enraged.
"Hey man! What the hell do you think you are doing." Nick loomed over the punk.
The kid with a goatee and black baseball hat turned to look at him with a scowl, "What the fuck you want!" His eyes raged and Nick's eagle eye saw a teeny drop of blood just below his eye. A wandering eye in fact.
Crossing his arms, Nick scoped the scene and said, "Just to remind you animal cruelty charges can lead to jail time."
"What are you a cop?" the words spit out of the kid.
Undeterred, Nick put his hands on his hips, "Nope, not exactly, but if you don't want it, just take it to a humane society.
The punk stared at Nick and then at the dog, then looked at Nick once more, "You do it."
With those words, he leaped over into his black convertible and roared off leaving Nick and the dog in its dust.
The car had no license plate on it. Nick put a call into dispatch describing the car and its driver and left it at that.
Sliding his phone back into its holder, he knelt down on his haunches and grasped the tattered, leather leash and then took a good look at the canine. It was definitely an English Springer Spaniel with big brown, sad eyes, white fur decorated by spots and chunks of chocolate all about its wiry body. They were gorgeous dogs having won Best In Show at Westminister in New York within the last of couple of years-Nick would never admit to anyone he liked to watch the Westminster Dog Show on Animal Planet .
This poor creature wouldn't be winning best in any category at Westminster. Its eyes were crusted with pus indicative of a serious infection. Its ribs stuck out through matted fur, and ridges on its spine could be scene. Not to mention, it's spirit was gone. This creature looked it was read to just crawl off somewhere and let nature take its course, ending her pathetic life cycle.
Nick wasn't sure what to do. He put in a call to Sara Sidle and she gave him the name of a 24 hour vet clinic nearby. Gently, he encouraged the creature to follow him into his Tahoe, praying he would find some good flea remedy afterwards.
xxXXxx
"Is this your dog, Mr. Stokes?" An older vet with grey hair and glasses asked. The Texan had taken the dog to the nearest 24 hour vet clinic where they promptly began an I.V. to rehydrate her and then sedated her slightly and took some x-rays of her front and hind legs, as well as back, and both sides. Nick waited out in the reception area, his nostrils filled with the smell of bleach and antiseptic. Posters advertising the importance of spaying and neutering 'your pet' were posted on the walls. Molly, a long-haired cat who was introduced as the 'vet cat', rubbed up against his pant legs leaving his favourite pair of jeans decorated with black fur.
"No." Nick said simply.
"Well, we'll treat her and then call the humane society to pick her up."
"What will they do with her?"
"Depends on how damaged she is." The vet pointed to the x-rays in the display showing the ribs with zig zags on them, "She's got two broken ribs." He then tipped the dogs head back slightly and showed Nick the pus oozing from the inside corner of her eye, "She's got a nice case of conjunctivitis," Releasing the her head, he continued, "And she's got the beginnings of Kennel Cough. She probably has never been vaccinated, and I suspect she's not spayed either. She's also under weight and dehydrated."
Nick wrung his hand and stared at the dog. Abuse and neglect spelled out on every inch of her, from her crusted yellow eyes, to the matts in her fur. This dog not only needed medical treatment, but a good deal of love and affection. She needed someone to trust.
And Nick could certainly relate to that as the visit with Kelly Gordon replayed itself like a bad movie in his mind over and over again.
"It looks as if some of her fleas got to you." The vet observed Nick's ant bites on his face and hands interrupting his thoughts.
"No, I got some fire ant bites from.." Nick changed the subject, "Ummm…how much is this all gonna cost Doc?"
"Well, probably about $2,500.00 and then there's follow up care which could bring the bill up to $3,000.00."
Nick rubbed the back of the mangy mutt's head and looked into her eyes again, he gulped back the lump in his throat. What kind of world would allow an animal to be treated so cruelly?
He answered the question himself. The same kind of world that allowed a guy like him to be buried alive for 24 hours, eaten by fire ants and practically blown to smithereens, that's what kind of world he lived in.
"Umm.." he cleared his throat, "I'll...I'll pay the vet bill..and..take her..for now.." The words spilled out of him before logic and reason took hold of his brain reminding him he didn't have the right kind of life for a dog.
However, Nick's heart was telling him he needed this dog and she needed him. They needed each other.
Dr. MacCraney smiled, "That's very generous of you Mr. Stokes."
"Well I'll keep her until I find a home for her." Nick said as logic and reason trumped his heart for a moment, then reached over and grabbed a latex glove out of a glass container on the counter to the surprise and confusion of the vet"Listen, I'm gonna take her tag and bring it to my work. I'm a CSI and I'll run it for prints so I can catch her abuser." He gently undid the leather collar and smiled at a heart-shaped tag, noticing blood on it.
Mary
Just then Nick caught site of the crusted blood on one of her floppy ears.
"Doctor, did she get a cut on her ear?"
The vet lifted the ear and studied it closely, shaking his head, "No, I don't know where she got that from?"
Nick scruitinized it some more. "Do you mind if I took one of your swabs and an empty pill bottle so I can take a sample of the blood to my work."
Dr. MacCraney eyed him strangely and answered, "Sure, after you explain why you helped yourself to some latex gloves."
"I'm a CSI." Nick said sheepishly, "Sorry, should have said something first."
Nodding, with eyes wide, the vet agreed, "Certainly."
After he closed the bottle, Nick rubbed the back of the sleepy dog's head and told her, "I'll be back later to visit you."
As he walked out, he heard the middle-aged animal care attendant say, "How I wish I were Mary Sue right now."
"The dog's name is Mary, not Mary Sue." the vet retorted with a chuckle.
xxXXxx
A week later, Nick was lying on the floor in his living room tossing a baseball up in the air and catching it with his glove. It was four a.m. and he was supposed to be sleeping, but once again it eluded him.
His cellphone rang. Nick eyed it curiously, debating whether to answer it or not and decided to. Grunting he got off the floor and ambled to the intrusive piece of technology.
"Hey Nick! It's Greg. You know the blood sample you brought in. It was a match to a woman found dead over by Money Mart."
"Really!" He answered, but not too surprised as he had a hunch all along.
"Yeah, so we traced the numbers on the dog tags back to an address of a Mr. Joe Rivera, and just like you said, he had a convertible and a wandering eye."
"That's great Greg." Nick said. "I'm glad."
"Yeah, the bastard confessed, said he thought it was girlfriend was cheating on him so he killed her."
"Big surprise." Nick snorted, "People who abuse animals usually move up the food chain pretty quickly."
He hung up the phone and stared over at the dog lying huddled in her crate, staring at him sadly. Her food was untouched, the toys Nick had stocked up on before she came home. Mary showed no interest in anything other than gingerly laying in her crate on a pink, fluffy blanket; Sara had bought for her –the only person at the Lab who knew about Mary. The brunette CSI had gone on a shopping spree as if Nick was bringing home a new baby, and before long Mary was fast becoming the most spoilt dog in Vegas.
"Well Mary , I can't bring your owner back, but I can make sure the asshole who hurt you guys see justice."
The dog didn't move. Nick sighed and returned to his spot on the floor and laid back down, picked up the baseball and began the tossing up in the air and catching it routine and said, "The world is one huge war zone, Mary. I know that, and there are a lot of people out there who get trampled on for no reason. But I'm not gonna let that stop me from moving forward, that's for sure. My father always said, 'Pancho, get back on the horse.' When things got rough"
Pancho, put your hand on my hand!
Nick squeezed his eyes shut, letting the memory slip through him and went back to his baseball routine. Toss, catch, toss catch then toss and then the ball landed on the floor with a loud thud. He couldn't be bothered to pick it up. Nick laid his arms down at his sides and sighed and stared over at Mary for a moment.
He wasn't sure why he adopted Mary other than, well something told him she needed him and he needed her too. The dog had seen enough traumas and it would be her undoing to go into a humane society and have to start all over again with another family.
This poor creature looked as if she wanted to simply fade away to a world where no hurt would come her way again. There was a lot of truth to the adage about kicking a dog when it's down and taking her to the humane society where she'd spend her days in a cage would have been the final kick and Nick couldn't do it to her after he'd taken her from so much. An emotion he recognized and knew well.
There was a time he felt that same emotion when he made the tape, and then when he held the gun under his chin after the battery ran out on the fan. A body and a soul whether it be an animal or a human could only take so much.
Now he had visited her while she was in the vet clinic, and brought her raw hide bones, rollovers. Mary just looked at them and sighed and went back to sleep.
"She's depressed." The vet explained, "Good thing she's not going to the humane society, they might just put her to sleep. They don't have the time to deal with a depressed dog."
"Just because someone's been a crime victim, doesn't mean they don't have the right to be depressed." Nick said with more force in his voice then he would have liked.
Placing an arm over his eyes, he fought back another thought, another victim of his crime who sat in the prison and simply walked away when he told her to not take it with you. There was he sitting there with tears streaming down his face because he was major wreck and she just shrugged off. Life in prison had hardened her or she was always like that? Who knows?
The past two weeks since his rescue, he'd felt nothing but shell shock. Physically the bite marks were fading, but his soul? Well, it was taking a little longer. Sure, when he was with is friends, he faked his bravado, showed his determination to get back into the game again.
When he was alone, however, it was different. Nick already had a home security system in place after the Nigel Crane incident. That didn't help with the nightmares.
Mary had been home with him for three days. On the first night, she chose to sleep in the very corner she was in now. Nick then set up the crate, filled it with soft blankets. She trotted in and gingerly laid down and dozed off.
After an hour, Nick was on his lap top when he heard a sharp cry coming from Mary. He saw her standing at the door, barking like crazy.
"Mary!" he called, "Mary, stop!" He walked over to her.
The dog whipped her head around, and stared at him confused. Then walked over to her bed and slumped into it.
It appeared he wasn't the only one having nightmares. Nick knew then he had his work cut out. He needed to earn Mary's trust. After doing some research online, he concluded he needed to be very consistent with this dog. Emotional appeals were not going to work with her, she needed a strong owner.
Knowing his schedule at work, he decided that Mary had to learn to work with his routine, so night became day for her and day became night. Within a few days, her routine was set. Good start. Sara had told him about doggie day cares for when he worked long shifts. Unfortunately, on a walk, Nick discovered Mary was afraid of other dogs, so that would be out, for now. Routine and schedule was to be the name of the game.
In fact, the schedule and routine were working for him too. The nightmares plagued on but he was making good progress, until he visited Kelly Gordon.
Why did he go? He just wanted answers? He just wanted closure?
However, given Kelly's hard demeanour, he was not going to get in. There was never going to be resolution as to why he was kidnapped and buried alive.
Just like there would never be a true answer as to why Mary's owner was murdered.
Nick swallowed back a lump that had formed and gave up the mental moral battle in his head. These stupid crying jags hit him when he least expected it. He hoped like hell he'd be over them by the time he went back to work. It was bad enough everyone in the lab from the janitor to the Under Sheriff had seen blubbering like an idiot online, but to come back and be an emotional mess would be the death of his career.
Sniffling ,he caved into the sob fest, it was stronger than him. He wasn't sure how long he'd been crying when he felt something wet and cold touch his arm. Startled, he looked up and saw Mary standing there with the baseball in her mouth. Her still red, runny eyes filled with concern. She dropped the ball on the floor and applied a few tentative licks on his face.
Chuckling, Nick reached and let her sniff his hand. She nuzzled it with her nose and then gingerly sat down beside him and allowed him to pet her head with ducking away like she normally did as if she expected to be hit.
"Good girl." He cooed to her. "I ain't going to let anyone hurt you ever again, you got that. You're safe."
She licked his hand as if to say, "You are too."
Nick slowly got up and went into the kitchen to pull out some cold pizza from the fridge and a beer and then set it on the coffee table, flopped into it and turned on the TV to a baseball game.
Mary followed him and eyed the pizza while licking her chops. Nick chuckled and pulled a piece off crust off and handed it to her.
"Let's do away with the routine for now and just hang. Right Mary Sue?"
Mary stared at him devotedly and then carefully crawled onto the couch and plopped her head into his lap with a contented huff. Nick stroked the floppy ears and sighed. Their mutual traumas had bonded them and while it was clear Nick's hands had saved her soul from harm. Mary, too, in her canine way had reached out to soothe his healing soul from the harm he had endured a short time ago.
Nick's mother had told him once fate didn't always give you what you wanted, but what you needed. Somehow fate had introduced him to Mary and he to her just as their fury of traumatic storms had wreaked havoc on their souls.
As if it knew they needed each other.
A/N: I don't know what dog won Best In Show at Westminster in the past few years, but Spaniels are popular.