Enmity
By EB
©2004
Chapter Two
Warrick was back the next night, as promised, and Nick was there as well, looking a little worn around the edges but otherwise reflecting Robbins' sound medical advice. And it was a good thing they were there, because it was far busier than Gil's comparatively pleasant night working solo.
And after the weekend, Sara rejoined the ranks as well, and when nothing else hit Gil's desk regarding money and lack of same over the next few days, he relaxed a little. So it didn't annoy him as much as it might have when Nick called in sick again on Wednesday.
"I'm really sorry," he told Gil, sounding hoarse and tired. "I can't kick this damn thing. But I'll be there tomorrow, I swear to God."
Gil sighed. "Stomach bug again?"
"From hell. But I'm going over to the clinic in the morning. Get some antibiotics or something, I dunno. I'll be all right. I just – don't wanna hork all over a scene."
"That probably would be counterproductive, yes," Gil agreed. "Okay. Get well soon, Nick, I don't have to tell you we really need you."
"Absolutely. Got it."
But when he saw Nick the next evening Gil wondered if he should have been a little more charitable.
"You look like shit," Catherine said baldly, staring at Nick's pasty-white face. "You sure you're up to this?"
Nick drew his hand across his upper lip, nodding. "I got some stuff," he muttered. "Just maybe want to keep your distance. You don't want to catch this."
"Don't have to tell me twice." Catherine backed away. "Sorry."
Gil frowned. "Nick, if you don't think you can –"
"I can," Nick said heavily. "I think it's mostly gone. Just – aftereffects, you know. Put me to work, man. It'll take my mind off it."
He kept Nick close to the lab that night, and by the next he seemed back to normal. But when it happened again, Tuesday the following week, Gil felt his patience fraying.
"Nick, I don't know what to tell you. You know the department's absentee policy."
"I know." Nick sounded quenched and thoroughly miserable. "Look, maybe I could come in for a while. I just – this crap they gave me this afternoon, it's knocking me for a loop. I think if I had to drive I'd kill somebody."
"This afternoon?" Gil frowned. "You went back to the doctor?"
"She thought it was maybe pancreatitis. But it's not. Just – this thing. But the ER didn't let me out until like, an hour ago, and –"
"The ER?" Gil echoed. "Nick, what is this? Is this serious?"
"No, man, they didn't know what it was. Just checking some things out. I just got the mutant bug from hell, I guess, I don't know." Nick sounded close to tears, and his slurred voice was getting even harder to understand. "Crap. Just a second."
Gil waited five minutes for him to come back to the phone, and the last of his annoyance disappeared, hearing Nick's exhausted voice. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"
"Go to bed, Nick," Gil said gently. "Don't worry about the lab."
"Yeah," Nick said faintly. "Okay. Thanks."
"You need anything?"
"No, that's okay."
"All right. Call us, okay?"
"Okay."
He looked up at Catherine, standing by the door. "Was that Nick?" she asked.
Gil nodded. "Sick again. This must be some bug."
"I'll say. That's what, three weeks in a row? Shit."
"So it makes us short again tonight. Everybody's solo. Hope nothing big comes up."
"Yeah."
The next morning Catherine told him she was stopping by Nick's to see how he was doing. Gil sent his regards, and didn't think much about it until his phone rang, not very long after he got home.
"Gil, it's Catherine. Listen, I'm at Nick's, but I think I'm gonna take him over to the ER."
Gil stopped in the middle of taking off his shirt. "Really?"
"I don't know what the hell this is, but he's really sick. I mean, maybe it's E. coli or something. Man."
"You want me to go with you?"
"And all of us get it?" She laughed, a little weirdly. "I'm already thinking about Lindsey. No, I'll call you when we find out something."
"E. coli isn't aerosol. If that's what he has, it's body fluids you need to be concerned about."
"Believe me, there are plenty of those around."
"Desert Palms?"
"I guess, yeah, listen, gotta go. Nick?" She muttered a curse under her breath. "Call you later."
He went to bed not long after, but his sleep was poor at best. Finally his eyes wouldn't close again, and so he got up, wearily made some coffee, and had drunk half the first cup when he thought about Nick.
Catherine didn't pick up her cell phone, and Nick evidently had his turned off. Wondering at the speed with which he'd gotten used to total accessibility, Gil dressed in off-duty casual clothes and picked up his keys. Mountains to Mohamed. So be it.
The ER was the same crowded, noisy, bustling zoo it always was. Gil waited somewhat patiently in the reception line, and was told Nick was in number 22, the last cubicle on the right, end of the hall.
The overhead light was dimmed, but he made out Catherine clearly enough. "Hey," Gil said softly. "How's it going?"
Catherine stood up, putting a finger to her lips. "I think he finally conked out," she whispered. "About time, too."
Gil gazed down at Nick's prone form. "Did they figure it out yet?"
"Come on. Let's talk outside."
In the hallway Catherine blinked at the brighter illumination. "Sorry, just didn't want to wake him up," she said, shaking her head. "They're admitting him to the hospital. He's pretty dehydrated, not surprising since he's been puking everything up for at least 24 hours."
Gil stared at her. "Do they know what's wrong with him?"
"It's not E. coli, it's not any type of bacteria they've seen. The doctor said it was gastroenteritis, just a pretty stubborn type. Evidently there's a lot going around right now."
"But Nick's had this for three weeks. Shouldn't it run its course faster than that?"
"Maybe he got reinfected. I don't know, Gil, I don't even think the staff here knows."
Nick was moved to a room about an hour later, without ever having woken up. Gil and Catherine made a note of the room number, and then Gil glanced at his watch. "Have you even slept at all?" he asked, taking in the dark shadows under her eyes.
Catherine shrugged and yawned. "I'm off tonight, remember? And I'm going home to bed. Lindsey's got that sleepover thing tonight anyway. Good thing."
"Good. I'll stick around here as long as I can, then maybe I can drop back by later on." Gil sighed. "I hate to say this, but with budget cuts looming over our heads, Nick's absenteeism won't look too good."
Catherine looked appalled. "It's not his fault he's sick. These things happen."
"I know. I'm not suggesting blame. But Mobley's not given to the generous gesture. You know that."
"Christ. If he fires Nick for being sick, I'm going on strike."
"We're not a union shop."
"Not yet," she shot back.
Gil produced a tired smile. "Go home, Catherine. I'll go check on Nick, and then I have to get to the lab. I'll let you know if anything comes up."
"Okay. When he wakes up let him know we're thinking about him?"
"Of course."
Nick's room was on the tenth floor, at the very end of a long hallway. Gil peered inside the half-open door, smiling at a nurse adjusting something next to Nick's bed. "I'm a friend," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Is he awake yet?"
"Halfway," she said. Her smile was kind. "We got an NG tube in him, that pretty much did the trick."
Gil winced, and walked inside. Outside the window the sun was sinking in the west, and he thought glumly about how he really needed to be heading to the lab before he saw Nick's eyelids fluttering.
"Hey," Gil said, walking over to the bed. "How are you feeling?"
Nick blinked blearily at him and reached up to touch the plastic tube in his nose. His eyes were appallingly bloodshot.
"Don't mess with it. It'll make you stop throwing up."
The nurse gave Gil an approving look. "Nick, I'm Suzanne." She waited for Nick to look at her. "I'll be your nurse tonight. You slept all the way up here, but you're in North 1024, in the hospital. They brought you up here from the ER."
Nick licked cracked lips. "Can I have some water?" he asked in a raspy voice.
"I'll get you some ice chips, how about that?"
"Kay."
When Suzanne left, Gil pulled up a chair. "How do you feel?"
Nick wrinkled his nose, fretting with the tube. "Tired. Better, though. They give me something?"
"It's probably the tube," Gil told him gently. "Stopped the vomiting."
"Oh." Nick closed his blood-red eyes for a second, then opened them again. "Man, this blows," he said, making another face. "I can't believe I'm in the hospital."
"Well, you relax, take it easy, and stay here as long as you need to get better. Don't worry about things, okay? Everything's under control."
He wasn't completely sure of that last, but it was worth a white lie to see the palpable look of relief on Nick's drawn face. "Thanks," Nick whispered. His smile was tired but sweet. "S'good to know."
Gil smiled and reached out to pat Nick's hand where it lay limp on the covers. "Get some more sleep. I'll come by in the morning, see how you're doing. Need anything?"
Nick's eyelids were flickering as he shook his head. "Nah. Think I'm set."
"Good. See you tomorrow, Nicky."
"'Kay."
In the hallway he caught sight of Suzanne, standing by the nurses' station in conversation with a tall man in a doctor's white coat. Walking over, Gil nodded at both of them. "I'm Gil Grissom," he said at the man's inquisitive look. "Nick works with me at the crime lab."
"Mike Dominguez." The doctor shook his hand briskly. "I've seen you on the news a few times, Mr. Grissom." His cordial smile faded. "Does Mr. Stokes have any family we should contact?"
"All in Texas. As far as I know his colleagues and I are about it for personal contacts locally." Gil regarded him steadily. "Any idea what's causing this?"
"Well, we're narrowing it down. At least we know what isn't causing it." Dominguez shrugged. "No enteric bacteria or infection that we can determine. No diseases. No evidence of food poisoning. His blood work's clean, barring the effects of prolonged uncontrolled emesis."
"So you have no idea."
The doctor paused, and then gave a minute shake of his head. "Not yet. I had some blood sent out to Atlanta. We don't have the facilities to test for the really exotic stuff, and these days there's always the chance we might be looking at something that hasn't been seen locally. In the meantime we'll keep him here, get him rehydrated, supportive care."
"How long until we hear back from the CDC?"
Dominguez's expression didn't flicker. "Three weeks, a month. Maybe six weeks. Can't be sure."
It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but Gil nodded. "Would you do me a favor? Call me if he gets worse?" He dug for a business card. "Just in case?"
"Of course." Dominguez smoothly pocketed the card. "But I suspect with IV fluids and some rest he should be back to normal fairly soon."
Cont. in chapter 3