Okay, before you read this fic any further, I need to warn you all that the end of this chapter is pretty raw and awful for Nick. I don't usually go quite this far in my fics, and I have to admit that I'm a little alarmed that I wrote this. But, honestly, I can't see how the Kelly that I've written wouldn't take control like this if she even had an inkling of an idea that Nick had been abused as a child…especially given her experiences in prison.
Despite all of that rationalization and despite the fact that there is nothing explicit written here, I've still managed to twist my own innards in knots. Even so I'm going to post this, because it has to be part of the story.
I want to make it very clear that I don't intend to offend anyone…I'm just whumping our Nicky quite a bit.
You have been warned!
Emrys
P.S. Thanks for all of your reviews! They keep me going!
P.P.S. I have no idea how the lab will be organized in the next season, and I refuse to read spoilers. This is just my guess…besides, it works well for my plot. Daddy's Little Girl – Chapter 3Gil Grissom sat at his desk and tried to concentrate on the case report in front of him. After a few minutes of being unsuccessful in this task, he sat back in his chair, took his glasses off, and tossed them onto his desk. Stretching his legs out, his face took on the expression of someone trying to sort out a particularly complicated puzzle.
An hour ago, he had only been feeling mild annoyance at the absence of one of his investigators. It had started when he had been about to hand out the evening's assignments and had noticed the obvious lack of Nick's presence.
"Anyone know where Nick is?" he had asked his team. He remembered frowning unhappily at the shrugs, headshakes, and faintly blank stares that the others had given him in response to his question and which indicated that they were also in the dark about the other investigator's whereabouts.
Grissom had handed out the assignments despite his unanswered query and despite the irritation he experienced from Nick's uncharacteristic lack of professionalism. He had decided that upon the tardy man's arrival, he would have a talk with Nick about his expectations. But that decision had been made an hour ago, and there still was no sign of the man.
After calling Nick's house and receiving no answer, Grissom was now beginning to experience bouts of true worry. It was unlike Nick to be late without notifying him, and Grissom additionally had to admit that the man was rarely ever late anyway. The man was actually one of the most reliable members of his staff.
All of these suppositions led Grissom to a single, unwelcome question.
What if something had happened to Nick again?
Grissom considered the question for a moment more and couldn't help but think about those horrible events that had occurred two years ago. Trouble seemed to find Nick so easily; what if it had found him again?
Graves, guns, stalkers. What next?
Grissom made a decision, and grabbed his glasses, cell phone and car keys. Leaving a shift to check on a co-worker was a choice that he wouldn't have made two years ago, but Gil had changed since pulling Nicky from the ant infested ground on that awful night. He had learned that there were some things more important than detachment and stark professionalism, and he now refused to chastise himself for his current over-protectiveness and disregard for supervisory responsibilities. Besides, it was a slow night, his other CSI's had their cases well in hand, and his own active case could wait an hour or so.
Walking hurriedly to the exit, he literally bumped into Catherine.
"Gil, what's…."
He didn't give her a chance to finish her question.
"Catherine, have you seen Nicky?"
"No. Why what's the matter?" Catherine's initial irritation at being run over by the night shift supervisor melted away when she sensed his concern.
"He didn't show up for his shift tonight, and no one seems to have heard from him. I'm a little worried, so I was just going to go over to his place to see if he was okay."
The fact that Grissom was concerned enough to check on the other man had immediately set alarm bells going off in Catherine's head. Her heart lurched in her chest at the thought that something might again be wrong with Nick, and she felt her hands tighten into fists. Despite the fact that she had stayed late to catch up on some paperwork that she still hadn't manage to finish, Catherine felt an urgent need to leave with the other CSI and check up on her friend.
"Lindsey's at a sleepover. Mind if I tag along?" she asked as casually as possible since she didn't want to worry Grissom any more than he already was. But all it took was a quick study of her posture by the man, and Catherine knew that he had sensed her concern. She shrugged in response. "Okay, so I'm worried," she admitted.
Grissom nodded. "Me too," he stated simply. "Let's take my car."
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His awareness was complicated by the discordant screams he heard coming from somewhere behind him. The shrieking distracted him badly, because he wasn't sure if it was real or not. When one of the voices suddenly yelled his own name into his left ear, he decided that the noise had to be real. Nothing he had ever heard before sounded like that, so it couldn't be coming from his mind.
Real, definitely real.
His teeth chattered painfully as bright, colored lights sickeningly warped his vision. Nausea overwhelmed him, and he was forced to turn his head when he abruptly vomited. Even so, he almost choked on the vile fluids, and a voice laughed and whispered eerie, incomprehensible words into his ears in response to his abysmal condition.
How could that noise be real? It just wasn't possible, was it? Not real, not real, not real.
Violent tremors assailed him, and he attempted to see past his disorientation to determine his condition. It was a difficult task, but he eventually managed to conclude that his chattering teeth and muscular trembling were in response to the chill air of the room. He was still tied up, but somehow his clothes had been taken from him, and the cold air relentlessly stole the heat from his body.
"Shamed! You should be ashamed of yourself!"
The words floated around his head, and tears leaked from his eyes in reaction to them.
"Real, real, real, real, real," he whispered, yet he was unaware that he spoke the words out loud.
Those voices had to be real, because he should be ashamed of himself, shouldn't he? The voices were telling the truth, and that made them real.
Didn't it?
Where were his clothes? And why did he feel so ashamed? He was supposed to be ashamed, because the voices were telling him the truth. But he didn't remember what he had to be ashamed about.
Nick concentrated harder, and made a strenuous effort to ignore the demonic name-calling that a sing-songy voice was now directing at him. Disjointed images flashed through his mind, and despite his debilitation, he managed to piece together what had happened to him.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," he muttered as he wept bitterly at the realization that battered him. His mind practically shattered with the weight of his guilt, and he had the unsettling feeling that he was no longer alive. How could he still be alive when he felt such pain?
After a moment, his thoughts merged to crystal clarity, and he understood with complete conviction that if he was still alive, he would not be able to recover from this. And so, he eagerly accepted that he was not, in fact, living anymore.
This was hell. This was his own personal hell.
"Hell, I'm in hell," Nick groaned, and laughed crazily at his joke before squeezing his eyes shut at the abhorrence of it all.
"That's right, Nicky," a voice said from above him, "this is your hell, because I'm going to do to you all of the things that were done to me. And then some. Life's about power, and right now, I've got it all."
Nick's initial response was to laugh at the substantial intonation of the voice that made apparent the unreality of the previous voices he had heard. This voice was real, and he wondered how he could have so easily mixed up the real and the imagined.
Then Nick opened his eyes and saw Kelly Gordon hovering over him again. She smiled broadly and reached out to feel him again with her loathsome touch. Absolute disgust and helplessness twisted in his gut, and he felt the urgent need to vomit again. He coughed and gagged, but nothing came up, and she only laughed cruelly at his discomfort.
"It's been a while since I've enjoyed myself quite this much, Nick. In prison, I never got a choice in the matter. I was always forced to have sex with my cellmate whether I wanted to or not. It's sort of nice being able to make that decision now. Do you know what I mean? It's just that right now I can make the decision to have another go with you or not. Do you have any idea how absolutely wonderful it is to be in such control again?"
Nick stared at her in horror as the implications of her words hit him hard. She was planning on hurting him again.
Not again, not again, not again, he begged, but was too mixed-up to establish whether he had actually vocalized his thoughts or not.
"Yes, I think, again, Nick. But not yet. Maybe later, after you've had another drink," she responded thoughtfully.
Being so weak and incoherent, Nick had little choice in the matter when his head was again pushed back and the bittersweet concoction of juice and morning glory seeds was forced down his throat. With the return of the hated drug, the imagined voices disappeared. Only his own voice traveled through the depths of his mind, and it brought with it the words of his only hope and of his complete despair.
I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead. I have to be dead.