Fade Away: A Series of One-Shots (4 of 6)
Fandom/Genre: CSI; general, angst, friendship
Character(s): Grissom, Nick, Catherine, Warrick, Sara, Brass, Greg
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: CHARACTER DEATHS, AU (future 2010 and beyond), drug/alcohol use, gambling, heavy character angst, mentions of illness, violence. (in later chapters)
Disclaimer: I own no rights to these characters and/or the show. I'm making no money, just borrowing them for a short time.
Summary: The longer a team works together, the stronger they become. But even the strongest fall sometime.
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Part Four- An Old Habit
The only thing that hit Warrick harder than watching his best friend die slowly in front of his eyes, was when Catherine had left. It was no lie and no secret around the lab that Warrick had been slightly favored by Grissom, that he and Catherine had had a 'thing' going on, and that he and Nick had become closer than brothers. And now the man's main support system was gone. Sure, he could and would still call Cath when things got hard, but there's only so much comfort you can draw from words spoken miles away.
For our part, Sara and I tried to be there for Warrick, as was Brass. It was hard, there was no denying that, but we did our best. We could see him slipping a little farther away with each passing day, yet we were powerless to stop it. Sara once said to me 'We solve crimes everyday, using fibers and invisible prints to place a suspect at the scene. We perform little miracles for our victims, but when it comes to protecting those we love, we're just like the rest of the world. Vulnerable and helpless.' And she was right. All we could do was sit back and watch, wondering when that time bomb in Warrick would go off.
It only took four months.
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Warrick hesitated, his hand hovering over the handle of the door for a moment before he pushed it open. Did he smell of last night's activities? Would they know just by looking at him? No one noticed the bloodshot eyes and the whiskey breath until he was seated with Sara and Greg in her office. Wisely, they said nothing about it.
'Have you talked to Cath recently?' Greg asked as Warrick settled back into the chair. His voice held nothing except for honest curiosity, but Warrick couldn't help the flinch. A wave of anger and misery washed over him for a moment before he reined it back in.
'Uh, yeah. We spoke last night, briefly. She's, uh, doing good up there I guess. Jobs good. Met a guy . . .' he let the sentence trial off into silence, hoping that they would get the idea and not push any further.
Sara's only response, a pure Grissom expression if he knew any better, was just the raise of her eyebrow. Greg, however, looked shocked. Almost . . . hurt. His jaw dropped before he caught himself and snapped it shut.
'She's dating someone?'
Warrick could only nod. Yeah, it appeared that Catherine had really moved on, kept everything in the past in the past. It was expected but that didn't mean it hurt any less.
Warrick need another drink.
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After that night, we all knew where Warrick would end up. As a friend, a very concerned friend, I tailed him that night as he left work and headed up the strip. It was no surprise when he pulled up in front of the Mirage. I could almost hear the raging war that had to be going on inside his head. And that night, the voice of reason won out. He pulled away form the building and headed back to his house.
But two days later, as he was getting ready for shift, a cash slip from the Sphere slipped out of his pocket. Looked like he had gotten lucky before shift judging by the timestamp and the amount written down. He looked over, meeting my gaze as he picked it up. I just smiled and slipped my holster onto my belt before slamming my locker and heading out. The thought of cluing Sara in crossed my mind, but it wasn't my place, was it?
That night, guilt and concern eating away at me, I tailed Warrick again, joining him at the empty Blackjack table at the unusual hour of 5am. Then it was tequila shots at 7 and crashing in a suite with another bottle and our winnings.
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Warrick stumbled out of the elevator, waving his bottle of tequila in one hand and a nice stack of cash in the other. Greg, a little more sober, gave Warrick a shove into their room and away form the curious eyes of the early rising tourists. They must have looked a sight, two crime scene investigators drunk in a hotel. Warrick laughed and flopped back on the bed, his body bouncing up and down.
After a few gulps from the bottle, Warrick passed it on, not looking in Greg's direction as he silently fingered the money in his hand. There was a look of contemplation on his face, Greg noticed as he capped the bottle and kicked it under the bed. Some part of his mind must've still been working as he had gotten them a room, neither capable of driving nor wanting to go home. And now that part was telling him that he would need to do a lot of explaining to Sara tonight.
It wasn't until Warrick's whisper broke the silence, that he tore he gaze away from his twisting hands in his lap.
"I promised them." Warrick sat up, still fingering the bills. "After what happened with Holly, I promised them I'd never place a bet again. And they held me to it." He let out a sigh and placed the money on the nightstand between the two beds. There was no other sound for a moment as Warrick settled himself back against the headboard, one of the pillows crushed against his chest.
When he spoke again, he sounded strangely sober despite the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. "When things would get tough, they would distract me. Nick would go to the gym with me, we'd go running or lift weights until I was too tired to care about anything else. Or we'd go for a beer after shift and just hang out. A few times he even came to the casino with me, played cards and made sure I didn't blow too much cash. Kinda like you." A small smile ghosted over his lips, a sort of sorrowful smile. "Cath would drag me to the diner and I'd end up spilling my guts. And Griss . . . well he let me know in his own little way, ya know? Like take me aside or just give me the look, asking if I was okay or if I needed anything." A small nostalgic smile tugged at his lips.
"Do you miss 'em?" Sure it was a stupid question, Greg thought, but it felt like it needed answering. 'Do you miss them as much as I miss them?'
Warrick slowly turned to look at Greg, a mixture of sorrow and amusement swimming in those green depths. "Yeah," a tear slipped from his eyes and rolled unheeded down his cheek. A few more joined in and before they knew it, both were sobbing. "Yeah G, I miss 'em more every day."
"Me too."
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After that morning, Warrick and I had an unspoken bond. We became closer for Blackjack, tears, and too much tequila. No, I'd never replace Nick or Cath or even Grissom, but I felt like I carved away my own little spot in Warrick Brown's heart. Almost every night we'd get together at a casino and play a few rounds. No big spending. No more drinking either because neither of us really wanted to revisit that night.
And life went on for a little while, almost as if a time bomb wasn't ticking the seconds away.
The first time it happened, Sara and Brass excused it, not saying anything when Warrick showed up late to a scene. He looked pretty haggard. Eyes bloodshot, last night's clothes wrinkled. I chalked it up to a bad morning since I had worked a double and hadn't been able to meet Warrick at the bar. That night Warrick told me he wasn't going to the bar or the casino. He was heading home and going to bed. I knew the lie for what it was, a quiet dismissal of our ritual. It was painfully obvious that he was spending more time guzzling down JD than bagging Zs. We all noticed the change in his mood too. Aggressive and angry.
The second and third time times, Sara had started to worry. And so did I. The fourth time, Sara had called him and bitched him out, then apologized profusely when he came in twenty minutes later looking for all the world like he had just rolled out of bed. But it seemed that no matter what we did, Warrick had finally slipped through our fingers. One night he got in a bar fight and came in looking like he went with a few rounds with Mike Tyson. And lady luck, it seemed, had left him after his winning streak as well.
But the next time it happened . . . well, no one knew what to think.
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'Come on Greg. I don't know where he is, but we can't wait for him.' Sara sighed as she slammed the office phone down. 'Brass said it's a hot scene, we need to leave now. Grab your stuff and meet me outside.'
Greg nodded and headed out to grab his kit from the locker room. Once again, Warrick was over an hour late for his shift, though they should have expected it today of all days. He didn't think Sara realized it, but today marked one year since Nick's death. If Warrick was gonna hit the casinos and bars, today was the day. So as one set of fingers wrapped around the handle of his kit, the others quickly dialed Warrick's number.
He'd seen a lot of things in his time as a CSI, like brutal beatings, dismembered bodies, and blood bathed houses. This qualified as none of them, so there was no reason for the feeling of dread coiling in his stomach. It was a black male in a small pool of blood. Signs of a struggle, bloody hand prints, and spatter all leading up to where the body lay face down, arms covering his head as if he were trying to . . . protect himself, Greg noticed with sickening realization. He fought down the images and memories that particular position brought up and instead concentrated on the ground around the body.
Jim gave them a curt nod, a grim look upon his face. 'He's got no ID on him. No wallet, no cell, no money. Only a clip for a missing pager. Looks like a robbery gone bad. Garbage man found him, said the victim was still bleeding when he arrived. He ran back to his truck to call 911. When he came back, the guy was dead. Paramedics were called off, no one's touched him.'
Sara and Greg circled the body as Dave finished up his notes.
'Hey guys. I didn't move him. Thought I'd wait for you. TOD was less than an hour ago, no rigor. COD? My guess is blunt force trauma with major damage to the head.' Dave handed his clipboard off to his assistant and stepped back so the CSIs would have access.
After every inch of the body was photographed and documented, Sara gave Jim and Dave a nod. 'Let's roll him. We need a few more photos of his face then he's all yours Dave.'
As Greg knelt down next to the victim's shoulder, he couldn't suppress the dread. He told himself he was making connections were there weren't any, empathizing with someone he didn't know. Anxiety was running away with his mind as he got a closer look at the expensive and familiar dress shirt. Trying to shake off the feelings, he gave a nod to Dave and started to gently roll the body.
They couldn't have moved him more than a few inches when Greg, and only Greg, got a good look at the victim's face. Even through the blood and ante mortem swelling, the face was unmistakable. 'Oh god.' Greg turned his head to the side as nausea washed over him, losing every bit of control over his shaking body as his stomach emptied its content.
Jim and Sara were immediately down on the ground, trying to see what had Greg so upset. With his back turned to them, Greg couldn't see their faces, but he knew the instant recognition dawned on them. A gasp, a sob, and a muttered curse sound all at the same time.
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No matter what I did, how often I tried to forget, the one image I can't erase from my mind, even to this day, is the bruised, mottled, and lifeless face of Warrick Brown looking back up at me.
TBC
Next Part- Off the Map and Over the Edge