Chapter 10
Nick paced restlessly back and forth in the waiting room, ignoring the irritated glares of the nurses. He had been waiting for over eight hours for news on Greg, and the CSI was starting to go stir-crazy. Greg had not regained consciousness in the ambulance or responded to any stimuli, and Nick could tell by the concerned expressions of the paramedics that his condition was serious. As soon as they had arrived at the hospital, Greg had been whisked away and Nick had heard nothing on him since.
But he couldn't be dead, someone would have…
Nick swallowed as he tried to push away the disturbing thought. He had been buried alive, the odds stacked against him, but he was still here. Greg would be fine.
His phone rang loudly and Nick hastened to answer it. It had been ringing incessantly once word had spread that Greg had been found, and Nick suspected that the phone rather than his frustrated pacing had much to do with the nurses' glowers.
"Stokes," he answered the phone abruptly.
"How's Greg?" Warrick's voice sounded on the other line.
"Still no word," Nick sighed, throwing a hopeful glance in the direction of the swinging doors through which Greg had been taken. They remained resolutely shut.
"Has Grissom arrived yet?" Warrick asked.
"No, why?"
"We finished processing the scene about three hours ago. Grissom went straight to the hospital…insisted the rest of us go home and get some rest."
"Did you?"
Warrick snorted. "No! We're at the lab examining the evidence. There was a camera in that room, we're about to line it up now."
Nick's heart sank with a sickening thud as he remembered the scene that had greeted him when he first found Greg. "Warrick," he said quietly. "Do me a favour, don't play those tapes yet."
"What! Why? Nick, they're evidence!"
"I know, but Greg might not…we don't…look, please just trust me on this, okay? Don't let anyone view those tapes, not until we've talked to Greg."
Nick sounded so grim and insistent that Warrick sighed and agreed. "Okay. But, Nick, do me a favour? Call me the second you get some news, and then get some rest?"
"Will do," Nick promised. "See you later."
"Bye."
Nick snapped his phone shut and turned around to resume his pacing, only to find his path blocked by Grissom. He froze, and the two men stared at each other for a long minute before Grissom spoke.
"Why don't you want anyone to see those tapes, Nick?"
Nick dropped into the chair behind him, his eyes on the floor. He wasn't sure how to answer; Warrick he could put off easily, but not Grissom.
Grissom sat down beside him. "Answer me please, Nick."
"I just think we should wait, let Greg decide…"
"Nick, those tapes are evidence. We have to view them."
Damn Grissom and his evidence! Nick thought furiously.
In a low voice, he addressed the entomologist. "Not everyone needs to see Greg being treated like that. He might not want people to know if he was…" Nick broke off abruptly, not wanting to voice his thoughts.
Grissom narrowed his eyes at Nick. "What do you mean he might not want people to know? Know what?"
Nick remained silent.
"Nick, what's going on?" Grissom demanded. "You're a witness now, we're going to need your help putting the pieces together. And those tapes will have to be watched, whether you like it or not…Greg is not the only victim here," he finished gently.
Nick sighed. "I know, Grissom, I know. Look, it's just…that big guy? I saw him doing something…"
"Nick, we know Greg was experimented on, he wouldn't be here if something hadn't happened."
"No, not that…" Nick hesitated. "This was more…personal."
Grissom frowned darkly he realised what Nick was saying. After several minutes, he nodded at him. "I'll make sure Archie and I are the only ones to see those tapes."
"Thank you," said Nick quietly.
They sat in silence, watching the clock. Another hour passed and still no news on Greg. Nick got to his feet and began to pace restlessly once more. Every time his phone rang, he disconnected the call. Eventually he switched it off altogether.
Grissom was watching his actions with shrewd eyes. "Nick, what's going on?"
"What?"
"This," Grissom answered, waving his hands. "You've been on edge ever since Greg went missing."
"We're all on edge, Grissom."
"You're also being irrational."
"How am I being irrational?"
"For one thing, you disobeyed a direct order from me. You left the lab and went to Searchlight without backup, then you entered an uncleared scene alone. Those are not the actions of someone who is thinking straight."
"Thinking straight?" Nick repeated, his voice rising by several octaves. "THINKING straight?!"
"Nick, keep your voice down! This is a hospital."
Nick growled with frustration. "There you go again, Mr. Professional! Grissom, Greg just spent the past five days as a human guinea pig! Don't you care?"
"Of course I do, Nick, that's not the issue."
"Then what is?"
"You are! Nick, you are not Superman. You can't go rushing to everyone's rescue like you're invincible!"
"I never said I was…"
"Then why did you go out there without back up? You put yourself and Greg in very real danger."
"Grissom, they were going to kill him!"
"And help was on the way! What if those officers hadn't got there on time? What if the doctor had shot you?"
"He didn't."
"That's not the point, Nick," said Grissom, rubbing his eyes. He needed to make Nick see the danger he had put himself in, what the consequences of his actions could have been.
Nick paused when he saw just how tired Grissom looked, and realised that the older man was just looking out for him, not giving him a lecture. "Grissom, I know I should have waited for back up, but there just wasn't time."
"Nick, the officers were on their way, you could have waited twenty minutes!"
"No, I couldn't! Grissom, they were prepping him for autopsy, a live autopsy! If I'd waited, we'd be at the morgue instead of the hospital right now!"
"What?" said Grissom, unsure if he had heard right.
"The doctor told me," said Nick. "Right before the officers burst in."
"And right before he nearly shot you. Nick, I'm glad that everything worked out and you prevented the doctor from…" Grissom's voice trailed off and he looked both disturbed and sickened. After several seconds, he returned his attention to Nick. "But you didn't know any of this before you burst into that room, did you? I understand that you were worried about Greg, but…"
"But that's just it! You don't understand!" Nick interrupted. "Grissom, you have no idea what it's like to be trapped, to think you're going to die…to want to die rather than wait for help to come because the waiting might just drive you insane!"
Nick stared at Grissom, and the older man saw traces of that haunted look that had lingered in Nick's eyes for weeks after being hauled out of the grave. "You're right," he said. "I don't know what it feels like."
Nick exhaled through his teeth. "Grissom, I see your point and I know I should have waited, but you need to understand that I couldn't wait. You don't need to understand why, just…" he floundered as he tried to explain. How could he put this into words?
Grissom stared at him with pity. "You don't need to explain to me, Nick. I just don't want you to put yourself in danger like that again, and I need you to see that."
"Excuse me, Mr. Stokes?" a voice interrupted them. Nick whirled around to face a short man whose name badge read Dr. Kelly.
"Doctor! Any news on Greg?"
The dark-haired doctor frowned in response. "I'm afraid his condition is critical. Mr Sanders has a viral infection that seems to be attacking his central nervous system."
"What sort of virus?" asked Grissom, as he stood up beside Nick.
"I'm not sure yet," the doctor admitted. "We only realised there was a problem in surgery; Mr. Sanders started to haemorrhage and his temperature spiked..."
"Wait!" Nick interrupted. "Why was he in surgery?"
The doctor sighed. "His wrist bones were snapped clean through and there was extensive damage to the surrounding arteries and nerves. He required surgery to repair the damage and stop the bleeding, but his wrists will probably need to be reset several times over the next couple of months. It's going to be a long and painful process."
"Will he be able to use them again?" asked Nick anxiously.
"I'm afraid it's too soon to tell. It would require assessing Mr. Sanders over several weeks to see how his nerves heal…but of more concern at the moment is the virus; it's weakening his major organs and his lungs in particular aren't holding up well. There is also the added complication of a concussion, so we have to be careful about what we give him."
"Will he be okay?" asked Nick, fear clamping down hard on his heart.
The doctor shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, but his chances aren't good."
Nick felt as though a truck had hit him in the gut and he sat down hard in a chair. He might not have been on time after all, Greg might not be okay.
The thought crushed him.
"Is the virus contagious?" Grissom addressed the doctor.
The doctor shook his head. "No. It seems to activate once inside the host, but we're not sure how it gets there. We know it's not airborne, but that's all we really have at the moment."
"How soon before you know anything else?" asked Grissom.
"We're waiting on some blood tests to tell us more about the virus and how to treat it, but they'll take a couple of hours. Until then I really can't tell you anything more, I'm sorry."
"Where is Greg now?" asked Nick. He could feel his hands shaking and clenched his fists in an effort to stop it.
"He's in the ICU," the doctor answered.
"Can we see him?"
"Ordinarily, I would say no," the doctor told him. "But Mr. Sanders regained consciousness shortly before the surgery, and became so hysterical we had to sedate him. He seemed extremely traumatised and I can only imagine what he's been through…if he regains consciousness I think it might be a good idea if there were a familiar face in the room."
If. The word rang horribly in Nick's head. He stood up and faced Grissom.
"You go," Grissom told him before he had even spoken. "I understand."
Nick smiled gratefully. "Where will you be?"
"The lab," Grissom answered. "I'm going to look through Prescott's notes, there might be something there about the virus that will help Greg."
Nick nodded his agreement as the doctor spoke up. "Mr. Stokes, do you want to follow me?"
Grissom watched as Nick disappeared through the swinging doors, pausing long enough to wave to Grissom. The CSI removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn't over yet.
xxx
He's in here," Dr. Kelly told Nick. "I have to go, but the nurses are just outside if you need anything."
Nick nodded as the doctor set off back down the hall. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and entered the room. Slowly, he approached the bed and bit his lip.
Greg looked terrible. Nick could handle the tube down his throat and the heart monitor beeping steadily by his bed; he had expected them, they were keeping Greg alive. What he hadn't expected was how pale Greg looked - almost bloodless - and how haggard his face was, as though he had aged several years overnight.
"I'm sorry we didn't get there sooner, Greg," Nick said quietly as he slid into the chair beside the bed. "But I promise, you're safe now."
The only response was the beep of the heart monitor.
Nick leaned forward and stared at the young CSI's wrists, heavily bandaged on the bed. He wondered if Greg came out of this would he be able to work again. More to the point, would Greg want to work again?
Nick let out a bitter sigh. This wasn't over for Greg. If he woke up, the ghosts of his memories would haunt him, creeping up on him when he least expected it. It only took something simple to stir them, and then the cold hand of terror would clutch at his heart, turning the blood in his veins to ice. Nick was horribly familiar with those ghosts, and he knew only too well that soon Greg would be too.
The Texan put his head in his hands. He was so tired of this; of seeing people hurt each other, do things to each other that he couldn't comprehend. He had felt the pain and fear that went with being the victim of those actions, he didn't want to have to watch a friend feel it too.
Where does it end? he wondered.
The world was getting harder, and Nick Stokes was getting tired of looking for sunshine in a dark hole.
xxx
"Is there any news?"
"How's Greg? Will he be okay?"
"What's the word from the hospital?"
The barrage of questions hit Grissom as soon as he got back to the lab. He avoided them as best he could, but there was no lying to his own team. They knew him too well and saw it in his face as soon as he walked into the evidence room.
"How bad is it?" Catherine asked quietly.
"Bad," Grissom answered. "He's in the ICU. The doctor gave him something, and the hospital don't know what it is. Is there any reference to it in his notes?"
"We haven't really looked at them yet," Warrick replied honestly. "Nick was so adamant that we shouldn't watch the tapes that we decided to leave the notes too."
"The tapes won't tell us anything," said Grissom, remembering his promise to Nick. "But the notes might save Greg's life."
Nobody said anything, but each CSI reached for a file. Picking them up, they started to read. Several minutes passed before Sara spoke up. "Hey, I think I've found something!"
Everyone looked up. Sara was frowning at the paper in front of her. "The doctor was injecting Greg with a lab manufactured virus - his own from what I can see here - over the past few days. His comments indicate that the virus had some unpleasant side-effects; migraines, fever, blurred vision, physical weakness…but nothing to suggest it was lethal." She looked up. "So why is Greg in critical condition?"
"Because he was infected with a second virus," said Grissom, and they all turned to look at him. "The second virus should also have been harmless, but the doctor combined it with the first to see how they affected one another."
"What does that mean for Greg?" Sara demanded.
Grissom sighed. "A virus injects DNA into the host's cells. It fuses its membranes with that of the host cells, before dumping its genetic content into the healthy cell's interior and hijacking the cells replication machinery to duplicate itself. However, the DNA of both these viruses are designed to destroy each other. And because they're using Greg as their host, they're disrupting his central nervous system causing his cells to turn on one another."
"So his own body is poisoning him," said Catherine quietly.
Grissom nodded, scanning the file in his hand. "There's nothing in here on how to stop it."
"But there has to be something in one of these files," Sara argued, studying the pile on the desk. "For something to evolve like that, he has to have been creating and testing it for a while…"
"…meaning there has to be an antibody," Grissom finished. "Everybody, start reading."
xxx
"Mr. Prescott, how's the arm?" Detective Jim Brass asked as soon as he entered the hospital room.
The doctor glared at him from the where he lay, his good arm handcuffed to the bed. "It hurts."
"Good," said Brass, sitting down in a chair. Sofia entered the room behind him silently, shooting furious eyes at the doctor although she didn't say anything.
A stern-faced man in a suit on the other side of the doctor's bed spoke up. "My client is recovering from a gunshot wound, but he has still agreed to answer your questions. I would appreciate it if you spoke to him with more respect."
"I'm not looking for your appreciation, and I'm definitely not looking for his," Brass answered sourly.
"Do you want to continue with this interrogation?" the lawyer challenged him coldly.
Brass stared impassively back. "Your client is responsible for the kidnapping and attempted murder of one of our officers, who is now fighting for his life about three floors above you. He's in no place to bargain…and neither are you."
The lawyer fell silent, shooting the detective a venomous look.
"Mr. Prescott," Brass addressed the man in the bed. "Are you ready for our questions?"
"Actually, it's Dr. Prescott," he replied.
"My definition of a doctor is someone who heals people," Brass told him coldly. "You are not a doctor."
Dr. Prescott's face turned white with anger and he pursed his lips. "I'm not willing to speak with someone who doesn't respect my position."
Brass turned to face his lawyer. "We have video evidence of this man experimenting with John Abrahms on innocent victims. We also have a video tape of him kidnapping Greg Sanders, not to mention the CSI he tried to shoot. Do you want to explain his position to him or should I?"
The lawyer leaned in and whispered something in the doctor's ear. There were furious mutterings between the two men for several minutes before William Prescott scowled and returned his attention to Brass. "What do you want to know?"
"The first thing I'd like to know is where are the bodies of your other victims?"
The doctor shrugged. "I have no idea. It was Marcus who disposed of them when I was finished and, thanks to your CSI, he's not alive to tell you."
"Didn't you even care that they might have family who were looking for them?" Brass asked, disgusted.
"I knew they didn't. That's why they made the perfect test subjects, no-one would ever miss them."
"What about Greg Sanders?" Brass demanded. "The entire police department have spent the past five days searching for him. He was missed, why take him?"
The doctor's face took on a dreamy quality. "The problem with those other subjects was that they were all flawed in some way. Drug addicts, prostitutes, alcoholics…it meant there was always a factor that interfered in some way with my results. Mr. Sanders, on the other hand, was perfect. Young, healthy, clean…he was exactly what I wanted to take my research further. So when the opportunity arose, I just couldn't resist. He made a wonderful test subject until Marcus damaged him."
Brass looked at him, sickened. "How the hell could you do that to another person?"
"Quite easily, I assure you," the doctor answered. "Medical research requires sacrifice if it needs to make developments, and the medical community needs to see that."
"You're joking, right?" Sofia interrupted suddenly, her eyes wide with shocked anger. "You think it's acceptable to use innocent people as human guinea pigs to search for cures you might never find?"
The doctor studied her coldly. "Yes I do. I don't expect people like you to understand, your mind is too unrefined, but the possibilities in regard to medical advances are infinite...we just need to consider the bigger picture."
Brass held up his hands. "You know what? I don't want to hear any more of this. You're either the coldest person I've ever met, or the craziest!"
"They say there's a fine line between reason and insanity," the doctor answered. "But where do we draw that line?"
"I don't know and I don't really care," Brass snorted. "Either way, you've crossed it! Tell me about John Abrahms."
"John? He was my partner."
"Then why did you kill him?" Brass wanted to know.
"Who said I killed him?" the doctor smiled.
Brass shrugged. "We don't know for sure that you did. But the cameras we recovered from that house will tell us who did kill him, and I'm betting it was you."
"Well, then you'll lose. I didn't kill him."
"Who did?"
"Marcus."
"And you had no hand in it," said Brass sceptically.
"I gave him a little something so that he would be more agreeable," the doctor told him. "But I didn't stab him."
"We found no drugs in his system," said Brass.
"It was something of my own devising, designed to be in and out of the system in under an hour."
Brass shook his head. "I don't understand, why did you let Marcus do it? I thought Abrahms was your partner."
"He was, but he refused to branch out. Granted, he was better than most doctors at taking risks, but he still refused to take healthy specimens. And unless you have a control in your experiments, they don't really tell you much."
"That's why you killed him?" Sofia demanded.
"John was developing a conscience of sorts," the doctor answered, not looking at her. "He refused to let me expand our research by acquiring better test subjects, and he felt guilty about the tests he carried out on the Daniels' girl. It was only a matter of time before he cracked, he had to go."
"And you think having a conscience is a bad thing?" Sofia asked, struggling to keep her voice calm. "A conscience is what stops us from committing murder, from hurting others. You think we should go against our nature by having one?"
"A conscience is against our nature," the doctor pointed out. "It's morally imposed on us by society, our true instincts are primed to survival."
"And you think those instincts support human experimentation, do you?" Brass asked, his eyes never leaving the doctor's face.
"If it means we can find cures to the diseases which threaten us, then yes."
"And how many cures did your little experiments uncover?"
"A few," the doctor answered defiantly, raising his chin proudly. "And my research helped pave the way to other cures as well."
"So where are these miraculous cures?" Sofia demanded. "Because I didn't see them! All I've seen come out of your work is death and misery!"
"Sofia!" said Brass in a warning tone.
You want my cures?" the doctor addressed her. "Go look at John Abrahms research! Now I'm done, I shouldn't have to justify my work to you…do you have to justify yourself if you kill a criminal in the line of duty?"
"Actually, yeah, we do," Brass retorted shortly. "How did Marcus fit into all of this?"
The doctor remained silent and Brass shot a look at his lawyer who leaned forward once more and whispered in the doctor's ear.
The doctor sighed. "I met Marcus in South Africa. He was part of a band of thieves that tried to rob me and the party I was travelling with. Unfortunately for them, they were caught and arrested. At the station, I witnessed him break the arms of another prisoner and realised his potential…the officers were only too happy to have him released into my care; he was white, mute, no papers, no past - a ghost really - and they didn't know what to do with him."
The doctor's face broke into a sad smile. "He was a wonderful creature, I've never met another human who embraced his baser instincts so fiercely! He was perfect; loyal, strong and intelligent."
"What did you do to deserve his loyalty?" asked Brass.
"You mean aside from the fact I educated him? Gave him food and shelter?" The doctor shrugged. "I gave him the opportunity to develop his interests."
"And what were his interests?"
"Causing pain," said the doctor. "I let him watch the experiments, gave him the test subjects to play with if they were still alive when I was finished…I even allowed him to participate sometimes. He was perfect and I'm sorry to lose him. I doubt I'll find another servant so suitable."
"I wouldn't worry about that," said Brass. "Where you're going, you won't need a servant."
"I'm not going anywhere," William Prescott said coldly.
"Don't count on it!" snorted Brass.
xxx
A loud, shrill whine woke Nick from a deep sleep.
At first he thought his alarm was going off, but then he heard shouting and his head jerked up. The whine belonged to a heart monitor.
Greg was in cardiac arrest.
Nick was shoved roughly from the room as doctors wheeled a crash cart in. He watched in shock as the doctors yanked the covers off Greg and ripped open his gown. Nick's mind went blank. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be.
He watched as they applied the paddles and Greg's body snapped under the electrical charge. No response and the doctors were still shouting.
Please, God, please! Nick found himself praying, something he hadn't done in a long time…not since before the coffin. Greg's body arched on the bed a second time as the doctors shocked him again. The shrill whine was still ringing in Nick's ears, deafening him.
A third charge of the paddles and Greg's body was lifted clear off the bed, his head rolling lifelessly to one side. Nick closed his eyes and held his breath…and then he heard it.
Beeping.
His eyes opened. The doctors had stopped shouting; they were still working on Greg, but their movements were less panicked than before. Blood pounded in his head and Nick released the breath he was holding. Greg was alive, his heart back in the fight to survive.
A nurse pushed him into the hall from his position in the doorway. "Is he okay?" Nick demanded as she closed the door.
"I don't know," she answered. Then she was gone, hurrying down the hall.
"Thanks for the help," he muttered sarcastically.
"Nick?" a voice sounded behind him and he turned around to find Sara standing there.
"What are you doing here?" Nick asked.
Sara raised her eyebrows and studied Nick intently. "What am I doing here? What are you still doing here? Didn't you go home to sleep?"
"What are you talking about?" Nick was baffled and glanced at his watch. His jaw dropped. Seven am! I've been here all night!
"I…uh…guess I slept here." Nick scratched his head.
"How's Greg?"
Nick turned to face the closed door. "I don't think he's doing too well."
Sara placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We worked all night in the lab, going over Prescott's notes. We found a cure for the virus, Nick."
Nick's head snapped around to look at her. "What?"
"He's used it before, on other victims. The antibiotic was there in his notes. Grissom has just given everything to Dr. Kelly."
Nick felt hopeful for the first time in hours. "So he's going to be okay?"
"We don't know yet, it depends on how he responds to treatment." She watched as Nick's face fell. "Nick, can we talk about this?"
"About what?"
Sara hesitated. "The way you've been acting…"
Nick cut her off. "Don't even start, Sara!" he snapped. "Grissom's already had a go at me!"
"Well then, maybe that should tell you something!" Sara snapped back. "Nick, you're a CSI; you don't save lives, you process death! But the past few months you've been behaving as though you can bring people back from the dead!"
Nick was furious. "Is this because I went to Searchlight? Is that what this is about? Because if it is then you can stop right there! Greg's a friend and I wasn't going to just sit around and do nothing!" He stopped and stared at her angrily. "You know, you're becoming more like Grissom every day!"
Sara looked hurt. "Greg's my friend too," she said quietly. "And none of us were just sitting around and doing nothing, we were working on the case…the same way we did when you were missing."
"This isn't about me."
"Yes it is! A couple of months ago, you wouldn't have behaved like this!"
Nick snorted in disgust. "Of course I would! This wasn't an ordinary case, Sara, the victim was someone we knew!"
"It's not just this case, Nick, remember Cassie McBride?"
Nick fell silent and Sara shook her head. "You attacked a suspect, refused to believe a victim was dead when all the evidence suggested otherwise, and you didn't listen to me then when I told you how dangerous hope is in this line of work."
"But I was right, Cassie was alive," Nick protested.
"But what if she hadn't been?" Sara persisted. "What if Greg hadn't? What then? Nick, I know we all have cases that we get a little too emotionally invested in…but you've been doing it with every case lately, and it's too much! Nick, you're heading for burnout."
Nick stared at her uncomfortably as some of her reasoning began to trickle into his brain. Sara saw his expression. "You can't save everyone," she told him quietly.
"I was saved."
She gave him a crooked smile. "It wasn't your day to die, remember?"
"Maybe." Nick stared at the door of Greg's hospital room for a minute, then returned his gaze to Sara. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to snap, I know you're trying to help. It's just…Sara, you don't understand how helpless being that victim makes you feel, how useless…" his voice trailed off and he returned his gaze to the closed door.
"Would you have changed places with Greg if you could?"
"What?!" Nick's head snapped around and he stared at Sara, shocked by her sudden question.
"Well? Would you?"
Nick remained silent for several minutes before nodding. "It might be easier then facing him when there's nothing I can do that will make things…oh!" His eyes grew wide and Sara smiled sadly.
"Sometimes it's harder to watch someone we care about suffer," she said softly. "Especially when there's nothing we can do. Believe me, Nick, I understand."
xxx
Something was buzzing, humming even. The noise was irritating and Greg Sanders groaned. Were those flies buzzing in his ear? He tried to bat the noise away but his arms were heavy…why couldn't he lift them? Muted whispers trickled into his consciousness; one of them sounded familiar but he couldn't place it. Fragments of thoughts drifted through his mind and Greg snatched desperately at them trying to make sense of why he couldn't move. One of the whispers was louder now…someone was calling him.
The fog in his head started to separate slowly. An image of a large man leering at him flashed into his mind.
Marcus!
His heart thumped painfully as he remembered where he was. Afraid to open his eyes, he could feel his arms start to tremble a little. But then the familiar voice sounded again, louder than before, and another memory wafted into his mind…Nick standing in a doorway, yelling at Marcus.
Greg swallowed. Had he imagined that? Tentatively, he opened his eyes and a fuzzy image of a white ceiling and walls greeted him. Crushed, he closed them again. He was still in his cell. He had imagined it.
"Greg!" he could hear the familiar voice - Nick's voice - calling him, and wanted to cry with frustration. Stop taunting me!
But the voice wouldn't let up. It kept calling him, the tone urgent. Tired and resigned, he opened his eyes and nearly jumped out of his skin when the blurry face of Nick Stokes hovering above him came into view.
"Nick?" he croaked, hoarse, disbelieving.
"Sure is, buddy. Welcome back to the land of the living!" Nick's voice sounded again, relieved and real.
Blinking, Greg moved his head to the side. White walls, white ceiling…hospital! Something in his brain clicked. I'm not dead?" he whispered, looking back at Nick.
Nick shook his head. "You're in the hospital."
"Oh."
"How are you feeling?"
Greg thought about it. He felt heavy and tired, but there was no pain. Why didn't his wrists hurt? Panicked, he shot a glance at his hands, breathing an audible sigh of relief when he saw the heavy bandages. They're still there.
"Anaesthetic," Nick told him, reading his thoughts. "Doctors thought it was best if you couldn't move your hands for a while."
"Oh."
"How are you feeling?" Nick asked again.
"I don't know yet," Greg answered quietly. "How long have I been here?"
"A couple of days, you were pretty out of it."
"What happened?"
Nick shifted uneasily. "What do you remember?"
Too much. But he answered, "I remember the doctor and…Marcus." Greg swallowed as he said the name.
"He's dead," Nick replied at once. "The doctor is in custody."
"Oh." There was that word again; useless, ineffectual, but perfect when there was nothing else to say.
"Greg? Are you okay?"
Greg stared at him. He wasn't sure how to answer. The last few days had been such a roller-coaster of terror, pain and desperation that he had no strength left to feel any emotion. He was surprised really. He would have expected to feel relief or happiness, something, anything, but there was nothing. Just this blank tiredness.
"I'm…I don't know."
Nick sighed and dropped into the chair next to the bed. "You're tired, right? Drained?"
"How did you…?" Greg's voice trailed off and he sighed. "The coffin."
Nick nodded, his jaw tensing. "It'll be a couple of days before anything sinks in."
"So I won't feel like some kind of zombie then?" said Greg, with a bitter laugh. "Shame, I kinda like feeling nothing."
Nick winced at the uncharacteristic tone of Greg's voice. "Greg…"
"Don't, Nick!" Greg cut him off. "I'm not ready for some sort of self-help bullshit…it's too soon!"
"I've been telling myself that for the last couple of months. 'Take time to heal, Nick, then you can deal with it.' But you know what, Greg? It's like mould; if you ignore it, it just grows and grows until it's damn near impossible to shift."
Greg closed his eyes. "I'm too tired for this now, Nick. Please, just leave it, alright?"
"Okay. But, Greg, think about what I said…it gets harder the longer you leave it."
Greg didn't answer and kept his eyes shut. The Texan remained silent until the even breathing of the younger man suggested he had fallen asleep again.
Nick sighed. He felt like such a prick for pushing the issue when Greg was barely conscious, but he had to prepare him.
Nick knew exactly how much the next few days were going to hurt.
xxx
"This is a bad idea."
"It's what Greg wanted, let it go."
"Don't tell me you agree with this?"
Nick turned to Warrick and gritted his teeth. "It's what Greg wants, so yes, I agree with it! Let it go, Warrick."
"I still don't see how this will help," the tall man muttered as Nick returned his attention to the interrogation room in front. Through the glass he could see Greg sitting silently in a chair, his back to them, staring at the table in front. Both arms rested on the table, the heavily bandaged wrists clearly visible. His left leg was twitching restlessly, but it was the only outward sign of the nerves Nick knew he must be feeling.
It had been three weeks since Greg was found, and he had only been discharged from the hospital a few days before. After their first conversation, Nick had been worried that Greg hadn't listened to him. The young CSI had been silent and reticent, refusing to answer any questions about his ordeal; and Nick could see himself all over again, shutting down and pushing everyone out.
But then he had driven Greg home from the hospital. After unpacking some groceries and putting on a pot of coffee, he had walked into his friend's living room to discover him standing in front of the TV, staring at it.
The TV was off.
"Grissom told me you didn't let anyone watch the tapes," Greg had said softly, without turning to look at him.
"I didn't think you would want everyone to see them."
"I didn't…I mean, I don't. I know that Grissom and Archie have to see them, but…"
"No-one else needs to see you like that?" Nick finished quietly.
Greg gave a motion between a shrug and a nod. "If they saw those tapes then I'd always be the victim. I'd see it in their eyes every time I looked at them, and that makes it harder to forget."
"You'll never forget." Nick winced. It had hurt him to admit that to Greg, but in the long run the truth would hurt less than a comforting lie.
Greg turned around to face him and Nick could see emotion on his face for the first time in days. Pain and anger mixed with fear and frustration. "Then how the hell am I supposed to get over it? When does it get any easier?"
"When you face it."
"Not this crap again! You sound like Oprah or something. Did Oprah tell you how to make it all better? How to take the pain away? Fuck! Maybe I should start watching daytime TV more."
Nick stayed silent while Greg continued to rant at him, his anger spilling over. "Did all that self-help crap give you back your life? Huh? Did it stop everything from feeling so fucking surreal?" He took a step towards him. "It's supposed to be that easy, is it? Bullshit, Nick!"
"No, it's not! And I never said it would be easy."
"Nick, just tell me something I can use…please!" Greg begged, his face crumpling.
"I can't tell you anything," said Nick, feeling desperately sorry for him. "Everyone deals with shit differently and only you know what will help you."
Nick snapped out of his thoughts as the door of the interrogation room opened and William Prescott was led in. That scene in Greg's apartment had brought them here. Nick had pushed him to it, but in the end it was Greg who had decided that he needed to face his kidnapper if he was to ever move past this.
Nick could feel Warrick tensing beside him as a very surprised looking Prescott was pushed into the chair opposite Greg. He knew Warrick wasn't the only one who didn't like this idea, there were several other people in the lab who had voiced their disapproval. Nothing good would come of it they maintained.
Nick wanted to tell them all to go screw themselves.
"Mr. Sanders," the doctor's voice sounded. "You were the last person I was expecting to see."
"Because you thought I'd be dead?"
"Well, no. My lawyer told me you were alive," the doctor admitted.
Silence.
"Why did you want to see me, Mr. Sanders?"
"I want to know why."
The doctor smiled. "Still with the questions. It's a funny quirk of human nature to always want the answers…"
"So answer me!" Greg's voice rang in the room, edged with frustration.
"I wanted to help people. Cure disease, prevent illness."
The doctor smiled and, from behind the glass, Nick could feel himself clenching and unclenching his jaw. Smug bastard!
"By causing it?" Greg asked in a low voice.
The doctor shrugged. "We have to be prepared to make sacrifices if we're to make advances…it's the way of medical science."
"I didn't ask to be anyone's sacrifice!"
The doctor gave him an odd look of pity. "No, I don't suppose you did. But for what it's worth, your sacrifice would have given me wonderful results."
"It's not worth shit!" Greg spat. "Why me?"
"Because you were there."
Nick could see Greg stiffen visibly in the chair and imagined the shock that would be on his face. He felt his heart wrench with pity for the younger man. He knew what he was thinking; all that pain, all that fear had been because of something so stupidly random. Greg had been the one to go to the library, he had been the one who was in easy reach of Marcus, he had been kidnapped just because he was there.
Like me, thought Nick, remembering how an idle coin toss had been the reason he was buried alive in a glass coffin. The realisation of that had haunted Nick for days, the 'what-ifs' endless. What if he had won the coin toss? What if Warrick had gone to the scene? What if that officer had never gotten sick and taken his eyes of him? What if, what if…the world ran on these seemingly random occurrences and coincidences.
The doctor's voice brought him back to reality. "You're very quiet, Mr. Sanders. I take it my answer wasn't what you wanted to hear?"
"You kidnapped me, you…tortured me, just because I was there?" Greg's voice was low and shaking. "How could…why would…Jesus!"
"What were you expecting me to say?"
Greg was silent. His body was stiff and shaking. After several seconds, Nick saw his head drop and his shoulders slump. "I don't know," he whispered. "Not this."
The doctor reached out a cuffed hand to pat one of Greg's, but was instantly pulled back by the officer in the room as Greg recoiled. "Don't touch me!" he spat.
The doctor sighed. "I'm sorry it's not what you wanted to hear. But then again, the answers to our questions are almost never the ones we hoped for. It's why we keep searching."
"What about Marcus?"
"He was my servant. He did what he was supposed to do."
"What about the other…stuff?"
This time Nick could hear pain in Greg's voice and winced.
"What can I say?" William Prescott shrugged. "He liked to hurt people…although I daresay that isn't the answer you wanted to hear either."
"So that's it?" said Greg quietly. "It's that simple to justify what you did?"
The doctor looked irritated. "You know, I had the exact same speech from your Detective Brass…and I'm going to tell you exactly what I told him; I don't have to justify my work to anyone!"
"Justify your…?" Greg's voice trailed off and he fell silent. Nick could tell he was trying to process the doctor's explanation.
Several long minutes passed and there was no word from either Greg or the doctor. Eventually, William Prescott smiled and asked, "are we finished already?"
There was no response. Greg sat with his head down and his shoulders hunched over, like the weight of the world was pressing him into the ground.
"Mr Sanders?" the doctor addressed him once more, but Greg still didn't answer. His hands started to shake a little.
Nick was watching silently. As soon as Greg's hands started to shake, he left the observation room and rapped on the door of the interrogation room. The officer looked up and Nick indicated he should bring the doctor out.
As the two men reached the door, Nick opened it and shot the doctor a vicious look. Seeing the peaceful expression on the man's face made him wish that looks could kill. He wanted to murder the man with for all the hurt he had caused.
"I want to know something," Greg's voice sounded suddenly and three heads swivelled back to look at him, still sitting at the table. His face was pale and determined as he stared at the doctor.
"You told me I would never be found…why didn't you ever tell me your real name, was Dr. Prescott?"
The old man gave a bitter smile. "I don't like my name and what it represents; commercialism, industry…concepts that have nothing to do with learning or knowledge. So I chose a name I thought best suited my profession, King."
"That's it?"
"Disappointed again, are we, Mr. Sanders?"
Greg looked back down at the table and Nick faced the officer. "Get him back to his cell!" he ordered through gritted teeth. As the doctor was led out of the room, Nick approached his friend. He hoped Warrick had the sense to clear out of the other room and give them some privacy.
"Greg?"
The younger man looked up. He was pale and exhausted looking, and his eyes held a look that Nick was only too familiar with. "He still thinks he did nothing wrong."
"Were you expecting an apology?"
"No. I just thought…I hoped…I don't know, Nick, I guess I just expected something more than this."
"You okay?" asked Nick with concern.
"Not particularly." Greg sighed miserably. Everything felt horribly unreal and the thought of doing anything normal ever again was incomprehensible. Life was something that happened for others now.
Nick smiled sadly, guessing his thoughts. "It might not seem like it now, but life does go on. And the best way to get it moving is to jump straight in. You've taken the first steps…don't you at least feel something for having faced him?"
"This that closure thing again?" Greg joked weakly.
Nick shrugged. "I suppose. I know I'd be feeling pretty triumphant if I were in your shoes right now."
Greg cast his eyes down to his bandaged wrists and then at the door through which the doctor had exited. "I think I'd feel better if I'd pounded his ass! But I suppose I don't feel so helpless anymore."
"You're not helpless!"
"No, I don't mean…I just mean I don't feel like such a victim anymore." Greg shrugged and gave Nick a crooked smile. "Facing your fears and all that."
He fell silent and Nick patted his shoulder. "Come on, I'll drive you home."
They were halfway down the corridor before Greg spoke again. "Nick, thanks for everything, I really appreciate it."
Anytime, Greggo."
Greg bit his lip. "I'm sorry I was such a jerk the other night," he said softly. "I didn't mean to be so nasty about…what happened."
"You weren't a jerk, you were just scared."
"Would you think I'm a wuss if I said I still am?"
Nick shook his head as they stepped out into the afternoon sun. "I think I'd be more worried about you if you didn't feel scared. It's gonna take some time to shake that feeling, Greg."
"How do you do it?" asked Greg as they crossed the parking lot. "Everything that's happened…you still seem so together."
"I was raised on the idea that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
"I feel like such a coward beside you."
Nick shook his head. "The bravest people are cowards. What's so brave about facing something that doesn't scare you? Greg, there aren't many people who could have done what you just did. Trust me, you're no coward."
They reached the Denali, and Greg stared at Nick over the roof as he unlocked the truck. "You want to get a beer?"
Nick looked up, surprised. "What's brought this on?"
Greg shrugged. "You said I have to live if life is to move on."
"That's not exactly what I said. I want you to get back on your feet…but I don't want you to push yourself before you're ready."
"You're not. I just…I just want to do something normal again."
"Okay then, where do you want to go?"
"I get to pick the bar?" Greg queried, his eyebrows raised. It was usually Nick who picked the watering hole.
"I think you've earned it."
"Do I get to pick the music?" asked Greg, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Don't push it!" Nick warned, grinning against his will.
"Spoilsport!" Greg chortled as he sat into the Denali.
It was the first time he had laughed since his kidnapping, and Nick smiled. He was delighted to see a trace of Greg's old humour. He opened his door and raised his face to the sky before sitting into the SUV. The warmth of the sun grazed his face and Nick felt strangely peaceful for the first time in months. Greg was willing to accept what had happened and get on with his life; it made Nick realise that while it might get dark sometimes, there was always light at the end of the tunnel.
"Okay, Einstein," Nick smiled, starting up the truck. "Let's go get that beer."
A/N: Okay, here it is the final chapter! Shamelessly dramatic and angst ridden... and the damn thing nearly drove me around the bloody twist so please, let me know what you think. And thanks a million to everyone who reviewed all along; it made the insanity worth it!