HOLLOW MAN
Catherine and Sara looked up from the break room when Nick went gusting down the hallway. They had heard the slam of Grissom's office door; looking up in time to see Nick rush by. He was so tense; Catherine could have sworn she saw electricity crackling off him.
Sara looked at Catherine, "What's up with him tonight?"
Catherine sighed, "I don't know."
Grissom chose that moment to enter the lounge, expression shuttered as he looked at the two women. "So, anything interesting on your case?"
Catherine looked at him suspiciously, "We can talk about our case in a few minutes. What did you do to Nick?"
Pouring himself a coffee, Grissom shrugged. "I didn't do anything to him. He did it to himself."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Catherine demanded.
"I took him off the case. He's getting too involved. I told him to go home."
"You've only just caught this case. It hasn't eve been six hours yet." Sara kept her voice neutral, but her eyes spoke of her concern. "It's not like Nick to get overly involved."
Catherine looked at her fingernails, "Tell me about the case."
Grissom sighed and slid into an empty seat, propping his arms on the table top. "Nine-year-old boy was sexually assaulted and murdered. His body was dumped in a crawl space at a playground. Parents are away on business for three days, left him with a sixteen year old babysitter, who kicked the kid out of the house at 8:00 this evening in order to spend some time with her boyfriend."
Catherine's face was a mask of shock, "What type of parents leave their son with a teenage babysitter for three days?"
"Exactly what Nick said," Grissom replied. "He also told the babysitter to her face she was responsible for the victims' death."
"She is," Catherine retorted, "She's culpable."
Grissom shrugged, "Be that as it may, he shouldn't have said anything to her. He's supposed to remain objective, and he lost it. I've never seen him so angry. He's too tightly wound to handle this case."
Sara, who had been sitting silently listening to Grissom, ran a slim hand through her hair. "Poor Nick."
Catherine rose to her feet and grabbed her jacket, "I'm gonna see if I can catch him. Sara can fill you in, Griss. I'll be back."
* * * * *
Nick was sitting in his truck in the parking lot when Catherine exited the building. Just sitting there. The engine was idling, and his head was thrown back against the head rest, eyes tightly clenched. The tendons in his neck stood out tightly against the column of his throat. Catherine could hear the raucous music blaring on the radio from 50 feet away.
~ Cut my life into pieces
This is my last resort
Suffocation
No breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
This is my last resort
Do you even care if I die bleeding
Would it be wrong?
Would it be right?
If I took my life tonight
Chances are that I might
Mutilation outta sight
And I'm contemplating suicide
Cause I'm losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
I never realized I was spread too thin
To live was too late
And I was empty within
Feeding on chaos
And living in sin
Downward spiral where do I begin?
It all started when I lost my mother
No love for myself
And no love for another
Searching to find a love up on a higher level
Finding nothing but questions and devils ~
Catherine tapped loudly on the glass, not sure if Nick would even be able to hear it over the music. Even with his windows rolled up, she could feel the vibration from the bass beat all the way through her body. She tapped again, louder this time, her knuckles making a sharp thwacking noise. Nick slit open an eye and looked at her, before frowning and rolling down his window.
Catherine stepped back from the noise and winced. "Can you turn that down?" she hollered. Nick frowned at her, but did as she asked. When she could speak in a more normal tone, she smiled at him, "I'm surprised you didn't pop an eardrum. That's not your normal country music. Greg subverting you to the dark side?"
Nick just looked at her stonily, "What do you want, Cath?"
"Griss told us he took you off the case. You okay?"
"Peachy-keen," Nick muttered. "If that's all, I should get going. I have the rest of the night off, doncha' know."
"Nick," Catherine leaned through the open window and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, "does this have anything to do with - you know." Nick closed his eyes tightly against her tenderness and concern, willing down the fresh rush of tears.
"Not at all," he replied. His voice was like sandpaper. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You've been angry since shift started. What's going on, Nicky. Tell me."
Nick just shook his head angrily, "Christ. I'm just having a bad night, okay. Nothing sinister. Nothing bad. Everyone else is allowed to have them - why not me? I'm not some fucking boy scout, you know." His sudden bitterness took Catherine by surprise. She blinked when he jerked his shoulder away from her hand and revved his motor. "I'd step back if I were you. Wouldn't want to drive over your toes."
* * * * *
It felt good to peel rubber out of the parking lot. Probably not the smartest thing he had ever done - after all, the place was crawling with cops, but nonetheless. Nick smiled grimly as the harsh smell of burnt rubber hit his nostrils. He did not want to go home.
Turning on his stereo, he flipped past the Papa Roach song he had been listening to earlier, and turned up Korn full blast. Catherine was right - this sure as hell wasn't country music!
~ Hey, I'm feeling tired.
My time, is gone today.
You flew with suicide.
Sometimes, that's ok.
Hear what others say.
I'm here, standing hollow.
Falling away from me.
Falling away from me.
Day, is here fading.
That's when, I would say.
I flew with suicide.
Sometimes kill the pain.
I can always say.
'It's gonna be better tomorrow'.
Falling away from me.
Falling away from me.
Beating me down.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground.
Screaming so sad.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground. ~
Nick grin was sharper than broken glass and twice as painful. Nodding his head in time to the music, he tapped his fingers rhythmically on his steering wheel, deciding that Korn was great to listen to when you were pissed off.
The bright lights of the strip beckoned him, glittering like false hope against the inky blackness of the sky. When he had first come here, he had imagined he would be able to make a difference. Somehow, someway, he would become the type of person he had always wanted to be. His mother had always told him that God never gave anyone a burden so heavy it would break them, and Nick had always believed it. But not anymore. Christ. He needed a drink.
~ (falling away from me).
It's spinning round and round.
(falling away from me).
It's lost and can't be found.
(falling away from me).
It's spinning round and round.
(falling away from me).
So down.
Beating me down.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground.
Screaming so sad.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground.
Pressing me, they won't go away.
So I pray, go away.
It's falling away from me.
Beating me down.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground.
Screaming so sad.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground. ~
* * * * *
The ringing of Greg's cell phone jerked him from his thoughts. He had been running DNA for Grissom, and had found himself oddly hypnotized by the soft hum of the machine. Grabbing his phone, he flipped it open.
"Y'ello? Hey dude, what's up? No - I'm at work," Greg shrugged his shoulders, trying to loosen them up. "He's what? No. No - don't do that. I'll come. I'll come right now." Clicking his phone shut, he ran his hand through his hair in agitation and went in search of Warrick.
Warrick was in A/V talking to Archie. Greg grinned despite his worry when he saw the two men were watching Die Hard. "Yippeeio-ky-ay!" he whistled under his breath. Warrick shot an amused look at him.
"Greggo! Coming to join us? Or are you still running Grissom's DNA?"
"Tests still running, but I need to talk to you. I think I might need your help with something." He smiled weakly at Archie, "Sorry Arch."
Warrick stood and walked to Greg's side, noting with concern the worry Greg was trying to hide. "What's up?"
"Listen. Nick's in trouble. A friend of mine - Ray - just called me - Nick's at the Jupiter Club, and he's drunk. Really drunk."
Warrick frowned, "Doesn't sound like Nick."
Greg nodded miserably, "A group of us went there a couple of nights ago to play some pool, and I talked Nick into joining us. My buddy who called - he works there, and he recognized Nick. He says Nick needs to go home before something happens, and Nick is refusing to leave."
"Oh."
"He pissed off some biker dude a while ago. They kicked dude out of the bar, but my friend thinks he may be waiting for Nick to leave. He threatened to beat the crap out of him," Greg added. "Ray says the guy is pretty damn big."
"Shit." Warrick rolled his eyes. "Okay - grab your coat. I'll go talk to Grissom. We better go rescue him."
Greg smiled weakly, and breathed a sigh of relief, "Thanks Warrick. I knew I could count on you."
Warrick nodded grimly, "He's my friend too."
* * * * *
The Jupiter Club was probably one of the most disreputable bars in Las Vegas. It was so seedy; it was almost a caricature in and of itself. The blinking neon sign was half lit -Girls! Girls! Girls! - it flashed - "_upit__ __ub."
Warrick grimaced in distaste as he and Greg walked in. The bar was full of smoke - some of it legal, some of it not. It made his eyes sting. Up on the bar, a giggly half dressed woman was strutting her stuff, her pierced nipples painfully engorged. She smiled enticingly at the men leering up at her, licking her lips as she slid onto the counter and writhed across it on her knees.
"You come here often?"
Greg shook his head, "No. Just the other night, as a joke. The beer is cheap."
"Just like everything else in here. You say your friend works here?"
"Yeah - but hopefully not for long! There's Nick over there. Ray's with him." Greg pointed. Warrick followed Greg's outstretched hand and saw his friend shoot back something alcoholic and rise unsteadily to his feet. Ray reached out to keep Nick from stumbling over, but Nick just slapped his hands away. "Don't fucking touch me, asshole!"
Even from a distance of twenty or so feet, both Warrick and Greg could hear Nick quite clearly. His surly voice carried over the din. Ray looked up and smiled grimly when he saw Greg.
"Thank God!" he snapped, "get this guy out of here!"
Greg nodded, "Sorry, Ray. How long has he been here?"
"Hour - hour and a half. He hasn't had a whole lot to drink, but it's really affected him. I don't recall him being such an asshole when he was here the other night."
"Who you calling an asshole?" Nick growled suddenly, turning to a baleful gaze on Ray before his eyes widened slightly at the sight of Greg and Warrick. "Hey guys. Come to join me for a drink?"
"No, Nick," Warrick responded, "We've come to take you home."
"Forget it. Don't wanna go. If you aren't gonna drink with me, get the fuck out."
Warrick sighed, "Nick, we're taking you home."
Nick grinned, "Like to see you try it. I can take you."
Warrick rolled his eyes at Greg, mouth tightening imperceptibly in anger. "What the hell is wrong with you today Nick?"
"Nothing that a couple more shots of JD won't cure," Nick replied. He flicked a glance at Greg. "Greggo, c'mon buddy. Have a drink."
"You've had enough, Nick. C'mon, let us take you home." Greg studied his friend worriedly, noting the pallor of his face. If it was at all possible, Nick looked worse than he had when shift started. Greg felt like he was looking at a walking corpse. "You need some sleep." He reached out a hand to place it on Nick's shoulder, but Nick pulled away, glaring at Greg and Warrick then back again. "Touch me again, and you'll be sorry."
"Okay, that's it." Warrick spoke up, "I've had enough of this bullshit, Nick. You're coming with us, or I'll call Grissom to come and deal with you. It's your call."
Nick scowled, his eyes bleary as he looked at Warrick, "You'd fucking do it too, wouldn't you?"
"If it's the only way to get you out of here, damn straight. Greg, you drive Nick's truck -I'll follow you."
* * * * *
Greg didn't even see what hit him. The minute they were out of the bar, he was jumped. Apparently, Ray had been correct when he stated Nick had pissed off the wrong person, but he hadn't told Greg the guy was bigger than Magilla Gorilla. And Magilla had two very large friends.
Wincing as he struggled to get to his feet, he noticed that Warrick and Nick were cornered. The man who had taken him out was obviously more focused on getting Nick then in hurting Greg. Warrick stood coolly, glancing from man to man, tightening his grip on his friend.
"You don't want to do this," he started calmly.
"We don't want you. Just you're friend here. I have a score to settle with him."
"Can't do that, man. Can't just give him to you."
Greg was more scared then he had ever been in his whole life. Moving forward, he quickly joined Warrick, standing on the opposite side of Nick. The big man who had thrown him down smiled at him.
"I'd step back, little buddy. We don't want to hurt you."
Greg sighed, before grinning humorlessly at the three men. "I don't want you to hurt me either. But I have to warn you against hurting my friend here. He's a cop. You lay a finger on him, and the entire LVPD will be all over you. You know what it's like."
Magilla looked skeptical, "He's a cop?"
"Yeah - Crime Scene Specialist. And he's had a rough day. Caught a bad case earlier, you know. Child molestation. So if he offended you, I'm sorry - but he's a little drunk. We just came to take him home."
Magilla grunted at Greg and cracked his knuckles. "Little kid, eh? You gonna catch the guy that did it?"
Greg nodded calmly, but inside he was quaking in his boots, "We hope so. And we need him in one piece to do it."
Magilla smiled grimly, "You got spunk, skinny. I guess I'll let your friend live. Just get him the hell outta here."
Greg smiled, "Yessir. Trying to do that right now."
* * * * *
"Smart, Greg. Very smart." Warrick murmured approvingly as they loaded Nick into his truck. "You didn't need me after all."
"You kidding me?" Greg squeaked, "I was petrified."
"Didn't show," Warrick smiled. "You can have my back any time."
Greg half-smiled at that. Nick was out of it, body lolling all over the place as Warrick struggled to buckle him into the passenger side of his truck.
"Whazzat.whaz ya doin..zat you?" Nick was mumbling incoherently, "Sorry, I'se sorry." Greg was surprised to see that Nick was crying, tears leaving streaks on his haggard face.
"Shh, Nick," Warrick replied, voice soothing, "It's alright, man. Nothing to be sorry about. We're taking you home, now. It's alright. You good to drive, Greg?"
Greg nodded, "Not a problem. I'll meet you at Nick's place."
He waited until Warrick hopped in his car, before starting the truck and almost blasting his head off. Quickly turning the stereo system down, he glanced at Nick who hadn't even flinched at the deafening noise. "Since when did you start listening to Rob Zombie?" he muttered.
* * * * *
Nick was a little more lucid by the time they pulled into his driveway. Greg had rolled all the windows down, and the cool night air had gone a far way in clearing Nick's head. As Greg lurched to a stop in front of Nick's house, his friend quickly unbuckled and threw himself out the door. Greg winced when the sound of violent retching filled the air.
Warrick had parked behind Greg, and the two men stood awkwardly behind their friend, waiting for him to finish throwing up.
"You alright, Nicky?"
Nick pushed himself shakily upwards, wiping a hand across his mouth in disgust. "Christ, twice in one night," he muttered hoarsely. Keeping his eyes firmly on the ground, he shuffled forward gingerly. *Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot* The ground pitched and weaved around him, and his legs felt like rubber. He sighed in relief when he felt Warrick and Greg move to either side of him, arms bracing as they helped him up the front steps of his condominium.
Stepping into the foyer, he slid out of his jacket, dropping it into a heap on the floor and stumbled down the hallway. His baseball shirt was splattered in regurgitated booze. Grimacing in distaste, Nick peeled it over his head and dropped it in the middle of his hallway.
"What the hell happened to your arm, Nick?"
Nick paused and turned blearily towards Warrick. In his haste to get to bed, he had almost forgotten he had company. Greg and Warrick were still standing in the front entrance of his house. Reaching out blindly, he flicked on the lights and tried to keep his balance as the flashes dancing in front of his eyes gave him vertigo.
"Oops!" he felt like giggling, "I forgot you were here! Come in, come in!"
Warrick and Greg shared a brief glance, before Warrick shrugged and stepped down the hallway after Nick. "Nick, man, what did you do to your arm?" he asked again.
Nick blinked at Warrick goofily before looking at the large gauze wrapping on his forearm. It was decidedly unsterile looking, rusty with blood from his wound. "Cut it on a screw when I was taking pictures of Nicky - the dead boy." His jaw tightened suddenly, and he quickly tried to blink back the sudden images of the kid in his little league uniform, "Grissom bandaged it."
Greg stepped into the hallway and took in the bandage as well, whistling under his breath, "It needs to be re-bandaged. That doesn't look good at all. Where's you're first aid kit?"
"Bathroom," Nick replied, as he turned and stumbled towards the kitchen. Sitting himself gingerly in an empty chair at his table, he winced when Warrick started unwrapping the gauze. The gash on his arm was oozing an odd mixture of blood and puss; the skin tattered and bruised around it. Hot red lines striated outwards from the gash and up his arm. Frowning slightly, Warrick took a closer look at Nick. The glassy eyes and sheen of sweat he had earlier attributed to too much alcohol suddenly took on a whole new meaning.
"You need to go to the hospital. This is infected."
Greg, who had returned with the first aid kit gasped when he saw Nick's arm. "Cripes, Nick. You've cut through the muscle in some places. That's gonna scar really badly. You did that on a screw head?"
Nick nodded. He felt incredibly tired suddenly, his head too heavy for his neck. Without the pressure from the bandage, his arm started throbbing and burning mercilessly. Greg and Warrick were talking to him about his arm, but he ignored them. All he wanted to do was sleep. He was so cold. The anger which had burned hotly in his chest the majority of the evening was gone, leaving Nick feeling strangely bereft. Without his anger, what did he have?
Nick closed his eyes, drifting in and out of consciousness as he fought to stay awake. Greg's panicky voice infiltrated the recesses of his brain, and Nick struggled to open his eyes. Warrick was on his cell phone behind Greg, his voice pitched low and urgent. Nick wondered who he was talking to too.
He felt cool hands on his face, gripping his cheeks, and forced his eyes to focus on Greg's alarmed brown ones. He tried to smile reassuringly at his young friend, but knew he had failed miserably when he felt tears slide scalding down his face.
"I'm a hollow man, Greggo, a hollow man."
___________________________________
Author's Note: next chapter, we find out what's bothering Nick. And it's not what you might be thinking - not entirely anyway. I know I originally said 3 -4 chapters, but it looks more like maybe 5 - 7 now. The more I get into it, the bigger it gets. (And I mean that in a totally non-gutterball kinda way, thank you very much.) The angry!Nick songs are: Papa Roach - Last Resort and Korn - Falling Away From Me .
Catherine and Sara looked up from the break room when Nick went gusting down the hallway. They had heard the slam of Grissom's office door; looking up in time to see Nick rush by. He was so tense; Catherine could have sworn she saw electricity crackling off him.
Sara looked at Catherine, "What's up with him tonight?"
Catherine sighed, "I don't know."
Grissom chose that moment to enter the lounge, expression shuttered as he looked at the two women. "So, anything interesting on your case?"
Catherine looked at him suspiciously, "We can talk about our case in a few minutes. What did you do to Nick?"
Pouring himself a coffee, Grissom shrugged. "I didn't do anything to him. He did it to himself."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Catherine demanded.
"I took him off the case. He's getting too involved. I told him to go home."
"You've only just caught this case. It hasn't eve been six hours yet." Sara kept her voice neutral, but her eyes spoke of her concern. "It's not like Nick to get overly involved."
Catherine looked at her fingernails, "Tell me about the case."
Grissom sighed and slid into an empty seat, propping his arms on the table top. "Nine-year-old boy was sexually assaulted and murdered. His body was dumped in a crawl space at a playground. Parents are away on business for three days, left him with a sixteen year old babysitter, who kicked the kid out of the house at 8:00 this evening in order to spend some time with her boyfriend."
Catherine's face was a mask of shock, "What type of parents leave their son with a teenage babysitter for three days?"
"Exactly what Nick said," Grissom replied. "He also told the babysitter to her face she was responsible for the victims' death."
"She is," Catherine retorted, "She's culpable."
Grissom shrugged, "Be that as it may, he shouldn't have said anything to her. He's supposed to remain objective, and he lost it. I've never seen him so angry. He's too tightly wound to handle this case."
Sara, who had been sitting silently listening to Grissom, ran a slim hand through her hair. "Poor Nick."
Catherine rose to her feet and grabbed her jacket, "I'm gonna see if I can catch him. Sara can fill you in, Griss. I'll be back."
* * * * *
Nick was sitting in his truck in the parking lot when Catherine exited the building. Just sitting there. The engine was idling, and his head was thrown back against the head rest, eyes tightly clenched. The tendons in his neck stood out tightly against the column of his throat. Catherine could hear the raucous music blaring on the radio from 50 feet away.
~ Cut my life into pieces
This is my last resort
Suffocation
No breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
This is my last resort
Do you even care if I die bleeding
Would it be wrong?
Would it be right?
If I took my life tonight
Chances are that I might
Mutilation outta sight
And I'm contemplating suicide
Cause I'm losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
I never realized I was spread too thin
To live was too late
And I was empty within
Feeding on chaos
And living in sin
Downward spiral where do I begin?
It all started when I lost my mother
No love for myself
And no love for another
Searching to find a love up on a higher level
Finding nothing but questions and devils ~
Catherine tapped loudly on the glass, not sure if Nick would even be able to hear it over the music. Even with his windows rolled up, she could feel the vibration from the bass beat all the way through her body. She tapped again, louder this time, her knuckles making a sharp thwacking noise. Nick slit open an eye and looked at her, before frowning and rolling down his window.
Catherine stepped back from the noise and winced. "Can you turn that down?" she hollered. Nick frowned at her, but did as she asked. When she could speak in a more normal tone, she smiled at him, "I'm surprised you didn't pop an eardrum. That's not your normal country music. Greg subverting you to the dark side?"
Nick just looked at her stonily, "What do you want, Cath?"
"Griss told us he took you off the case. You okay?"
"Peachy-keen," Nick muttered. "If that's all, I should get going. I have the rest of the night off, doncha' know."
"Nick," Catherine leaned through the open window and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, "does this have anything to do with - you know." Nick closed his eyes tightly against her tenderness and concern, willing down the fresh rush of tears.
"Not at all," he replied. His voice was like sandpaper. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You've been angry since shift started. What's going on, Nicky. Tell me."
Nick just shook his head angrily, "Christ. I'm just having a bad night, okay. Nothing sinister. Nothing bad. Everyone else is allowed to have them - why not me? I'm not some fucking boy scout, you know." His sudden bitterness took Catherine by surprise. She blinked when he jerked his shoulder away from her hand and revved his motor. "I'd step back if I were you. Wouldn't want to drive over your toes."
* * * * *
It felt good to peel rubber out of the parking lot. Probably not the smartest thing he had ever done - after all, the place was crawling with cops, but nonetheless. Nick smiled grimly as the harsh smell of burnt rubber hit his nostrils. He did not want to go home.
Turning on his stereo, he flipped past the Papa Roach song he had been listening to earlier, and turned up Korn full blast. Catherine was right - this sure as hell wasn't country music!
~ Hey, I'm feeling tired.
My time, is gone today.
You flew with suicide.
Sometimes, that's ok.
Hear what others say.
I'm here, standing hollow.
Falling away from me.
Falling away from me.
Day, is here fading.
That's when, I would say.
I flew with suicide.
Sometimes kill the pain.
I can always say.
'It's gonna be better tomorrow'.
Falling away from me.
Falling away from me.
Beating me down.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground.
Screaming so sad.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground. ~
Nick grin was sharper than broken glass and twice as painful. Nodding his head in time to the music, he tapped his fingers rhythmically on his steering wheel, deciding that Korn was great to listen to when you were pissed off.
The bright lights of the strip beckoned him, glittering like false hope against the inky blackness of the sky. When he had first come here, he had imagined he would be able to make a difference. Somehow, someway, he would become the type of person he had always wanted to be. His mother had always told him that God never gave anyone a burden so heavy it would break them, and Nick had always believed it. But not anymore. Christ. He needed a drink.
~ (falling away from me).
It's spinning round and round.
(falling away from me).
It's lost and can't be found.
(falling away from me).
It's spinning round and round.
(falling away from me).
So down.
Beating me down.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground.
Screaming so sad.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground.
Pressing me, they won't go away.
So I pray, go away.
It's falling away from me.
Beating me down.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground.
Screaming so sad.
Beating me, beating me.
Down, down.
Into the ground. ~
* * * * *
The ringing of Greg's cell phone jerked him from his thoughts. He had been running DNA for Grissom, and had found himself oddly hypnotized by the soft hum of the machine. Grabbing his phone, he flipped it open.
"Y'ello? Hey dude, what's up? No - I'm at work," Greg shrugged his shoulders, trying to loosen them up. "He's what? No. No - don't do that. I'll come. I'll come right now." Clicking his phone shut, he ran his hand through his hair in agitation and went in search of Warrick.
Warrick was in A/V talking to Archie. Greg grinned despite his worry when he saw the two men were watching Die Hard. "Yippeeio-ky-ay!" he whistled under his breath. Warrick shot an amused look at him.
"Greggo! Coming to join us? Or are you still running Grissom's DNA?"
"Tests still running, but I need to talk to you. I think I might need your help with something." He smiled weakly at Archie, "Sorry Arch."
Warrick stood and walked to Greg's side, noting with concern the worry Greg was trying to hide. "What's up?"
"Listen. Nick's in trouble. A friend of mine - Ray - just called me - Nick's at the Jupiter Club, and he's drunk. Really drunk."
Warrick frowned, "Doesn't sound like Nick."
Greg nodded miserably, "A group of us went there a couple of nights ago to play some pool, and I talked Nick into joining us. My buddy who called - he works there, and he recognized Nick. He says Nick needs to go home before something happens, and Nick is refusing to leave."
"Oh."
"He pissed off some biker dude a while ago. They kicked dude out of the bar, but my friend thinks he may be waiting for Nick to leave. He threatened to beat the crap out of him," Greg added. "Ray says the guy is pretty damn big."
"Shit." Warrick rolled his eyes. "Okay - grab your coat. I'll go talk to Grissom. We better go rescue him."
Greg smiled weakly, and breathed a sigh of relief, "Thanks Warrick. I knew I could count on you."
Warrick nodded grimly, "He's my friend too."
* * * * *
The Jupiter Club was probably one of the most disreputable bars in Las Vegas. It was so seedy; it was almost a caricature in and of itself. The blinking neon sign was half lit -Girls! Girls! Girls! - it flashed - "_upit__ __ub."
Warrick grimaced in distaste as he and Greg walked in. The bar was full of smoke - some of it legal, some of it not. It made his eyes sting. Up on the bar, a giggly half dressed woman was strutting her stuff, her pierced nipples painfully engorged. She smiled enticingly at the men leering up at her, licking her lips as she slid onto the counter and writhed across it on her knees.
"You come here often?"
Greg shook his head, "No. Just the other night, as a joke. The beer is cheap."
"Just like everything else in here. You say your friend works here?"
"Yeah - but hopefully not for long! There's Nick over there. Ray's with him." Greg pointed. Warrick followed Greg's outstretched hand and saw his friend shoot back something alcoholic and rise unsteadily to his feet. Ray reached out to keep Nick from stumbling over, but Nick just slapped his hands away. "Don't fucking touch me, asshole!"
Even from a distance of twenty or so feet, both Warrick and Greg could hear Nick quite clearly. His surly voice carried over the din. Ray looked up and smiled grimly when he saw Greg.
"Thank God!" he snapped, "get this guy out of here!"
Greg nodded, "Sorry, Ray. How long has he been here?"
"Hour - hour and a half. He hasn't had a whole lot to drink, but it's really affected him. I don't recall him being such an asshole when he was here the other night."
"Who you calling an asshole?" Nick growled suddenly, turning to a baleful gaze on Ray before his eyes widened slightly at the sight of Greg and Warrick. "Hey guys. Come to join me for a drink?"
"No, Nick," Warrick responded, "We've come to take you home."
"Forget it. Don't wanna go. If you aren't gonna drink with me, get the fuck out."
Warrick sighed, "Nick, we're taking you home."
Nick grinned, "Like to see you try it. I can take you."
Warrick rolled his eyes at Greg, mouth tightening imperceptibly in anger. "What the hell is wrong with you today Nick?"
"Nothing that a couple more shots of JD won't cure," Nick replied. He flicked a glance at Greg. "Greggo, c'mon buddy. Have a drink."
"You've had enough, Nick. C'mon, let us take you home." Greg studied his friend worriedly, noting the pallor of his face. If it was at all possible, Nick looked worse than he had when shift started. Greg felt like he was looking at a walking corpse. "You need some sleep." He reached out a hand to place it on Nick's shoulder, but Nick pulled away, glaring at Greg and Warrick then back again. "Touch me again, and you'll be sorry."
"Okay, that's it." Warrick spoke up, "I've had enough of this bullshit, Nick. You're coming with us, or I'll call Grissom to come and deal with you. It's your call."
Nick scowled, his eyes bleary as he looked at Warrick, "You'd fucking do it too, wouldn't you?"
"If it's the only way to get you out of here, damn straight. Greg, you drive Nick's truck -I'll follow you."
* * * * *
Greg didn't even see what hit him. The minute they were out of the bar, he was jumped. Apparently, Ray had been correct when he stated Nick had pissed off the wrong person, but he hadn't told Greg the guy was bigger than Magilla Gorilla. And Magilla had two very large friends.
Wincing as he struggled to get to his feet, he noticed that Warrick and Nick were cornered. The man who had taken him out was obviously more focused on getting Nick then in hurting Greg. Warrick stood coolly, glancing from man to man, tightening his grip on his friend.
"You don't want to do this," he started calmly.
"We don't want you. Just you're friend here. I have a score to settle with him."
"Can't do that, man. Can't just give him to you."
Greg was more scared then he had ever been in his whole life. Moving forward, he quickly joined Warrick, standing on the opposite side of Nick. The big man who had thrown him down smiled at him.
"I'd step back, little buddy. We don't want to hurt you."
Greg sighed, before grinning humorlessly at the three men. "I don't want you to hurt me either. But I have to warn you against hurting my friend here. He's a cop. You lay a finger on him, and the entire LVPD will be all over you. You know what it's like."
Magilla looked skeptical, "He's a cop?"
"Yeah - Crime Scene Specialist. And he's had a rough day. Caught a bad case earlier, you know. Child molestation. So if he offended you, I'm sorry - but he's a little drunk. We just came to take him home."
Magilla grunted at Greg and cracked his knuckles. "Little kid, eh? You gonna catch the guy that did it?"
Greg nodded calmly, but inside he was quaking in his boots, "We hope so. And we need him in one piece to do it."
Magilla smiled grimly, "You got spunk, skinny. I guess I'll let your friend live. Just get him the hell outta here."
Greg smiled, "Yessir. Trying to do that right now."
* * * * *
"Smart, Greg. Very smart." Warrick murmured approvingly as they loaded Nick into his truck. "You didn't need me after all."
"You kidding me?" Greg squeaked, "I was petrified."
"Didn't show," Warrick smiled. "You can have my back any time."
Greg half-smiled at that. Nick was out of it, body lolling all over the place as Warrick struggled to buckle him into the passenger side of his truck.
"Whazzat.whaz ya doin..zat you?" Nick was mumbling incoherently, "Sorry, I'se sorry." Greg was surprised to see that Nick was crying, tears leaving streaks on his haggard face.
"Shh, Nick," Warrick replied, voice soothing, "It's alright, man. Nothing to be sorry about. We're taking you home, now. It's alright. You good to drive, Greg?"
Greg nodded, "Not a problem. I'll meet you at Nick's place."
He waited until Warrick hopped in his car, before starting the truck and almost blasting his head off. Quickly turning the stereo system down, he glanced at Nick who hadn't even flinched at the deafening noise. "Since when did you start listening to Rob Zombie?" he muttered.
* * * * *
Nick was a little more lucid by the time they pulled into his driveway. Greg had rolled all the windows down, and the cool night air had gone a far way in clearing Nick's head. As Greg lurched to a stop in front of Nick's house, his friend quickly unbuckled and threw himself out the door. Greg winced when the sound of violent retching filled the air.
Warrick had parked behind Greg, and the two men stood awkwardly behind their friend, waiting for him to finish throwing up.
"You alright, Nicky?"
Nick pushed himself shakily upwards, wiping a hand across his mouth in disgust. "Christ, twice in one night," he muttered hoarsely. Keeping his eyes firmly on the ground, he shuffled forward gingerly. *Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot* The ground pitched and weaved around him, and his legs felt like rubber. He sighed in relief when he felt Warrick and Greg move to either side of him, arms bracing as they helped him up the front steps of his condominium.
Stepping into the foyer, he slid out of his jacket, dropping it into a heap on the floor and stumbled down the hallway. His baseball shirt was splattered in regurgitated booze. Grimacing in distaste, Nick peeled it over his head and dropped it in the middle of his hallway.
"What the hell happened to your arm, Nick?"
Nick paused and turned blearily towards Warrick. In his haste to get to bed, he had almost forgotten he had company. Greg and Warrick were still standing in the front entrance of his house. Reaching out blindly, he flicked on the lights and tried to keep his balance as the flashes dancing in front of his eyes gave him vertigo.
"Oops!" he felt like giggling, "I forgot you were here! Come in, come in!"
Warrick and Greg shared a brief glance, before Warrick shrugged and stepped down the hallway after Nick. "Nick, man, what did you do to your arm?" he asked again.
Nick blinked at Warrick goofily before looking at the large gauze wrapping on his forearm. It was decidedly unsterile looking, rusty with blood from his wound. "Cut it on a screw when I was taking pictures of Nicky - the dead boy." His jaw tightened suddenly, and he quickly tried to blink back the sudden images of the kid in his little league uniform, "Grissom bandaged it."
Greg stepped into the hallway and took in the bandage as well, whistling under his breath, "It needs to be re-bandaged. That doesn't look good at all. Where's you're first aid kit?"
"Bathroom," Nick replied, as he turned and stumbled towards the kitchen. Sitting himself gingerly in an empty chair at his table, he winced when Warrick started unwrapping the gauze. The gash on his arm was oozing an odd mixture of blood and puss; the skin tattered and bruised around it. Hot red lines striated outwards from the gash and up his arm. Frowning slightly, Warrick took a closer look at Nick. The glassy eyes and sheen of sweat he had earlier attributed to too much alcohol suddenly took on a whole new meaning.
"You need to go to the hospital. This is infected."
Greg, who had returned with the first aid kit gasped when he saw Nick's arm. "Cripes, Nick. You've cut through the muscle in some places. That's gonna scar really badly. You did that on a screw head?"
Nick nodded. He felt incredibly tired suddenly, his head too heavy for his neck. Without the pressure from the bandage, his arm started throbbing and burning mercilessly. Greg and Warrick were talking to him about his arm, but he ignored them. All he wanted to do was sleep. He was so cold. The anger which had burned hotly in his chest the majority of the evening was gone, leaving Nick feeling strangely bereft. Without his anger, what did he have?
Nick closed his eyes, drifting in and out of consciousness as he fought to stay awake. Greg's panicky voice infiltrated the recesses of his brain, and Nick struggled to open his eyes. Warrick was on his cell phone behind Greg, his voice pitched low and urgent. Nick wondered who he was talking to too.
He felt cool hands on his face, gripping his cheeks, and forced his eyes to focus on Greg's alarmed brown ones. He tried to smile reassuringly at his young friend, but knew he had failed miserably when he felt tears slide scalding down his face.
"I'm a hollow man, Greggo, a hollow man."
___________________________________
Author's Note: next chapter, we find out what's bothering Nick. And it's not what you might be thinking - not entirely anyway. I know I originally said 3 -4 chapters, but it looks more like maybe 5 - 7 now. The more I get into it, the bigger it gets. (And I mean that in a totally non-gutterball kinda way, thank you very much.) The angry!Nick songs are: Papa Roach - Last Resort and Korn - Falling Away From Me .