REGRET
Nick shifted uncomfortably in the back of the Tahoe. Brass had decided to come with them instead of driving his own car, and Nick - like an errant child - had been relegated to the back seat. At least he could stretch out.
Brass was his usual self - all gruff wry humor wrapped in a blanket of world-weariness. Normally, Nick enjoyed conversing with the older man. Brass' particular brand of sarcastic, dry wit often made the crime scenes a little more bearable. Brass actually reminded Nick of his Uncle Jack, also a career police officer. Uncle Jack had been an uncle by marriage; his favorite relative. Nick's father, on the other hand, had hated Jack. He didn't think a mere police officer was good enough for his baby sister, and he made no bones about it. Nick had been devastated when Jack and Aunt Becky had split after fifteen years of marriage, but the rest of his family had been relieved. Jack had been too gruff for them; too coarse and unrefined. He had stood out from the rest of them like brown sugar stands out against white. Probably one of the reasons Nick had like him so much. Uncle Jack had a heart of gold.
He knew his father blamed Jack for Nick's foray into policing. He had hated the fact Nick had become a police officer, and even though he said all the right things in public, at home he had made it clear that he viewed Nick's career choice beneath him.
Nick, as the oldest son of the Stoke 'family firm', had been expected to follow blithely in his father's footsteps and become a lawyer. His father had often told him that it was unfortunate he hadn't inherited the Stokes' family brains along with the good looks and the charm. 'If you had the brains to go with the package, you could become a career politician.'
Shutting his eyes, he leaned his head against the back of the seat and tried to ignore the throbbing in his arm. A quick glance at his watch told him it was too early for more painkillers. He had told Grissom he didn't want to take them anyway, but he sure could use one right now.
Brass twisted his head sideways and shot a concerned glance at the younger man. "You doing alright, Nick?"
"Fine," Nick gritted out.
"I ran into a pretty little thing earlier today - she was looking for you. She ever find you?"
Nick cocked his head sideways, "Nope. When was this?"
Brass smiled, "Oh - about 30 minutes ago. She seemed a little nervous; standing out front of the department. She asked me if a 'Nick Stokes' worked there."
Nick shrugged, "Well, she didn't come looking for me." Despite himself, his interest was peaked. "What did she look like?"
"Cute. Green eyes, black hair, shoulder length. Athletic looking. Nice figure. Ringing any bells?"
"Not at all. She didn't give you a name, did she?"
Brass grinned, "Nope. Just said she was an old friend from Texas. Maybe she didn't want to disturb you at work. I pretty girl like her could be distracting. I thought maybe she was an old girlfriend, looking you up."
Nick shook his head, "Not if she's from Texas." His tone was rueful and sad, and Brass cocked a semi-amused eyebrow at him.
"Sounds like either you broke someone's heart, or someone broke yours."
"Let's just say I don't think many people in Texas remember me with fondness, and leave it at that," Nick replied. He caught a brief flash of Grissom's eyes as he looked at Nick in the rearview mirror, and immediately regretted releasing that little nugget of information. The concern Grissom had been trying to hide since Nick had shown up at work earlier was back. Nick winced and shut his eyes. Grissom had questions. It was just a matter of time before he started asking them.
* * * * *
The babysitter - Jenny - wasn't at all as Nick had remembered her from the prior evening. Last night, when she had opened the door at the Steeply's; her caustic words ringing in his ears and the battered image of little Nicky still fresh in his mind, he hadn't been able to see past his impotent rage. The haze of anger and pain that had been his constant companion for the last several hours had exploded - directly at this kid, standing on the door step of her house, looking so pathetically young and broken Nick wanted to cry.
She had answered the door at Brass' insistent ringing, face translucent and pinched. Her eyes sunk like bruises into her pale face, and her demeanor was listless. She barely acknowledged the men on the doorstep, although her eyes had flickered with emotion when she glanced at Nick, touching on his face lightly before filling with shame and unbearable guilt.
Her father - a man whom Nick had not met the night before - didn't look much better. His face was a map of sorrow and anger; shame and impotent sadness. He looked at the three men blearily, before inviting them to the kitchen.
"We just have a few questions to ask," Grissom began, "and we hope that Jenny might have remembered something or someone."
"You can ask her, but I doubt she has. Have you talked to her boyfriend at all? Maybe he might have seen something."
Grissom merely nodded, "I spoke with his parents. They're bringing him to the station later to talk to us. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions before I speak with your daughter?"
Nick noticed that Jenny flushed when her father mentioned her boyfriend, and he sighed. * Nothing like having your father find out you're sexually active during a murder investigation that you're linked to.*
He studied her covertly as she nervously picked at her fingernails. Nick felt another hot spurt of empathy for the kid. He knew what guilt was like and this girl was drowning in it.
Grissom was conversing quietly with Mr. Letch, his voice soothing and calm. Nick wasn't really paying attention to what the two men were talking abut. Instead, he leaned forward in his chair slightly, propping his elbows on his knees. "Jenny," he kept his voice purposely gentle, so unlike the tone he had used when he spoke to her last night, but she still flinched when she heard it.
"Jenny."
She looked up at him, eyes wide and brown and swimming with tears, slight shoulders tense and braced for another verbal assault. "What?"
"I wanted to apologize for what I said to you last night," he whispered. "I had no right to talk to you like that. I just wanted you to know."
"But it's true," she responded, voice hitching in her chest, escaping on a soft exhalation. "It's my fault. I killed him."
Nick shook his head, sliding his chair closer to the girl. "You didn't know what would happen to him. Maybe what you did wasn't wise, but it wasn't malicious either. You didn't kill him."
"I should be the one that's dead," she responded. "It should have been me."
Nick didn't know how to respond. He knew that feeling - was intimately familiar with survivor's guilt. Reaching out hesitantly he placed a gentle hand on her knee. "I know what you're going through. I'd like to tell you eventually the guilt will just go away, but it won't. This tragedy will always be a part of you - it will affect you for the rest of your life."
Jenny was nodding now, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. The other conversation in the room had ceased, but Nick barely registered the absolute lack of sound other than his own voice. "You have to learn how to live with this, Jenny. You can either let this make you stronger, or you can let it destroy you. It will be easier to let it destroy you, but it won't make things better. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
"Ye - yes."
"Other people are going to blame you. People are going to talk about you and whisper behind your back. You have to stay strong and try not to let it affect you. You're going to learn pretty quickly who your friends are."
Jenny nodded miserably at him. "I know."
Nick twisted his lips, trying to smile but failing miserably. He reached into his jean jacket and pulled out a small notebook, quickly scratching something on it. "You're going to need someone to talk to; someone who'll understand. I don't think I can help you, but I know some people who can. This is my number - top is my cell, middle is my home, bottom is my pager. You call me whenever you're ready, don't worry about the time. Will you do that, Jenny?"
Jenny took the proffered number and read it, a watery smile gliding briefly across her features, "I'll call. Thank you Mr. Stokes."
Nick returned her smile, briefly. It was the first genuine grin to grace his face in 36 hours. "Nick. Call me Nick."
* * * * *
Grissom remained strangely silent on the drive back to the lab. Brass kept shooting funny looks at Nick from the front seat, but kept his own counsel. Nick pretended to be asleep. He knew he was in for another Grissom lecture and only hoped his boss would wait until they were back in the office, preferably behind closed doors, before he said what he had to say.
Grissom probably thought Nick was going crazy, and Nick wouldn't blame him. He had been riding a fucking emotional roller coaster lately. And just when he thought he had hit the peak and hurtled through the worst of it, another peak rose in front of him.
There was so much emotion bubbling around inside him right now, he didn't really know what to feel except numb. The anger was still there, sure, bubbling just below the surface. The guilt - well, that was something Nick was so used to he could almost ignore it. Almost. This deep bone-aching regret was new; as was the strange empathy that had sprung from him out of nowhere for young Jen Letch. He was still trying to puzzle that one out. He didn't understand it himself.
"Nick. My office." The Tahoe rolled to a stop. They were pack at the lab. Nick sighed, *Grace period is over.*
He trudged behind Grissom and Brass, shoulders hunched and hands buried in his jeans pockets, mind running through the various things he could say to Grissom when the older man chided him about giving out his personal phone numbers to that kid. He didn't think telling Grissom to mind his own fucking business would be overly politic right now. He smiled grimly.
As they entered the building, Brass shot him a commiserating look before heading down the hallway to see if the boyfriend - Clay Peters - had arrived with his parents yet. Nick quirked a half-smile at Brass and shrugged.
He wasn't surprise when Grissom went straight to his office, shutting the door behind Nick when the younger man followed him in.
"So," Grissom began, "mind telling me what that was all about?"
Nick shrugged, "That girl's on the edge, man. I was just trying to help her out."
Grissom pursed his lips and sank into one of the empty seats in front of his desk, motioning for Nick to sit down. "I don't need to tell you what you did was a serious breach of protocol?"
Nick shook his head, "I know." Nick dared a quick glance at Grissom, before looking away. "I just - part of the way she's feeling is my fault."
"Couldn't you have just stuck to the apology?"
Nick shook his head, "No. And don't ask me to explain, because I can't."
"Can't or won't?" Grissom retorted.
"Take your pick."
Silence again, this one longer and more complicated. Nick swore he could almost hear the mental gears of Grissom's brain clicking away. When he thought he wouldn't be able to take the silence anymore, Grissom looked at him.
"How do you know what she's going through?"
Grissom's question caught Nick completely off guard. He stiffened suddenly, before carefully masking his face and pasting on his good ole boy smile. "I read. I study the human condition. I made an educated guess."
"I don't think so, Nicky," Grissom sighed. "There's more to it than that. I just haven't figured it out yet."
The sudden knocking on the closed door made both men jump. Grissom sighed in irritation, running a hand through his curls before acknowledging the knock.
"It's open."
Brass stuck his head in the door. "Clay Peters is here with his parents. And Nick, the lady I told you about earlier is waiting in the lobby for you. Says her name is Marsha."
Nick blanched at the name, before turning an angry red. Marsha. Pete's ex- wife. "I don't want to see her," he responded flatly. "Tell her to go away and leave me the fuck alone."
_____________________________________________________
Nick shifted uncomfortably in the back of the Tahoe. Brass had decided to come with them instead of driving his own car, and Nick - like an errant child - had been relegated to the back seat. At least he could stretch out.
Brass was his usual self - all gruff wry humor wrapped in a blanket of world-weariness. Normally, Nick enjoyed conversing with the older man. Brass' particular brand of sarcastic, dry wit often made the crime scenes a little more bearable. Brass actually reminded Nick of his Uncle Jack, also a career police officer. Uncle Jack had been an uncle by marriage; his favorite relative. Nick's father, on the other hand, had hated Jack. He didn't think a mere police officer was good enough for his baby sister, and he made no bones about it. Nick had been devastated when Jack and Aunt Becky had split after fifteen years of marriage, but the rest of his family had been relieved. Jack had been too gruff for them; too coarse and unrefined. He had stood out from the rest of them like brown sugar stands out against white. Probably one of the reasons Nick had like him so much. Uncle Jack had a heart of gold.
He knew his father blamed Jack for Nick's foray into policing. He had hated the fact Nick had become a police officer, and even though he said all the right things in public, at home he had made it clear that he viewed Nick's career choice beneath him.
Nick, as the oldest son of the Stoke 'family firm', had been expected to follow blithely in his father's footsteps and become a lawyer. His father had often told him that it was unfortunate he hadn't inherited the Stokes' family brains along with the good looks and the charm. 'If you had the brains to go with the package, you could become a career politician.'
Shutting his eyes, he leaned his head against the back of the seat and tried to ignore the throbbing in his arm. A quick glance at his watch told him it was too early for more painkillers. He had told Grissom he didn't want to take them anyway, but he sure could use one right now.
Brass twisted his head sideways and shot a concerned glance at the younger man. "You doing alright, Nick?"
"Fine," Nick gritted out.
"I ran into a pretty little thing earlier today - she was looking for you. She ever find you?"
Nick cocked his head sideways, "Nope. When was this?"
Brass smiled, "Oh - about 30 minutes ago. She seemed a little nervous; standing out front of the department. She asked me if a 'Nick Stokes' worked there."
Nick shrugged, "Well, she didn't come looking for me." Despite himself, his interest was peaked. "What did she look like?"
"Cute. Green eyes, black hair, shoulder length. Athletic looking. Nice figure. Ringing any bells?"
"Not at all. She didn't give you a name, did she?"
Brass grinned, "Nope. Just said she was an old friend from Texas. Maybe she didn't want to disturb you at work. I pretty girl like her could be distracting. I thought maybe she was an old girlfriend, looking you up."
Nick shook his head, "Not if she's from Texas." His tone was rueful and sad, and Brass cocked a semi-amused eyebrow at him.
"Sounds like either you broke someone's heart, or someone broke yours."
"Let's just say I don't think many people in Texas remember me with fondness, and leave it at that," Nick replied. He caught a brief flash of Grissom's eyes as he looked at Nick in the rearview mirror, and immediately regretted releasing that little nugget of information. The concern Grissom had been trying to hide since Nick had shown up at work earlier was back. Nick winced and shut his eyes. Grissom had questions. It was just a matter of time before he started asking them.
* * * * *
The babysitter - Jenny - wasn't at all as Nick had remembered her from the prior evening. Last night, when she had opened the door at the Steeply's; her caustic words ringing in his ears and the battered image of little Nicky still fresh in his mind, he hadn't been able to see past his impotent rage. The haze of anger and pain that had been his constant companion for the last several hours had exploded - directly at this kid, standing on the door step of her house, looking so pathetically young and broken Nick wanted to cry.
She had answered the door at Brass' insistent ringing, face translucent and pinched. Her eyes sunk like bruises into her pale face, and her demeanor was listless. She barely acknowledged the men on the doorstep, although her eyes had flickered with emotion when she glanced at Nick, touching on his face lightly before filling with shame and unbearable guilt.
Her father - a man whom Nick had not met the night before - didn't look much better. His face was a map of sorrow and anger; shame and impotent sadness. He looked at the three men blearily, before inviting them to the kitchen.
"We just have a few questions to ask," Grissom began, "and we hope that Jenny might have remembered something or someone."
"You can ask her, but I doubt she has. Have you talked to her boyfriend at all? Maybe he might have seen something."
Grissom merely nodded, "I spoke with his parents. They're bringing him to the station later to talk to us. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions before I speak with your daughter?"
Nick noticed that Jenny flushed when her father mentioned her boyfriend, and he sighed. * Nothing like having your father find out you're sexually active during a murder investigation that you're linked to.*
He studied her covertly as she nervously picked at her fingernails. Nick felt another hot spurt of empathy for the kid. He knew what guilt was like and this girl was drowning in it.
Grissom was conversing quietly with Mr. Letch, his voice soothing and calm. Nick wasn't really paying attention to what the two men were talking abut. Instead, he leaned forward in his chair slightly, propping his elbows on his knees. "Jenny," he kept his voice purposely gentle, so unlike the tone he had used when he spoke to her last night, but she still flinched when she heard it.
"Jenny."
She looked up at him, eyes wide and brown and swimming with tears, slight shoulders tense and braced for another verbal assault. "What?"
"I wanted to apologize for what I said to you last night," he whispered. "I had no right to talk to you like that. I just wanted you to know."
"But it's true," she responded, voice hitching in her chest, escaping on a soft exhalation. "It's my fault. I killed him."
Nick shook his head, sliding his chair closer to the girl. "You didn't know what would happen to him. Maybe what you did wasn't wise, but it wasn't malicious either. You didn't kill him."
"I should be the one that's dead," she responded. "It should have been me."
Nick didn't know how to respond. He knew that feeling - was intimately familiar with survivor's guilt. Reaching out hesitantly he placed a gentle hand on her knee. "I know what you're going through. I'd like to tell you eventually the guilt will just go away, but it won't. This tragedy will always be a part of you - it will affect you for the rest of your life."
Jenny was nodding now, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. The other conversation in the room had ceased, but Nick barely registered the absolute lack of sound other than his own voice. "You have to learn how to live with this, Jenny. You can either let this make you stronger, or you can let it destroy you. It will be easier to let it destroy you, but it won't make things better. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
"Ye - yes."
"Other people are going to blame you. People are going to talk about you and whisper behind your back. You have to stay strong and try not to let it affect you. You're going to learn pretty quickly who your friends are."
Jenny nodded miserably at him. "I know."
Nick twisted his lips, trying to smile but failing miserably. He reached into his jean jacket and pulled out a small notebook, quickly scratching something on it. "You're going to need someone to talk to; someone who'll understand. I don't think I can help you, but I know some people who can. This is my number - top is my cell, middle is my home, bottom is my pager. You call me whenever you're ready, don't worry about the time. Will you do that, Jenny?"
Jenny took the proffered number and read it, a watery smile gliding briefly across her features, "I'll call. Thank you Mr. Stokes."
Nick returned her smile, briefly. It was the first genuine grin to grace his face in 36 hours. "Nick. Call me Nick."
* * * * *
Grissom remained strangely silent on the drive back to the lab. Brass kept shooting funny looks at Nick from the front seat, but kept his own counsel. Nick pretended to be asleep. He knew he was in for another Grissom lecture and only hoped his boss would wait until they were back in the office, preferably behind closed doors, before he said what he had to say.
Grissom probably thought Nick was going crazy, and Nick wouldn't blame him. He had been riding a fucking emotional roller coaster lately. And just when he thought he had hit the peak and hurtled through the worst of it, another peak rose in front of him.
There was so much emotion bubbling around inside him right now, he didn't really know what to feel except numb. The anger was still there, sure, bubbling just below the surface. The guilt - well, that was something Nick was so used to he could almost ignore it. Almost. This deep bone-aching regret was new; as was the strange empathy that had sprung from him out of nowhere for young Jen Letch. He was still trying to puzzle that one out. He didn't understand it himself.
"Nick. My office." The Tahoe rolled to a stop. They were pack at the lab. Nick sighed, *Grace period is over.*
He trudged behind Grissom and Brass, shoulders hunched and hands buried in his jeans pockets, mind running through the various things he could say to Grissom when the older man chided him about giving out his personal phone numbers to that kid. He didn't think telling Grissom to mind his own fucking business would be overly politic right now. He smiled grimly.
As they entered the building, Brass shot him a commiserating look before heading down the hallway to see if the boyfriend - Clay Peters - had arrived with his parents yet. Nick quirked a half-smile at Brass and shrugged.
He wasn't surprise when Grissom went straight to his office, shutting the door behind Nick when the younger man followed him in.
"So," Grissom began, "mind telling me what that was all about?"
Nick shrugged, "That girl's on the edge, man. I was just trying to help her out."
Grissom pursed his lips and sank into one of the empty seats in front of his desk, motioning for Nick to sit down. "I don't need to tell you what you did was a serious breach of protocol?"
Nick shook his head, "I know." Nick dared a quick glance at Grissom, before looking away. "I just - part of the way she's feeling is my fault."
"Couldn't you have just stuck to the apology?"
Nick shook his head, "No. And don't ask me to explain, because I can't."
"Can't or won't?" Grissom retorted.
"Take your pick."
Silence again, this one longer and more complicated. Nick swore he could almost hear the mental gears of Grissom's brain clicking away. When he thought he wouldn't be able to take the silence anymore, Grissom looked at him.
"How do you know what she's going through?"
Grissom's question caught Nick completely off guard. He stiffened suddenly, before carefully masking his face and pasting on his good ole boy smile. "I read. I study the human condition. I made an educated guess."
"I don't think so, Nicky," Grissom sighed. "There's more to it than that. I just haven't figured it out yet."
The sudden knocking on the closed door made both men jump. Grissom sighed in irritation, running a hand through his curls before acknowledging the knock.
"It's open."
Brass stuck his head in the door. "Clay Peters is here with his parents. And Nick, the lady I told you about earlier is waiting in the lobby for you. Says her name is Marsha."
Nick blanched at the name, before turning an angry red. Marsha. Pete's ex- wife. "I don't want to see her," he responded flatly. "Tell her to go away and leave me the fuck alone."
_____________________________________________________