LOST AND FOUND
"I was expecting you a little earlier," Brass greeted Grissom and Nick as the two men entered the school. He had been loitering near the front entrance, drinking a coffee.
"Sorry - got held up at the lab," Grissom replied, "You talk to them yet?"
Brass shook his head, "Nope. Thought I'd wait for you two. Haven't even spoken to the principal yet."
Nick looked at Grissom, "We should talk to them separately - they might remember more if they're not together. Or, they could contradict each other."
"They're not suspects, Nick."
"Yeah," Nick disagreed, "They are. Everyone is suspect, Grissom. You taught me that."
Grissom and Brass looked at Nick in surprise, and Nick shrugged. "What? They were in the general vicinity. If we talk to them together, all they need to do is agree with what the other is saying. If we talk to them separately, any inconsistencies will be apparent. Just because they're kids doesn't mean they couldn't have done it - look at the Bulger case in England."
Brass grunted, "It's just not like you to be pessimistic."
"I'm not being pessimistic," Nick replied, "I'm being realistic. Don't you agree, Grissom?"
Grissom shrugged, his expression carefully blank as he headed down the hallway towards what was clearly the main office. *Don't become too much a realist, Nicky,* he thought to himself, *the world still needs optimists to keep the rest of us pessimists in line.*
* * * * * *
Eric Minet was a tall kid. Really tall. Tall and gangly. Thinking back to his high school days, Nick winced. Eric was the type of kid the more obnoxious jocks would stuff into a locker, and right now he was nervous - very nervous. Sitting in the teacher's lounge, long limbs folded onto an uncomfortable plastic chair, he looked positively scared.
"What - I don't know if I can help you," the kids voice was warbly as Brass introduced everyone.
Standing behind Eric, the principal offered soothingly, "They just want to know if you saw anyone at or around the park the other night, Eric."
"But shouldn't I have a lawyer present or something?" the young man protested, "or my parents?"
"Why?" Grissom replied calmly, "Are you a suspect?"
"No! NO. I didn't do anything to that kid."
"What kid?" Nick asked silkily, shooting a look at Brass and Grissom, *See?*
"The kid - that boy - Nicky Steeply."
"How do you know that's why we're here?" Brass replied. "We never even mentioned the name of the park yet."
Eric flashed a look at Brass, before eyeing the other men suspiciously, and shrugged. "It's all over the news, man."
"Were you at the park that night?" Nick stared at the kid intently. Eric didn't respond. "We can find out, you know. If you were there, you've left pieces of yourself behind."
The kid shrugged, "Yeah, yeah. I know - I watch all those detective shows on TV."
Grissom smiled humorlessly, "We're not detectives. We're forensic scientists. Listen, we know you were in the general area that night - did you see anyone? Did you see anything?"
Eric shook his head, "No. Nothing, man. I wasn't there. I didn't see anything." His tone was still shaky, with an edge of defiance to it; his demeanor as suddenly stiff as the arms he'd crossed tightly at his chest. Nick shot another look at Grissom and Brass, his mouth tightening.
"I say we talk to the girl - Samantha White. And I think we should do it back at the station," he said grimly. Grissom nodded his head slightly in agreement, and turned to look at Brass. "Let's call Lockwood - we'll need a second squad car."
* * * * *
On their way back to the Tahoe, Nick reached into his jean jacket pocket and retrieved a small bottle of pills. "Antibiotics for my arm," he muttered at Grissom as he popped the top. "I forgot to take them this morning."
Grissom frowned slightly, but didn't say anything. He didn't think Nick would take too kindly to a lecture on the proper use of prescribed medication. "How is the arm?"
"Sore. Stiff." Nick flexed the fingers on his left hand, shrugging out of his jacket as they reached the Tahoe, quickly changing the subject. "You mind if we swing by my place real quick - I'll reconnect the phones."
Grissom watched as Nick tossed his jacket in the back seat, noting that the gauze on his arm was starting to look ratty again. Several areas were tinged rust colored, and it was obvious Nick's wound was still weeping.
"We can stop. You need to change that dressing on your arm while we're there."
Nick rolled his eyes, before he looked at his arm and frowned. "Yeah - doesn't look too clean." The Tahoe remained silent for a few minutes, save for casual directions from Nick. Grissom was relieved when the younger man's cell phone rang.
Nick scowled at the call display, "It's my mom."
The phone rang two more times. "You going to answer it or just stare?"
"Better answer it, I guess. I'm sure she's already talked to father." Sighing, he fumbled the phone open, "Hi Mom."
Grissom leaned forward and turned on the radio, trying not to pay attention to Nick as he spoke. It was hard to do, in the small confines of the front seat. Even harder when he could feel the sudden tenseness radiating from Nick, and hear the harsh tone of his voice.
"Yeah, I talked to him mom. Uh huh. Not since you talked to him, apparently. Right. Right. Listen, Mom - I unhooked the phones because I didn't want to be disturbed and - Well, yeah. I work night shift, Mom. You always call me in the middle of the day when I need to sleep."
Nick sighed loudly, and shot a quick apologetic look at Grissom. Grissom had a carefully neutral expression on his face, but it was easy to see he wanted to smile. The corner of his mouth kept quirking upwards.
"Listen, Mom. I'm working right now and - I told him I'd have coffee with him later on tonight. Lunch? No, I don't think so. Mom - mom - mom -okay. Fine. If he shows up, I'll have lunch with him, but I suspect he's too busy with his seminars." Nick snorted suddenly, "He wasn't worried. You may have been worried, but not him. No - sorry Mom - I'm not a little kid anymore; I know when you're trying to cover for him. Okay. Whatever - listen, I have to go. No - I'm going. Bye." Another sigh, but this time his voice softened somewhat, "I know, mom. I love you too."
Grissom turned onto Nick's street as the younger man hung up. "Sorry, Grissom."
Grissom half-smiled, "Why? We all have mothers, Nick - even me. I know what it's like."
Nick smiled at that. "She tries so hard, you know. To fix things - to fix my father and I. She just won't give up."
Grissom nodded and pulled into Nick's driveway, parking the Tahoe. "Because she loves you, and she loves him."
Nick shrugged, "Love can't fix everything."
"No," Grissom replied, "but it can make a lot of things more bearable."
* * * * *
Garrett Stokes was sitting in a chair at the front entrance of the lab, reading a newspaper, when Nick returned. Watching his son surreptitiously over the top of his newspaper, he studied him with concern. He had lost weight since last Thanksgiving - by all appearances at least 15 pounds. Nick had never been one to carry around spare flesh, but to Garrett's eyes he looked a little too skinny.
The jean jacket he had been wearing earlier this morning was now slung over his right arm. Garrett noted the gauzing binding the forearm on his left arm that ran from wrist to elbow, and suddenly frowned. What had Nick done to himself this time?
Of course, Nick spotted him when he was frowning, and immediately stiffened. Saying something to his boss, he jerked his head in Garrett's general direction. Mr. Grissom swung his gaze to Garrett, expression intent, before turning back to Nick with a reply.
Nick shook his head negative, hands gesticulating for added emphasis, obviously agitated, before he stalked over to where Garrett was sitting. "Father. You're still here." The tone was remote and his eyes were impossibly shuttered.
Garrett looked down at his paper, folding it precisely and calmly, before he stood, "Yes. I thought maybe we could get lunch together, since dinner is out of the question."
Nick looked at his watch, "What about your seminars?"
*Tell him, Garrett. Tell him the truth!* "A couple of the seminars were cancelled. Your mother told me to come and take you out to lunch."
"Good ol' mom," Nick replied sarcastically. The two men stood in tense silence for a few minutes, before Nick sighed. "Fine. We can't be long, though. We have a couple of potential suspects coming in, and I want to be here when Brass questions them. Let me just tell Grissom where I'm going."
* * * * *
They ended up walking up the street to a small corner Bistro called 'Monarchs'. Well nothing to look at from the outside, Garrett was pleasantly surprised at the warm ambience when they entered and headed towards a small table at the back.
"This is nice," he stated, as he sat down.
Nick snorted, "What did you expect? A strip club?"
Thick tense silence. A waitress appeared with menus and ice-water, and Garrett was happy for the momentary distraction.
Across the table from him, Nick was scowling as he studied the menu. Garrett suddenly felt like crying, but he bit back the urge and opened his own menu. Neither man said anything until the waitress re-appeared to take their orders. Again, silence after she left.
"Nicholas -" Garrett began, only to be interrupted by his son.
"Nick. Nick, father. Not Nicholas."
Garrett sighed, "Fine. Nick. Did you - have you talked to your mother yet?"
"This morning. She called me." Nick offered no further information, smiling tightly at his father when Garrett looked at him.
"Did you tell her about your arm?"
Nick looked at the bandage, "Never came up."
"What did you do to it?"
"Sliced it open at a crime scene."
"And?"
"Had to get some stitches." Every answer was abrupt - to the point. Garrett sighed. This wasn't going to be easy.
"Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?" Garrett asked.
Nick shook his head, "I'm staying home for Thanksgiving." His reply was pointed, and Garrett tried not to flinch.
"You know what I mean, Nicho - Nick."
"I don't have a home in Texas anymore, FATHER." Nick replied. "I think I'm going to go back to the lab, now."
"You haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry," Nick replied shortly, sliding to his feet. "Have a nice lunch." Nick had barely made it three feet away when his father stopped him.
"Nick. I'm not in Las Vegas for a seminar."
Nick twisted to look at his father, his face a mask of conflict, "Why are you here, then?"
"I was worried about you."
Nick snorted, but he came back to the table. "That's a first."
"No, it's not." The tight burning in Garrett's chest was back. He looked at his oldest son, standing in front of him, and felt his heart twist. Nicholas - Nick - was stiff with repressed emotion. His jaw was clenched, causing his jawbone to stand out in prominent relief below the sunken hollows of his cheeks. And his eyes - those brown eyes, so like his own, stared down at him defiantly. Yet, beneath that defiance, if he looked closely, Garrett thought he saw fear. Fear and a brief flicker of hope.
"It's not?"
"I heard about Pete Middleton."
Nick sank back into his seat and looked at his hands, drawing Garrett's gaze to them as well. He noticed that Nick's fingernails were bitten to the quick, the cuticles rough and torn, and sighed when Nick's rough voice penetrated his thoughts.
"You came because of Pete?"
"I came because of you. Because Pete was your friend. Despite everything, he was your friend."
"Yeah," Nick nodded, "He was my friend."
The two men were silent for a moment, lost in thought. The waitress arrived with their lunch, but they barely looked at it. "Your mom told me she wants her son back, Nick."
"She never lost me," Nick replied softly.
"Maybe not," Garrett responded, "but I did. I lost you." Garrett tried to smile when Nick looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. And suddenly, Garrett knew what he needed to do. Reaching blindly into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, handing it to Nick.
"You remember when you caught this?"
Nick looked at the picture and tried to smile, "My first trout."
"We went on a fishing trip - just me and you. Left Victor at home with your mother and sisters - he was too little to go camping. That first night, we pitched the tent and roasted marshmallows. It was August, and there was supposed to be a meteor shower."
Nick nodded, "I remember. The Perseids."
"That's right. We rolled open our sleeping bags outside and let the fire burn down, and stared up at the sky to watch them. You were afraid you were going to fall asleep and miss them. But you didn't. We stayed up all night watching the meteors and talking. And when dawn came, we went out into the middle of the lake in our canoe, and you caught the trout."
"That was a great trip," Nick whispered softly.
"Yes. It was." Garrett agreed. He watched as Nick mirrored his own movement from earlier in the day, sliding the picture out of the protective plastic and rubbing his finger over the image before flipping it over and reading the inscription.
Sliding the photo back into the wallet, Nick slid it back to his father, "Whatever happened to that kid?" he asked sadly.
Garrett looked at him intently. "His father let him down."
Nick jerked his eyes to Garrett's face, noting for the first time the regret swimming in his fathers' eyes. "What?"
Garrett shrugged, suddenly nervous. "I let you down, Nick. When you were nine. When you told me about what happened. I told you not to tell anyone else; that it would only hurt your mother. I tried to pretend it never happened. I was scared. I let you down."
"But -" Nick tried to interrupt.
"No - let me finish, while I still can. Do you realize that you never called me Dad after that night? You needed me, and I wasn't there for you. It's my fault - what happened. I wanted to go out. I told your mother things would be fine with the new girl. When you told me what had happened - I couldn't cope. I tried to hide it, and I made you feel ashamed - like it was your fault. And that's when I lost you."
Garrett's voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion, and when he looked at Nick he saw his son was crying. "I don't blame you for hating me, Nick."
"I don't hate you. I thought - I told Grissom this morning that you used to love me," Nick's voice was just as hoarse as his fathers, "but that I haven't been the son you wanted since - since I was nine."
"You've always been the son I wanted," his father replied. "I just haven't been the father you needed. I'm so sorry, Nick. For everything. Is it too late to fix this?"
Nick smiled at his father through his tears, forcing himself to speak through the thick lump in his throat, "I told someone today that love can't fix everything. But maybe I was wrong."
_________________________________
Author's Note: I'm very nervous about this chapter. If you all think it sucks, let me know and I'll remove it. Too much Cat Stevens + too many Smirnoff Ices, and this is what you get. At least I'm living up to the story title!
"I was expecting you a little earlier," Brass greeted Grissom and Nick as the two men entered the school. He had been loitering near the front entrance, drinking a coffee.
"Sorry - got held up at the lab," Grissom replied, "You talk to them yet?"
Brass shook his head, "Nope. Thought I'd wait for you two. Haven't even spoken to the principal yet."
Nick looked at Grissom, "We should talk to them separately - they might remember more if they're not together. Or, they could contradict each other."
"They're not suspects, Nick."
"Yeah," Nick disagreed, "They are. Everyone is suspect, Grissom. You taught me that."
Grissom and Brass looked at Nick in surprise, and Nick shrugged. "What? They were in the general vicinity. If we talk to them together, all they need to do is agree with what the other is saying. If we talk to them separately, any inconsistencies will be apparent. Just because they're kids doesn't mean they couldn't have done it - look at the Bulger case in England."
Brass grunted, "It's just not like you to be pessimistic."
"I'm not being pessimistic," Nick replied, "I'm being realistic. Don't you agree, Grissom?"
Grissom shrugged, his expression carefully blank as he headed down the hallway towards what was clearly the main office. *Don't become too much a realist, Nicky,* he thought to himself, *the world still needs optimists to keep the rest of us pessimists in line.*
* * * * * *
Eric Minet was a tall kid. Really tall. Tall and gangly. Thinking back to his high school days, Nick winced. Eric was the type of kid the more obnoxious jocks would stuff into a locker, and right now he was nervous - very nervous. Sitting in the teacher's lounge, long limbs folded onto an uncomfortable plastic chair, he looked positively scared.
"What - I don't know if I can help you," the kids voice was warbly as Brass introduced everyone.
Standing behind Eric, the principal offered soothingly, "They just want to know if you saw anyone at or around the park the other night, Eric."
"But shouldn't I have a lawyer present or something?" the young man protested, "or my parents?"
"Why?" Grissom replied calmly, "Are you a suspect?"
"No! NO. I didn't do anything to that kid."
"What kid?" Nick asked silkily, shooting a look at Brass and Grissom, *See?*
"The kid - that boy - Nicky Steeply."
"How do you know that's why we're here?" Brass replied. "We never even mentioned the name of the park yet."
Eric flashed a look at Brass, before eyeing the other men suspiciously, and shrugged. "It's all over the news, man."
"Were you at the park that night?" Nick stared at the kid intently. Eric didn't respond. "We can find out, you know. If you were there, you've left pieces of yourself behind."
The kid shrugged, "Yeah, yeah. I know - I watch all those detective shows on TV."
Grissom smiled humorlessly, "We're not detectives. We're forensic scientists. Listen, we know you were in the general area that night - did you see anyone? Did you see anything?"
Eric shook his head, "No. Nothing, man. I wasn't there. I didn't see anything." His tone was still shaky, with an edge of defiance to it; his demeanor as suddenly stiff as the arms he'd crossed tightly at his chest. Nick shot another look at Grissom and Brass, his mouth tightening.
"I say we talk to the girl - Samantha White. And I think we should do it back at the station," he said grimly. Grissom nodded his head slightly in agreement, and turned to look at Brass. "Let's call Lockwood - we'll need a second squad car."
* * * * *
On their way back to the Tahoe, Nick reached into his jean jacket pocket and retrieved a small bottle of pills. "Antibiotics for my arm," he muttered at Grissom as he popped the top. "I forgot to take them this morning."
Grissom frowned slightly, but didn't say anything. He didn't think Nick would take too kindly to a lecture on the proper use of prescribed medication. "How is the arm?"
"Sore. Stiff." Nick flexed the fingers on his left hand, shrugging out of his jacket as they reached the Tahoe, quickly changing the subject. "You mind if we swing by my place real quick - I'll reconnect the phones."
Grissom watched as Nick tossed his jacket in the back seat, noting that the gauze on his arm was starting to look ratty again. Several areas were tinged rust colored, and it was obvious Nick's wound was still weeping.
"We can stop. You need to change that dressing on your arm while we're there."
Nick rolled his eyes, before he looked at his arm and frowned. "Yeah - doesn't look too clean." The Tahoe remained silent for a few minutes, save for casual directions from Nick. Grissom was relieved when the younger man's cell phone rang.
Nick scowled at the call display, "It's my mom."
The phone rang two more times. "You going to answer it or just stare?"
"Better answer it, I guess. I'm sure she's already talked to father." Sighing, he fumbled the phone open, "Hi Mom."
Grissom leaned forward and turned on the radio, trying not to pay attention to Nick as he spoke. It was hard to do, in the small confines of the front seat. Even harder when he could feel the sudden tenseness radiating from Nick, and hear the harsh tone of his voice.
"Yeah, I talked to him mom. Uh huh. Not since you talked to him, apparently. Right. Right. Listen, Mom - I unhooked the phones because I didn't want to be disturbed and - Well, yeah. I work night shift, Mom. You always call me in the middle of the day when I need to sleep."
Nick sighed loudly, and shot a quick apologetic look at Grissom. Grissom had a carefully neutral expression on his face, but it was easy to see he wanted to smile. The corner of his mouth kept quirking upwards.
"Listen, Mom. I'm working right now and - I told him I'd have coffee with him later on tonight. Lunch? No, I don't think so. Mom - mom - mom -okay. Fine. If he shows up, I'll have lunch with him, but I suspect he's too busy with his seminars." Nick snorted suddenly, "He wasn't worried. You may have been worried, but not him. No - sorry Mom - I'm not a little kid anymore; I know when you're trying to cover for him. Okay. Whatever - listen, I have to go. No - I'm going. Bye." Another sigh, but this time his voice softened somewhat, "I know, mom. I love you too."
Grissom turned onto Nick's street as the younger man hung up. "Sorry, Grissom."
Grissom half-smiled, "Why? We all have mothers, Nick - even me. I know what it's like."
Nick smiled at that. "She tries so hard, you know. To fix things - to fix my father and I. She just won't give up."
Grissom nodded and pulled into Nick's driveway, parking the Tahoe. "Because she loves you, and she loves him."
Nick shrugged, "Love can't fix everything."
"No," Grissom replied, "but it can make a lot of things more bearable."
* * * * *
Garrett Stokes was sitting in a chair at the front entrance of the lab, reading a newspaper, when Nick returned. Watching his son surreptitiously over the top of his newspaper, he studied him with concern. He had lost weight since last Thanksgiving - by all appearances at least 15 pounds. Nick had never been one to carry around spare flesh, but to Garrett's eyes he looked a little too skinny.
The jean jacket he had been wearing earlier this morning was now slung over his right arm. Garrett noted the gauzing binding the forearm on his left arm that ran from wrist to elbow, and suddenly frowned. What had Nick done to himself this time?
Of course, Nick spotted him when he was frowning, and immediately stiffened. Saying something to his boss, he jerked his head in Garrett's general direction. Mr. Grissom swung his gaze to Garrett, expression intent, before turning back to Nick with a reply.
Nick shook his head negative, hands gesticulating for added emphasis, obviously agitated, before he stalked over to where Garrett was sitting. "Father. You're still here." The tone was remote and his eyes were impossibly shuttered.
Garrett looked down at his paper, folding it precisely and calmly, before he stood, "Yes. I thought maybe we could get lunch together, since dinner is out of the question."
Nick looked at his watch, "What about your seminars?"
*Tell him, Garrett. Tell him the truth!* "A couple of the seminars were cancelled. Your mother told me to come and take you out to lunch."
"Good ol' mom," Nick replied sarcastically. The two men stood in tense silence for a few minutes, before Nick sighed. "Fine. We can't be long, though. We have a couple of potential suspects coming in, and I want to be here when Brass questions them. Let me just tell Grissom where I'm going."
* * * * *
They ended up walking up the street to a small corner Bistro called 'Monarchs'. Well nothing to look at from the outside, Garrett was pleasantly surprised at the warm ambience when they entered and headed towards a small table at the back.
"This is nice," he stated, as he sat down.
Nick snorted, "What did you expect? A strip club?"
Thick tense silence. A waitress appeared with menus and ice-water, and Garrett was happy for the momentary distraction.
Across the table from him, Nick was scowling as he studied the menu. Garrett suddenly felt like crying, but he bit back the urge and opened his own menu. Neither man said anything until the waitress re-appeared to take their orders. Again, silence after she left.
"Nicholas -" Garrett began, only to be interrupted by his son.
"Nick. Nick, father. Not Nicholas."
Garrett sighed, "Fine. Nick. Did you - have you talked to your mother yet?"
"This morning. She called me." Nick offered no further information, smiling tightly at his father when Garrett looked at him.
"Did you tell her about your arm?"
Nick looked at the bandage, "Never came up."
"What did you do to it?"
"Sliced it open at a crime scene."
"And?"
"Had to get some stitches." Every answer was abrupt - to the point. Garrett sighed. This wasn't going to be easy.
"Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?" Garrett asked.
Nick shook his head, "I'm staying home for Thanksgiving." His reply was pointed, and Garrett tried not to flinch.
"You know what I mean, Nicho - Nick."
"I don't have a home in Texas anymore, FATHER." Nick replied. "I think I'm going to go back to the lab, now."
"You haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry," Nick replied shortly, sliding to his feet. "Have a nice lunch." Nick had barely made it three feet away when his father stopped him.
"Nick. I'm not in Las Vegas for a seminar."
Nick twisted to look at his father, his face a mask of conflict, "Why are you here, then?"
"I was worried about you."
Nick snorted, but he came back to the table. "That's a first."
"No, it's not." The tight burning in Garrett's chest was back. He looked at his oldest son, standing in front of him, and felt his heart twist. Nicholas - Nick - was stiff with repressed emotion. His jaw was clenched, causing his jawbone to stand out in prominent relief below the sunken hollows of his cheeks. And his eyes - those brown eyes, so like his own, stared down at him defiantly. Yet, beneath that defiance, if he looked closely, Garrett thought he saw fear. Fear and a brief flicker of hope.
"It's not?"
"I heard about Pete Middleton."
Nick sank back into his seat and looked at his hands, drawing Garrett's gaze to them as well. He noticed that Nick's fingernails were bitten to the quick, the cuticles rough and torn, and sighed when Nick's rough voice penetrated his thoughts.
"You came because of Pete?"
"I came because of you. Because Pete was your friend. Despite everything, he was your friend."
"Yeah," Nick nodded, "He was my friend."
The two men were silent for a moment, lost in thought. The waitress arrived with their lunch, but they barely looked at it. "Your mom told me she wants her son back, Nick."
"She never lost me," Nick replied softly.
"Maybe not," Garrett responded, "but I did. I lost you." Garrett tried to smile when Nick looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. And suddenly, Garrett knew what he needed to do. Reaching blindly into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, handing it to Nick.
"You remember when you caught this?"
Nick looked at the picture and tried to smile, "My first trout."
"We went on a fishing trip - just me and you. Left Victor at home with your mother and sisters - he was too little to go camping. That first night, we pitched the tent and roasted marshmallows. It was August, and there was supposed to be a meteor shower."
Nick nodded, "I remember. The Perseids."
"That's right. We rolled open our sleeping bags outside and let the fire burn down, and stared up at the sky to watch them. You were afraid you were going to fall asleep and miss them. But you didn't. We stayed up all night watching the meteors and talking. And when dawn came, we went out into the middle of the lake in our canoe, and you caught the trout."
"That was a great trip," Nick whispered softly.
"Yes. It was." Garrett agreed. He watched as Nick mirrored his own movement from earlier in the day, sliding the picture out of the protective plastic and rubbing his finger over the image before flipping it over and reading the inscription.
Sliding the photo back into the wallet, Nick slid it back to his father, "Whatever happened to that kid?" he asked sadly.
Garrett looked at him intently. "His father let him down."
Nick jerked his eyes to Garrett's face, noting for the first time the regret swimming in his fathers' eyes. "What?"
Garrett shrugged, suddenly nervous. "I let you down, Nick. When you were nine. When you told me about what happened. I told you not to tell anyone else; that it would only hurt your mother. I tried to pretend it never happened. I was scared. I let you down."
"But -" Nick tried to interrupt.
"No - let me finish, while I still can. Do you realize that you never called me Dad after that night? You needed me, and I wasn't there for you. It's my fault - what happened. I wanted to go out. I told your mother things would be fine with the new girl. When you told me what had happened - I couldn't cope. I tried to hide it, and I made you feel ashamed - like it was your fault. And that's when I lost you."
Garrett's voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion, and when he looked at Nick he saw his son was crying. "I don't blame you for hating me, Nick."
"I don't hate you. I thought - I told Grissom this morning that you used to love me," Nick's voice was just as hoarse as his fathers, "but that I haven't been the son you wanted since - since I was nine."
"You've always been the son I wanted," his father replied. "I just haven't been the father you needed. I'm so sorry, Nick. For everything. Is it too late to fix this?"
Nick smiled at his father through his tears, forcing himself to speak through the thick lump in his throat, "I told someone today that love can't fix everything. But maybe I was wrong."
_________________________________
Author's Note: I'm very nervous about this chapter. If you all think it sucks, let me know and I'll remove it. Too much Cat Stevens + too many Smirnoff Ices, and this is what you get. At least I'm living up to the story title!