Author's Note: Right, update, uh, two months isn't that long really - who am I kidding? Am a bad, bad person. Anyway thank-you to all you lovely people who have reviewed this story, specially to all those people who emailed me (yay).
Indus - what's it going to take for you to write your story? 'Cos it sounds cool and I want to read it.
JJD - happy now? - My smiley faces aren't working *pout*
Part 4
Nick sprawled on a chair in the staff lounge nursing a cup of coffee. It was taking all of his self-control to keep himself in his chair. The urge to bolt or at least stand up and start pacing was almost unbearable. He'd arrived twenty minutes ago and just sitting there waiting wasn't getting any easier. Catherine had called from the car and asked him to meet her and Grissom at work, which of course could only mean one thing. This was it - everything was going to come out. To everyone. Sara and Warrick would be brought back in on the case and everyone would know. And that was just what he didn't want. They'd look at him and they wouldn't see Nick anymore. They wouldn't see a competent, even talented, CSI, they wouldn't see the ladies-man, the charmer, the ex-frat boy, the high school's star quarterback. They'd see a victim. Bham, no more identity, just like that.
"Hey man, what's up?" Warrick Brown sat across from his friend. He hadn't seen him since Nick had checked in a couple of days before only to end up identifying their Jane Doe. The question was casual but the invitation was there if the younger man did actually want to talk about whatever was bothering him. No pressure though. He'd seemed on edge then and apparently wasn't much better now if the way his fingers were digging into the arms of his chair was anything to go by.
Nothing, just my life as I know it about to end but yunno same old, same old. Nick relaxed his grip as he followed the green-eyed gaze directed at his hands. He willed himself to relax as he took a sip of his thus far untouched black coffee. Cold black coffee. He spluttered, pulling a face and spitting the drink back into its mug. Coffee wasn't his favourite beverage at the best of times. He ignored the previous question and settled on shooting a dirty look in the direction of his companion, who was struggling valiantly, trying to contain a laugh before finally giving up.
The usually good-natured CSI stood to pour the foul tasting liquid away only to find himself face to face with his boss.
"My office now." Grissom ordered, before striding away, leaving Catherine, who had been leaning against the doorframe, and Nick, coffee cup still in hand, to trail behind him. The remaining member of the team watched their progress round the corner before draining his own mug and getting up himself to find out if Sara had had any luck with the prints she was checking. If it was anything important he'd get told eventually, he figured, shrugging philosophically.
The door of Gil Grissom's office was firmly closed before he addressed his colleagues softly.
"You lied to me?"
"Yes," muttered Nick, staring intently at his shoes. It wasn't really a question. Gris obviously knew at least the basics. Technically neither Nick nor Catherine had uttered an untruth but there was lying by omission.
"And you deliberately withheld information that could be pertinent to a murder investigation?"
"Yes." Cat leant against his large grey filing cabinet silently offering her support but letting Nick answer for both of them. This was his history, his nightmare. He shuffled slightly, shifting from foot to foot, loath to look up and meet the eyes of his mentor.
Gil sat down at his desk and surveyed his subordinates, neither of them willing to meet his eyes. While Catherine lingered unobtrusively in the background, Nick stood in front of his desk, eyes slightly downcast, hands clasped behind his back. The stance of someone who knew they were in trouble. The older man sighed and ran his hand over his brow.
"Sit down, Nicky," he requested gently, trying to start again. The younger man looked at him and then glanced back at Catherine before taking the only other seat in the room. They had hardly spoken on the way back to the labs but from what he could gather the red head had become something of a confidante to the youngest member of their team. He watched, his fury barely contained, as Nick shifted under his gaze. This wasn't the happy-go-lucky, confident, self-confessed ladies man, who'd managed to endear himself to every member of their team within days of joining the CSI unit and now firmly occupied a place in each of their hearts. The other stuff could wait of course, what was important now was Nick. Gil knew enough so that he didn't need to press the obviously fragile, almost delicate, young man before him for details. Not yet at any rate.
Nick suddenly took a deep breath and sat back in the chair, making eye contact for the first time. Despite the slightly defeated slump that his shoulders had worn from the moment he'd arrived at work, there was something in his eyes, a kind of steel, as he reached over to retrieve the folder of photos and the like that they'd brought back from that woman's, from Jane's apartment. Grissom grimaced, no matter how strong he was though, and he was strong, he wasn't ready for this.
Nick had been naïve to think that maybe what she'd done to him twenty-five years ago wasn't relevant today, he knew that. How could it not be? Not that he'd believed what he was telling himself, not really at any rate. He had no excuse, he thought, scanning these new images just as he had two days previously before this whole thing had been dredged back up to the forefront of his mind. The pictures were apparently arranged in chronological order starting with, God, him, each one complete with a name and a date and a place. He was the first though, the first of many cute brown-haired, brown-eyed little boys. At least until the last image.
"Jesus," he murmured, visibly paling and fighting the urge to retch. He turned the last photo over, the most recent one. It read: Nick Stokes, my boy. Las Vegas, Nevada, 2002.
Authors note: Don't ya just hate me now? Oh, hey, was thinking of making this a Sara/Nick story - what do people think?
