Author's note: I updated. So far so good, now you just have to look out for rain of toads etc. Would like to thank everyone who's still with me *g*. I started this story without any idea as to how it was going to go so I'm sort of figuring it out as I go along (Note to self: Next time plan story…).
Franny - was gonna write back but figured that you'd rather read actual story rather than apologetic email *g*
Part 5
Nick's hands shook as he stared at the writing before him. The other photos fell from his grasp barely rustling as they made contact with the floor. Neither Catherine or Grissom made any attempt to retrieve them. Las Vegas, Nevada. Jesus. He couldn't be here any more. This place, this sanctuary - it had been invaded, violated. It hadn't even occurred to him that he'd been hiding until this whole thing had dredged it all back up. But he had. Not going home to Texas, not staying close to his high school friends, everything he'd done since college had been to make as small an impact as possible. He was just Nick Stokes here, whatever the hell that meant, no riders, no hidden clauses, no other crap, just Nick.
The CSI in Nick returned the picture to its protective case. His body and his brain didn't even seem to be connected because his mind was screaming at him to destroy it. To remove it from existence. As if that would make everything go away. But it was evidence. And you took care of evidence. Always. Nobody tried to stop him as he left the building. Cat had even shifted slightly to get out of his way. He ignored Sara's look of concern and Greg's hollered greeting. Not that it mattered, he thought. This was it. All the people in his life, all the people who were important to him would find out, would know. Nicholas James Stokes was a broken person - he wasn't someone you were friends with… wasn't someone you could care about…
God, he couldn't breath, needed to get out… Now.
If Nick had been a cartoon character, there would have been little lines in the air behind him, maybe some of those little puffs of smoke as well, as he strode past the staff lounge.
Warrick barely had time to register his friend's presence before he was gone again. Three sets of eyes nevertheless followed the young man's progress out of sight and then glued on the spot where their colleague had just been as if they could see Nick gunning his Tahoe and peeling off towards the strip. Greg Saunders, Lab technician extraordinaire, shrugged philosophically and returned to his DNA. They'd find out whatever was eating Stokes eventually that was just the way things worked at the crime lab.
While the two guys dismissed the exit as typically Nick of late, Sara's attention remained focused on the exit. Familiarity recognised the tense slant of his shoulders and she could practically see the shuttered look on his face. Worry creased her usually line-less forehead. She'd been relieved to see Nicky so relaxed the other day and now, suddenly, it was like everything had come crashing back down. She sighed as any further analysis was halted by the arrival of their boss. Time to get back to work.
There was a notable absence from the team briefing session and everything inside Gil Grissom was screaming at him to go find the youngest CSI and bring him home. The logical side of him argued that this would be pointless since there was no way of knowing where he was and so the best way of helping him was to get this case solved and back off the table so the Texan could start to reconstruct his life. Again. He took a deep breath and began.
"Our Jane Doe," he began, when he thought he had everyone's attention. Greg had come to stand in the doorway while Catherine had taken a seat next to Warrick on one of the lounge's battered sofas. Her face as solemn as his, she knew exactly what was coming.
"Jane Doe," he started for a second time. Public speaking had never exactly been his forte but he'd never felt uncomfortable addressing his colleagues, his friends, he qualified, before. Of course this was hardly going to be your average team briefing. This was the kind of thing you needed Nick for, he thought ironically, the 'humanising influence'.
He tried again, third time lucky. "There have been several new developments, some of which you will be aware of but others…" he trailed off. "Greg come in and close the door." It wasn't a request. "Warrick, any luck with those DNA samples?" He almost sighed in relief as he felt himself slip into business mode. He couldn't stay there of course. That wasn't the way to handle this… God, there wasn't a way to handle this, to cope with this. At Warrick's negative response, he turned to Sara, who if possible had made even less progress; when asked about the corpse, she'd responded sardonically, 'still dead.' At any other time his lips would have quirked up into a smile. But not now.
The team watched as their boss struggled to hold himself together. He finally gave in and sank heavily down in to the nearest seat. Suddenly he looked ancient.
"As you know Catherine and I visited the vic's apartment earlier today," Gil said, leaning back into his chair. "You could say we had more luck." The words 'vic' and 'luck' both leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
Grissom took the wallet of photos out of his bag and spread the images across the low table in the centre of the seating. He had to trust his CSI's to work it out for themselves because not for the first time since the discovery of a nameless female body in the Nevada a day before he didn't have a clue how to comprehend let alone articulate what was going on in his head. He barely registered Cath speaking in a low voice to his subordinates. Didn't notice Greg Saunders taking something seriously for the first time in his life. Didn't look up when Sara Sidle rose with tears streaming down her face and fled the room. Didn't see Warrick Brown lose his legendary cool. His eyes remained focused on a picture of a brown-haired, brown-eyed smiling boy from Houston, Texas.
Author's Note: Was that a copout? It felt like a copout…
