Enmity Chapter Eleven, a csi fanfic

Enmity

By EB

Chapter Eleven

A number of things went through his head in that moment. The irony of the light, for one. Oh yes, symbolic, in a kind of "NOW you see, moron" way. It had been right in front of him, too, all along. Like the protein itself.

"You look so shocked," Hodges said, still in that eerily conversational tone. "I don't think I've ever seen that particular expression."

"Did you kill Greg?" Gil asked.

"Sanders?" Hodges' mouth turned down while he shrugged. "I may have. But you don't really care about that, do you? It's Nick you really care about."

Gil shook his head slowly. "You're wrong. I care about both of them. They're colleagues, and friends. You think I want to see either man dead?"

Hodges shifted a little, but never lost his grip on Nick's IV line. Below, Nick slumbered on, chest moving evenly with the action of the ventilator. "Do you know how many times I tried to figure it out? Why him. Why him, of all people."

"Who? Nick?"

Hodges snorted. "He's not the smartest of your team. Not the most experienced. I mean, I couldn't understand it. There was no reason for it."

"Nick's a good man, who doesn't deserve what you've done to him."

"Deserve?" Hodges snapped. "Since when did you ever give people what they DESERVE?"

His mouth was very dry. Swallowing with difficulty, Gil shook his head again. "I don't follow you."

"From the first day, you know? I kept seeing it. Good work, Nicky. Nice job, Nicky. How about breakfast, Nick?" His cheeks were flushed now, eyes dark with rage. "I am so much MORE than he is!" he hissed, his chin lifted. "And you never saw it. Never."

"This isn't a competition, David," Gil heard himself say, at the same time his mind plotted exactly how far it was to the bed. To that now-shaking hand, poised so dreadfully close to that plastic tube. Could he stop him? Ten years ago he could have. Maybe. Was it worth that risk now? "I never pitted you against anyone. You did that yourself."

The high color was leaving Hodges' cheeks; he looked stricken. "But why him?" he asked, in a queerly reasonable tone. "I just want you to explain that to me. Why Stokes?"

"I don't play favorites," Gil said stonily. "If you perceive it that way –"

"Oh, come off it," Hodges snapped. "Of course you do. Is it because he's better-looking? It is, isn't it? Guys like him always know how to play that card." His upper lip lifted, sneering. "Pretty boys. Smile just right, and they get the world handed to them on a silver platter."

"Nick earned his position. Through hard work, David. I never handed him a thing he didn't deserve."

"I deserved it!" Hodges bellowed. "Not him!"

"What did you deserve, that you never got? You're paid well. You have your colleagues' respect."

Hodges' expression was suddenly bewildered. "But you still don't see, do you?" he whispered, and Gil was appalled to see bright wetness in his mad eyes. "You were never going to look at me the way you do him. I was never going to matter to you, the way he does. He does matter to you. And I don't understand that."

Gil nodded slowly. "And so you decided to kill him."

The momentary softness vanished from Hodges' features. "He wasn't supposed to die," he said tightly. "You think just anyone can do what I did? It takes skill, Grissom, practice. Training. Anyone can kill someone. But – reducing them, like I did. That is a fucking ART."

"Tell me how. How did you do it?"

The grip on the IV line grew stronger. "He's vain. You don't see it, but I did. That supplement in his locker, the protein powder. He drank that every night. Build up those muscles. One particle per million. That's all it took. I could have poisoned the entire city of Las Vegas with what I made."

A cold lance of terror shot up Gil's spine. He kept from shivering with difficulty. "We tested that supplement."

"You think I'm stupid? Because I'm not, Grissom. I'm the smartest man you'll ever meet. IQ of over 170." Hodges grinned. "You know something that really kills me? It was so EASY to fool you. I mean, it's almost disappointing. I kept thinking you'd figure it out."

"David, stop this." He didn't try to keep the pleading tone out of his voice. "Please. Don't. Just walk away."

"Walk away?" Hodges gaped at him, and then uttered a harsh laugh. "It's way too late for THAT, Grissom. No, I know I'm not walking out of here. But he's not, either. I'm going to finish taking him away from you. And what you'll have to live with is the knowledge that you never saw what was right in front of you. If you'd just opened your eyes. If you'd just SEEN me. But you never did. Not until I made you."

"I did see you. I do. For God's sake, David. Don't do this."

"He'll probably die anyway," Hodges said in a matter-of-fact voice. "I'm actually doing him a favor." He reached up, inserting the needle into the branch of the IV. "He'll just stop. It'll be fast. Over in just a few seconds."

"You want me to see you the way I see Nick?" Gil gave a fast nod. "Then give me a reason, David. Do the right thing here. Nick would. Nick wouldn't kill someone just to prove a point. You want to be the same as he is in my eyes? Don't do it."

Hodges' eyes were vaguely sad. "But you've shown me I won't ever be that," he said softly. "It's too late for that."

"Hodges, NO!"

Seeing the plunger sink down, Gil felt suddenly separate from his body. Distant, observing, while the physical part of himself acted without thought, launching himself at the bed, diving not for Hodges. No. Left hand snagging the clear plastic tube, carrying it with him and rolling over Nick's supine form and ripping it free. And onward, crashing with Hodges onto the floor beyond.

For a moment there was struggling, Hodges' inarticulate roar of rage and the feel of a fist, or maybe an elbow, cracking against Gil's cheekbone. And then another roar, this one from farther away, and another crack, the sharp report of a firearm. Once, twice.

Hodges went limp beneath him.

Gasping a lungful of air, Gil flung himself backward, shoulders thudding against the bed rails. The IV line still dangled between his fingers, and he very carefully laid it aside.

"You okay?" Brass asked gruffly.

Staring at Hodges' open eyes, Gil didn't reply.

Then the eyes blinked, and Hodges gazed up at him. A bubble of blood formed at one nostril, popped as he gave a minute shake of his head. "You never told me," he said in a very clear voice. A cough, and the next word wasn't quite as clear. "Why?"

His face hurt. Pulsing pain in his cheek, ramping up by the second. Gil shook his head. "Why him and not you?"

Hodges gave a slow nod. His eyes rolled oddly in his head.

"Because he'd never do what you did, David. That's why."

A faint smile lifted the corners of Hodges' mouth. "You never – know," he whispered in his bubbling voice, and then his eyes didn't see Gil, or anything else at all.

Gazing down at him, Gil nodded. "Yes," he said thickly. "Yes, I do."

"Thought you were gonna talk to him all night." Brass still looked a little tight around the edges, although he'd relaxed a bit in the hour since the scene in Nick's MICU room. "Christ. Pretty long-winded."

"Jealousy." Gil stared at him. "All of this, because of one man's jealousy of another."

Brass gave a slow, eloquent shrug. "Not the first time you've seen it. Is it?"

"No. But never this close."

"Hey," Brass said gently. "You stopped him. That's what counts."

Gil regarded him, and shook his head. "Not in time to prevent a lot of suffering. Nick's suffering."

"Nicky'll be okay."

"Maybe."

"He will. You done good, Gil."

Gil said nothing to that.

"Mr. Grissom?" Dominguez stuck his head in, and held up a pair of x-ray films. "Got your scans."

Gil gave him what he hoped was an alert look. The throbbing in his cheek had ratcheted up to a steady deep ache. "Call me Gil," he said thickly.

Dominguez smiled. "Okay, Gil. You got a cracked cheekbone. Not fractured."

"Ah."

"I'll write you a scrip for painkillers. Not much you can do for it, I'm afraid." His head cocked to one side. "Damned lucky, if you ask me."

Gil nodded. "I agree." An image popped into his mind, and he shot Brass a sharp look. "Greg. Did you find him? Is he all right?"

Brass gave a faint wry smile. "Room 4."

Alarmed, Gil opened his mouth, and Dominguez said, "Your colleague should be fine. Mild concussion, a nasty contusion. We'll keep him for 23-hour observation, make sure there are no lingering after-effects."

"Thank God," Gil breathed. A thread of tension he hadn't known he was carrying let go. "That's good news."

Dominguez nodded. "I'll get your nurse to give you your discharge papers. You're free to head home anytime you like. I suggest getting some rest, let your face start to heal up."

"Look like a damn prizefighter," Brass said, with a bigger grin.

Reaching up, Gil felt a huge lump over his cheekbone. "I see what you mean," he replied dryly.

He stopped by Greg's room on the way out of the ER. He wasn't alone; the rest of the team was there, all wearing twin looks of alarm at Gil's appearance.

"Just cracked," Gil said quickly, forcing a painful smile. "How are you feeling, Greg?"

Greg's features were noticeably pale, but he smiled. "Head aches." The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Grissom, I saw it. The abrin. Jesus, I tried to call you. And the damn lights went out."

"I know." Gil nodded. "It wasn't your fault, Greg. We all know that."

"I keep thinking." Greg's woebegone expression didn't ease. "I let him do those tests, you know? I trusted him. And all the time he was doing it. He was the one. Why didn't I see it? Musta been blind, I mean, it was right THERE."

Gil sighed. "I've been asking myself the same questions. I don't have an answer for you. Wish I did."

Catherine reached out to grasp Greg's wrist. "Hey. The important thing is, you're okay. You're both okay." She glanced at Gil. "Nick's going to be okay. Right?"

"I believe so," Gil agreed softly.

"Grissom." Warrick sounded gruff, his handsome face drawn with tiredness. "You want a lift home?"

"I have my car. Although I suppose painkillers mean I shouldn't drive." Gil gave an absent nod. "Yeah. Thanks, Warrick."

"No problem."

He glanced back at Greg. "Get some rest, all right? See you in the morning?"

Greg's smile was wan but real. "You bet."

"Good."

Outside his room, Gil paused. "I'd like to go see Nick. Before we go."

Warrick nodded. "Absolutely."

The room had been restored to its former neatness in the time he'd been in the ER. Hodges' body gone. The yanked-out IV replaced, the poisoned line vanished, Gil devoutly hoped someplace safe. To his eyes, Nick hadn't moved. Still lying silent and peaceful, surrounded by vigilant machines.

Gil walked over to the bed and stood for a moment, gazing down at Nick's waxy-pale face. His throat ached, and a wave of exhaustion swept over him, loosening his knees. He sagged into the single chair.

"I'm sorry, Nick," Gil said in a strangled voice. "I'm so sorry this happened. That I didn't see it before now."

The ventilator moved Nick's chest up and down. His eyelids didn't flicker.

Gil reached out and touched Nick's right hand, very gently. "I let you down. And –" He cleared his throat. "I think I let David Hodges down, too. In some way. And what hurts, what sticks with me." He swallowed. "Is that I'm not sure I'll ever know how."

He sat in silence for a long moment, until he realized he was waiting. Waiting for Nick to wake up, look at him, tell him what he thought. Why this had happened. Nick would understand, on some level. Intuitive in a way that Gil wasn't, had never been. Nick had been born with that, that ability to perceive things Gil had almost always missed. So easy to chalk it up to being a people person.

But it was more than that. It was the draw Nick had, that Hodges didn't. That deep-rooted awareness of humanity, that had nothing to do with IQ or test scores.

It was the answer he hadn't been able to give Hodges. The thing a man like Hodges could never understand, or perhaps even perceive.

People kept wanting to become Nick. For the first time, Gil thought he was beginning to understand why.

He gave Nick's cool fingers a gentle squeeze. "Get well soon, Nicky," he told him. "Everything's going to be all right."

Outside in the hallway, Warrick was leaning against the wall. He gave Gil a tired look. "Ready?"

Gil nodded and smiled, ignoring the sullen ripple of pain in his cheek. "Ready," he said.

Concluded in ch. 12 - epilogue