a/n: Okay, here's today's post. I'm working on the next chapter, but it's . . . delicate. It's also huge, and I'm not sure if I should break it up into two parts. So forgive me if the next post comes late tomorrow. Thanks for the reviews!
Sick
Sara looked glum, as did all of the CSIs. They huddled around the audio equipment, right there outside the grocery store. So far, they'd heard everything. While Nigel had found the recorder, he never turned it off. And luckily, it wasn't destroyed.
Part of Sara wished it had been. It was torturous, hearing Nigel Crane beat Nick. And then the argument they had—Sara was sure a gunshot would follow.
She wiped at her eyes and tried to look unmoved. Soon she felt Catherine place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She turned to face the older woman. Surprisingly, Catherine was teary-eyed as well.
Warrick and Grissom moved away to talk with Brass. Brass had been actively communicating on his radio with the officers inside the store.
"Gil, they're saying that Crane is coming out, with Nick."
"What does he want?" Grissom asked, stealing a frantic look at the grocery store. Brass sighed.
"Nick."
A rustle of bodies moving and whispers sounded. The CSIs turned to the grocery store. Gasps followed.
Nick emerged, held again around the throat and with a gun to his head. But this time, he was covered in blood. The blood was a large dark stain on the gray shirt, but it showed clearly on Nick's lighter pants.
Nigel hid behind Nick. He glanced every which way, looking for sharp shooters and overbearing policemen who might challenge him. But all eyes stared at Nick.
He looked bad, to put it mildly. His face was bruised in a couple of places, and no one wanted to imagine the rest of him—especially with whatever caused the blood.
Nick wasn't struggling much. If anything, he struggled just to stay on his feet.
Warrick felt his heart nearly stop at the sight of his friend. We have to get him back. We have to end this.
For all of us.
The stench of the animal blood still aggravated Nick, especially since he wore it now. He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.
His body didn't take too kindly to moving around. More than wanting Crane dead, Nick just wanted to lie down and sleep in a hot tub of clean water.
He gulped again as he saw the crowd. Police, passer-bys, some media already . . . and his friends. Nick almost lost it when he saw them. All of them were here—Grissom, Warrick, Sara and Catherine. It looked like Grissom was watching him through binoculars. The rest of the team stared back at him as if he were already dead. Nick tried to smile as encouragement, but it came out as a grimace.
He wasn't sure what Nigel was thinking. Coming out in the open, even with a hostage, was just begging for a bullet. Perhaps it was his version of luck finally, but Nick wasn't counting on it yet. Nigel probably wanted another getaway car. Nick tried not to think about what would happen if they escaped successfully.
They moved forward, slowly, step by step. A couple of officers seemed to react a bit too boldly, and Nigel pressed the gun harder to Nick's head.
"Back up!" Nigel yelled. "Or I'll hurt him more!!" The officers complied, but Nick couldn't help but smirk.
"Nigel, do you expect that threat to work?" Nick said. He realized he himself was being a little too bold, but he didn't care.
"They listened, Nick," he said nervously. Nick huffed at that, even though that hurt his chest.
"They listened, and they'll remember that when they kill you," Nick said. "I'm covered in blood, blood they think is human and mine. They think I'm minutes away from dying anyway."
They stopped, and Nick knew what he said made it through to Nigel. He felt Nigel's grip around his throat tighten, enough that Nick gagged at the pressure.
"Nick," Nigel said lowly, "I want you to tell them. Tell them we're friends, and that they should let us leave."
Nick coughed and stretched his neck to get some air. Nigel eased up a bit on his grip.
"I'm not your friend," Nick whispered. He heard Nigel gasp.
"Nick, don't say that." It was a weak command, and Nick felt empowered by it. He started to tense his body, shifting his weight a bit.
"Nigel, I never wanted to be your friend," Nick said. His tone was mean now, and he embraced it. "I'll never be your friend." He suddenly let his weight drop and twisted out of Nigel's grasp. Nigel clawed after him, but Nick spun around and flung his bound hands at the man's face. Nigel took the hit too well, and suddenly Nick saw the gun being raised at him.
Nick froze. Nigel's face was a whirlpool of hurt and anger, two common ingredients for murder. His finger pulled back on the trigger.
The shot exploded as Nick instinctively ducked. He let his legs buckle and he fell to the ground. Something flew by his ear, and suddenly he heard more shots.
"Nick."
His name was called faintly, and surrounding the word was a gurgle of moisture. Nick dared to look at his captor.
Nigel was on his back, the gun dropped from his hand and by his side now, just out of reach. He stared at Nick, and kept trying to say his name. The hollow look bore into Nick. It was haunting, cold, lifeless and yet so full of false hope and dementia.
Nick felt a pair of hands pulling him clear of Crane. He couldn't help but look back at his captor as people surrounded him.
"Nick!"
"Are you all right?"
"He's bleeding!"
Someone cut the ropes from his hands and then started rip open his shirts. Whoever it was swore as he saw blood on his chest too.
"Nick, lie down, buddy," the voice said. "We're going to fix you up."
Nick didn't answer, but the images were starting to swirl.
"Hang on," a familiar voice said. "That's not his blood." Nick looked around and saw Grissom. He smiled tightly at the young CSI. "It's cow blood, if I'm not mistaken."
Nick didn't answer that, but felt his stomach lurch again.
Frantically, he pushed away the paramedics and got to his feet, moving for a suitable spot.
"I think I'm going to—"
He threw up in some decorative bushes in the parking lot by the ambulance. He heaved a few times and tried to calm himself enough to breathe.
"—throw up again," he said to finish his previous statement. He heard light laughter behind him, and felt a comforting hand on his back.
"Take it easy, Nick." It was Sara. Nick nodded as he leaned over the bushes, contemplating if he needed to empty out anything left in his stomach.
He caught sight of the ripped shirts, still covered in blood. Nick stood up straight and practically tore off the shirts. He couldn't move fast enough to get the mess off of him.
"Whoa, calm down, man," he heard Warrick say. But that was pointless to him. Nick couldn't focus on anything else, and suddenly not even on the blood. He put out a hand to steady himself, and found his knees giving way.
The CSIs surrounded Nick, shielding him from the cameras aimed their way. The paramedics put him on a stretcher and into the ambulance, and as much as everyone wanted to follow, only Warrick was allowed.
"Evidence," Grissom said as a reminder. Catherine and Sara groaned but gathered their kits.
Once again, it seemed pointless in gathering evidence to a crime so clearly witnessed by more than just themselves. But they were thorough.
Sara had a hard time concentrating on her work. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Nick. When he came out, covered in blood, Sara thought she was going to pass out. Either that, or fire her entire clip of bullets into Nigel Crane.
But then Grissom, clever as always, had watched Nick and Crane. As they spoke, Grissom read their lips.
"It's not his blood," Grissom had said.
That wasn't the only thing that kept replaying in her mind. Crane had said something, something about knowing Nick better than anyone.
"I know that all your friends think you're a player, but you haven't had a date since I've met you.
"I know you're smarter than any of them give you credit for.
"You work hard to prove yourself, but none of them see that."
And Nick had said that Crane was right.
Sara stopped labeling the evidence for a moment. Do I really think that about Nick?
She knew at first that she certainly wasn't impressed by him. But now, hadn't she grown to respect him?
Hadn't they all grown to realize how talented he was? Sara frowned.
If we had, Nick wouldn't have said Crane was right.