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Brass

Brass had never felt such a haze when working through a case, and was aware of the ache in his knees giving him the strong, unusual urge to sit down, when he was usually used to working on his feet for hours at a time without it affecting him.

He gave curt answers to the media gathering at the yellow tape like dogs foaming at the mouth, eager to fill the sudden lull in criminal activity with a new story. He distributed orders to the loitering officers, shared words with Atwater and Ecklie, who had been dragged in to take over the case from the graveyard shift- none of whom had voiced one complaint in opposition.

He sighed, noting Grissom speaking tiredly to an officer. He mustered one final polite smile as the man departed, and remained unmoving where he was. Brass felt pity for the poor guy, who was forced to deal with politics when one of his CSIs was dead.

He hesitated, stopping in front of the grave shift supervisor, who looked as if he had aged ten years in the last fifteen minutes.

"Ecklie's here to take care of the media circus", he said quietly, indicating the growing mob of cameras with unequivocal distaste. "Most of his crew's already here." He looked down. "Your guys are pretty shook up. As far as I can tell, they were by themselves at the crime scene when the perp reappeared. He drew a gun, shot Warrick, knocked down Sara, and... Details are sketchy at best. Warrick did most of the talking and he was out longer than Sara." He hated relaying the facts so impersonally, like this was just another standard case, and he didn't have to remind himself to stay objective every second.

Grissom looked dazed, and nodded slowly. "Did they give you statements?"

Brass sighed. "Not formally, no. At this point, I don't think dayshift will care if we don't make it a priority. Warrick's co-operating but he didn't see much, and Sara isn't really talking at all. EMTs checked her out, but I think it's fairly obvious she's suffering shock." He met his friend's eyes, hating the deadness he saw in them. He struggled to remember what made this job worth it anymore.

"They're not needed around here. It'd be best if we got them home. None of them are in a real state to drive. Warrick can't, because of his arm, and Cath and Sara are... I'll take Rick, but maybe we should split the girls. Catherine's not much better than Sara, and I don't think I can handle both of them. Have a preference?"

Grissom stared at him, still really unable to say anything. Brass read the look in his eyes, and nodded with a grim understanding. "Sara", he murmured unnecessarily. He tacked on an end to the sentence quickly, hiding the undercurrent of significance in the word. He inwardly shook his head. Like he'd even had to ask.

"Probably best. Warrick can help me calm down Catherine. He's usually good with her." He said it like Catherine was a wild beast that needed subduing, and though he would normally feel happy to agree with the metaphor, now was hardly the time to say it. But there was no use retracting the statement. Grissom hadn't heard him anyway.

He patted him on the back sadly, wanting to offer some sort of support but uncertain how to convey it. "Nicky was a good kid", he said softly.

Then he strode off in search of the two CSIs, knowing just how unfit and inapt his words were. Nicky was a good kid. Yeah. And he was a good CSI. A good student. A good friend. Brass ran a hand tiredly over his eyes, spotting Warrick and Catherine sitting together in silence against the hood of his car, inadvertently gathered there by some wordless call. It was impossible to sum up the life of a human being so ineloquently. Yet Brass couldn't find the words to describe the significance Nick had had in their lives, or the pain his loss would cause them.

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