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Warrick

Of all the days to get caught in traffic, it had to be today.

The churchyard was empty when Warrick got there, and he stalked across it in long, rapid strides, quietly slipping inside the church interior.

The priest was wrapping up his sermon, and Warrick's eyes darted to the benches. The team, minus Grissom, an absence he found spoke volumes, were assembled at a pew at the back, and he swiftly slid onto the end beside Sara. He patted her gently on the leg, and she mustered a fleeting smile, keeping her eyes plastered ahead.

It was an unspoken acknowledgement to apologise for his words the other day, and it felt like their friendly rapport had been restored. They had been linked irrevocably by the events surrounding Nick's death, and Warrick thought that might be the one good thing to come of it. Nick would be pleased his two best friends were bonding in his wake.

It had taken Warrick a long time to calm down after the interrogation and subsequent arrest of Eric Tyler. Catherine had done good. They had airtight evidence against him. He and Sara might not even have to testify. It was all wrapped up in a neat, little package. It still didn't feel like enough. Warrick guessed it probably never would.

Warrick focused his attention to the front, just as Grissom emerged from nowhere, taking up the podium.

To say he was surprised Grissom was doing the eulogy was an understatement. Judging by the sudden tension in Sara's posture, he guessed she felt the same.

He wondered if his words would be a wooden, careful recitation of some pre-written speech, or the warm farewell Nick deserved.

Grissom surprised him. His eyes drifted across the crowd, seeking out his team, and he spoke clearly, without looking down once.

"'Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me,
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark,
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.'

"Nick Stokes was a trusted friend and colleague", he said after a pause, carefully clearing his throat. "I think we can all agree that he was the most reliable man we ever knew of. He was a lot more than that. He was a hero. In every sense of the word. Not just because he sacrificed himself for two of his best friends," Grissom glanced over Warrick, and then Sara, and Warrick unconsciously sought out Sara's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"-But because he came back to work everyday, just so he could help people. He made a connection with people. He met them on the worst day of their lives, and he did what he could to lessen their pain."

His gaze returned to the five of them in the back row, and Warrick knew his words were primarily for their benefit.

"My colleagues all know that I encourage them to stay detached, to avoid becoming personally involved in our cases. I've often been accused of being heartless… because I've become too good at that part of my job. Somehow Nick never let it get to him. He ignored my advice, and because of that I think he was a more effective CSI than I could ever hope to be. I think we could all learn something from Nick, not just on how to do our jobs, but also on how to become better human beings.

"In our line of work, we don't keep people alive or rescue them from danger often. But we save people. We allow them some closure in their lives. And all the people that Nick left behind, he saved in some way. They go on with their lives because of how he helped them. They're a testament to his memory.

"As Tennyson said, I think he would have faced his fate without looking away, without hesitation or fear. He wouldn't want that sacrifice to be in vain. He wouldn't want us all to grieve that he lived such a short life, but cherish the life that he did have. He had an impact on all of us just by being there, and in a way, I think he saved us too. I don't think I'll ever forget him. I don't think any of us will".

Grissom slowly stepped down from the podium, where the priest paused respectfully before he once again took his place, and Warrick let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Around him, people sniffed and bowed their heads, and Warrick knew all five of them had been deeply touched and shocked by the depth of emotion Grissom brought into his speech.

Beside him, he saw Sara carefully wipe her eyes, and he rubbed the back of her hand smoothly.

For the first time, he felt a spark of guilt at doubting that Grissom's emotions were not in tap with their own. He had felt the sever of Nick's ties from their family just as all consuming as they had, but he had resisted showing it, and Warrick could not imagine what an immense agony it would be, to not be able to share that burden with others.

All he knew for sure was that Grissom was right. He and Sara had survived, and they would go on, because Nick died to save them, and they were the legacy he left behind. They would honour his memory the best way they could… by living.

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TBC…

A.N. The poem Grissom recites is 'Crossing the Bar', by Lord Tennyson.