One Of Us 13/? R for language.
I almost never use the F-word in my writing guys, I swear, but once in a very great while it feels right. This is one of those rare cases. You've been warned.
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3:30 A.M.: TRACK ONE AND TRACK TWO
Nick snapped a picture, pulled the camera away to plan his next shot then rose out of a deep crouch and moved around the body to the right a few inches. Internally, he was conducting a private knock-down drag-out fight with himself that kept him from acknowledging what Sara was saying to him in reality, so she finally resorted to slapping him between the shoulder blades with the flat of one hand. He lurched forward slightly, but a strong sense of balance kept him from falling face first into their best evidence. He turned his head and glared at her, furious and bewildered.
"Ow! What the hell, Sidle!"
"Could you maybe manage to spend a few seconds in this universe? I asked you a question three times."
"And I heard you all three times. I just didn't feel like givin' you an answer the exact minute you wanted one, okay?"
"I noticed. So?"
"I put it back when I was done. 'Course, I'm probably gonna end up buyin' him a new one. I just about wore it out."
"You think it's really in bad condition?"
"Nah. That's just guilt talkin'. I didn't exactly ask to borrow it."
"I think he'll understand. Get it to Archie as soon as you can, okay?"
"Minute we get back. You heard anything on Greg today? I know he had his second surgery this afternoon."
"Cath said he was still out cold when she had to leave. From her description, he had a really rough time this morning, though. This recovery's gonna be hell on him."
"It ain't gonna be ice cream and cake for the rest of us, either." Nick commented quietly as he took his final photo. "You about done?"
"Yeah, almost. I just have to do a final check before we take off."
"I'll wait for you by the truck."
"Okay."
Nick moved off to store the camera in the SUV, slipping back into his own mind and resuming his internal debate.
What am I thinkin', damn it? It's not like I ever coulda said anything before all this shit hit the fan. Too damn much of a coward... Now, with him facin' maybe a couple months downtime an' no guarantees about anything... Hell, he'd never take on a junkyard wreck like me anyway, even in a perfect world, which don't exist. Still, I never took the chance, did I? I automatically figured he'd either laugh or punch me... but he's not like that. He's not cruel or hyper-sensitive. Thinkin' that just sells him way short. God... I'm such a fuckin' idiot.
"Nick? You alright?"
"Yeah... just fightin' off a little self-pity."
"You? No way. I didn't think you got down that far. Ever."
"Surprise, surprise." He murmured, sliding into the passenger's side of the vehicle and closing the door. She took the hint that he wasn't about to discuss it and moved to the driver's side. They drove back to the station in silence.
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4:15: TRACK THREE
"You're kidding me."
"No, actually. I'm not."
"C'mon."
Grissom turned from his examination of blood spatter on a bathroom wall to gaze at his colleague curiously.
"Catherine, what makes you think I'd lie about something so commonplace?"
"I didn't say you were lying. I guess it's just... a little hard to accept."
"Why?"
"How can you believe? With all the crud we see day in and day out, how do you justify belief in a higher power?"
"I don't. That's what faith is."
"Maybe..."
"Put it this way, Catherine; what we see every day is what helps me keep believing. It also helps me keep working. The day I look at a human body or an insect and don't see the hand of God... I'll know it's time to stop."
"I don't understand."
"No reason you should. Faith is a very personal, individual thing. You'll walk your own path."
Catherine chuckled softly.
"Yes, Master Yoda. You said it's still in your stereo?"
"It should be. If not, you know where my CD's are stored."
"Yup. Hey... you think this is really a good idea? I mean... who knows how he'll react..."
"I don't think it matters. He'll know we're all thinking about him."
"Right. That's what counts."
"Absolutely. Have you processed the kitchen yet?"
"On it..."
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6:15: TRACK FOUR AND FIVE
"Warrick? You in there?"
"Hmmm? Oh... yeah, I'm here, Jim. Was there somethin' you needed?"
"Nah. Cath called. Said you wanted to talk to me. Something about a project?"
"Right. Hang on. Lemme finish this print lift, okay? I'll be with you in a minute."
Brass nodded, smiled briefly and walked away a little, pacing slowly around near the door that led from the living room into a small den. The area had already been processed thoroughly, so he wasn't watching too carefully where his feet landed, but his eyes were constantly in motion. When he noticed an unusual glimmer in a spider-web that hung from a door frame in front of him, he called out to the CSI behind him.
"Hey, Warrick. Might have something here."
"Yeah? Let's see. Where?"
"Up in the corner there. See? The vic's hair is brown, right? That... would be red, unless I miss my guess."
Warrick grinned.
"Nice catch. This could be something." He murmured as he collected the strands of hair. "I'll bring it in to DNA when I head back in a few."
"About that project..."
"Oh yeah. Walk with me an' I'll tell you about it."
A few minutes later, Brass had been filled in and was scorching Warrick with a skeptical look.
"You sure you want one from me?"
"Everybody's got a different style. What you pick doesn't matter. It's the feeling behind it."
"Yeah. Makes sense. It's just... it might not be what you're expecting. When it gets out what I chose, my tough guy rep could be permanently fragged..."
This cryptic comment made Warrick immensely curious.
"How much in the other direction are we talkin' here?"
"Never mind. You'll find out soon. God help me..."
"Okay, okay. I can wait. You've got it on CD?"
"Oh yeah. No problem."
"Get it to Archie soon as you can."
"Will do..."
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7:15: THE HOSPITAL
The overnight nurse at the station near Greg's door yawned widely and stretched until her elbows popped faintly. It had been a hectic night, rarely quiet for more than five minutes, and she was eager to collect her purse and jacket and head home for a meal and some serious sleep. Returning her eyes to the last of her night's paperwork, she just missed a figuring slipping in through the fire door at the far end of the hall. It moved so quickly and silently that she never realized that she was no longer alone until a large hand wrapped around her nose and mouth from behind. The fingers clamped down on her face and held on only until she grew limp and slid to the floor, unconscious.
The figure checked her for a pulse and, on finding a strong one, left her and moved across the hall, easing open the door to Greg's room and slithering inside.
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TBC....