One Of Us 14/? Rated R -- Nasty, graphic language and a bit of violence.
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7:20 A.M.
Greg woke abruptly when a weight settled on his legs and a pair of sharp knees ruthlessly crushed his hands into the mattress. He struggled as fiercely as he was able, but surgery and emotional turmoil had weakened him more than he realized or wanted to admit. As desperately as he tried, he could not escape. Terrified and unable to reach out and restore light to the shadowy space, he drew a breath to speak, but a rough hand fell on his mouth, forestalling his attempt.
"Shhh. None of that, sweetness. Don't want anybody showing up before the party's over, now do we? You know... Brett tried to tell me you had guts. Me.. I didn't agree. I told him the GHB would take care of your memory and you'd never talk without proof. Even if you did remember anything... I said I was sure you weren't stupid enough to give us up. I assured him you'd put your own pretty little neck above everything else. Guess I was wrong , huh?" Cimino growled, stroking Greg's face with his free hand. "Now he's in a cell... and I'm on the run. And when I was driving away... leaving my whole damn life behind, I figured... why not make the running worthwhile and bury the only witness at the same time?"
Cimino leaned forward and snarled his next words directly into Greg's ear. "You know what I'm going to do, bitch? I'm going to wrap my fingers around your throat... and as the life drains out of your eyes... I'm going to shove inside you one last time. I'll make your last seconds on earth hurt like you never imagined it could... I'll tear that sweet ass of yours apart this time... make you bleed so bad nobody can fix it..."
Tears streaking down his face, Greg cried out, but the muffled sound barely registered in the room. Cimino merely grinned, licked the moisture off Greg's face and gripped the young man's neck with one huge hand.
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7:25
Nick shuffled wearily through the hospital lobby and up to the bank of elevators. Stabbing the button, he resolved to only stay a moment, checking to make sure Greg was doing well before heading home. When the car arrived, he stepped inside and leaned against the rear wall, eyes closing reluctantly. He flexed the fingers on his injured hand and grimaced as a dull ache flared. He knew he should have had it re-examined after his altercation with Hodges, but the truth was he really didn't want to know what further damage he'd done.
I was an idiot, I'll deal with what comes of it. It'll probably be a little stiff if any new breaks don't heal just right. No more than I deserve. I don't know why I felt like I had to look in on Greg this mornin'. Most likely he's still conked out...
When the steel doors slid open on the fifth floor, Nick suddenly stood up straight. His instincts were triggering caution alarms in his head and he reached for his weapon, cursing quietly when he remembered he'd left it at work, as always. He now understood that it hadn't been a whim that had led him to Greg's bedside. Some lingering sixth sense from his days as a cop had been trying to tell him something was very wrong and it had guided him where he needed to be.
He first moved to the nurse's station, noticing that it was empty when there should have been someone in attendance. After doing his own check on the unconscious woman, he then looked around for anything he could use as a weapon. When nothing presented itself, he glanced down at his cast and scowled. It took him a few seconds to acknowledge and move past the pain he might be about to endure, but he managed it. Just as he was walking towards Greg's room, the day shift nurse finally arrived, looking harried and mumbling about being late. On seeing Nick, she stopped, developed a confused frown and was about to question him, but he cut her off.
"Call security and get a doctor up here now!"
"Sir, who are you..."
"Don't talk, just do what I told you!"
"Sir, I can't just..."
Nick threw his badge at her.
"Call security, damn it, and do it now!"
Stepping into the room, Nick flipped the light switch by the door. Once he realized what was happening, he ran to the rescue, never thinking for a moment about his own infirmity. He hooked his good hand into Cimino's waistband, the fingertips of his casted hand under the would-be murderer's collar and pulled with all his strength. All his strength proved to be enough to propel Steve Cimino off of Greg and halfway across the room. Following the path of the rapist's flight, Nick, ignoring fresh agony surging through his hand and wrist, stalked to where the man half-reclined on the floor and used both hands to bounce Cimino's head off the tile. When the suspect didn't move for several seconds, Nick turned and rushed back to see to Greg.
"Greg? Greggo, c'mon... you're okay... God, what'd he do... Greg, breathe..... you gotta breathe, man, please..." Nick almost sobbed, leaning in and preparing to give his friend mouth to mouth. Just then, Scott Denson exploded into the room followed by two uniformed security guards and nurses dragging equipment. While the officers took control of Greg's dazed attacker, Denson pushed Nick aside and began barking orders. Stunned and fighting his swirling emotions, Nick backed off a step or two, watching in silence as the doctor and a few other members of medical staff worked to save Greg's life.
Within a few minutes, Greg was on a ventilator and Denson was examining him for other injuries. Only when he was certain the young man was otherwise fine did he turn to Nick, drawing the CSI out into the corridor.
"So? Is he okay?"
"Other than the damage to his throat, yes. I imagine his attacker intended to do a great deal more, but thanks to you he didn't have time."
"The vent..."
"His throat was swelling closed. I had to make sure he could still breathe."
"Oh... yeah, I knew that. I'm sorry for the stupid questions, doc. I'm just... I can't believe I let this happen..."
"You stopped it. He's alive because of you..."
Denson let his sentence go unfinished when he realized that Nick seemed unaware that he was cradling his broken hand against his chest. "Mr. Stokes... did you use that hand to pull your friend's attacker away?"
Nick gave Denson a mildly confused look. He glanced down then back up, focusing on Greg's room and the activity still going on there..
"Huh? Maybe.... I did what I had to do. My hand is fine, you go take care of Greg."
"Mr. Sanders is breathing well right now. There isn't much more I can do. Let's go find somewhere to sit down so I can take a look at this..." Denson insisted, reaching cautiously for Nick's cast
"I said I'm good. He's the one you should be worryin' about!" Nick countered, turning away from the doctor's touch. This movement, however, awakened a level of pain that finally overcame the anger and fear he'd been swimming in since entering Greg's room. Nick's legs buckled slightly, but he locked his knees and, with Denson's help, made his way to the lounge where Catherine and the doctor had had their tete-a'tete the previous day.
"What exactly did you do?"
"I... grabbed his collar with the... tips of the fingers... and hauled him backwards. Had my other hand in his belt..."
"That might have been your saving grace. Is the pain in one spot or everywhere?"
"God... everywhere... my whole arm's on fire..."
"You've probably torn either a muscle or some ligaments. I can't tell until I get the cast off."
"Not now."
"Mr. Stokes..."
"Not now! An' no pain meds either. Not 'till I can make a couple calls."
"Do you intend to use that hand to dial or hold the receiver?" Denson asked wryly.
"Okay... not 'till you help me make a couple calls... oh, and get my badge back from the desk nurse."
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7:50
"You sure I didn't wake you, Gris?"
"I hadn't made it to bed yet. What's wrong, Nick?"
"I.. I stopped to look in on Greg before I went home... Cimino was on top of him. He tried to strangle him, boss..."
Grissom pulled in a deep breath and forced himself to keep a tight rein on his feelings until he knew for sure whether the news was positive or negative. His voice tense, he finally asked the question.
"Tried. So Greg's not..."
"No, he... he's alright... now, anyway. I pulled the bastard off... cracked his head on the floor for good measure... Ow!"
"Nick?"
"I'm okay. Had to use both hands to do the job. Put a hurtin' on my bad one in the process. Cimino should be on his way to jail by now."
"Greg?"
"They got a tube down his throat before it swelled too bad. He's breathin'... he'll be on a ventilator for a couple days... but he's breathin'. That's what counts."
"Thank God you were there."
"Yeah...." Nick responded weakly. He badly wanted to say more, to ask for support and guidance, but he couldn't make the words take form. His newest injury might take him out of the field for a brief time, but he was not about to be forced into office duty because Gris thought he was weak or suddenly unable to handle stress. Thankfully, Grissom's own intuition was also working overtime and he offered without Nick having to say anything.
"I'll be there in thirty minutes. Can you hold on that long?"
"Don't bother, man. Soon as I get the new cast finished..."
"Nick. Can you make it until I get there?"
"I'm okay. You don't have to drive all the way out here, boss. You probably haven't eaten..."
"Hospitals have cafeterias."
"With the world's worst food. Besides, you need sleep."
"So do you. Especially now."
"Damn it, Gris..."
"I'll make it twenty minutes, if you need me to."
"Don't you dare speed." Nick chuckled quietly, finally giving in. "I can survive for another half hour."
"Good. See you then."
"Okay..."
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8:15
As Steve Cimino was being hauled slowly down the corridor, dragging his feet and still trying to shake the cobwebs from his head, he barely noticed the columns of people that had appeared along each wall. The out-going nightshift had passed the news of his capture to the arriving day-shift and now both groups had gathered to see him, forming two lines of grim, angry faces. Within a few seconds, however, a gathering born of resentment and curiosity became a gauntlet when someone stuck out their foot and tripped the suspect. He stumbled, but was held up by his escorts and forced to continue walking. A little farther on, another county employee got brave and repeated the move. This continued the length of the hall, with every third or fourth person taking their shot, until the rapist and his guards turned left into another corridor.
Jim Brass strode calmly along behind Cimino and the officers grasping his elbows. The veteran cop had noted the face and name of every single man or woman who had participated in the minor bout of revenge, but that was habit; simply a dog-eared, well ingrained process that kicked in when he was confronted with an unsettled crowd that could easily become a raging mob. He knew he might be questioned about the incident, but he still wiped the information from his mind without even a twitch of regret. Their suspect had a mild concussion after all. It was expected that he might stumble a little...
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TBC.....