Title: Notes
Chapter 3
Warnings: Dark. Also, there be slash in them hills. So, yeah, to those of you who have been wondering, this will have slash. The purpose of the story, though, is to explore Nick's problems, so the slash is incidental. In other words, it's part of the characterization, but not the sole focus of the piece. Also, Greg might not be a loveable guy for part of the story. Be forewarned.
Spoilers: Season 5.
It's going to be a long day. Brass can feel it.
"All right," he says, waving Nick, Catherine, and Warrick up the brick walk and through the front door of the Harwicke house. "John Harwicke. Forty-seven year old banker. Shot in the head. Pretty standard stuff."
Nick glances up, his eyes barely visible beneath the bill of his cap. "You know life has taken a turn for the worse when a man getting shot in the head is 'pretty standard stuff.'"
"Well, Nicky," Brass says, resisting the urge to push Nick's cap back so he can see the guy's eyes. "That's why people need us."
Catherine glances somberly at Brass, and then kneels down next to the victim's body. "David," she says to the bespectacled young coroner crouched on the opposite side of the body. "Tell me what you've got."
David glances up. "From his liver temp, I'd put the time of death around 10 am. He has bruising on his knuckles. But other than that, nothing out of the ordinary."
"Vic put up a fight," Warrick says, leaning forward for a better look at the victim's body.
"Well, he lost," Catherine deadpans.
Brass lets out an exhausted sigh. He loves these guys. He really does. But he goes stir-crazy when he has to just stand around and watch them talk science and make clever comments. "I have officers canvassing the area for witnesses," he says. "I'll let you know if any civic-minded neighbor comes forward."
"Who called it in?" Catherine asks, looking up at Brass.
Brass points over his shoulder at a forty-something woman who is gesturing wildly to a uniformed officer. "Housekeeper. Maria Vasquez. She came in this afternoon and found her boss like this. "
Nick, who has been wandering around the room, turns to Brass. "There's no sign of a struggle in here, Jim. You check out the other rooms?"
Brass grins. "No, Nicky," he says. "We decided not to clear the scene this time."
Nick tilts his head back so Brass can finally see his eyes. Laughing dryly, he says, "What I meant, Jim, was did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"
"The dead guy," Brass says. The comment earns him a grin from Catherine and a glare from Nick. Yanking Nicky's chain is so wrong and so easy. Licking his lips, Brass holds up a hand. "Wait a minute, Nicky. There were some books on the floor in the library."
Nick nods. "I'm gonna check it out, Cath," he says.
Brass feels a strange sense of relief flood over his body. He might finally get to do something other than just stand around and feel useless. Pointing after Nick, Brass says, "I'm gonna go with him. Keep him out of trouble."
As it turns out, after he and Nicky give the room a once-over, Brass finds himself standing around and feeling useless again.
Standing next to an old-world globe, Brass watches as Nick creeps around the library. "Doesn't look like much of a struggle," Brass says conversationally.
Nick glances up. "No, not really. But a couple of these books look pretty old. They should be a temperature-controlled environment."
"So you're a book connoisseur now?" Brass asks. First birds, now books. This guy needs a girlfriend.
Nick stands up. "I like books," he shrugs. "We should get a list of all the volumes in Harwicke's collection. See if any books are missing. Could go to motive."
Brass folds his arms across his chest. "I'll talk to the housekeeper. You know, Nicky, if you're thinking robbery, the killer left a lot of valuables around."
Letting out a long-suffering breath, Nick says, "We don't know if anything was stolen, Jim. That's why I want a list. It's a place to start, you know?"
Brass narrows his eyes. "Now, don't get snippy, Nicky. I'm just saying, is all." Brass walks over to the window and gazes out at the passing cars. Turning to Nick, he muses, "At least we only have one body this time."
Nick looks contemplative for a moment, and then he clears his throat and closes his kit. "Yep," he says.
Several hours later, Nick trudges down the hall toward the locker room. It's been a long, tiresome day. A master list of Harwicke's collection showed that two rare books were indeed missing. As of yet, though, they haven't found a viable suspect. Of course, they haven't ruled out an ex-wife and a twenty-year-old son. Part of Nick wants to stick it out at the lab and work on tracking those books. The rest of him, though…the rest of him wants to crawl home and collapse into bed.
Kneading the muscles in the back of his neck, Nick rounds the corner into the locker room, grinding to a sudden halt when he realizes the room is occupied.
Greg and Sara are standing a few feet away, talking quietly...no, whispering to each other. Great. Now Nick has to watch the latest round of office mating rituals.
"No," Greg says, leaning forward. "You know you love me."
Sara shakes her head. "Right now, I'm not so sure."
Leaning against the wall, Nick watches as Greg takes a step toward Sara. "This place is rumored to have the best vegetarian lasagna in the city…" Greg says.
Sara takes a step back and crosses her arms. "And here I thought you were all grown up, and you weren't going to hit on me anymore."
Greg flashes a lopsided grin. "Well, I'm young at heart."
Nick rolls his eyes and starts to back out of the locker room.
Just then, Greg looks up. "Yo, Nick! You out of here?"
Exhaling, Nick walks a few steps toward Greg and Sara. "Finally. I'm exhausted."
"I heard that," Greg says. "You're way over your shift, aren't you?"
Nick lets out a laugh. "Like that's never happened before."
Sara smiles broadly. "So, Nick. The buzz is that you're Ecklie's favorite CSI now."
Greg grins. "Hell of a job on the Maxwell case."
Nick winces. "Warrick?"
Greg shakes his head. "Catherine."
"Just what I need," Nick says, rolling his eyes. "Well, I'd better get home and get some sleep." Brushing past his friends, Nick tugs open his locker.
"What'd you draw this time?" Sara asks, as Nick scoops his belongings from the cubby hole in front of him.
"Pretty standard dead guy," Nick says over his shoulder. "Might be a robbery."
Sara jerks her head toward Greg. "We're on a carjacking."
"Fun stuff," Greg says, glancing down at the floor.
Turning to Greg, Sara says, "I'm going to check with Bobby, see if he's finished our rounds. Nick, you get some rest."
"I'll be there in a few," Greg says. After Sara leaves, Greg leans against a row of lockers and watches as Nick unzips his duffle bag. "So, you didn't return my e-mail," he says to Nick.
Nick glances up. "I've been busy."
"You busy this weekend?" Greg asks.
"I don't know Greg," Nick says, trying to avoid making eye-contact with Greg. "You know this job. I'm off, but I could be working."
Greg shrugs. "Well, I just figured that since we're both scheduled to be off, we could hit the sports bar on…"
Nick jerks his head up. "What for?"
Narrowing his eyes, Greg says, "I don't know. For something to do?"
Licking his lips, Nick snaps his locker shut. "Greggo, I've had a bad couple of days. I don't want to play this game with you."
"What game?" Greg asks, a baffled look pasted onto his face.
Nick shakes his head. "See ya later, G," he says, striding toward the exit.
As Nick passes him, Greg reaches forward and grabs Nick hard by the crook of his arm. "No, wait a minute," he says. "What game?"
Nick wrenches his arm away from Greg. "Don't grab me like that, man, all right?" Glancing over his shoulder, Nick says, "'You have your life. I have mine.' Sound familiar?"
Greg lets out a breath. "We're friends. Friends go out."
Rubbing his eyes, Nick says, "Well, you'd better figure out what your definition of 'friends' is, okay?" Nick gazes intently into Greg's eyes for a moment, trying to decide whether or not Greg got the message. Greg doesn't say anything, though. Instead, he just kind of glances around the room and plays with his a callous on his thumb. After a few seconds, Nick realizes that trying to talk to Greg is a lost cause, so he licks his lips and walks briskly away. As he disappears into the hallway, he mutters, "Later, Greggo."