His fingers grazed the clay poker chip, dwelling on the ominous "$100" engraved on it – his last chip, and it suddenly occurred to him that everything had spiraled out of place, but to even begin picking up the pieces meant that he needed to pick himself up too… something he simply didn't have the energy to do anymore.
What others had called an addiction before had become much more than that: the need to gamble pumped through his veins, propelling his heart into that manic, adrenaline-induced beating that only baseball players felt the moment their bats hit the ball.
Around him, eyes rested on the gaze that, over a course of a month, had acquired a slight glaze of apathy, bitterness, and a whole slew of emotions that should never be afflicted on one person. The other players were inwardly laughing at the man, partly in greed, but mostly in pity: every bet was large and obviously not very well calculated, according to the poor hands that he presented round after round.
How the hell had he gotten here...
one month earlier
He hit something. Spade over spade, panicked movements removed the dirt from the top of the plexi-glass case. Then he saw Nick's face: his swollen, immobile face that catalyzed the beginning of every CSI's nightmares.
Warrick wouldn't believe it. He pounded on top of the case – nobody dared to call it a coffin, even if that was what it was, in fear of karma's sick sense of humour – shouting at the top of his lungs, "Nick! Nick! We're here! Nick! Come on, buddy!" Until somebody's strong arms pulled him off so that he found himself sitting helplessly on the dirt.
They pulled the limp body out; paramedics immediately started their work on him. Everything was moving in slow motion: two hands pressed upon the chest… pump, pump. No response. Someone else had his mouth enclosing Nick's, but like a broken balloon, air went in and promptly came out. More pumping. More breath. An injection here, the defibrillator there, all in a stream of hope cut off by a dam.
Grissom stood close by, monitoring the actions while the rest of the team let the paramedics attempt their lost miracle by standing on the side, clutching one another in sharp anticipation.
A shake of a head, and it was all suddenly over.
Screams and yells rang out, all of them overlapping each other as if the agony would be easier if the sound waves could be spread out so that others could feel their immense pain. Warrick wasn't aware of his own actions, and only when he felt the hot tears streaming into his open mouth did he realize that the graspy, torn voice was his own. He pounded the dirt ground with his fists in a mish-mash of anger and grief. Then, a pair of thin arms, struggling to provide a futile comfort, wrapped around his back. Through his own sobs, he could hear recognizable, higher pitched, more eratic ones. Their bodies shook together, attempting to expel the sadness into the earth, determined to grieve until they either tired out or died themselves.
Sara and Greg held onto each other, each of their tears silently soaking the other's neck. Any inhibitions about showing emotion in public were thrown to the wind; their shallow breaths were their last attempts at being stoic about the situation, with a petty refusal to succumb to the gasping that often inflicted the mourning.
Grissom stood, isolated and in a shock that sickeningly mirrored the stillness of Nick's expression. For several moments, he'd forgotten to breathe, then he felt slightly light-headed so that he found himself sitting down right next to the body of the CSI. Grissom hadn't cried in so long that he'd forgotten how to, and though he wanted to share in the rippling emotion of his team, he was nevertheless foisted into his own realm of guilt and sadness that could only be bottled in such a way that it caused him a physical pain in his chest.
Several hours later, they sat together in the dirt, lined up against a couple of youthful trees. Nobody found any words appropriate to be spoken, so silence reigned the air as a brilliant sun peeked over the horizon, providing a bittersweet reminder of things to come.