Title: Good Enough
Chapter 9
Author's Notes: Heh, heh. I threw ya'll a curve with the last chapter. : D But don't worry, we'll get there!
*****
"I didn't mean it," I say, for what seems like the thousandth time.
Sara rubs my back. "Nick, we can't just ignore—"
Rubbing my face violently, I say, "I was mad."
Warrick, who's sitting beside me, puts a hand on my shoulder. "What can we do to help, man?"
I need to calm down. If I let them get me worked up, it'll just add fuel to their fire. "I'm fine, you guys," I say in my calmest, most serene voice. "I appreciate all the concern, but—"
"What's going on? Did I miss a memo?"
Catherine. Damn.
She stands there at the door, arms crossed, assessing the situation like she would a crime scene. Even if no one tells her what's going on, she's going to know. She has an innate sixth sense about things like this. Besides, I'm surrounded by Warrick, Brass, Sara, and Grissom (who's hiding by the doorway). And Sara has her arm around me.
Catherine walks over. "Are you all right, Nick?"
Sara starts rubbing my back again, as if to encourage me to talk.
I take a long breath, and then release it. "I'm fine."
"He's a little upset," Sara says helpfully.
Warrick stands up and offers Catherine his chair. She sits down next to me and cranes her neck around until she's looking me in the face.
"Whatcha upset about?" She asks.
"Can we do this later?" I plead.
Catherine covers my hand with one of hers. "Did you talk to the person about that thing?"
I glare at her. Subtle, I think. Now Warrick, Brass, and Sara are going to be driving themselves crazy trying to figure out what she's talking about.
"No," I say sullenly.
"Well, maybe—"
"Look," I snap. I've had enough of this. I'm probably going to get fired anyway. "I lost my temper. I'm sorry. Now I have a job to do."
"Nick," Sara says patiently.
"No," I say. "I—"
Just then, Grissom walks over to the table where we're all seated. "You people find something to do," he orders. When they don't move, he says. "Like working on a case?" Then he motions at me. "Come on, Nicky. Let's go in my office."
I'm a dead man.
Shoulders sagging, I follow Grissom to his office. He gestures at a chair. "Sit down." Then he walks around his desk, drags his own chair into the middle of the room and plunks down across from me. He gazes curiously at me for a long moment. Finally, he asks, "Am I an ogre?"
I shift uncomfortably in my chair. "I'm sorry I went off on you, Gris. I've been cooking for a while now, and I just finally boiled over."
"No, really, Nick," he says. "I want to know. Do you think of me as some kind of monster?"
Did I hurt his feelings?
"Of course not," I say.
"You were mad for a reason."
"Yeah," I admit. "I was mad."
"At me."
I think about protesting, but I don't. "Yeah," I say. "I was upset with you." I lean back in my chair. "I just thought you could have handled the Ames' with more tact."
He shakes his head. "There's that, Nick. But you've been upset with me for a while."
I sigh. "Yeah, well, I've been upset about a lot of things lately."
He presses on. "And I'm one of them."
Why deny it? I think.
I run my hand along the back of my neck. "Gris, sometimes, I just don't think I can be good enough for you."
Gris licks his lips. "Nick, if I've ever implied that you weren't good enough, I'm sorry. You're one of the best CSIs I know. And one of the best men I know."
That means a lot coming from Gil Grissom.
"You can just turn off your emotions when you need to,
Gris," I say. "I can't. Everything affects me."
"That's not a bad trait."
"It makes me get too involved with cases."
"I've been told I obsess over cases."
We stare at each other for a moment, and then I cross my arms. "I've been screwing up around here lately. I've been snapping at techs. I've been late to scenes."
"I know," he says coolly. "But Nick, that doesn't make you a bad CSI. If I thought there was a real problem, I would have talked to you about it."
"Why does there have to be a major problem before you talk to us?"
He gazes at me, confused.
I exhale. "What I'm saying is that . . ." What? That I need Grissom's attention? Or his approval?
"Nick," Grissom says.
"I'm not good with . . . emotional issues. I know people joke that I'm a robot or
something. But it's not that. I just . . . Well, it's like you said. I don't communicate well."
"Grissom."
"But if you need me . . . if you want to talk. I can listen." He clasps his hands together. "I just didn't know you needed me," he says quietly.
We sit there in awkward silence until Sara opens the door. "I'm sorry," she says, flustered. "I just got some news."
"What is it, Sara?" Grissom asks.
She leans heavily against the doorframe. "Cody Briers just tried to kill himself."