He couldn't stop sweating, he just couldn't. He'd been showered and dressed and worn his thin gown well. The doctor had advised him to take short sips, but he was gulping down the ice water greedily and if it would flush him of strange heat pressing on him. He couldn't cool down, he couldn't seem to feel normal; god, he graved normal.
His mother had sat by his bedside for the first five hours of his stay. She held his hand and stroked his hair, and he felt selfish and catty when all he could think about was being alone in the room. He'd been alone in the box for hours and now he wanted nothing more than to be alone again; he wanted everyone gone.
Nick swore he could still feel the phantom warmth of Grissom's hand through the plexiglass and thought if he held his hand up to his face it would be pink with the heat; why couldn't he cool down?
He didn't need much, just had to, had to sleep or, or something, just had to stop crying. Anything to stop crying.
His mother came back in the morning, brought him muffins and magazines and a game boy. He was only going to be there for one more day, but she insisted that he have some distractions. "Take your mind off things," she insisted and grasped his hand again, stroking his skin as if it were a comforting gesture. Gillian Stokes' hand felt cold and clammy, not at all reassuring and Nick truly wished she would just let him go and sit there... stop talking.
The fact that she kept bringing up the fact that he wasn't supposed to be thinking about what had happened just made him think about it even more. He turned the scenario over and over inside his head, like the flip of a coin, seeing himself outside, seeing Sara and Catherine and Warrick and Grissom in the box.
Grissom...
The phantom warmth was back again, radiating from his wrist outwards. The oddest thing...
Gillian spoke of the weather and the Rangers. Baseball always put him at ease, and they were able to discuss ERAs for long minutes without interruption. The two of them watched the news over bad hospital food and Gillian left the room to take a call from her husband. He'd been on the phone all day setting their financial records straight once more. Nick wasn't surprised; Bill Stokes craved order. He'd been in once to check on his son and had left in a few short steps after dropping a kiss on his son's head.
Nick didn't feel his father's lips, he felt an acquaintance's parting token gesture of reassurance. But none of the words that came out of his parents' mouths did anything to assuage his feelings of displacement. Not like Brass's had, not like Grissom's had.
Those stayed with him. Something in Grissom's eyes...
Savior, perhaps. Nick supposed he might very well leave the hospital feeling in debt to the man; he knew he shouldn't, but he probably would. And something, somewhere in the back of his mind had him wondering if Grissom wanted him back more than his own father had. Then again, his father had never been much of a father in the first place; Gillian had raised the boy while Bill was out 'doing his damned job'.
Nick had come to terms with that; he loved his dad, but not like he should and he knew that.
The nurse came in to turn out the lights and take the trays away. She woke up Gillian who had fallen asleep at Nick's side, as if her vigil would somehow make him feel more at ease. He doubted anything truly could in that moment and as his mother kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand he wished he were at work. Anywhere away from the inhospitable sterility of Desert Palms.
When his mother left and the lights were turned off, he thought the shadow might steal some of the heat from his body; he hoped for it.
He wished Grissom would be there when he woke up so he could let him know just how much... how much what? All he'd ever wanted to do was make him proud, show him that he was capable and thankful for all that he had been given. He still had time to, Nick realized as he shifted from his back to his side.
Sleep was dreamless that evening, but Nick could have awoken that morning from a nightmare and felt no different. Something was missing, stolen in his sleep and he felt empty upon greeting the dawn. The sun was brighter, cascading over the white walls of his ugly room.
He shifted in his bed, wanting very badly to leave the hospital and remember what colors were, but when he turned, he came face to face with the pensive face of his father. There was a smile that wanted to be released, one of relief, but Nick felt it inappropriate. Somehow simply looking at his father made Nick think that the entire situation was in some way his own fault, as if he'd sealed himself in the box on his own and cried out for help.
"How are you feeling, son?" Bill spoke low and gravelly, and Nick knew in that moment that he hadn't slept the night previous. Some part of him found delight in that, his father staying awake, worrying about something that had to do with him, the son.
Nick cleared his throat and spoke, "I'm fine, dad."
Bill smiled a tight lipped smile, which was quickly wiped from his face when sobs overtook him. "I'm sorry I haven't been around more..." And he enveloped Nick in a hug but Nick couldn't find it within himself to feel remorse for the man who raised him. Shrouded in his father's arm, he heard the faint click of someone entering the room; Bill Stokes immediately retreated.
Gil Grissom walked into the room and shook hands with his father. Nick wanted to say something, wanted to tell him all of the things he'd felt and thought the night before but he couldn't seem to get his mouth to form coherent words.
And unlike his father, Grissom smiled genuinely and told him all he needed to with his eyes: it's okay, I understand. He always understood in his own way.
Grissom grabbed Nick's hand, the same one that had touched his through the glass, the same one that had been weighed down by phantom warmth. And he told him to take time, as much time as he needed; they all needed a few days to process what had happened in their own minds. He gave him the team's sentiments and had squeezed his hand once more before bidding both he and his father farewell.
When Grissom let go, the heat was gone from Nick's hand, but he was replaced with a contentedness, knowing that there was someone who appreciated that way in which he had grown.