"I did not collapse!"
It was the last voice Grissom expected to hear. Yet here Nick was, entering the clinic under his own power, but flanked closely by Warrick and Brass. And he looked ticked off. No, make that pissed off. And really pale- waxen even.
"I got dizzy for a second. Stop making such a fuss, would ya?"
"Nicky, shut up and let the doc take a look at you, would ya?" Brass growled.
Brass took Nick by the arm and practically marched him into the front room. The doctor introduced himself and escorted them to the back.
Grissom gave Warrick the eye, and gestured him over. "What the hell happened?" he quietly demanded.
"I don't know, Gris. We had just finished up and Nick went to pick up one of my equipment bags. He bent over and kept going, face first. And he looks like crap. Has he been like this the whole time?"
Grissom thought back to their 24 hours plus together. Brief images of Nick's pale face in the starlight and his surreptitious rubbing at his side when he thought Grissom wasn't looking. Really wasn't looking, truth be told. The last night and day had been a blur of pain, fear, and adrenalin. He was trained to see things. To pick up clues and watch people. And here his friend had been in trouble all along and all of his learning and training had failed him. Had failed Nick.
They walked back to the examining room where Nick sat fidgeting up on the table. Sandy had taken his ear temp and was finishing up with his BP. "101-7 and 100 over 70," she rattled off to her husband. After so many years together, married and professionally, they worked in tandem, their actions so comfortable they were practically choreographed.
Grissom looked at his friend in the bright office lights. There were beads of sweat on Nick's forehead, yet the sun had gone down some time ago and the office wasn't much warmer than the cool night outside. The scratch from his last trip up the tree stood out like a dark brown slash on his otherwise porcelain pale skin.
How many times did he climb that damn tree?
The doctor asked Nick if he needed help with his shirt. Nick waved him off and unbuttoned his shirt, peeling it off with obvious pain.
Sara had leaned in for a glimpse of gratuitous beefcake, but let out a small gasp instead. Brass was more explicit with his utterance of "damn!" and Warrick let out a long low whistle at the sight before their eyes.
Nick's side was covered in an angry reddish-purple and yellow bruise. It covered his flank from his navel to midway around his back and ran from his armpit to disappear below his jeans.
Nick looked down at what had his friends all freaked out. His eyes widened a bit. At least now he knew what was hurting all this time. "Think the seatbelt bit me, is all."
"Jesus, Nicky. It didn't bite you- it took a chunk out of you!" was Warrick's response.
Dr. Lawrence probed at Nick's ribs and side. "That's had to have been mighty painful, young man."
Nick snuck a quick look at Grissom, then quietly nodded.
"The seat belt is an amazing lifesaving device usually. I don't think it was designed for the kind of rollover accident you two were in, though," the doctor continued.
Nick flashed back to being suspended on his side, dangling by the belt, the reinforced fabric cutting into his side.
"You have a fever and your pressure is pretty low. I have to be frank. I'm concerned about internal bleeding. If you were in Vegas you'd probably get a CT scan of your belly. I'm afraid we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way with a peritoneal lavage." The doctor shot a glance at Sandy. She went over and unlocked a small cabinet and took out a vial and a syringe. When she began to swab Nick's arm with an alcohol pad he became agitated. "What the hell are you giving me?"
"Well, Mr. Stokes. Since I have to stick both a large gauge needle and a tube in your stomach, I thought you might not like to be awake for it."
Nick paused, stunned by the doctor's pronouncement, and Sandy took the opportunity to shove the needle home into his bicep and push the plunger.
He flinched at the injection, then gripped the side of the table with white knuckles as he felt the narcotic flood through his body. He reeled a bit and the doctor grasped his shoulders. "Take it easy, Mr. Stokes. We'll take good care of you," he said reassuringly, and laid Nick back on the table. His patient was asleep a few seconds later.
"Sandy, would you prep him while I go scrub?"
His wife went over to a lower cabinet and retrieved a basin with a disposable razor and Betadine. She was so engrossed in her work that it wasn't until she had her hand on Nick's belt buckle that she realized she still had an audience. "You guys can wait out front. I promise you, your friend is in good hands. Gene was a top ER doc in LA before we came here. He's done this many times. I'll let you know when we're done." And with that she ushered them all out of the room and shut the door behind them.
The four worried friends gathered in the waiting room. "Did anyone call Catherine?" Grissom asked.
"Shit! We got so caught up. Damn, she must be worried sick, " Warrick said, running one hand through his curls.
Grissom pulled out his cell, the irony hitting him as he saw the four bars that meant full reception.
Catherine picked up on the first ring, overjoyed at the sight of Grissom's name coming up on her caller ID.
"Gil? Please tell me it's you. Are you alright?"
"Yeah, Cath. It's me. I'll tell you the whole story when we get back. I'm just not sure right now when that's going to be… we may be here a while."
"Why? Why aren't you coming home? God, Gil, we've been worried sick about you guys…wait. What aren't you telling me?"
That's my Catherine. Sharp as ever.
"We're at a clinic in Dufurenna. The doctor here thinks Nick might be in trouble. He's running a test right now." Running a test. Sounds like something I'd do in the lab. Cutting Nicky open is more like it. "When we know more I promise we'll call, Cath. Just hold down the fort there, please?"
Hold down the fort. That's what Brass said. Like I'm a frickin' frontier woman waiting for her men to come home from playing Cowboys and Indians.
"Yeah. The fort'll be here when you get back. Promise me you'll call the second you know anything." Her voice softened. "This really sucks being left behind to worry, you know, Gil."
"I know, Cath. And I'm sorry. I'll call." And with that he closed his phone.
He tried to summon his inner supervisor. Thought about giving instructions to Sara and Warrick. Then realized that he was bone tired and didn't feel much like a supervisor at the moment. He just wanted to be a friend. A worried friend. And he wanted to do his worrying seated, preferably on that padded bench over there. He hobbled over to the bench and dropped down, putting his injured ankle in its cumbersome air cast up on the small coffee table.
Sara walked over to join him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Can I get you anything? Have you eaten?"
"Granola bar, a lifetime ago," he grunted.
She looked over at the other two. Brass said since they had a wait he was going to get a hold of the sheriff and see if he had any news on the search. It was pitch dark out there, and he didn't hold out much hope.
Warrick said he'd see if anything was still open in town and grab Grissom something to eat and drink.
Sara opted to throw herself into her work, as was her wont. She said she was going to check out the sheriff's office to see what kind of set up he had for her computer. She'd try sending some stuff back to the lab in Vegas. "Give Cath and Greg something to do," she said with a small smile.
They left Grissom on his own. As he laid his head on the back of the bench he closed his eyes. It was odd- no traffic noise. Being in the woods, it was expected. But inside a building in 'civilization' he found it jarring to be surrounded by so much silence. So in the room designed for waiting, he waited.