Warrick had the other CSI cornered in one of the hallways. The black man normally didn't use his posture to intimidate his friends, but this time, he would use body mass and height to drive home his point.
"What's been eating at you, man? This supervisor thing has you acting out of whack."
Nick dug the palm of his hand into his forehead as he tried to ease the pressure of his migraine. He barely paid any attention to his coworker, having all ready got the gist of his argument. He sighed loudly, indicating his general annoyance.
He shook his head trying to erase the fuzziness that had descended and fogged up his brain. "It's got nothin' to do with the shift leader thing, bro."
Warrick cocked his head. "Then what is it? Talk to me, man."
"There isn't anything to discuss. I just got worked up." Nick plastered on a fake grin, trying to act modest. "You know how things go."
Warrick huffed, not buying the act. "You're a real easy book to read sometimes, and I know when you're bullshitting me. So, why don't you cut the crap and lay it on me."
Nick opened his mouth, but no words came out. No, there wasn't anything to discuss. "You know what? It's close to the end of the shift, maybe I'll go home and sleep."
Avoidance- the CSI was good at this game. Nick patted Warrick's shoulder; it only served to irritate the lanky man further. Nick ducked away, and started heading for the exit.
Warrick narrowed his eyes, not very pleased with the snow job. "Is that how it is, huh?" he accused the retreating man.
Nick kept this back to his friend, not wanting to continue the discussion. He waved his hand, never once turning around. Warrick felt the urge to go after him, but if his buddy was tired of being coddled, he'd give him the space.
Just this once.
It was his freaking luck that it was pouring outside, downdrafts of heavy rain that pelted him hard. Nick groaned as he was quickly soaked. His meager button-up shirt did nothing to protect him from the wind and sheets of wetness. To top it all off, his SUV was parked at the Lab parking lot, and he had to walk through the melee to reach his vehicle.
For a moment he thought about turning back and going through police headquarters, but realized that he would track in puddles galore, only irritating the local cops. So, he held his arms around his body and braved the rain for several minutes, crossing parking lots and getting drenched. After more time passed than Nick ever thought possible, his bones aching, he finally reached his car. He unlocked the door, crawled in and hit the button to his heater.
With chattering teeth, Nick drove, downtrodden and pissed off at the misery of it all. When he made it home, the CSI peeled off his thoroughly soaked shirt, hissing as the fabric pulled at the wet bandages. He stepped out of his soaked pants and threw on some sweats and a shirt. With great effort, Nick made his way towards his kitchen. It seemed the last half hour had sucked the life out of him and he could barely move without excruciating pain.
He reached into his fridge and pulled out some leftovers. He wasn't hungry, but with a bit of difficulty he managed to sit at his table and eat a few bites of pasta. He had grabbed a bottle of aspirin and took four of them in hopes of dulling the burning pain he felt. He groaned inwardly. Warrick had his meds, which he had forgotten to get from him. Nick was sure the prescriptions would have been stronger than his over-the-counter relief.
Feeling like this was the last straw, Nick stood up, grunting from the unbelievable effort. He took tiny steps towards his bedroom, using the wall to guide him along. He almost collapsed on his bed, pulling the covers over his body. He closed his eyes and prayed that sleep would simply take him away for a little while.
He was rewarded with slumber only half an hour later.
He saw the planet earth hang and spin on its string. The little paper world danced along, swinging back and fourth, back and fourth. The fishing line used to hold it invisible in the air, along with all the rest of the inner solar system.
Terra Firma.
It was all he could do to just stare at it, let it swallow him whole. Anything to keep his focus, his brain consumed with scientific facts. Nick awoke with a start. He almost lunged out of bed, and cried out when the throbbing hit him full force. His hands were shaking and his body was covered in a cold sweat. He stumbled out of his room, as he cast a bleary eye at his alarm clock. He was going to be late for shift and walked with wobbly legs towards his bathroom. Nick didn't have time for a shower, not with his middle wrapped around tightly. Instead he took a damp towel and tried to clean himself up a bit.
Trying to ignore his grayish complexion in the mirror, he found a T-shirt that he carefully put on. Still feeling cold, he grabbed a black sweater and tugged it over the shirt. After gathering his stuff, Nick headed back to the lab. He prayed that while he slept, someone had made progress at tracking down Jason Todd.
Nick had forgotten that Ecklie was out playing politics with the Sheriff at the other side of town. As soon as he set foot in the lab, he had to sign forms, track down lost paperwork and inform one of the members of the swing shift that one of their blood samples had been contaminated by bleach residue.
He'd been inside for twenty minutes when he reached Grissom's office. He sat behind the laptop to answer, delete, and forward various e-mails. Two cases from dayshift needed to be re-assigned to his grave team. Nick didn't have any choice but to assign Sara a hit-and-run and the other he quickly handed to Sofia to oversee.
Nick went to the reception desk to see if the any of the actual files from the missing children's cases had arrived and was actually relieved to see an overnight package waiting for him.
"There was also a box of files sent over from Tuscan that arrived late afternoon, but Greg took it an hour ago," Judy informed the criminalist with her usual cheeriness.
Nick lifted his head in acknowledgement and forced a smile. "Thanks, Judy."
The receptionist beamed at him, but quickly scrambled around her desk. "There's a message left for you by Detective Brass." She handed him the post-it.
Matt Todd had been arrested based on his pseudo confession; his lawyer was already contesting it. The note also told him that Marisa Todd was waiting to speak to him. Nick didn't have to wait long to find Jason's mother as she sat in the waiting area for him with Father Myers. Since he still had not seen any of his coworkers, the criminalist approached the woman. She stood up immediately and met the man in the lobby. Both visitors stood closer together, the priest kept his arm around the slim lady's waist for support.
"Mr. Stokes. My family has strong ties with the church, as you may know." Her bitter tone wasn't kept in check.
The priest looked very uncomfortable but stuck by the woman. She handed the CSI an envelope. "Between what my husband kept from that investigation so long ago, and with the help of some of the clergy, I have an unofficial report for you"
Nick looked over at the woman with shocked awe. He didn't know if he was grateful for the information, or angered at how easy it was to obtain it.
He managed a mumbled thanks.
Marisa Todd gripped Nick's arm, "Please find my boy. Don't let his father's past- past digressions take my last child away from me." After a bit of urging, Father Myers persuaded the distraught woman to move along so Nick could concentrate on the case. The temporary supervisor finally found one of his missing teammates.
Nick handed Sara her assignment slip. "I really wish we didn't have to deal with backlog," he said regretfully.
The smaller criminalist accepted the sheet, as she stared at him. "Jesus, Nick. Are you all right?'
"Where's Warrick?" he asked, clearing his increasingly scratchy throat.
"He's helping Greg with the latest background information on Nero." Sara looked up at the other man. "Nick, you don't look so good."
"I didn't have time to shower, so I wouldn't stand so close." Nick warned. "I'm going to sit down and sift though some new information. I'll take it easy."
Sara was about to protest, but Nick brushed past her, walking guardedly towards Grissom's office. The other CSI stared down at her new case, and cursed under her breath about being re-assigned.
Nick unfolded a typed and faded report from a legal wing of the Tuscan archdiocese. He tried to concentrate on the unofficial internal inquiry into the "matter". One of the church leaders had amassed a series of interviews from the molested boys as well as written statements from the clergy involved.
Nick fidgeted in his chair; the office must have had some timed climate control. He didn't recall it being so damn freezing in the place earlier. Maybe all of Grissom's creepy crawlies required some regulated Arctic environment to live in. Nick poured through the accounts, his stomach twisting into a knot at the vivid detail of the sexual assault. He quickly skipped that part as he searched the rest of the document.
It was beyond belief that the church kept a written report on the crime and explicitly listed the members of the church who were reassigned to other areas of the country. Not a single bit of disciplinary action had taken. Matt Todd, whose name had appeared as one of the accused, had helped to pay for the legal inquiry as well as "financial contributions" to the families who had filed grievances.
Nick had scanned through the eyewitness statements trying to spare himself some of the details, but so far nothing from the summary seemed to be help. He forced himself to read the three boys' testimony. Grant Payne Higgins had been 8 years old, Trent N. Walker 10 and Steve Dobbs Smith had been 7. Nick grimaced at the number of times the boys had been assaulted during the practice for Mass and late Bible Study.
Matt Todd had often spent time at the church in the early mornings to monitor the progress of the construction of the new wing. He made reports to the firm he had worked for at the time. He had helped keep an eye on some of the boys when one of the church staff has been called away on an emergency or had other duties to oversee.
Nick fumed away, at the thought that bribes and corruption had buried the atrocious acts. The offenses made his stomach queasy. Nick threw down the papers in disgust. It wasn't anything new to read about the uglier details of such assaults. He had felt nauseous when he woke up, and the added visual details of the abuse only served to make his stomach more upset.
Nick stared at the documents as they lay at his desk. He swallowed trying to keep the bile down. The three victims' names flashed in his aching head. The words had made him feel slightly dizzy.
Trent N. Walker.
Nick's eyes flew open. Could it have been a simple switch of letters and names? Was such an odd long shot possible? Nick got out of his chair, ignoring the pinching sensation around his abdomen. He knew the sore area was going to plague him, so he did his best to try to keep his movements as easy as possible. He slowly made his way out the room, as he searched for Greg and Warrick. They had the rest of Brent Nero's records and if his hunch was right, he may have found the break they needed in this case.
Nick trudged slowly in the hallway, which made him an easy target for techs and assistants alike to track him down for instructions. He had answered questions tersely, and ignored a few concerned looks. He had only made it past two cubicles when Archie Johnson came storming out of the AV Lab.
"Hey, Nick, Bobby needs to see you ASAP," the Asian nearly pounced on the CSI. Nick leaned against the wall. He started to feel lightheaded and fought the urge to sit down in the middle of the hallway. Archie quickly grew concerned, placing his hand on the man's shoulder. "Whoa, dude, you okay?"
"Can Bobby just wait? I've got to track down Warrick and Greg," Nick answered, thus ignoring the stare.
"No... I mean... its really important," the AV Tech replied.
"Fine," Nick huffed and crept like an old man toward Ballistics.
Archie followed close behind when Bobby Dawson swiveled in his chair at the approach of the temporary boss.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Nick. But the Weapons' Society claims they never got their gun back, and I faxed them a tracking number and everything," the tech rattled off, obviously nervous and upset.
Nick really wished that some of the lab employees could learn to do things with less hand holding. "What do they want from us?"
"They want more than a tracking number. They want whatever documentation we have on-"
"Then send it to them, Bobby," Nick replied testily.
"Ahh, Nick. You have all the paperwork. I put it in your box and can't find it now," Bobby explained hesitantly.
Nick sighed. The roaring in his head was reaching a crescendo, and it was hard to pay attention when there were two other techs moving around in the lab. Nick was about to apologize when the most vicious odor assaulted his nostrils. The CSI quickly tried to suppress his gag reflex and turned away. Now both techs were hovering near by. Nick recognized the strong smelling chemical; sodium rhodizonate was used to detect the presence of lead in bullets. He's been around it before, but his weak stomach wasn't ready for such an assault.
Nick dragged himself out of the ballistics lab and headed straight for the men's bathroom. Thankfully it was empty and he pushed open the door to the nearest stall. He sank to his knees and retched heavily into the toilet. There was very little in his stomach and he heaved until his muscles finally calmed down. He stayed hunched over the toilet, his arms shaking, as he rested his head on his outstretched forearm. He tried to calm his breathing, his eyes watering from the fresh pain in his belly. Nick was too preoccupied with his rebellious stomach to notice the stall door open.
He felt a hand under one of his arms pull him up, and he allowed himself to lean on the person lending him assistance. He was guided towards the wall, where he remained resting. He heard the sound of running water, and a damp paper towel was shoved into his hands. Nick took the wet item and wiped his face with it, and applied the coolness to the back of his neck. He looked up to his benefactor to see the bland expression of David Hodges.
"They were all too cowardly to come in here, so I guess I came in by process of elimination," he responded to the wide-eyed expression in his usual bored manner.
Nick groaned as he made his way to the sink. He ran the faucet and cupped his hand to drink and spit out the water as he rinsed his mouth.
Hodges remained in the bathroom, his eyebrow arched. "You know, Nick. You could make some of the DBs in the morgue jealous."
Nick glared at the tech as he exited the men's room, leaving the worried man behind. He forced his feet to carry him to one of the few rooms left that he had not looked for the duo of CSI's that were still missing. He walked past the room with the enormous examination table when an unexpected voice resounded from it.
"Nick, come here."
The bewildered CSI came to a halt and entered the lab room, where Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows stood unhappily. Now he understood why his fellow coworkers couldn't be found. They were hiding from him.
"What are you doing here?" Nick's voice was harsh sounding, as he licked his dry lips.
Grissom squinted at him through his glasses, sizing him up. A disappointed expression clouded his features. He was beginning to give him a downcast head shake, when Nick interrupted.
"Who the hell called you?" he demanded.
Catherine gave him a sympathetic stare. He would have preferred to see anger than that damn motherly gaze. He knew the words 'Oh, Nicky' were echoing in her head.
"You're off the case, Nick." Grissom announced. No conversation, no reading the riot act.
Nick took exception at being summarily dismissed without a discussion. "What? No, Grissom, you don't understand," he whined. He hated it when he sounded like that.
"Nick…" Catherine's soft voice floated in the air. There it was.
He shook his head, his body still trembling from his early bout of sickness. "Wait… I can explain."
Grissom wasn't allowing any room for argument. He started to pile files into his briefcase. "Nick, you're on leave starting now. Catherine and I are going to handle the rest of the Todd case. Go home."
Nick grabbed Grissom's hand, halting the man's paper-shoveling. "This is my case," he said sternly.
Grissom stared at his arm, and he dragged his gaze upwards. "You're too attached to this one, Nick. Please don't make me suspend you." Gil's words were nearly condescending.
"You don't have the right," Nick argued, his voice raspy.
"One of your coworkers had to call me and Catherine away from our conference, Nick. This is a serious breach of—"
"Don't do this," Nick argued, but the room was spinning, the outlines of his vision graying out.
Grissom stood there, his reprimand on the tip of his tongue as an alarm bell inside his head went off. His eyes grew soft and somewhat fearful.
"Nick?" He asked worried, just as the CSI fell forward, his supervisor catching him before he hit the floor.
Grissom held onto the smaller man by the shoulders and carefully lowered him to the ground. Catherine watched the fall in an eerie type of slow motion. She leaped forward, and was instantly on the ground, her hand reaching Nick's face.
"God, Gil, he's burning up," she said in shock as she touched his forehead and cheeks.
Nick shivered violently on the ground. Grissom shouted for help, resulting in a blurry of activity outside the room. He reached for a pulse, but his trained eye caught something on the front of Nick's sweater that shouldn't be there… that didn't belong.
He gently rolled the semi-conscious man to his back, as he pulled up the hem of his sweater.
"Jesus," Grissom muttered, at the blood soaking the bandages underneath.
tbc..
Author notes at my bio.