Brave: chapter one
Rating: PG 13
Notes, acknowledgements: I wrote this about a week before Gum Drops aired, and after seeing that episode I almost nixed this, but ultimately decided that the world can never have enough Nick-angst. Thanks to Drakien for her awesome beta skills and weekday afternoon AIM chats, and Emma for getting me into this fandom in the first place. If it weren't for her, I'd get a hell of a lot more done. ;)
Disclaimer: Characters, etc belong to CBS, Anthony Zuiker and a bunch of other people who are not me. I do not make any money off of this.
Nick Stokes knew his night off was over the instant his cell phone began to ring. He'd been half-expecting the call all evening anyway. Saturday nights in Vegas were always busy, and Nick's plans for evening hadn't progressed past a six-pack and his television set.
"We're swamped tonight," Grissom said apologetically. "I'm out on a decomp, and we've got a fresh homicide, a double rape and a suspicious car accident. Half of swing shift is working overtime. I'm sorry, Nick."
"Don't sweat it." He balanced the phone on his shoulder and pulled on his shoes. "I'll can be there in twenty."
"Don't bother coming to the lab. It's a zoo there anyway. I need you to go straight to the crime scene. You've got a gunshot victim. Sara's meeting you there. Got a pen?"
"Yup, fire away." Grissom gave him the address and hastened back to his case. Nick allowed himself a small sigh as he gathered up his vest and kit. Something told him it was going to be a long night.
"Hey!" Sara Sidle held up the crime scene tape for Nick as he approached the scene, kit in hand. "Sucks about your night off."
"No big. I'm caught up on my sleep." He ducked beneath the tape and surveyed their surroundings. The shooting had occurred in a small, rundown apartment building on the east side of town, a familiar neighborhood for the CSIs.
"Man, I must have worked at least two dozen cases in this area by now," Nick grumbled as they followed an officer into the building.
"Yeah, no kidding," Sara said, eyeing the dirty hallway with distaste. "I processed a hit and run just down the street about two weeks ago."
They stepped into the apartment and found Brass talking to a short bald man in a wife-beater and sweats who was apparently the landlord. On the floor in the living room lay a youngish man, about 35. His chest was riddled with bullets. Nick let out a low whistle as he put down his kit as Brass sent the landlord out to talk to an officer.
"Damn." He clicked on his flashlight and lit up the man's face. "How many bullets does it take?"
"Neighbors reported hearing at least ten shots," Brass said, pocketing his pen. "Coroner should be here any minute. It's a busy night."
"So I've heard."
"Hey, isn't it your night off?"
"Yeah, I hadn't noticed," Nick said absently, moving the beam of his flashlight down the body.
Brass smirked mischievously at Sara. "My, someone's snappy. Must have pulled him from a hot date."
Nick rolled his eyes and smiled grimly. "Yeah, right. Can we please get moving on this? I don't want to be here all night."
"Any witnesses?" Sara piped up, snapping on a pair of gloves.
"Just his son, Jacob. Eight years old. He's outside with an officer. We're still waiting on child services."
"Is he okay?" Sara's expression had tightened up.
"He's not in very good shape, I'm afraid. Scared as hell, seemed pretty dirty, like he hadn't had a shower recently."
She shook her head in disgust. "Are they thinking neglect?"
"Maybe. We don't know much yet. He really didn't want to leave his dad. Had to drag him out screaming."
Nick wrinkled his nose as he studied the dingy living room. Filthy carpet, a stack of greasy pizza boxes, and empty beer bottles collected on every surface. This is no place for a kid to grow up.
"I'll do a preliminary sweep of the bedrooms," Sara said briskly, and followed the beam of her flashlight down the hallway. Brass stood in the front door with his arms folded over his chest.
"Do we have an ID on this guy?" Nick asked, stooping to a crouch next to the body.
"Yeah, Arnold Plath. 30 years old. He's a plumber, but apparently he had a side job as well. We found drugs."
"Dealer? Possible motive…" Nick noted absently. "What about the kid's mom?"
"She's not in the picture. The landlord said he'd been living alone with Jacob for a couple'a years now. I guess she took off at some point."
"No contact numbers? Forwarding address?"
Brass shrugged as his cell phone began to trill in his hand. "Not so far…Brass. Yeah. Okaay…Well, I need someone to come get him. Yes, I'm aware it's a busy night." He rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. I'll have him down there as soon as possible." He snapped the phone shut. "All right, I need one of you to take the kid to Desert Palm for an evaluation. Wanna flip for it?"
As a rule, Nick liked kids. He was good with them. Lord knew he had more than enough nieces and nephews to play with and fuss over. Nevertheless, dealing with a traumatized six year old was just about the last thing he felt like doing. But he knew Sara would resent being taken away from the crime scene, and she was more than capable of processing alone for awhile.
"No, I'll do it," he said with a resigned sigh. Brass flashed him a toothy grin.
"You're a real trooper, Nicky."
"Yeah, right." He turned off his flashlight and began packing up his kit.
"I don't want to go with him!" Jacob Plath screamed, twisting violently in the grip of the police officers attempting to restrain him. "I want my dad! Where's my dad?"
Nick was beginning to regret having volunteered to transport the boy. Jacob Plath was small for his age and skinny as a stick, but he was putting up quite a fight. His soiled clothes hung piteously off his arms and legs.
"Hey, buddy." Nick knelt in front of the boy and tried to smile at him. "It's okay, no one's going to hurt you. My name's Nick, and we're just going to go for a ride-"
Jacob began sobbing. "Get my daddy! I want to talk to my daddy!"
"Jacob! Hey, it's okay!" Nick reached out to put his hand on Jacob's shoulder, but the little boy kicked out as hard as he could. His foot struck Nick's knee and sent him sprawling back onto the concrete. One of the cops grabbed Jacob's arm and yanked him back. Jacob let out a scared, sharp cry.
"Hey!" Nick snapped, scrambling to his feet. "Let go of him! He doesn't know what he's doing!"
The startled officer quickly released his grip on Jacob's arm. Ignoring the throbbing in his knee, Nick squatted in front of Jacob again.
"Hey, Jacob," he said quietly, looking straight into the boy's tear-streaked face. "You're having a pretty bad night, huh?" Jacob nodded slowly and rubbed his fists into his eyes. "Well, you're being very, very brave, I can tell. And I just need you to be brave for a little while longer, okay? Can you do that?" He nodded again and reluctantly allowed Nick to take his hand and lead him to the SUV.
Nick felt slightly better once Jacob was buckled safely into the backseat, away from all the cops and flashing lights. He glanced at the little boy in the rearview mirror as he steered the car onto the freeway.
"You okay back there? Are you cold?"
Jacob sniffled. "Where are we going?"
"We're going to the hospital for a few tests. It'll be easy, I promise."
"But I'm not sick!" he blurted, eyes wide. "Do I have to get a shot?"
"We're just going to get you cleaned up," Nick said evasively. "And maybe get you something to eat. Are you hungry?"
Jacob bobbed his head eagerly and Nick clenched his jaw. The kid was too thin for a boy his age. He wondered who, if anyone, had bothered to cook for him, or give him a snack when he came home from school, or play catch with him or help him with his homework or even wash his clothes. Nick watched him in the mirror as he waited for a stoplight to change.