Title: Stuck In A moment Part 2
Author: Kristen999
Category: Angst/ Character Study
Spoilers: General for season 6. "Gum Drops" and Season 5' "Grave Danger"
Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.
Summary: Denial is the enemy. Nick battles himself. Post Season 6 Themes. Nick/Grissom Friendship.
Notes: After a lot of requests and a ton of pondering I wanted to write what needed to be done to complete this one—now Two chapter short. I think this was one of the most challenging things for me to compose. I really tried something different with this story. I hope people enjoy the results. This was posted right before the crashed so I'm not sure how many people got to read the first chapter. So, here is the last half of this coda, thanks to people who asked/demanded that I write more. I succumbed to the pressure. I do listen!
Special thanks to Poncolives for the encouragement and to Everybetty for the quick edit.
He stood in front of the mirror; he had no clue for how long. His reflection was altered, his image somewhat unrecognizable if he squinted just right. Nick tentatively placed his fingers over his cheeks, letting them slide over the smooth skin, before they caressed downwards, towards his chin. He felt the stubble of tiny, coarse hairs. The unshaven part of his face was robust under his fingertips, stretching over what were once clean portions of an easily readable expression. He touched the hair above his lips; it was slightly thicker, and neatly trimmed.
Nick rested his forehead over the cold hard glass, his eyes still staring downward. He saw only the lower part of a strong jaw line now obscured by the extra growth. The facial hair made him feel reckless, like a cowboy or a movie star.
Like someone else.
Yes, this felt right and wrong at the same time. Something so simple, but the scruff made him look like a stranger. He placed his hands on the smooth texture of the polished glass, letting them feel something the polar opposite from the previous sensations. He wished he could just lose himself in this state; one scrambled between visions of his old self and the new one he was creating.
His dark hair was fully grown, unlike this time last year where it was nearly shaved off his skull. It had been short, rugged, like a Marine. He chuckled, thinking he had gone through some a transition stage after being removed from the grave shift, his exterior a pure reflection of some former skin. Near innocence replaced by a rougher image. Black leather jackets, darker clothes; all outward reminders of the things that had been brewing on the inside.
He had felt lost for a moment; the darkness of the job had almost consumed him. Dead kids, senseless tragedy...all taking its toll. But he had endured, letting all the unpleasant times shape, but not mold him. Nick knew, deep inside, that same resilient person was formulating a plan, and eventually, that stage of his life had faded back to a normal routine. He had adjusted to new hours, different boss, another sort of lifestyle.
Then all that changed too.
Now his hair was thicker, softer; maybe another hint to how he felt inside. He wondered if he should alter that as well, but he really liked the full-grown look and thought this tiny change would be enough.
Nick steadied his hands on the counter of the sink, cold porcelain holding him steady. He took a step back, almost hopping, his left hand holding onto the towel rack. His knee was still a mess from when he had injured it in the pit. He balanced precariously for a moment, then eyed his crutches that rested along the wall near the door to the bathroom.
Forgetting the needed aid, he placed all his weight on both feet, wincing a little, but letting the pain ebb into his body. The throbbing dulled as long as he stood still. Nick never spent much time reflecting in the mirror; he wasn't vain or egotistical, but he took care of his body when he had the time. Keeping in shape was something instilled in him since he was young. Sports, running, weights; it was all an ordinary part of being healthy and releasing stress.
Nick was shirtless, his lean body an example of the devotion he paid to exercise. His high metabolism was a gift, and while it was coupled with decent eating habits, he could not complain. He had well-toned arms; cut abs, nothing too imposing. Nick licked his lips.
Maybe that needed to change as well; perhaps if he hit the gym more often, drank more stringent protein shakes, and added an intensified low-carb diet. He started contemplating another change.
The phone had slipped from his fingers and instinctively he rolled to his side, facing away from the hole. A dark silhouette came into view, the shape of his supervisor against the darkness. Nick curled his gloved fingers into the dirt, channeling his frustration, energy, and pain into the earth. He heard the sounds of crunching soil and two legs appeared.
Dark blue coveralls, and a set of shoes appeared sideways in his line of sight.
"Nick?"
A voice of deep concern; a hand touched his shoulder.
Nick moved onto his back where he stared up at those same blue eyes from days earlier. Instead of feeling ashamed or anger for what they represented, he looked into them more deeply. Sensing something that was normally well guarded.
"Nick?"
His name had a sharper ring to it. Grissom's voice snapped him out of his reverie.
Nick lifted up his arm, clasped his hand on Grissom's elbow, holding on for dear life.
"Help me find it, Grissom." He swallowed, his mouth dry, voice gravelly.
His supervisor wrinkled his face; his hand never wavered from where it rested on his shoulder. He felt it give him a gentle squeeze.
"I'll do whatever I can, Nick." Grissom took his left hand, and pulled the glove off of it with his teeth. He took his bare fingers and parentally pushed back the strands of hair that were stuck along the younger man's forehead.
"I, promise." Grissom's voice was filled with the utmost sincerity.
Nick recognized that tone; he could depend on it. He could let himself do that.
"Okay," he replied.
Nick heard the approach of other footsteps. Grissom turned his head to address whomever had joined him. The CSI didn't pay attention to the exchange; his supervisor's tone was authoritative, but it was calm.
Grissom leaned over him again. "Can you stand up?"
Nick felt the beginning of a tiny grin. Of course his boss had no idea if he had just suffered a nervous breakdown or not. The blue eyes were studying his answer, his reaction.
"No. I twisted my knee. I can't put any weight on it." Nick explained, his Southern twang a bit heavier than usual.
For a split second he detected the briefest flash of relief on his supervisor's face. Then Grissom's eyes drifted over his form and noted his trembling left leg. The lines of his face deepened, and he reverted into command mode.
"Officer, bring your car closer, please."
Nick noted that an ambulance had not been requested. He was grateful for that and his superior must have noticed it. His shoulder felt another gentle squeeze.
"I know you don't like them very much."
Grissom let his hand linger for a moment, his left one reaching fairly far for Nick's kit. He rummaged through it for a moment and brought out a pocketknife. "Let's see what you've done here."
Nick planted his hands palms down and pushed up on them, his upper body tilted at an angle to see what Grissom was doing. His supervisor started with the fabric right above his boot, and cut upwards over past his knee. Grissom moved the material out of the way, and pulled out a small flashlight out of one of his pockets. He shined the illumination over the angry, swollen joint.
"Nick," he whispered. "Why didn't you wait for help?"
Nick couldn't understand why he was so fascinated by the thought of making his body stronger. Bulking up would be hard to do now, since his knee injury resulted in his dependence on crutches for the next two weeks. Maybe after his rehabilitation he could increase his work out program, add more weights, and do more running.
No, that was the wrong thing as well. He didn't want to go back to the time when he let adrenaline rule his choices. Chasing after suspects inside an entire room of armed men had not been one of the brightest decisions he'd made in his life, but then he did make it out of that situation unscathed. Nick knew that wasn't the answer.
He hobbled over to his crutches, the bandages wrapped securely around his knee, flexing with the movement. The soft plushiness of his black sweatpants shifted with his weight and change of position. He gripped the devices, the sound of the rubber-tipped ends against linoleum echoed in the bathroom. He made his way to his bedroom, using a crutch to knock the door ajar. He reached his closet and balanced for a moment while he swung it open.
He surveyed his clothing selections. Hanging right in the middle were his current threads. Button-down shirts consisting of whites, dark blues, and his penchant for stripes of late. He recently got into the habit of leaving the top buttons undone, a fad he picked up from Warrick. He smiled for a moment, his fingers pushing way more shirts, the sound of wire scraping the wooden pole the only noise in the room. He fingered a few earth-toned cotton ones, then past that to his collection of sweaters.
He let a crutch fall, leaning on one, as he explored deeper into the confines of the closet for the clothes he no longer wore. Semi-designer shirts, all faded solid colors. He shook his head at every item. A few years ago, he switched to lighter-weight cloths to accommodate his frequent use of his vest. He began shoving clothes out of the way... was there something he was missing?
Feeling dissatisfied with even the simplest option, he left one crutch discarded on the floor and moved over to the side of his bed. Nick laughed. The vest. It was a proud symbol, a great thing for carrying items, and identifying his presence at scenes. It had been a comfort...when had it lost that usefulness?
It didn't matter. He still wore it; the utility was something that was needed, but the overall feeling that went with it, well he wasn't sure if it still remained. Sighing, he glanced at the clock, its face only reminding him of the late hour. His eyes drifted down to a pile of stuff collected at on his nightstand. He began to pick up items and disposed of some of the clutter into his trashcan. He discarded junk until his fingers brushed against a set of matches.
He flipped open the top, scanning the phone number written there. He didn't smoke, but the red-head who scribbled down her info didn't seem to mind, and he had been slightly intoxicated when she handed it to him, whispering things in his ear that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He had forgotten to throw it away; she wasn't his type- no, scratch that. She was gorgeous, but not dating material.
His hands hovered over the waste bin; he fiddled with the matches for a moment. She
would still be up; they had met and talked because of their mutual work hours. He imagined the beauty of her body in his bed, the carefree wildness of her personality. She was leggy, and obviously knew the physical prowess she possessed by the way she walked. Nick was not prone to one-night stands or aimlessly following his libido around, but something told him to hold on to the number.
Since when did everything become so clear-cut? Black and white? His choices in life had followed the basic principles of right and wrong. His finger fiddled with the matchbook; he imagined the smell of her perfume and the amazingly smooth skin exposed around her neck.
He rubbed at his face contemplating, his fingers brushing over his new facial hair. He let his hand remain on the scuff. What part of him was thinking now? Which fragment of his personality was still in control?
He crumpled the book and tossed it away. A part of him won out----he just didn't know which one.
Nick's left arm was wrapped around Grissom's shoulder, another one draped over the police officer. They staggered over to the awaiting car; Nick's grunts of pain and heavy breathing punctuated the night.
"How did you climb out of there, if you were in this much pain, Nick?"
He avoided the first question, as he was concentrating too much on getting into the
backseat of the car to respond to the current one. Nick scooted over to the driver side, his left leg stretched on the floor, his body twisted so as not to bend the swollen joint. He laid his head back to rest over the window, the firm glass a welcome relief from the softness of dirt.
Grissom closed the passenger door to the backseat, the slam jarring Nick into opening his eyes. He was surprised to see the man occupy the same space, instead of taking shotgun in the front. Grissom was talking in his cell phone, informing Catherine about the situation, belaying any worry. The work needed to go on. Yes, everything was fine. Grissom paused at a muffled question, his avoidance to a quick answer instantly grabbing the attention of the younger criminalist.
Grissom turned his head to catch Nick's stare and quickly ended the phone call with an, "I'll call you later."
His supervisor pocketed the cell, matching the gaze. "You want to tell me what happened down there?"
Nick felt the air conditioning of the car; the circulation of air was a nice change to the stale stench of death.
"I slipped, when I tried to get out."
Grissom nodded. "You must have been climbing up fairly quickly. You're not the type to trip or lose your footing."
Nick looked up at the upholstered ceiling, which was at least a different view. "I left my hat," he said, mostly to himself.
"It got knocked off when you landed?"
Nick blinked, still staring upwards. "I couldn't take the walls any longer."
Grissom's voice drifted through the hum of the car. The movement of the vehicle seemed to lull Nick into a semi-peaceful zone. His attention focused on the voice he could count on to be truthful and the brown interior of the car.
"The ditch began to close in on you."
It wasn't a question, just a mere statement and Nick held on to that.
"Not at first." Nick closed his eyes; the bones and skull stared back at him, the only objects in that darkness of dirt.
"Why did you stay down there, Nick? Why not get some fresh air when things started to get too much?"
"I didn't know 'why' they began to do that." Nick found it hard to stifle his confusion.
"Things didn't click until it was too late," his boss said matter-of-factly.
Nick opened his eyes and looked over at Grissom. "Click?"
Grissom's face was obscured by shadows. They were still out in the desert with only natural lighting, but his distress was evident and it made Nick feel slightly nervous.
Grissom moved forward on the seat, careful not to jostle Nick's leg. "Yeah, it was an
enclosed space...I mean..." Grissom didn't finish; he just let his voice trail off as he waited for a response.
"Oh. But, I put it all behind me, though." Nick laughed like he always did when he felt a bit embarrassed. He looked at alarmed eyes.
He stared down at his coveralls, rubbing at his throbbing knee. He thought back to the pit, the bones, and dirt. "I-I left myself behind." He looked back up to see the same blue eyes looking much more worried then just moments before. "In the first grave. I mean...I think I did."
There was silence in the car, and Grissom looked around as if searching for guidance. Nick followed his movements, grinning sheepishly. "What?"
Grissom moved closer; he rested a hand on Nick's right leg. "It's not inconceivable that you felt like a part of you went missing, Nick. Your mind did things to cope with the situation during and afterwards."
Nick scrunched up his face. "I don't know what I did," he said, chewing on his bottom lip. "I try not to think about it." He shrugged. "I was rescued and that was enough. Everything in between...well, I don't care to try to fill in those voids right now."
"That won't help you, Nicky." Grissom voice got softer. "I...we, all want you to be whole again."
Nick felt inexplicably torn, and he didn't know why. There was a war raging in his head and the tiniest glimpses of things that seemed way too fuzzy only served to cause him to shut down. He felt his defenses go back up; the conflict between the desire to be strong and beat down any signs of weakness trying to dominate over some little silent voice.
His fingernails scratched at the blue fabric beneath. "No, please, Grissom. I---I can't fight anymore. I get so tired of looking, or wanting to..."
Grissom leaned in and the car shifted causing him to lose his balance. His elbow jarred Nick's injured knee.
Nick gasped and the painful stimulus was enough to allow that shard buried deep inside his soul to break free. With the white hot pain coursing through nerves and muscles his brain unloaded thousands upon thousands of lost seconds of struggling, fear, and all his senses dealing with a perfect recollection; a time capsule of Hell.
Nick grabbed at his kneecap, trying to squash the sensations and block everything out. It was too late and the hot tears of physical injury mixed with the real first release of a simmering kettle.
He didn't say anything else. Didn't mouth any words of anger, or revulsion; he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, rubbing it up and down, words of encouragement drowned out by the floodgates of so many forgotten feelings.
"No!" he shouted. "No, no, no," he muttered like a mantra.
Nick was bent over, his face buried into his soil-stained pant leg, his hand grasping his painful knee. He moved his forehead onto his wrists, the sensation of someone's hand cradling the back of his neck the only thing keep him from tumbling into the cascading memories that seem to assimilate themselves in his mind.
This was not strength; this wasn't putting one foot forward. This was his final fall, stumbling with the shreds of time that had been shoved deep into the recesses of his mind. It was like an electric jolt to have it all come racing back in pure Technicolor.
"I left it all behind, all of it," he whispered, his voice choking.
Nick felt a hand. At first it had been tentative, then the circular motion around his shoulders seemed to ground him, as it brought his focus onto the sensation and not the feelings of the twisted up knots that had suddenly formed in his stomach.
Then he heard a voice; one that had been quietly speaking to him the whole time, but until this moment, had been drowned out.
"Its okay, Nick. No, you didn't. You're here, right here."
It must have been an awkward thing to do. Nick was bent over in the back seat of a patrol car. It was obvious he couldn't move, but it was still a profound shock when he heard Grissom's voice directly in his ear as the older man somehow maneuvered in the tight space to try to get his attention.
Another hand found his arm, and moved down until it found one of Nick's wrists. The younger man felt the pressure of fingers wrapping around it, while his other hand still gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"You don't have to hide anymore. Not from me, not from yourself. Just hold on. We'll find all the pieces."
Nick gulped, knowing that he could let go. He released the death grip over his knee, and latched onto Grissom's hand, and curled his fingers around it. He found an anchor and hoped it would hold him until the return of steady waters.
Nick found himself in the same spot he had been an hour earlier. He managed to throw on a T-shirt, the words Dallas Cowboys reflected backwards in the mirror. He held on to a razor, the water dripping in a warm flow swirled around his sink. A bottle of shaving cream waited for him, and he pressed down on the button releasing the foam onto his palm. Sticky, soft, and light as air. He leaned forward, his right two fingers dipping into the creamy texture, scooping up a cloud of foam.
Decision time. He arched an eyebrow eying the soft grown-out hair, thinking back. He squashed both palms together, the cream mushed against two layers of skin. Then applied the substance to his cheeks, jaw line, and above his lips.
He took the razor and with smooth, accurate strokes, removed the hair obstructing his face. He brushed the sharp edge over skin, rinsing the razor in warm water, and gliding it over his other cheek. It was cathartic, removing a layer of time. Repeating the action until his skin was bare again but for little splotches of white that he removed by splashing water over the remains.
Nick took his right hand and caressed the fresh skin, admiring the clean look. He squinted again and between his lashes saw the expression there; content, readable...and his own. He gazed at the mirror pleased at what he saw.
Everything down to the slightest quirk had to be questioned, challenged, even dared. Not to find its meaning but to recognize what he had in front of him. The pieces had not been missing- just misplaced. It took looking at other angles and changing perspective. In the end Nick knew what he had been looking for. What he thought he lost was just buried beneath things that were there were trying to cover other associations.
It took prodding and a great fall, but as long as he got back up again and brushed everything off, he would move on. Nick allowed a grin before a knock at his door signaled a visit. He grabbed his crutches and made his way slowly towards his door, knowing who it was before unlocking it.
Grissom entered while Nick closed the door. His supervisor held onto a plastic bag and took a seat on the sofa. Nick followed behind him not saying a word. Nick hopped on one foot and took up the rest of the sofa. He propped up his left leg and waited for the other man to speak.
"Your therapist says you're making progress. That's good to hear."
Nick smiled. Grissom always shot straight from the hip. "Yeah. We actually talk now."
Grissom merely nodded. He handed Nick the bag that he brought in with him. Nick was used to this; his supervisor had visited him a few times. Conversation had been sporadic and sparse, but he didn't mind too much. He rummaged through the bag and pulled out a black hat, the word 'Forensics' neatly stitched on the front.
Nick grinned. Grissom didn't need to come all this way to bring him a replacement hat. He had at least one other stashed away in his locker at work. He put it on; despite being inside, it felt good to wear it. Nick looked over at his supervisor and waited for more words of wisdom. Grissom casually looked back, tilting his head.
"You ready to come back to work next week?"
Nick leaned back against the cushions. "Yes."
Grissom tilted his head. "All of you?'
Nick grinned. "Yeah." He worked his jaw. "I was always here. Thanks for helping me realize that."
His supervisor shook his head. "You don't find things that were never lost. It's just sometimes you need to know when to step back and let yourself be found."
Nick let the words sink in, adding to another precious sea of moments. Each one defining as long as you accepted them at face value.
The End. For real!