Rare Author's Note: I am truly sorry for the delay, Kind Readers, but I was out of town most of last week, and am heading back out of town for all of next week. I'm Dallas-bound! Cowboy Country! Yee Haw! And if I see George I'll give him a big Howdy from y'all. I hope this chapter tides you over for a bit; I tried to make it a bit meatier. And please don't hold off on reviews because I'm not here. Give me something to look at when I get back!
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If the man who had designed the first interrogation room had copyrighted it he'd be a millionaire by now, was the last thought that had meandered its way through Vega's head as he sat trying to ignore the weeping boy who sat across the table from him. The walls of this room were pea green, a variation on the cream of celery green back at his precinct. He and Warrick had agreed to Alberto back to the CSI house as they were hoping that their current visitor would provide help in putting together the puzzle of the dead girl and their wounded friend. Unfortunately, the teen hadn't stopped crying long enough to form a coherent sentence yet. The sobs had turned to snuffles and the pile of balled up Kleenex hadn't had an addition to it for ten minutes so he hoped this signaled a waning of the tears. He hated seeing anyone cry, least of all a scared boy who had most likely lost his older sister to a horrible fate.
He cast an eye at Warrick who gave him the raised eyebrows that said, "What can you do?"
Vega reached a hand out and touched the teen's wrist trying to pull his eyes up from the wooden table.
"Alberto, necesitamos hablar. ¿Usted habla inglés?"
The boy barely croaked out his reply. "Yeah."
"How old are you, Son?"
"Nineteen."
"What's your full name?"
"Alberto Pacheco."
"Where do you live, Alberto?"
"With my … with my sister and brother. In an apartment over on Vallejo." The tears began to re-form in his eyes and he looked away again.
"'Berto. Was the woman in the picture your sister?"
"Yeah. It's Mari."
"Do you know what happened to her?"
"No."
"Do you know of anyone who would do something like this? Did your sister have any enemies?"
"No. Everyone loved Mari."
"Was she seeing anyone?"
The kid squirmed in his seat and began to dig a fingernail into one of the choice words a previous occupant of the room had etched into the top of the wooden table. The other hand rose to meet his mouth where he gnawed at the corner of a fingernail.
"Alberto. Was your sister seeing anyone? It's important, Son, if we're gonna find out what happened. Entiende?"
"Yeah. She was um, dating some guy, I think."
"Does this guy have a name?"
"She called him T. Um, Tejano. I don't know his real name."
Vega saw Warrick's eyes shoot wide open and he excused himself and left the room abruptly.
"Tejano? That a nickname?"
"I guess."
"Is he Mexicano?"
"Nah. He's a …guero. You know. Anglo. White guy."
"What do you know about this guy?"
"Not much. They've been seeing each other for like a month. Maybe a few weeks, I dunno."
Warrick reentered the room carrying something with an odd look on his face. He came around the back of the teen and placed on the table what turned out to be a photo taken at last summer's LVPD softball game. The picture was of Nick and Warrick wearing their navy blue LVPD tees. Nick's baseball hat was turned around backwards on his head and said CSI N. Stokes in white lettering on the fabric above the tab.
"This the man who was seeing your sister?" Warrick asked, his finger tapping next to Nick in the picture.
Alberto's eyes widened with surprise as he looked at the picture, then back at Warrick, as if doubting that it was the same man in both views.
"Y-yeah. That's him. He's a cop?"
"He's like me. A CSI. You know him?"
"Yeah. I mean, he's the guy dating my sister."
Vega sat stunned trying to figure out how Warrick had figured it out. He shot a glance at the CSI, the question evident on his face.
"When I talked to the doc in the hospital she said Nick said he thought his name was Tejano."
"He's in the hospital?" Alberto blurted out.
"Yeah. And he's in rough shape, kid. Now you know all the players. How about telling us what happened?"
"I, I dunno. I don't know what happened to Mari or to T."
"His name is Nick!" Warrick shouted, slamming his hands down in frustration on the table in front of the boy. His six-two form hovered over the kid and Vega watched as the teen cringed and balled up in his seat.
"Warrick! Take it easy. 'Berto. 'Berto! Míreme."
The boy's eyes rose reluctantly to look back at the detective.
"You sounded surprised that Nick was in the hospital. Why?"
"Cuz when I last saw him he was okay. I mean, mostly okay. Just banged up."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"Umm, I guess last night? Early last night."
"Where did you see him?"
The boy began his wriggle dance in his seat that it didn't take a seasoned detective to see meant he didn't want to answer the question.
"At my grandfather's shop."
Vega sat back in his seat, the answer not what he was expecting.
"Your abuelo's shop? What was he doing there, Alberto?"
The boy sighed and collapsed in his seat. "He was sleeping. I brought him some food and some medical supplies."
"So you knew he was there before you saw him? How did you know, Alberto?"
Warrick had maintained his stance behind the boy, arms folded, expression pissed off. He leaned back over the teen, ignoring the kid's recoil and spoke directly into his face.
"Yeah, kid. How did you know? Your sister is dead and my best friend is in a hospital so you'd better start spilling it. Now!" A fine spray of spittle struck the boy's face, melding with the tears that had sprung back up in full force.
"He was there because we brought him there," he answered in between sobs.
"Yeah? Who is 'we'?"
"My brother and me."
"Your brother? Who's your brother? And where is he now?"
"I don't know where he is," was the boy's anguished answer. "His name is Rey. I haven't seen him since that night."
"Okay, 'Berto," Vega smoothed in, darting a glance at Warrick who acquiesced and leaned back against the wall behind the boy, arms folded back across his chest.
"Start from the beginning."
"I was at work. Rey showed up and came in and got me. I went out to his car with him and T- I mean, uh, Nick, was in the back seat. He was all beat up and out of it. Rey didn't tell me anything. He just made me come with him. We went to the shop and I helped him get Nick out of the car and into a backroom where there's a bed and stuff. Then Rey took off and I haven't heard from him since." He finished his statement and gulped air, wiping his wrist across his nose.
"Okay, good, kid. When was that?"
"Night before last. I went to check on Nick after work yesterday evening. Like I said, I brought him some food and some bandages and stuff. He was okay then, I swear. He was like up and talking and stuff."
"What did you talk about?"
Alberto lowered his head onto his arms and closed his eyes. It was almost 2AM and since he'd already worked a full shift Vega figured he was probably exhausted. "He was acting kinda weird. Asking me questions like where was he and who was I. He told me his memory was like, full of holes or something. And he talked kinda funny sometimes. And the light hurt his eyes. But when I left him he was okay. I went back the next morning to bring him some clothes and food and cigarettes, but he was gone."
Vega darted a look at Warrick in response to the last comment, but only received raised eyebrows in response.
The boy raised his eyes to peer at Vega through his greasy bangs. "Wha…what happened to my sister. H-how did she d-die?"
Vega sighed and played with his tie. He leaned forward on the table and in a lower softer voice he told Alberto how his sister had died. He left out the gory details, including the sexual trauma.
Warrick pushed off from the wall behind the teen, causing the boy to start and whip his head backward, but the CSI pulled out the chair next to the boy and sat down heavily.
"Alberto. We are trying very hard to find out what happened to your sister. We have only one clue. Do you have any other relatives in the area? Besides your grandfather?"
"I have an uncle and a cousin. But we don't have much contact with them. At least we haven't in the last few years."
"Yeah? What are your uncle and cousin's names?"
"Tío Carlos and my cousin Ramon. Orozco. Why?"
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The insistent beeping of his bedside alarm clock broke through the wall of slumber that had been surrounding him and pierced his still dully aching head. He groaned and raised a hand to swat at the snooze bar, granting him nine minutes of reprieve.
Moments before ingrained habit led him to recognize that the alarm was about to sound again he sat up in bed and fumbled the off switch into position. He swung his legs out over the side of the bed and sat through the dizziness that still lingered. The migraine he'd been fighting all day had finally overwhelmed him and he had beat a hasty retreat from the lab, after ensuring that Greg and Sara were following suit. He had taken two more of his blue headache pills and collapsed in his bed sometime around midnight, only to have sleep continue to elude him for more than two hours. The last time he remembered looking at the glowing red digits they had read 2:17 AM.
10AM. Barely eight hours, but it was the best he could do.
He leaned over and picked up the cell phone sitting on the bedside table. Two missed calls, one from Sara around midnight, no message left, and the other from Warrick at 2AM.
"Gris, it's Warrick. We got a positive ID on our vic and we located a relative, a younger brother. And we got another link to Ramon Orozco. Vega is gonna try for a warrant after court opens tomorrow morning. Lemme know if you go visit Nick. I'll be at the lab another few hours. Call me if you need anything."
Sounded like Warrick had things well in hand, and he had other plans for the morning. And he had just the person to invite along.
The call he placed was answered by a sleep-laden voice that quickly became more alert after Grissom ID'd himself.
"I'm going to the hospital to visit Nick. I thought you might like to come along, Greg."
"Yeah, thanks, Grissom. Give me like fifteen minutes to get ready."
"Greg, it will take me more than that to get ready," he said wryly.
"Oh. Yeah. Well, you want me to meet you at the hospital?"
"Why don't you come by and pick me up. No need for two vehicles' usage when we're headed to the same place. Besides, I don't really feel up to driving today."
"Oh. Okay, see you in a half hour?"
"That'll be fine, Greg. Don't speed on my account."
He'd barely had time to shower and pour coffee into his travel mug before Greg's VW Jetta pulled up outside his front door.
The ride over was easy, not much traffic so late in the morning.
Greg had tried to ask him a few questions but he hadn't had the energy to do much more than grunt answers at him.
"So, Grissom. Not so much the morning guy, huh?"
"No, Greg. That's why I work nights."
"Oh. Yeah. True. Sorry."
They pulled into the lot, parked and walked up the cement sidewalk towards the hospital, Grissom's feet growing heavy as lead with his lack of desire to be there. He hated hospitals, hated everything about them. The acrid smell of rubbing alcohol mixed with the equally acrid smell of bleach. Bodily fluids that were so much different than those at the lab and the morgue. They belonged to the living. And the barely living.
He felt himself slowing as they approached the room assignment the front desk volunteer had given them.
He knocked lightly on the door and pushed it open to find Nick reclining in the bed closest to the door, the head of the bed partially raised. A curtain had been pulled between his bed and the window side bed, a dark recumbent shadow the only indication that the room had another occupant. The room was dark, the window shades drawn against the morning sun.
He cleared his throat and Nick opened his eyes to stare at him and Greg standing behind him, peering over his shoulder.
"Lemme guess. Uncle Joe and Cousin Jimmy?" the Texan drawled.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Greg look down and away and he began to stammer out a reply when he saw the corners of Nick's mouth pull up in a tired smile.
"Gotcha. Hey, Gris. Greggo."
"Nick? You seem…better."
"Yeah, I am, thanks. Some of the uh, bigger stuff is coming back. Thanks for coming by. Hope you don't mind if we don't reminisce. Not quite up to that yet."
"No problem. It's good to see you're at least partway back. How are you feeling?"
Nick sighed and pulled the blanket up further, adjusting the sling that held his left arm close to his body.
"Alright, I guess. They wont give me any pain meds for the arm. Doc says narcotics'll 'hinder my recovery', so the strongest I'm getting is Tylenol. Not really cutting the mustard I'm afraid, but hey. I guess the tradeoff is worth it." Another wry smile. "How is everyone back at the lab doing?"
"Fine. Fine. Worrying about you mostly, of course."
"Yeah. Sorry about that. Hey, Greg? C'mon over. I'm not contagious."
Grissom turned to see that Greg was still hovering back by the door, hands stuffed in his pockets as if he was afraid to touch anything.
Greg gave a small smile and took several steps closer to the bed.
"Sorry, Nick. Glad you're um, doing better."
"Yeah, me too, Greggo."
They were momentarily spared any further uncomfortable small talk by the intrusion of a nurses' aide wearing mauve scrubs. She stepped between Greg and the bed with a brief "excuse me" and stuck a thermometer in Nick's ear. Several seconds later after it beeped she brushed past Grissom to grab the chart at the end of the bed and dashed down the reading, then excused herself without any further conversation.
"She seems friendly," Greg quipped.
"Nah, she's actually nice. But when you're in every half hour the small talk gets a bit old."
"So they treating you okay here?" Grissom tried lamely.
"Yeah. I'm actually hoping breakfast'll be coming around soon. I'm starved. I'm hoping the doc has never heard that whole 'feed a cold, starve a fever' thing."
"Actually, I think modern medicine has debunked that old wives' tale, Nick. They actually now believe--"
"Uh, Gris. It was a joke."
"Oh. Yes, of course."
The room became quiet once more, the only sounds coming through the open door into the hallway where the main nurse's station was. Doctor pages and other voices echoed through the halls.
Nick had settled back into his pillows and closed his eyes and Grissom passed appraising eyes over the form of his friend. Nick had been shaved at some point and a previously unseen bruise shadowed the line of his jaw, matching shadows that persisted under his eyes. Stark bruises stood out from the paler flesh on his shoulders and chest that remained uncovered by the blankets. A small square of gauze had been taped over one temple; apparently the source of his head trauma. Perspiration showed on his forehead and beaded lightly on his upper lip. Most disconcerting of all were the occasional shivers that would wrack his body.
Greg made an uncomfortable noise, like he was trying to clear his throat or stifle a cough, and Nick's eyes startled back open.
"Sorry, guys. Still kinda wiped. You'd think I'd be doing cartwheels with all the juice they got pumping into me."
"Juice?" Greg asked.
"Yeah. Steroids. Doc says my dosage is high enough to dope a whole World Series team," he said with a small laugh.
Grissom responded with a small smile of his own, heartened to at least hear some of the old humor back in Nick's voice, but he knew behind it there was still a lot of pain and confusion.
This observation was confirmed when he saw Nick struggle against the pillows, a grimace passing over his face at the pain from his wounded arm.
He gave Nick a moment to relax, then he glanced over at Greg and read the discomfort there. It was hard on the younger CSI to see his friend in so much pain, and his normal stress defense of corny jokes and slapstick humor was gone, muted by the dark room, and the omnipresent smells and sounds of illness and pain.
"Maybe we should go, Nick."
"No. Wait, Grissom. I need to know- did Warrick tell you about my friend?"
"Yes, Nick," his voice grave and carrying with it a heavy burden.
Nick blinked a few times, passed his tongue over dry cracked lips, and cleared his throat.
"You found her, didn't you?"
"Yes, Nicky. I'm sorry. We found her before we found you."
"What -" He cleared his throat and tried again to force the words out in a cracked voice. "What happened to her?"
"She was beaten, much as you were, Nick. And then strangled. I'm sorry," he added again.
Nick blanched, his face if possible even paler than before.
"I…I don't know what happened to her. I don't know if--"
"Nick. It wasn't you. It couldn't have been you."
"How do you know?" was his whispered reply. "I don't even know myself. How could you know that for sure?"
"Because I know you, Nick. And if that isn't enough for you then I could bore you with the forensic reasons."
When no response came from that he drew in a breath and attempted to adopt his normal pedantic tone.
"She was wearing a skirt covered in your blood. She tore a piece of that skirt off and tied it around your arm. If you had been her attacker, I find it highly unlikely that would have transpired. Your wounds and bruises show you were restrained for some time. She was still alive during all that as her skirt blood patterns show she tended your wound after that. Plus, she was strangled, Nick. And with your arm as badly hurt as it is, there is no way you would have had the strength in your left arm and hand to kill her. The killer left hand prints on both sides of her neck. And your clothes had none of her blood on them."
Nick had remained passively listening throughout his impromptu lecture, some of the pain fading from his visage as Grissom pounded out the cold hard facts for him. Grissom had been concerned that his divulging of the details of her death would be disturbing to the CSI but it appeared that it actually had a calming effect on the younger man.
"Thanks, Grissom. For being straight up with me. I-"
He was interrupted once more by the nurses' aide, back in again for a temperature reading.
Had it really been a half hour already? Grissom thought.
The aide went through with the same ministrations as before, this time with a small smile as she leaned over to adjust a wrinkle in his sling and fluff his pillows.
"You still cold? You want a gown or a PJ top, Hon?" she asked him quietly.
"Nah. I just keep sweating through them. The night nurse got me some bottoms and I have a robe, but thanks."
"Okay. Just ring if you need anything. See you later - but not too much later," she said with a smile. She quickly jotted down the new stats on his chart and left the three of them in silence.
It was blatantly obvious that Nick was fading on them and Grissom reached over to touch Greg's arm, grabbing his attention and gesturing with his head towards the door.
"We're going to take off now, Nick. Do you need anything? I'm sure Warrick or someone will be by later if you need anything. Something to read, perhaps?"
"No, thanks. Still can't read. Can't focus that hard for too long," he said with a rueful smile. "You, uh, didn't call my parents, I hope."
Grissom mentally knocked himself in the head for their oversight. "No, Nick. Do you want me to?"
"No, no," he answered quickly. "I'd uh, rather be uh, better equipped to deal with them. I don't wanna scare my mom in case I forget a name or something."
"All right. Let me know if you want them called. But they are your parents, Nick. They'd want to know what's going on with you."
"Yeah. I'll uh call them, maybe later, okay?"
"It's up to you Nick. Take care."
"Yeah, thanks, guys."
Grissom watched as he struggled to find a comfortable position in the bed and closed his eyes.
He took Greg, who still appeared stunned into a quiet daze, and steered him out the door.
When they got out into the parking lot and loaded up into the Jetta, Greg put the key in the ignition, but didn't turn the engine on.
"Grissom, I don't get it. He seems like he's doing pretty good, from they way Warrick and Catherine described him."
"It's the steroids, Greg. You know the difference between anabolic steroids and corticosteroids, right?"
"Well, yeah. Athletes dope with anabolic steroids cuz it increases their stamina and bulks up their muscle."
"Exactly. Corticosteroids like the ones Nick is on have a similar action on the body. When the body is attacked by injury or germs or an allergen, the body's immune system reacts by flooding the area with fluids and white blood cells. Steroids decrease the swelling and suppress the natural immune reaction. In Nick's case, it decreased the swelling on his brain, allowing blood and oxygen back into the affected areas and returning some of his memories. Unfortunately, its also suppressing the immune defenses he needs to fight his infection."
"So he's not out the woods then at all, is that what you're saying?"
Grissom reflected back on all the signs of Nick's fever; the constant monitoring of his temperature, the sweating and shivering. And the last number he saw the aide scrawl on the chart. 103.7.
"Not by a long shot, Greg."