Chapter Two

Everyone was staring at him, and Nick felt like a fish in a damned bowl. Pudgy faces and grimy hands pressed flush to the glass, pointing and poking, trying to get his attention, their voices coming through muddy and distorted. He had to get out. The pressure was suffocating him.

The news of Nick and Warrick's impromptu fight had trickled through all the regular office grapevines, and everyone was watching him, holding their breath and staking out front row seats for his next blow up. Waiting to see what he would do next.

Going home and going to sleep, Nick answered their unasked questions in his mind, not all that dramatic.

But it was. Sleeping had become a sort of sport for Nick. He had to work himself up for it, and if he succeeded in a full few hours without nightmares, he considered it a victory of epic proportions. And the way his life had been going lately, he could use every small win he could get. The only problem was, this didn't happen very often.

What did happen was an hour or so of light sleep followed by another long two wasted tossing and turning and checking the black corners of the dark room for an unseen menace, ready to pounce while he was defenseless. On a good night this would be followed by another hour or two of fitful slumber. On a bad night, it was followed by a pot of strong coffee and infomercials.

The gun under his pillow had helped at first. He wasn't really expecting anyone to sneak into his house…but, hey, it wouldn't be the first time. He'd moved the gun into the bedroom years ago, after the sickening realization that a psychopath, and eventual killer, had spent weeks watching him through the night, from no more than fifteen feet away. The piece had been tucked into the top drawer of the bedside table, well within arm's reach. It was incredible how far away that gun had seemed the first night he'd spent home alone after the box.

The gun didn't help anymore, because his fear went beyond that. Whenever he was alone, he could feel it in the air, and the air felt bad. Thick and threatening. He'd thought he would be able to appreciate it more now, and stop to smell the roses, so to speak.

There were no roses. There was no smelling anything sweet. His body was always on alert, and every foul molecule in the air was an assault on his nose and lungs. Especially his lungs, which sometimes tightened without warning, and he had no idea what brought it on. Elevators were an understandable stimulus. Stairwells, sure. His car, even. But sitting in his living room, watching a ball game…he had no explanation for that.

In those moments, it was like his brain abandoned his body, left it to fend for itself.

This was what was happening as Nick shoved through the heavy glass doors and out of the crime lab. He ventured a few steps down the sidewalk and paused with his hands on the chipped, rusty handrail, and took a deep breath, for a single solitary moment not caring who saw. The oxygen was what mattered. His lungs fought it but he fought them right back. He balled his shaking hands into fists around the thin rail and flexed his fingers out.

Get a grip, he ordered himself after a few solid breaths. Now he needed to pull it together, was afraid that someone would come upon him in this state, especially Warrick, whom he had just left with what he hoped was a sense that things were going to start getting better.

Not great, not even good, but better. But "better" was relative, and there wasn't much room for things to get worse.

Nick scanned the parking lot for his truck, which he couldn't recall where he'd parked. It didn't help that they all looked the same.

"Nick?"

It was all he could do not to jump, but he succeeded. He turned, stuffing his still slightly shaking hands into his jeans pockets. "Yeah?"

Sara looked concerned, although it was hard to distinguish, as her face seemed to carry that look perpetually now.

Damn it.

"You okay?"

"Yup." Short, sweet, and to the point. That point on a map would, in all honesty, fall a little south of the border of truth, but was still in the vicinity. Close enough to claim residency.

Something flashed across Sara's features. Guilt, maybe. "Did, uh, did Warrick talk to you?"

It was in the form of a question, but she knew the answer, and Nick knew that she knew the answer. It was a lure, to hook him and drag him into the conversation. He was once again nothing more than a fish being gawked at through a thin but seemingly unbreakable barrier. And from the very people who were sworn to keep him out of these types of situations.

"Yeah, for a bit." Nick turned back to parking lot. Where in the hell is my truck? He was overcome with an intense desire to be far away. He unconsciously tugged at the neck of his sweatshirt, not liking the feel of the cotton lying against the base of his throat.

"I'm really sorry."

Nick turned back to her, surprised. "For what?"

She wouldn't really make eye contact. "I didn't want you guys to fight. I just wanted…I don't know. To help you, I guess." Her eyes rose to tentatively meet his.

Thank God. Nick had spotted his vehicle in the far corner of the lot as Sara was talking. He turned back in time to see her looking at him, and her expression told him that she wanted some kind of response, maybe for him to say something that would alleviate some of the guilt that she was apparently, however irrationally, feeling.

He gave her his best smile. "Thank you, Sara. Really. I promise that from now on, if I need to talk about something, I will." He was blowing her off, again, and he cringed when the look in her eyes told him that she knew it.

She shook her head, looking away with a knowing smile. "It's all a lie, isn't it?"

Nick couldn't think of anything to say, not wanting to risk letting slip another stupid, transparent excuse.

Sara continued. "Warrick just ran up to me, so psyched. 'Nick's gonna be better, I know he is,' he said. 'I can tell.'" Tears formed in her eyes. "But I know you, and I know that he does, too, but he just wants to believe so bad that everything can be the same."

"It is, Sara. I'm still the same guy."

"Stop it!"

She was practically yelling, and Nick cast a worried look around them. He really didn't need more spectators to witness round two. After the day he'd had, all he wanted was to go home, and home was seeming farther and farther away.

"Sara, calm down," he said.

"Stop telling us what we want to hear," she said, much more quietly, but still with plenty of force behind it.

"I – I can't help it," Nick said lamely, suddenly fascinated by his shoes.

"Is that what you did just now?" Sara swung an arm to the wide entrance of the lab. "Told Warrick what you thought he wanted to hear, to pacify him? Answer me," she gritted at his silence.

Nick honestly didn't know to respond. Anger was an expected reaction from Warrick, because he was a very hot and cold kind of guy. But this, from Sara, of all people…he didn't know what to say.

"I…maybe…I mean – " he got out before she cut him off.

"He cares about you, Nick. We all do. This is killing him a little every day – "

"And what do you think it's doing to me, Sara?" He hadn't meant for that to come out, and he wished immediately that he could take it back. If he didn't know how to handle an angry Sara, he really didn't want to deal with the Sara that was now looking back at him.

Her mouth opened slightly and a tear made its way out of her eye and ran down her cheek. "Oh, God. Nick, I'm so sorry…I didn't mean…"

"It's okay," he said softly.

And here it was. The big money moment. He'd gone and done it again. It was all riding on what she did right here.

Nick waited, wanting more than anything for her to let this drop.

Sara's shoulders slumped just slightly as she gave in. She offered him a small smile, and something inside if Nick broke when he realized that she was taking his words at face value. It was what her whole rant had been about, and she was still doing it. She couldn't help but hear what she wanted to, any more than he could help saying it.

It was what he wanted, too, but something deep inside of Nick still longed for that constant watchfulness and concern, no matter the force with which he pushed it away. As long as someone was there watching and waiting for the next big bomb in his life, he would always be rescued.

At the same time he was afraid for the day that wariness receded altogether, and everyone around him accepted this new reality as the norm. He feared that he would disappear into himself completely, and his friends would be left to laugh and joke with a shell.

But for now, he still hoped.

Nick reached out and rubbed Sara's shoulder, fighting tears for what seemed like the tenth time that day. And what a long, hellish day it had been. "I'll see ya tomorrow, okay?"

She smiled and nodded, running a finger under her eye.

"Okay." Speaking barely above a whisper, Nick nodded and finally made his way to his truck.

He wanted to go home.

To be continued...