Chapter Ten

It was almost noon the next day before Nick finally pulled into his driveway. The rest of the night had gone by relatively smoothly. He'd gotten the feeling Warrick was been looking for him, not to mention the fact several people had told him so, and he'd managed very well to avoid him. He discovered several rooms in the lab that, in all the years he had worked there, hadn't known existed, and they had proved to be very useful.

That didn't deter Warrick from calling several times. Nick let his cell phone ring and ring and ring until it went to his voicemail at least fifteen times. All of the voicemails were the same.

"Nick, hey. It's Warrick. Give me a call when you get this, okay?"

"Hey, Nick. I just…can you call me or find me or whatever, when you get this?"

"Hey, it's me again. Just…I just want us to talk. Call me, okay?"

"Nick, I…please, just call me."

It wasn't that Nick was avoiding Warrick. He wasn't mad at Warrick. He was avoiding the situation. He really wasn't mad at Warrick. He didn't know what he was. Tired, that was for sure. But beyond that…he just felt like a lifeless lump.

Nick had hit his emotional limit, and now he was very simply drained. He'd gone through the day reacting nothing more than indifferently to the people he encountered. Not the best way to try to solve a case, but he had managed well enough.

The tire treads and paint chips pulled from the victim's clothing led him to the owner of a dark blue Ford Expedition, a Paul Reiner who lived not five blocks from the scene. A warrant granted Nick access to the SUV, and he pulled several fibers from the front bumper that matched perfectly the clothes the victim had been wearing.

Nick entered his house and moved straight through the living room, heading for his bedroom. He ignored the blinking light on his answering machine that indicated that he had three new messages, tossed his jacket instead onto the annoying appliance.

He fell back onto his bed and squinted at the bright afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window, invading his space. The act reminded him of the pain in his jaw and he winced, which also didn't help. He sighed and heaved himself up off of his bed and went to the window, closing the dark shades.

That's better, Nick thought, and flung himself down again. He didn't even bother to take his shoes off. He wasn't going to be sleeping very long.

Warrick spied Catherine walking down the hall from his command post in the break room. "Cath!" he called, jumping up from the couch and jogging out to meet her.

Catherine cocked her head sympathetically, anticipating his question. "Sorry, Warrick. I haven't seen him. Maybe he wrapped up the case and went home." She shut the case file she was carrying. "Have you tried calling him?"

Warrick snorted. "At least a dozen times. His cell and his house." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "He won't pick up. I don't know what to do."

Catherine shook her head. "Neither do I. It seems like no matter what we do, it's not the right thing." She put a hand on his arm. "You can't blame yourself."

Warrick frowned. "How can you say that?"

"Warrick – "

"I lost it, Cath, and I did something so stupid…what if he doesn't get better? Ever? Because of what I did?"

Catherine was silent, her mouth hanging open, at a loss for words. Not exactly the reaction Warrick was looking for. He knew it was wrong to want Catherine to make him feel better for what he did. He didn't deserve it, but he needed something, some validation that he wasn't the most awful friend, but he was.

"I…I don't know," she finally said, her arms falling to her sides. "I guess we just deal."

Warrick shook his head. "I couldn't do that."

Catherine sighed. "No. I don't think I could either."

Warrick put his hands on his hips. "So what do we do?"

"I think we all take a step back, before we collectively do anymore irreversible damage."

Warrick and Catherine turned to the analytical voice that they all knew so well.

"…you can't blame yourself."

"How can you say that?"

"Warrick – "

Gil came upon Warrick and Catherine in the hall and stopped. He didn't even have to guess what, or who, they were talking about.

Warrick's next words brought a frown to Gil's face. What exactly had he done, he wondered. Neither of them seemed to notice he was there, and continued their conversation.

Gil waited for the perfect moment to make his presence known, his frown deepening.

"So what do we do?"

"I think we all take a step back," Gil cut in, "before we collectively do anymore irreversible damage."

The two CSIs turned around in surprise.

"Hey, Gris," Warrick said uneasily. "How long you been standing there?"

Gil bypassed the question and focused on the thing Warrick had said that had him so concerned. "How did you lose it, Warrick?"

Warrick held up a defensive hand. "Gris – "

"How did you lose it, Warrick?" Gil repeated, in the same steady tone. He raised his eyebrows.

Catherine coughed and looked away.

Gil rolled his eyes in her direction and focused his attention on Warrick. Something was going on that his people weren't telling him, and he didn't like it.

Warrick sighed and threw his head back, shaking it at the ceiling. When he came back down, he bit his lip. "Me and Nicky kinda got into it, and I…" he trailed off.

Gil motioned for him to continue.

Warrick wouldn't look Gil in the eye, made a slow, halfhearted jabbing motion with his arm.

Gil's jaw dropped. "You hit him?" It came out a lot louder than he intended, and several people stopped talking or walking to stare in their direction.

Gil didn't want to believe it. Besides being completely unprofessional, the idea of Warrick hitting Nick went completely against the way Gil had always perceived him. He had a temper, that was for sure, but he'd always managed to rein it in.

Gil frowned at the lab techs attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation and glanced sideways at Catherine. "You knew about this?"

Catherine blinked, fumbled for her words. "Well, I…Warrick was – "

"In my office," Gil instructed, marching down the hall. The two CSIs followed quickly, keeping up with his hurried pace.

Once they were all tucked away inside the relative privacy his office, Gil slammed the door and whirled on the two members of his team. "What in the hell is going on around here?" he demanded, throwing out his arms.

Warrick stared at his shoes, while Catherine stared straight ahead. Neither spoke, so Gil continued.

"I go away for a few days and I come back to a team that's just completely coming apart at the seams, and becoming physically violent with one other?"

Warrick's head snapped up. "It wasn't like that, Gris!"

"It doesn't matter how it was like, Warrick! You should have come to me right away. You too, Catherine. What if Ecklie finds out about this?"

"Then Ecklie finds out about it, I don't care!"

Gil studied Warrick carefully. The younger man was breathing heavily, his eyes were impossibly wide. He was clearly upset about what had happened, as he should be. Nonetheless…

"You need to calm down, Warrick," he said gently.

"How can I?" Warrick's shoulders sagged. "If you had seen his face…I'm worried about him, Gris."

Gil sat back on top on his desk. "I know, Warrick. But you need to think before you act or speak. We don't want to keep driving him away, do we?"

Catherine hadn't spoken until this point. "But, Gil, if we give him the space that he wants, he's just going to keep repressing all of the things he went through," she said. "Hell, we've pretty much been promoting it up to this point. And what about he's going through now?"

Gil shrugged. "Maybe we're not the ones who are meant to help him."

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "I hear that. We're not exactly doing a great job of trying, are we?"

"So," Catherine asked, looking between the two men, "what do we do now?"

It was a new night, but the nightmare was always the same.

It didn't take the ringing of his cell phone to bring Nick out of it this time. It was more like his mind and body had finally come together and shouted 'Enough already!'

Nick bolted upright, a hand pressed tightly to his chest. Maybe if he applied enough pressure, he could slow his heart, beating so hard it was physically hurting him. He shot a look at the clock and nearly lost it. He'd only been asleep for forty-five minutes. That couldn't possibly be enough time to experience such a vivid dream.

He fell back, his head thumping against the headboard. Maybe he could just beat the memories out of his head.

Nick raised his head and brought it back hard. He repeatedly knocked it against the headboard, and cursed himself for the few tears that slipped down his cheeks.

To be continued...