Requital 3of?
Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. It's strange writing a character that we only saw on screen for a single scene. I hope the POV switches haven't been/aren't confusing. Anyway, here's chapter 3. Feedback is, as always, encouraged and appreciated.
Notes in Ch. 1.The incessant ringing of his alarm clock came all too soon.
Nick blindly groped in the direction offending noise; he slapped the snooze button for the third time before he pulled the comforter tighter around his body and closed his eyes. The headache he went to bed with hadn't dissipated during his fitful rest.
Before he could return to sleep's beckoning grasp, the alarm blared again. His eyelids felt heavier than usual, but he finally pried them open enough to see he was running significantly late. Shit.
He threw back the covers and quickly sat up.
Oooh, bad idea.
Hit with an unexpected onslaught of dizziness, Nick waited for his bedroom to stop spinning before slowly scooting to the edge of the bed.
Touching his feet to the ground, he gingerly rubbed his temples. Yeah, he was definitely coming down with something. It had been slowly building the past few days. Cath nagged him about not wearing a coat the other night when she stopped by the Tangiers to touch base with Grissom. And man, did she ever love being right. He was totally getting the told ya so mother-glare at work today. He sighed and stood up slowly before heading to the shower.
Turning on the spray, he waited for it to warm to his preferred sauna-esque temperature. Growing up, Nick often woke up with aches and pains from the previous day's sports practices. Not to mention he had an immune system that was sometimes vulnerable to sudden weather changes. So on days like that, his mom would coax him out of bed by insisting there was nothing a hot shower couldn't fix. More often than not, she was right. Ten minutes under that luxurious heat and his muscles were ready for another day of pounding, or his sinuses were clear enough so he could sound normal when politely rejecting all – okay, most – of the girls at school. He smiled at the memory and stepped into the hot spray. A sudden shiver passed through his body and pulled him back to the present; he doubted a shower would fix this, but at least he'd wake up.
Fifteen minutes later and wearing his favorite jeans and a soft, black t-shirt, he padded out to the kitchen. The CSI felt a familiar ache in his stomach and immediately nixed the idea of his usual protein-charged breakfast; he nibbled on a piece of dry toast instead.
A few minutes later, he shoved a couple chewable Pepto Bismols in his pocket, pulled on his most comfortable blue hoodie and headed out the door.
"Greg, hand me th—"
Catherine stopped as the magnifying glass suddenly appeared her hand. She gave the DNA tech a questioning glance.
"Come on, Cath," Greg smiled. "You know I anticipate your every need."
"Great, then you already knew we need a pot of coffee ready for the run-down meeting in fifteen minutes."
"It's the end of the shift. We've been here for hours. I know we wouldn't get anything accomplished otherwise."
Catherine examined the blood spatter photos without looking up. "Exactly. So get on it."
Greg gave her a mock salute and left the room. She set down the photo and the instrument and slowly rotated her head around, cracking the little kinks in her neck.
She had just picked up the photo again when the whoosh of the door sounded.
"Greg, I'm not smelling any Blue Hawaiian on you; you can't possibly be done already."
When he didn't answer, she looked up and was surprised to see Grissom locked into his own world, mumbling to himself and obviously looking for something.
"Grissom," she said, watching as he opened a drawer, digging errantly through its contents.
"GRISSOM!" Finally, his head snapped up and he fixed her with an annoyed glare.
Oh, no. If anyone had the right to be annoyed it certainly wasn't him. "Grissom, what in the hell is up with you? You've been spending untold amounts of time locked in your office this week, and I know for you that's not completely abnormal, but you at least usually give me a heads up on what you're working on so I know I'll be on my own for a while. Besides that, you were supposed to meet me hours ago to compare the blood spatter photos from the two scenes!" She took a calming breath as she noticed his apprehensive look. "Are you alright?"
"I…"
She waited for him to finish as he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
"No."
Catherine found herself growing more nervous as she watched her friend glance around him as if he was being watched by hidden cameras. "Well what's going on?"
She saw him look around again. He sighed. "Let's go to my office."
They were out of the room and halfway down the hall before he spoke again quietly.
"I keep getting these… clues."
She almost stopped and stared at him. "Clues?"
"Yeah, in the mail. I brushed it off as some prank at first, but—" He pushed open the door to his office and allowed her to step in first, then closed it behind them.
"—But you've been holed up in your office studying them so hard that you think if you turn one of them just a certain way, all of the sudden it'll reveal who stole the Lindbergh Baby?" Catherine had rarely seen him this troubled and tried to lighten him up a bit. "And then you'd get some wild theory but you didn't want to tell me since you knew I'd slap you upside the head with my Grissom's Crazy Theory Baton?" She really knew him to a "t."
"Basically."
She sighed. "Gil. This is me. Whatever it is, you have to remember that you can trust me to be your voice of... I don't know. Second opinion. I'm there to help you separate the 'innocuous' from the 'incendiary,' to put it in your terms."
"I know. And I should have. But the thing is … I don't think this is innocuous," he paused. "I got another today."
He moved behind his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out what looked like a few postcards. "I'm starting to see a pattern emerge and I don't like where it's taking me."
Catherine almost winced. That was never good coming from Grissom. She looked at the three postcards, now adorned with the other CSI's pen marks. The word "Mason" was underlined on one, and the rain boots were circled in another. There's no way…
She fixed him with an incredulous look, guessing where his thought process had lead him. "Isn't that a bit of a stretch? Rain boots and the Masonic exhibit? You don't really think this has to do with the Millander case…"
Grissom didn't answer, but instead handed her his newest "clue."
This time it was a typical Las Vegas postcard with an image of the Strip. But unlike the others, it had a message on the back. "'Trouble in the sandbox?'," Catherine read aloud. "I don't get it. And I don't see how the family on the boardwalk fits with the others either."
She looked up at Grissom for a reaction but he was just staring into space.
"Hey. Come on." She waited for him to look at her again. "I know that case was difficult to deal with, but it's doing you absolutely no good to let your mind go back there now. Paul Millander is not taunting you from the grave. These things are completely random."
He waited a beat before answering. "That's not what those cards are telling me."
There was no sense in trying to convince him otherwise, at least at this point. And Catherine knew damn well she didn't believe her own words -- she too was troubled by these mysterious events. If she let that show, though, it would give Grissom cause to divert his attention when they needed to give the current case their full focus. Speaking of that... She glanced at her watch. Greg had probably led a mutiny by now.
"Alright. Let's go salvage what's left of the meeting – we're already late for it. Afterwards we can talk about this again, okay?"
He moved with her towards the door. "Yeah."
They walked down the hall in silence and entered the room to find a half-empty pot of Blue Hawaiian and most of the team looking rather impatient. This case was fairly cut-and-dry, and she guessed everyone just wanted to get this over with so they could go home. Day shift would be here in a few minutes, anyway.
Sitting down at the table, they noticed Nick's unhealthy pallor and half-closed eyes and exchanged a glance. Apparently today had been longer for some than others. "You know people typically sleep when they go home, right, Nick?" Grissom said lightly.
The younger CSI immediately perked up, but Catherine jumped in before he could answer.
"Nicky's decided it's a good idea to wear his coat from now on while processing scenes in 40 degree drizzle." She shot him a glare but softened at the miserable look in his eyes.
Slightly embarrassed, he ran a shaky hand through his mussed hair. "Nah, it's nothin', guys. Just a little bug or somethin'."
"I swear I didn't leave the fridge open this time, man." Warrick tried to joke with his friend, but it was lost on Nick.
She watched him sink back into the confines of his hooded sweatshirt, but didn't press the issue further. He was a big boy.
Ever the captain of the Good Ship CSI, Grissom promptly steered the group into laying out the different points of the case. He intently focused on Greg's DNA findings and made sure all his follow-up questions were adequately answered. But as they sat and listened to Sara cover the fingerprint data summary, Catherine could tell his mind was drifting elsewhere. She knew she'd be kidding herself if she said fingerprints were her present concern, too. What in the hell was going on with these postcards? There's just no way…
"… and Brass has already picked up the suspect – the prints are a direct match. We won't have to go back there until at least tomorrow to finish up. But it's pretty well done."
Catherine blinked, Sara's words finally puncturing her reverie.
Thank God for slow nights.
Juliette hovered around outside the locker room door. She'd been officially off the clock for an hour, but stuck around until the meeting that would never end…ended. She saw Nick bolt for the locker room right away and had decided to stick around until he came out. Finally, Nick emerged and, she noted smugly, looked positively miserable. This had all been a breeze so far.
"Nick?" she started, hesitating until he looked over at her with a ghost of his usual charismatic smile.
"Oh… hey."
She took in his haggard appearance again. "Long day, huh?"
He looked a little uncomfortable. "Ah… yeah."
"I hope this isn't too forward of me," she hesitated again, holding out a Tupperware container. "But I heard you weren't feeling well, and this always helps my son when he comes down with a bug."
"Oh… um…" He seemed genuinely surprised that someone would do this for him. Funny, she always figured Willows mothered these people to no end… maybe she only does that in between her trips to Leatherrama. "Thanks… that's very kind of you, but I don't know if…" He accepted the container but looked at it skeptically.
"No no, it's made just for that." Juliette stopped him. "It'll help settle your stomach."
He looked relieved. "I guess I'll give it a try then, I mean, the pink stuff really wasn't working, and…" he trailed off with a sheepish shrug.
"And you weren't exactly sure what to try next without resigning to a doctor or your mother?"
He laughed. "Yeah, I guess that's—"
"Well I know you're a bachelor with your pride to consider; we don't have to tell anyone, right?" She winked and patted his arm. This was way too easy.
"I appreciate it, thank you."
It was almost unfair, praying on his positivism like this. She knew he wouldn't refuse her offer because that may offend; she also knew he'd eat it later even against his better judgment because of the effort and thoughtfulness put forth on his behalf.
"And hey," he added, "Grissom will appreciate it too, when I'm not horkin' all over his lab tomorrow."
Grissom. She forced a smile and nodded in agreement. Well, so much for 'playing unfair.' Nick was just a kid caught in the crossfire, but then again, that was the point: she wasn't about to feel sorry for anyone on the in's with that bastard.
"Well, see ya around, then." He turned and slowly walked towards the front door.
"Good night, Nick," she called after him. Enjoy.
TBC...