Requital 4of?
Thanks again for all the feedback. This part is a lot longer than the others, for some reason. Also, I just now realized I have no idea if Grissom actually has a couch in his office. Well, he does now.
Notes 'n stuff in Ch 1.
Warrick parked his truck outside the familiar condo. He'd been disappointed to find that Nick had left the lab so quickly – he wanted to make sure his friend didn't need anything. Reaching into the back seat and grabbing the six pack of ginger ale, he briefly considered calling to make sure he was awake. Nah. He'd probably just tell me not to bother. He hopped out and walked up to the front door, encouraged to see the living room light still on.
That encouragement quickly faded when the door opened and he saw the downright pathetic look of his best friend. Warrick hadn't seen such a lifeless countenance to Nick's eyes since he was doped up on painkillers after the Nigel Crane incident. Sweat beads on his forehead glistened in the porch light and he shivered as a light breeze rustled his cotton sleep pants.
Nick squinted, as if he wasn't sure who was standing on his front step.
"Hey, bro." Warrick held up the drinks. "Thought you might need this."
"Hey… thanks," Nick wrapped his arms tightly around his body. "But you shouldn't be here, man… you don't want a piece of this."
"That's what I take my mega vitamin for." He frowned at the way Nick was almost slumped against the door. "Let me put this in the fridge for you, and I'll leave you to get some rest."
Nick didn't respond; he retreated back inside and motioned Warrick to follow. The taller CSI moved to the kitchen and looked skeptically at a half-eaten bowl of some kind of soup. "You able to keep much down, now?"
"Dunno 'Rick, we'll see," he heard Nick call from the other room. "One of the receptionists gave me a home remedy, or somethin'. Wasn't too bad, I actually felt better for five minutes."
Warrick sympathized. It was hell having a constant upset stomach. He closed the fridge and walked back to the living room where he found Nick leaning against the couch and rubbing his temples. He really hated leaving him alone in this condition – Nick was too stubborn to ask for help. After all, Warrick thought, he'd act exactly like his friend if the positions were reversed.
"So, you need anything else? Up for a game or two of Madden? I'll even take pity and let your sorry ass have the ball first."
Nick looked up and actually seemed to consider the offer for half a beat, but then closed his eyes in resignation. "Nah, I better try and salvage some sleep. I really don't want to take a sick day tomorrow."
Warrick bit back an automatic protest. This wasn't some little cold! Didn't he realize how awful he looks? "Well don't worry if you need to. Grissom won't mind." He walked towards to the front door and then turned back to his friend.
"Alright man, call me if you need anything," he waited for Nick to stop staring at the invisible spot on the carpet and meet his eyes. "I mean it. Don't be a jackass. Call."
He was rewarded with half a smile as Nick agreed. "I promise. See ya tomorrow."
Nick locked the door behind his friend and sighed. While he appreciated the gesture, he doubted ginger ale would kick this virus. He hadn't lied about Juliette's soup – it did make him feel better… while eating it. But that was probably due to the fact it was the first time he'd had something other than soda crackers all day. But his stomach started churning again shortly after, and he felt the culmination of its vengeance would arrive soon. He decided not to tell her that it didn't work – she was kind enough to fix it for him.
Nick grimaced as another sharp ache wracked his stomach. He was dizzied with pain so intense he had to glance down to make sure blood wasn't pouring out of his abdomen. Overwhelmed by how quickly the latest symptoms had manifested, Nick wondered if his body waited for Warrick to leave before imploding upon itself.
He staggered to his bedroom and grabbed his pillow and a sheet from the bed. If his current condition was any indication, it would make much more sense to sleep in the bathroom. After dropping the articles onto the cool tile floor, he stripped off his shirt. Nick couldn't decide if he was hot or cold. He was sweating like he just finished an intense game of 1-on-1 with Warrick, and his eyes burned like the seventh level of hell. But he couldn't stop shivering as the stale air met his damp skin.
Before he had time to consider what was happening, his stomach finally gave out. He sunk to the floor and retched for what seemed like hours until dry heaves wracked his aching body. He rested his sweaty face on the cool porcelain and waited for the impending aftershocks. Nick wearily recalled getting a flu shot a month or two ago; it was just his luck that he caught the 'abnormal strain.' After a few minutes he felt himself drifting off, so he gingerly lowered his head back to the pillow on the floor.
As Nick fell closer to sleep, he resigned to the fact it wouldn't last long. But he'd take whatever fitful rest he could muster – he had to be at work in a few hours.
"Dammit Greg, don't worry about it!"
Grissom ran a hand over his face as the lab tech retreated from his office like a wayward puppy. He rarely lost his cool, let alone snapped at his people like that… but Greg was the third person in the last hour to ask him about the mysterious postcards. He really should have expected it—this lab rivaled any junior high cafeteria as a gossip mill. The supervisor knew not to blame Catherine for telling anyone – not when David Hodges spent more time with his ear against Grissom's office door than a hypochondriac scheduled doctor's appointments. Probably had the place wire-tapped, too.
He sighed and stood up. At least the details of his "theory" hadn't made the rounds yet. That would only create more unnecessary fervor among the staff. Grissom considered the first four pieces of mail again. Was he seeing what he wanted to, or what was really there? That's why so many people believed fortune tellers. A so-called psychic may give details about an individual, but would keep the "facts" vague enough that any person could construe them into being miraculously unique to his own life.
When is a rain boot just a rain boot?
Grissom almost laughed at himself. Waxing a twisted Freudism only told him he'd been spending too much time thinking about these cards.
But still… nothing new had come in the mail today, so there was no use pacing around his office thinking about what may or may not come tomorrow. Maybe that was it. Paul Millander was dead for pete's sake. Maybe nothing else would come, and this would just … solve itself.
Right.
Grissom resisted the obligatory "face-palm" moment and headed out to the hallway to clear his head.
Barely out the door, he almost ran smack into Catherine.
"Oh! Hey, Brass just called. They found another blood pool on the northeast side of the parking lot."
Grissom bit back a groan. "How could they miss that before? How could we miss that?"
"No idea, but we better all go down there to make doubly sure nothing's screwed up this time."
"Ok. Page Sara and Warrick. I think I saw Nick in Trace earlier," he said, gesturing over his shoulder. "Walk with me."
Catherine cleared her throat. "So ah… get any mail today?" Her voice was a hair above a whisper.
"No need for your stellar covert ordinance tactics. Our lab gossip machine is in full-force."
Catherine rolled her eyes. "Hodges?"
Grissom shrugged. "No matter. I don't think anyone knows about my 'theory,' though."
Catherine stopped outside the Trace Lab's door. "You're still going with that?"
"I don't know. The only thing I know for sure is, the next 'clue' that waltzes its way in here is getting treated like a piece of evidence. DNA, prints, ALS, the whole buffet, not just the dessert cart. I'm tired of this game already."
He watched for her reaction – she didn't seem surprised. "You don't think the others would give you anything?"
"Maybe, but I've pawed them so much, scribbled on them… it was stupid, really. Careless. But I didn't think anything of it at the time."
"Let's just not worry about it until the time comes," she said, pushing the door open. "If someone is trying to mess with your head and distract you, they're doing a pretty good job."
Grissom finally cracked a smile. "Messing with my head, huh… at least it's not Ecklie for once."
"Hey, you don't know that."
He raised an amused eyebrow at the other CSI before turning his attention to Nick, who was sitting at a table across the room looking through his file report on the fiber analysis of the last case.
"Hey Nick, we just got a call and have to head back over to…" Grissom trailed off when Nick finally looked up from the file. He was hunched over in his hooded sweatshirt again, despite the room's relatively warm temperature. His face was devoid of color, almost a pasty grayish-white, save a flush high on his cheeks, and his eyes were glazed and listless. The supervisor had just assumed Nick was feeling better since he came to work today.
Before Grissom could finish his thought, Catherine had quickly moved to where Nick was sitting.
"Nicky," she lightly admonished. "Why'd you come in today?" She brushed some errant sweaty locks from his forehead. "You don't have to prove anything by coming into work when you're sick. We were just teasing you yesterday."
Nick flinched slightly at her touch. "I know, but I can work. I'll be fine."
Catherine scoffed. "Look in a mirror lately? Doc Robbins' latest appointment looks better than you right now."
Grissom silently agreed. It appeared Nick had gone from bad to worse rather quickly. He waited for Nick's somewhat predictable, stubborn rebuttal.
"Look, I want to be here when we close out this case. Griss has to be sure the details about the fibers at the second crime scene are accurate for my testimony."
The supervisor finally jumped in. "Okay, look. You can do that later. We have to go back and figure out what happened with this other blood pool at the first scene. Why don't you just take it easy and sleep on the couch in my office until we get back. Maybe by then you'll feel well enough to go over the testimony."
Nick hesitated for a moment; Grissom figured the younger man understood this was more of an order than a suggestion. "Yeah, okay."
They lead Nick down the hall and watched as he sagged onto the couch, quickly leaning back and closing his eyes in defeat.
Catherine put her hand on his shoulder. "Did you take anything?"
"No… figured it would just come right back up."
"I'm sorry, Nicky," she rubbed his arm. "I wish I could do something for you."
Nick just gave a tired smirk and mumbled something like "I'm fine."
Catherine looked back up at Grissom and gave a half-shrug. They both knew he shouldn't be here, but figured a few hours of quiet rest while they were out closing the scene was a better option than sending him behind the wheel of his car to go home.
"Okay, well don't even think about getting up until we get back. Then we'll see about other areas of business."
Grissom wasn't sure why, but he felt apprehensive about leaving Nick behind; but he quickly blamed frayed nerves over his 'mail.' He grabbed his kit and with one last look behind him, headed for the parking lot with Catherine.
"…Nick…ick…?"
Someone was shaking him.
"…Nick!..."
He couldn't remember for the life of him where he was. But gradually he became aware of the musty, lumpy fabric beneath him and realized he was on Grissom's couch. He cracked open tired eyes and a blurry figure swam into view. It was Juliette from the receptionist's desk. Somehow, he still had the presence of mind to hope she didn't bring more soup.
She was shaking him a little harder now so he tried to focus as best as he could. He felt a hand brush his forehead.
He tried to turn away from the touch. "Hmmm?"
"Nick, you're burning up. You shouldn't be here. I'm going to take you to a doctor."
He felt himself sober up slightly at the mention – check that, threat – of "doctor." After all, he was an adult male. Nick opened his eyes a little more.
"Donneedone," he slurred. "Rick'll takem'home when h'gets back."
"No, Warrick's out processing with the rest of the team. I, uh, called him and they won't be back for hours. He told me to take you home. Come on." Nick wasn't in any shape to protest, and if Warrick said so…
He felt an arm move under his and try to take on his weight. She only succeeded in pulling him upright on the couch. "C'mon Nick, I can't carry you out alone. Would you rather I call an ambulance?"
That certainly got him moving.
Leaning heavily on the smaller woman's side, they lurched out of the room and down the hallway. His head was so fuzzy that he could hardly make out the familiar shapes around him.
When he felt them come to a halt, he tried opening his eyes wider but the light just made his head hurt more.
"Nick?" It was a voice that sounded vaguely like Archie's. "You need some help?" A question probably not directed at him.
"No, it's okay. Nick asked me to take him home since the guys won't be back for a couple hours. He never should have come into work today, right Nick?"
'I asked her'? Nick could have sworn that just a few minutes ago she told him that Warrick instructed her to drive him home. Then again, his mind was spinning so fast she could have been dressed as Darth Vader and he wouldn't have noticed. So, damned with the details – anything to get this operation moving so he could lie down again. "Yeah," he agreed.
"Are you sure you don't need some help?"
"NO! I mean, no, uh, Nick doesn't want to make this into a big thing, you know?"
While that was true, he really wouldn't mind having Archie come along. He didn't exactly feel comfortable with the receptionist, so if he had to puke all over someone's car, it might as well be a friend's. Nick tried to voice his opinion but it only came out as a strangled groan.
"Right. OK Nick, I'll have Warrick call you when he gets back. Hope you feel better."
He didn't get a chance to answer before Juliette started moving them along again. It was hard to walk on such shaky legs but the promise of his warm, soft bed and hours of uninterrupted sleep urged him onward.
Suddenly he felt a blast of cool air as they moved outside. He shivered and stumbled slightly, but his companion held fast on his arm. She was encouraging him to keep walking, but he vaguely noticed that the mothering tone had been replaced by something more menacing.
"Jesus Christ, come on!"
Confused at her change in demeanor, he pushed along, feeling steadily worse with every step. He could hardly make out Juliette's mumbles through his hazy mind.
"…we'll see… that bastard … gets a clue now … better figure out soon … don't worry Nick … get yours… "
Everything was a jumble of sounds and swirling colors around him. He honestly couldn't tell if they were in the CSI parking lot or down on the Strip.
A car door opened and he was pushed none-too-gently into the back before the door slammed shut again. His body tilted over on its own accord until he suddenly felt cool leather against his overheated skin. He heard another door slam and then felt a hand reach back and lift up the side of his sweatshirt.
Nick barely had time to consider why she was taking his gun before he passed out across the back seat.
TBC…
I'll be out of the, uh, office, you could say, all weekend… so unfortunately I won't be able to update as fast. Leave a review and let me know what's up!