Chapter Eleven

It was dark, but that fine with Nick. His head had to be at least three times its normal size, if how heavy it felt was any indication. Heavy, and achy. He didn't have to open his eyes all the way to know he was in the hospital. The smell was very distinct, one he knew all too well.

"Nick?"

Something else he knew all too well; worry in the voice of one of his friends. This one was Warrick. He knew he should say something, and reassure them to his consciousness, but he really didn't want to. He just wanted to roll over, go back to sleep, and wake up in about week, hopefully in his own bed, and hopefully giving his brain enough time to rid itself of everything that had happened in the past few days.

A couple of things stood in the way of Nick's plan. One was the pull in his side when he tried to move, evidence of the stitches now there that probably shouldn't be rolled over onto. The other was the pressure suddenly applied to his arm. Not hard, just enough that he knew it was a hand. They were really worried, and he needed to give them something.

It took a little bit of effort, more than he would have liked, but he managed to open his eyes. They immediately wanted to fall shut again, but he focused on the faces in front of him, and that made him keep them open.

"Hey," Catherine said, and leaned in with a smile.

For some reason, the movement made Nick feel as though his personal space was being invaded, and he tried to shrink back into his pillow. The movement put more pressure on his head and he winced, feeling something tight on the side of his head. Most likely more stitches.

It didn't matter, as Catherine stepped back, looking somewhat hurt. She shook it off instantly and regained her concerned composure. The others, Warrick along with Greg and Sara, took the hint and kept their distance.

"How do you feel?" Sara asked. She'd taken her hand off of his arm, but it was still lying on the blanket, close enough that he could feel it. It bothered him.

Nick swallowed. "Good, I guess," he said, his voice unrecognizable to his own ears, low and scratchy.

They all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

"The doctor's going to want to know you're awake, he's probably going to want to go over…things with you…"

Warrick's voice started to become fuzzy in his head. Not because of his head, but because all of his attention was focused on how close Sara's hand was to his arm. It wasn't touching him, but he could feel it. The hairs on his arm seemed to stand on end, and he could feel a shiver coming, his arm suddenly covered in goose bumps.

Wincing, Nick tried to shift in his bed, moving his arm closer to his body without drawing attention to it. Sara misunderstood the motion as uncomfortable fidgeting and she placed her hand again on his arm. Probably to calm him, though it had the exact opposite effect.

Nick tried to focus on what Warrick was saying, but it just wasn't working. He was humiliated with himself, feeling this uncomfortable by the closeness of someone he was usually so close with.

"Sara, could you just back up a little?" he spoke up and interrupted, finally having to wrench his arm away from her fingers.

Sara pulled her hand away as though she had been shocked. "The, uh, the doctor will be coming soon. You're not supposed to have this many people in here. Feel better." She stood and turned, but not so quick that he didn't see her swipe a hand under her eyes.

"I'll go…" Greg said, trailing off and following Sara out of the room.

"Nice," Warrick said.

Nick opened his mouth to apologize but couldn't get anything to come out. He had to admit to himself that he felt more relaxed now. He was by no means unaware of the fact he'd hurt Sara; quite the opposite. He didn't know what had overcome him.

Noticing his hesitancy, Catherine lowered herself into the chair from which Sara had just risen. "What's wrong?" She winced at her question.

Where do I start? "I don't know," Nick said. "I just…" It didn't take too long for it to feel like Catherine was now too close. He fought the urge to shift again.

Fortunately, being Catherine, she picked up on the undertones of Nick's actions. "Too close?" she asked softly.

Nick averted his eyes and nodded. "Sorry."

"No, man, you don't need to be sorry," Warrick said. "We should have thought of that."

Catherine nodded in agreement. "We'll explain to Sara."

No, Nick wanted to say, let me. But he couldn't. For some reason, he just really wanted all of them to leave. He started to turn away, in more than one way, and look at the wall.

He noticed for the first time Grissom in the room, standing in the back corner. He hadn't spoken, he hadn't moved, and Nick hadn't been alerted to his presence until now. He still didn't speak, but just stared at Nick with a look in his eyes that scared him a little. It was very un-Grissom.

Something about the fact he was there surprised Nick. He made eye contact with the older man for only a moment, and then had to break that as well. It felt too much like Grissom was staring at him, and it felt like a look of disappointment in his words and actions over the past few minutes. It probably wasn't, but it felt like it.

Nick sighed and stared at the IV line running into his hand. It was touching him, but at least it wasn't staring at him.

For Nick, the next day was a blur of too many faces and voices to keep track of. Doctors, nurses, an unpleasantly familiar psych consult, a few visitors, and a call from his mother thrown in just for fun.

He awkwardly reached out to his side to replace the phone, wincing slightly and putting his other hand to his side. He wasn't really up to too much movement yet. The phone was taken gently from his hand and placed in its cradle.

"Thanks," Nick said, settling back against his pillows with a sigh.

Grissom gave him a small smile and returned to his chair, picking up the paper he'd been reading.

He'd stayed with Nick long after the others had left. The two hadn't said much, and the silence was becoming nerve-wracking. The only constant noise in the room was the television, currently tuned to the Food Network. It was oddly calming. Nick's mind was racing to fast to get any of the doctor-recommended rest he needed.

There were things Nick needed to talk about, needed to know, but he hadn't been able to find the words. It was as though Grissom understood, and that was why he was still in the room, just waiting for Nick to be ready to talk. He was being there for him, but giving Nick the space he needed at that same time.

"Are your parents coming out?" Grissom asked, not taking his eyes off of the paper.

Nick wanted to roll his eyes at the panicked nature of his parents. But when he thought about it, he really couldn't blame them. He'd always managed to give them some reason to worry.

"Yeah, in a few days," he answered.

Grissom looked up as if to ask, why the wait?

"Can't get away from work." Nick gave a half-hearted smile, and thought about the real reason. "I don't think they want to see me in the hospital again." It was understandable, given the circumstances surrounding last time he was here. It was just as well, as he wasn't sure he could deal with it himself.

"You'll be home in a day or two," Grissom said, turning a page of the paper.

"Yeah." Nick wished he could just skip to that part. He hated hospitals. And with no one but Gris for company? Not exactly relaxing. The others had all said they would be stopping by to check on him sometime, but he hadn't seen anyone else in yet. The lab must have been busy.

The twinge in his side hadn't gone away, and Nick's eyes ticked over to the stand holding and dispensing his pain medication. It was set to dispense a certain amount every now and then, an interval determined by the doctor, and not by him. He did, however, have the "happy button." All he had to do was push it for a dose. His thumb tensed on the button, but he tossed it aside with a small, disgusted sigh. He didn't want to have to rely on the medicine, no matter how much he probably deserved it at the moment.

No matter how discreet he'd tried to be, Grissom still noticed. "Hurting?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

No, Nick thought. I'm just fine and dandy. "A little," he said. "It's cool."

Grissom didn't seem to be particularly satisfied with his response, but let him get away with it. His attention went back to the paper, and Nick wondered if he was actually reading it, or just using it as a way to avoid the inevitable conversation Nick knew they were going to have to have.

Nick cleared his throat and shifted again, trying to find something resembling a comfortable position. "You, uh, you don't have to stay. I'm sure the lab needs you, and I'm probably just gonna sleep, anyway." The last part was a lie, but he hoped it sounded natural.

Grissom paused in his reading and glanced up at Nick for only a moment before looking back down at the paper. "The lab's fine."

"I mean, they're already one man down, I'm sure that – "

"They'll be fine, Nick."

Nick looked down at his hands and thought about how pathetic the two of them were. They were both waiting for the other to talk first. He knew Grissom had some, if not all, of the answers to the questions he had about what happened and why, and Grissom was surely waiting for Nick to talk specifics. He'd done very well avoiding the subject altogether, pretending he was in for some sort of extended routine check-up…resulting in stitches and a bag of blood.

Screw it, he thought with a sigh, and opened his mouth to speak.

"We cleaned your house," Grissom said suddenly. His voice was quiet and full of hesitation. He finally set the paper aside, and met Nick's eyes cautiously.

Nick slowly allowed his mouth to shut and sat back, dumbfounded. He'd forgotten to think about that. "What, uh, what did you find?" He knew Grissom wasn't talking about dusting and vacuuming.

Grissom started to shake his head to dismiss Nick's question. "It doesn't mat – "

"What did you find?" Nick repeated forcefully, without the stammer of his first attempt. He was going to be out of the hospital as early as the next morning, and didn't want to go home until he knew exactly what Crane had had there. Had he been watching him again? Obviously. Grissom's hesitation told him the man had information he knew Nick wouldn't want to hear.

A shiver went down Nick's spine, causing him to twitch and wince again. Thankfully, he heard the beep of the stand as the long-awaited shot of pain medication was pushed into his IV line.

Despite Nick's forceful tone, and the glare he tried to fix on his face, Grissom sat silent. "You really should be resting," he said, and started to rise out of the chair.

So, Grissom was going to pull the "patient" thing out on Nick. Well, he had something to use, too.

"Do I need to go to Archie?" Nick asked, and instantly wished he could take it back. The look that came over Grissom's face was one he'd never seen before, and wasn't prepared for it at all.

Grissom looked away at some invisible spot on the wall. He shook his head slowly. "No," he said softly. "You don't need to go to Archie." He sank back into his chair.

When his eyes met Nick's, Nick had to fight to not look away. He almost couldn't believe he'd stooped that low to get Grissom to tell him what was going on. He guessed that was just how crazy Crane made him.

Grissom cleared his throat uncomfortably. "There were cameras," he said finally. "And microphones."

Nick bit his lip and nodded, having figured as much. "Where?" he asked without thinking. He really didn't want to know. "Never mind," he amended quickly, cutting off Grissom's response.

Grissom nodded and sat, watching him. People were always watching him. It made Nick's skin crawl. He again focused on his hands, the IV line that was running into his right one.

"On second thought," Grissom started, and Nick couldn't help but snort. Here was Grissom, going to cut out once again as soon as things got tough.

He glared up at Grissom, opposing emotions clashing into each other inside of him. He didn't want Grissom to just sit there at stare at him, but he didn't necessarily want to be left along in the cold, white hospital room, either.

Nick's stubborn, defiant nature won over, and he gestured to the door. "Go ahead." His head was starting to hurt anyway.

"I was going to say," Grissom said, raising his eyebrows, "maybe you should go ahead and talk to Archie when you get out, because he could walk through any questions you have better than I could."

Nick looked down, feeling his face flush. "Oh."

He felt like an idiot. Grissom was trying to help him, in his own special Grissom way, and Nick was so quick to jump to the conclusion his supervisor was trying to get out of the situation.

Grissom was right; he did have questions for the A/V tech. Like what kind of equipment Crane had used and how he had got it into his house. At the same time, Nick just wanted to pretend the whole thing had never happened. He just wanted to go home, go back to work, get back into the swing of things and never hear the name Nigel Crane again.

First, Nick wasn't going to be able to go home until at least the next day, possibly the day after. The doctor had said he was concerned about the trauma to his head, and wanted to observe his concussion a bit longer. Second, he wasn't going to be back to work for even longer. Probably a couple of weeks. Hopefully a couple of weeks, though he was sure Grissom was going to try to get him to take off longer.

And third…well, the problem with that little wish was that Nick worked in the system, and knew how these things worked. Plus the fact he'd been through this with Crane before. He would have to give a statement, which he was mildly surprised he hadn't had to do yet, and there would be other interviews, talking with the prosecutor, and the big one – the inevitable trial. Where Nick would once again have to sit and see Nigel Crane staring at him as he recounted to a judge and jury what had happened.

Staring at him. Watching him.

Grissom was still watching him. Not knowing how long he'd been lost in his thoughts, Nick gave the other man a smile small.

"You okay?" Grissom inquired.

"I guess," Nick answered, as honestly as he could. He was tired and sore and his head felt much heavier than it should. He was starting to have trouble keeping it up, and fell back against his pillows with a defeated sigh.

There wasn't a comfortable way for him to lie to sleep, part of the reason he hadn't been able to nap at all during the day. His head really had been knocked around too much. He couldn't lay it flat, couldn't lie on the left side. No amount of pain killers seemed to take the ache out his temple and ear. Nick settled for twisting just slightly and looking to the right, which aggravated the stitches in his side, but he found that to be more bearable.

It also meant he was stuck with nowhere to look but at Grissom. Watching Grissom watch him was going to be a lousy way to pass the afternoon. Not to mention stressful.

It was quiet in the room for a long time. A nurse came and went, and Grissom answered two calls from the lab. Nick tried to shut his eyes and get some rest, but he still just couldn't…rest.

In a move probably surprising himself as much as it did Nick, Grissom scraped his chair closer, right up to the side of Nick's bed, and put a hesitant hand on his arm. Nick instinctively flinched and tried to pull it away, but Grissom increased the pressure, holding Nick's arm firmly.

"You're going to be fine," he said, gently but firm at the same time.

Nick looked at him with wide eyes and nodded, though not quite sure he believed him.

"Nick," Grissom said louder, shaking his arm slightly. "Listen to me. You're going to be fine."

"I know," Nick said. He didn't, and the crack in his voice betrayed that.

"He's not going to get out this time," Grissom said.

Nick couldn't respond to that. He wasn't so sure anymore. They'd let Crane off easy last time around, storing him away in some rehabilitation center rather than the cell he deserved.

"How do you know?" he asked, his voice coming out as low as a whisper.

Grissom smiled. "That's my job, Nick. I know things."

Maybe he was crazy, or even a little bit delusional. It might have even been the concussion, but something about Grissom's words made Nick feel better.

"Tina, babe, have you see my keys?" Warrick called as he clomped down the staircase and into the kitchen.

"Why don't you look where you left them?" came the response.

Warrick rolled his eyes but grinned at his feisty, always-with-a-retort wife. "The problem is that I don't know where that is," he said, leaning across Tina to grab a piece of toast from the counter. Breakfast time, even though it was technically early afternoon.

"Hey, hey," she scolded, tapping his hand lightly with a wooden spoon. "If you're gonna eat, do it at the table."

"Can't," he answered through a mouthful. "I gotta run."

Any other day, he would have been ecstatic that his and Tina's days off ended up being the same, but today, he already had plans.

"Can't go anywhere without your keys," Tina said is a teasing voice.

Warrick swallowed and gave her a shake of his head. "Always playin'," he said, but sat down at the table.

"How's Nick doing?" Tina turned back to the counter with a satisfied smile and continued her preparations of a breakfast that was much too much food for just the two of them. But that was Tina; she worked things out through food.

"Haven't really talked to him since yesterday. Figured he needed his rest."

"He does," Tina said knowingly. And pointedly.

"I won't keep him out past curfew," Warrick responded sarcastically.

"Don't take him out anywhere," Tina said sternly. "You make him rest."

"Yes ma'am."

Tina grabbed up two heaping plates and set one in front of Warrick and the other in front of the chair she slid into. Once there, the control she'd had in the kitchen was gone, and she stared at the plate.

Warrick lowered his toast to his plate and gazed across the table at his wife, his eyes sad.

Tina seemed to be able to feel his eyes on the top of her head and looked up, forcing a small smile. "I'm fine, baby. Don't look at me like that." Despite her words her eyes ticked over to the living room. To the plastered-over hole in the wall and the new patch in the carpet. Warrick had made sure to cover those reminders as soon as he could. He wasn't going to need them to remember what had happened.

Tina's hand seemed automatically drawn to the fading bruise on her cheek and Warrick saw tears form in her eyes. He cocked his head and quickly moved to her side, wrapping his arms around her.

"Really," she protested, leaning into his arms, a few tears slipping out, "I'm fine."

"I know," Warrick said softly. But no matter what everyone was saying, he just couldn't help thinking about how not fine everything was.

Tina calmed down after only a few moments, and while Warrick didn't feel great about leaving her, he promised her that he would be back soon. She gave up his car keys and waved to him from the door with a smile. He just hoped it stayed there.

Warrick grabbed his cell phone and punched in a speed dial he called often. He rubbed his face, frustrated, when he got a voicemail message.

"Nick, hey, I don't know why you're not picking up." He glanced at his watch. "I know I'm running a little late, but I'm on my way over."

Warrick hesitated before disconnecting the call. Over the past few months, he'd always felt a little uneasy when Nick didn't answer the phone, and the events of the last few days hadn't helped matters any. There was not a place in the world Nick needed to be besides lying on his couch channeling surfing.

Warrick would be lying if he said he didn't push a little harder than normal on the accelerator as he drove to Nick's house.

He was relieved to see Nick's truck parked in the driveway. He'd been released from the hospital, but Warrick still didn't want him driving anywhere by himself just yet.

The day was slowly working its way into the mid-afternoon hours, the high sun shining warm and bright, but the blinds in Nick's living room window were shut.

Warrick didn't even knock, as he hadn't for years. He reached for the knob and was surprised to find it locked. Frowning, he now knocked on the door. "Nick? It's me, open up."

Warrick heard not only one, but two locks sliding out of place, and his frown deepened.

The door opened too quickly, and Nick's attempt to look casual and natural failed. His friendly "Hey, what's up, man?" contrasted harshly with his still paler-than-normal complexion and he wasn't standing to his full height, but hunched slightly, his arm held tight to side, but like he was trying not to make his discomfort too obvious.

"You didn't answer your phone," Warrick said. It even sounded like an accusation to his own ears.

"Yeah," Nick said sheepishly, glancing into his living room. "I was, uh, busy. Sorry." He held the door tightly in place only a foot or so open, not giving Warrick any room to step further into his house.

Warrick was taken aback by his friend's sudden lack of hospitality. When they'd spoken the night before, Nick had seemed…relieved at the prospect of Warrick's coming over to spend his evening off. Warrick knew how much Nick hated being stuck home alone with nothing to do.

Warrick attempted to take a step forward, but Nick's hold on the door tightened. He looked up at his friend, whose smile was as tight as his grip on the door.

"You know, I'm actually not feeling like company right now," Nick said, looking somewhere over Warrick's shoulder. "I should have called you, I'm sorry…"

Warrick wasn't buying it. "What's up, Nick?"

"I just…" he trailed off, and once again looked behind him, back into his house.

Warrick could tell something was up, and he frowned at his friend. "Nick," he said. The subtext of the one word was "let me in."

Nick made as if to respond, but one look at the resolved expression on Warrick's face seemed to set him right, and he shook his head, stepping back to let Warrick in. He stood aside and seemed to be very interested in his shoes.

Warrick didn't have to take more than one step into the house to understand why he hadn't wanted him to come in. Nick's field kit was lying open on the counter, and various things were sitting out, including his flashlight, which could probably account for the closed blinds. It seemed as though everything usually stored in the cabinets of his kitchen was sitting out on either the counter or table, and Warrick assumed there were things on the floor as well. Likewise, in the living room, each and every item usually cramming the bookcase next to Nick's entertainment center – every book, video, DVD, and other random items – was lying on the floor. Some were in stacks and others in careless piles.

Oh, Nicky, Warrick thought. I thought Grissom told you we did this already. That hadn't been a pleasant team experience.

"Lost track of time," Nick muttered to explain the mess, and Warrick turned to look at him, his mouth hanging open.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Nick said, stepping forward. He moved into the living room and started picking things up.

Warrick noticed how he was favoring his side. I don't even know where to start.

"You're supposed to be resting," he said, crouching next to Nick. He started to pick up the various DVDs strewn about.

"I know."

"So what happened?" Warrick started to put things back while Nick sat back on the floor with a small wince and looked around the room. He laughed lightly, and attached to it was just a hint of hysteria.

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I got home yesterday, and I just…" he trailed off.

"You know what? You don't have to explain yourself to me, man." Warrick paused in his cleaning and stepped across the piles to open the blinds.

It was as though Nick didn't hear him. He kept talking. "And I know Grissom said you guys already cleaned, and I know that...that Nigel is at PD, is locked up, but I just couldn't, I don't know, rest until I knew for myself he wasn't here."

Warrick understood what Nick was talking about. He knew Nigel Crane wasn't physically in Nick's house, but his presence was still there. Nick was somehow trying to find a way to clean that Crane-feeling out of his house.

Nick continued. "This is crazy, isn't it? It's never gonna go away, it's just going to be one thing after another."

Warrick know he wasn't just talking about Nigel Crane anymore. He stayed silent, figuring the best thing he could do for Nick right now was to just let him talk through things. You can fight it, man, he silently told his friend.

"I think I'm losing it," Nick said, but Warrick knew he was feeling better. His tone had that joking-Nick hint to it. Maybe his silent message had gone through.

"Nah, man," Warrick said with a smile. He tossed a picture frame to Nick. "You lost it a long time ago."

Nick smiled back and slowly got to his feet. "It'll be fine," he said, and it was first time in months Warrick had heard that word and known it wasn't a brush-off.

"How do you know?" Warrick asked with a challenging smile.

"Cause Grissom said so." Nick placed the frame in its place on the bookshelf, and Warrick helped him to put his living room, if not his life, back together.

"Thanks, Warrick." Gil hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. He felt a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth.

The short conversation with Warrick, who'd just left Nick's house, had made him feel there was actually some validity to the words he'd said to Nick in the hospital. He had been afraid Nick wouldn't have taken his words to heart.

The lab had seemed excruciatingly quiet that night, with Nick out and Warrick taking a night off. He'd been hesitant to do so, but Gil and Catherine had combined to form a united front and insisted upon it. They felt he was still far too emotional for his head to be one hundred percent in the job.

It was, thankfully, a slow night. Sara and Greg had been given a softball B and E, and Catherine had offered to take another homicide/suspicious circs solo so Gil could get some things done. And he definitely had things to do. Actually, just one thing. He grabbed his jacket and flipped off the light to his office on the way out.

The station was just one building over from the crime lab. It was a chilly evening, and Gil shoved his hands in his jacket pockets on the walk to PD. He nodded in greeting to several officers in the halls as he made his way to Jim's office. A short ten minutes later, he was sitting in one of the blank concrete-block walled interrogation rooms. At his request, and with Jim's assistance, any recording equipment had been removed, and while there were two officers at the door, there wasn't one in the room.

Gil had never had such trouble controlling his emotions as he did at that moment. He'd always been one with a very active superego, keeping all of his instincts in check, but it was really having a hard time combating the instinct to beat the life out of the man sitting across from him. It wasn't a feeling he was accustomed to feeling.

"Did you want something?" Nigel Crane asked with a smirk, his cuffed hands moving about in some nervous tick.

Gil smiled patiently. If Crane wanted to get a rise out of him, he wasn't going to get it. "I wanted to let you know, personally, that you failed."

Nigel frowned, but he was mocking him. "At what?"

"Before, you wanted Nick to think you knew him, that you were his friend. If that were true, then you would have known that Nick is much too strong, and that he would overcome anything you put him through."

"You really believe that?"

Gil frowned. "I know it."

Crane sat back, his fidgeting halted.

"And you're not ever going to be anywhere near him again," Gil continued in a low, even tone.

Crane's eyes went to the thick glass separating the room they were in from the adjoining observation room. "Is this on record or something?"

Gil gave a slight shake of his head. This was just for him, for his own closure.

"I got out last time, you know," Crane said, his voice taking on a low, threatening tone. His eyes ticked around to the corners of the room. "I play my cards right again, say all the right things, and it'll happen again."

Gil smiled a small, tight smile. "I doubt it."

The End