Tina had apparently wandered back towards the examination room during the time he had spent in there while he got checked out. She hugged him briefly, hands caressing his face until she was satisfied that he was doing all right before speaking to the doctor. Dr. Crowheart reassured his wife about her husband's injury and spoke briefly for a few moments. Tension and exhaustion emanated in waves from her husband as Tina took his hand in her own and gave it a slight squeeze. She studied his eyes and gently stroked the side of his face as he leaned into her touch.

"I know you want to see him, Sweetie."

Warrick brought her close, hugging her tightly, strong hands around a small waist. He whispered in her ear, "I gotta see how's he doing with my own eyes, Babe."

His wife planted a kiss along his cheek. "Of course, I'd expect nothing less."

She entwined her fingers with his. "He's going to be really out of it, Warrick. Don't expect too much."

"Yeah, I guess he's on some good drugs," Warrick sighed.

Both Tina and Dr. Crowheart looked at him with sympathy. The physician spoke up first. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Brown. Any type of pain medication would depress his already weak respiratory system. We've given him ibuprofen and compazine for his nausea."

Warrick's face flushed, even though his anger was not directed towards the caregiver. "So, you can't do anything about the scorpion toxin and he can't get anything for all the pain. What are you doin' to help?"

As soon as the outburst was over, Warrick rubbed his hand over his face, kneading the area around his eyes. "I'm sorry, Man. This is so…so damn frustrating."

"It's all right, Mr. Brown. You two have gone though some extreme circumstances. But Mr. Stokes is receiving Albuterol through his oxygen mask to help his lungs. If he stabilizes enough in the morning, he'll be transferred to the Cardiac Unit at Desert Palms for proper monitoring of his heart and so an orthopedic surgeon can work on his hand. We don't really want to wait on that too much longer, as it could open up a whole new set of complications."

The trio walked though the tiny hospital, curious faces of staff members giving them pleasant smiles as they went towards a room at the end of a hall. The physician patted Warrick on the back and gave him an optimistic smile. "Your friend is a real fighter to have survived with such rudimentary treatment. He's a very strong man. For now I'll leave you. I'm sure your wife can answer most of the questions you might have and I've filled her in on all the details. She's probably just as knowledgeable as I am about what's going on."

Tina brown smiled warmly at the Native American. As the doctor was about to leave, Warrick grabbed his shoulder. "Thanks." After thinking for a beat, his eyes lit up recalling even more details of their ordeal. "I don't know when the next time he's going to need x-rays, but he hurt his ankle recently and has been limping on it ever since."

Crowheart merely raised an eyebrow, releasing a resigned sigh as he added another ailment to the list. "I'll mark it on his chart."

Warrick nodded and steeled himself in front of the door. Shoulders squared, face neutral, he pushed the door ajar, stepping into the quiet room, the beeping sound of a heart monitor breaking the silence. A curtain was halfway pulled around the bed, but he could see Nick laying there. He gnawed on his lower lip, Tina's hand holding his a bit harder, giving him another gentle grip before releasing. He turned and smiled at her and walked towards the bed.

Nick's eyes were closed, an oxygen mask obscuring most of his face. The inside misted up every few seconds with the condensation of his breath. The front of his hospital gown had been untied and pulled down to allow for the attachment of cardiac leads, wires that ran from his chest to an EKG machine set up on a station next to him. Warrick's brow furrowed at the sight of all the numbers and readouts and their mystifying meanings.

"Those wavy lines are recording his heart activity," Tina whispered in a lowered voice.

Warrick nodded as he spotted Nick's left hand encased in temporary plaster, resting atop a small white pillow.

He let out a sigh as he stood next to the bed, his back leg hooking a hard plastic chair behind him as he rested his own weary body into it. The metal legs scraped over the floor and the result was the fluttering of eyelids. Warrick leaned over the metal bars, careful not to bother the IV line hooked to the top of Nick's hand or the oxygen sensor clipped on to his index finger.

Hazy brown eyes opened at half mast, mouth opened to express a scratchy, "Hey," that was nearly impossible to hear, swallowed up as it was by the heavy plastic and spray of medication.

Warrick gave a wan smile. "Hey, partner."

Nick took another long raspy breath, his mask clouding over with its release. He licked his lips to speak again, but the tiny question was muffled by the mask.

Warrick squinted and lowered his ear to Nick's face as the man struggled to speak, his voice a mere whisper, muted by the strain and equipment.

Warrick pulled back, both worried and surprised by what he thought he heard. Clearing his throat he patted Nick on the shoulder. "Yeah, Man. This is real. You're in a hospital, getting taken care by some nice folks."

Nick turned until his face rested on its side, drowsy eyes blinking at him as if he wasn't sure if Warrick was an illusion or not. Another slow shallow breath and his eyes closed shut, the lids seeming too heavy to keep open.

Warrick felt his guts twist. This wasn't the affirmation he had sought. His body sagged in his chair, and once again it was his wife that provided the anchor he so desperately needed. A hand rested on his shoulder as she squatted down next to him.

"The combination of medications and the shock to his system is going to make him very groggy. He needs to sleep, to give his body time to heal."

Warrick dragged his gaze to meet her sincere eyes. "Yeah," he said disappointed. Maybe he was being selfish, he didn't know.

"It's best this way, Rick. If he were awake, he'd be in a lot of pain from his hand. This way he doesn't have to endure another kind of stress."

Warrick snorted. "Another stress?"

Tina shook her head. "He'd try to mask how bad he felt in front of you. Not to mention the toll it would take trying deal with it all without morphine."

Tina knew the both of them so well, and yet Nick had only been over to the house a few times since his marriage. She had this gift of knowing how he felt, but then again it only took a few meetings to watch them in their natural elements. His wife found his behavior around his partner amusing and of course Nick's near death during the summer was the driving catalyst to their wedding. Warrick spent a great deal of time with her as he dealt with his own fallout from that terrible ordeal, splitting his time between the Lab, Nick's house, and her the weeks following his release. In a way, Tina Brown knew more about Nick and Warrick's bond than anyone else.

Warrick put his arm around her shoulders. "Why did he think this wasn't real?" He said it out loud without even realizing it. Further testament to his own exhaustion.

Tina meet his inquisitive stare. "From what you told me, he's had several breathing treatments from your friend's inhaler as well as the abnormally high amounts of epinephrine. The sheer volume of medications combined with the scorpion neurotoxin could cause confusion, paranoia and even delusions. He's lucky he didn't suffer from any hallucinations or from any form of psychosis."

Warrick pulled up into a sitting position, shaking his head adamantly. "No way. I don't think the man has it in him to go nutty no matter what he's been subjected to. My boy's too tough for that."

Tina didn't try to argue her point.

Warrick zoned out for a moment by all the different tones of hums in the room. Machines observing every little change, any indication that heart or lungs were out of sync. Medications to ease life's two most basic functions. He didn't know how long he sat almost numbly, all of the events of the last 48 hours a blur of decisions and consequences. His morbid thoughts were interrupted by Nick's right hand, another slight tremble causing it to shake slightly from its resting position, as its owner was mercifully unaware.

Tina must have thought he'd had enough self-flagellation and forcefully pulled him out of his self-imposed misery. "Enough, Warrick. You can't do anything to help by just sitting here. We'll get a motel. You're going to eat a real meal, take a shower and go to bed. We'll be here in time for him to be transferred. And he's going to be stable enough to go."

Warrick felt his feet moving along to her urgent pull. He knew she was right, but someone should stay. He had left him once, it wasn't right to do it again. "Doc said his sats were too low," he mumbled as he was pushed out the door.

Tina corralled him into the hall, where not to her surprise his supervisor was waiting for them. She turned her husband's head towards hers. "Yes, they are currently. But give the medication time. Now, you're getting out of here. I'm sure your boss will sit with him."

Gil Grissom tilted his head at what had to be considered an order. "I'll stay, Warrick."

He was battling, still trying to gauge another decision. "I dunno, so many damn things to worry about. I mean it doesn't seem like anything's gettin' done. For one thing, what's with his hand still trembling like that?"

This time it was his superior that answered. "Are the tremors less frequent?"

Warrick turned his attention towards his boss. "Less?"

Grissom spoke with the same patience as he did in the car. "I'm assuming that Nick experienced pain or odd sensations in his extremities. Arm tremors, lightheadedness, some dizziness perhaps?"

"Yeah. His right hand was twitchy, and he tried to hide everything else." Warrick shook his head annoyed.

Grissom exuded calmness and outward confidence that was already having a positive reaction on his colleague. He shrugged. "All common side effects from that type of toxin. His central nervous system was attacked, and now the venom is breaking down. He'll still experience some effects for a while longer, but I suspect they'll all dissipate relatively soon."

Warrick was being forced away by a united front. Grissom simply stared at him with his usual vague and stoic expression. He knew when he was beat, and the warmness of a comfortable bed was such a badly needed distraction. "All right. But you better call me if anything happens."

"But of course." Grissom responded. "We'll see you in the morning."

Tina Brown mouthed a thank you and proceeded to steer her husband out of the hospital and towards some much needed rest.

Gil Grissom felt vaguely familiar with this scenario, except for a couple striking differences. The waiting room was not overcrowded by co-workers, acquaintances, police and an over-anxious media swarming outside. No emotionally polar opposite set of parents, reeling from an aftermath of trauma, unable to quite deal with the outpouring of support or the conflicted needs of their son.

No, he sat in one chair, while Jim Brass occupied a borrowed one from the hall. They talked while the man unaware in the bed battled one breath at a time.

"Don't you think we'll wake him?" the Captain asked as he attempted to keep his question quiet.

Grissom looked at the bed and raised both eyebrows. "No," he said simply.

Brass grumbled under his breath at the ease of the answer. It was odd, two men who didn't deem each other as conversationalists, keeping each other company.

Grissom's mind wandered, calculating the number of times his CSI had gone outdoors. Dug up holes in some yard, searched for evidence around dirt, sand, or vegetation. Every single inch of ground a treacherous environment where he had to be acutely alert for things other than clues and evidence. How many more times to be cautious? How long until something as mundane and harmless as a honeybee could spark another crisis?

Jim's soft chuckle roused him from what-ifs that were valid, but most certainly things that had to become just another set of fundamentals.

"What?"

The detective shook his head. "Just remembered that death at that nudist colony. I swear that kid's cheeks couldn't get any redder, or his accent any thicker. Don't think his eyes ever left whatever interesting spot he found on the floor."

Grissom's lips twitched fondly, but remained mute.

Brass snorted. "I knew you did that to him on purpose. You're a sadist, Gil. What a way to baptize that southern modesty. What was he, a Level 1 or 2?"

The supervisor shrugged. "I don't really recall," although the slight sparkle in his eyes gave him away.

The momentary lapse of wry humor disappeared as a nurse entered the room, marking notes on Nick's chart at the machine's read outs, a small reassuring smile at the both of them on her way out.

"Do we have anything else to worry about? Something else in store?"

"This wasn't a result of the job. Just...just circumstance," he replied. When he saw Jim's strange expression, the supervisor re-examined the question.

Brass nodded towards the bed. "I was referring to the nerve damage from those needles. That got any thing to do with those spasms?"

Grissom sat straighter, his posture more at ease when he was able to spout out something scientific. "Acupuncture only manipulates the nerves and muscle fibers when directly applied, shifting the flow of synapses for small amounts of time for pain relief. The punctures are too tiny to cause permanent injury of the tissue or nerve endings."

"Relief, huh?" Brass muttered softly in disgust. But was somewhat reassured by the information.

Grissom looked over seeing some sort of strange comfort at his words. At least one of them felt more at ease with the explanation. "Worst case scenario, his right arm and hand will be sore from being in a state of severe muscular constriction."

"Oh." Brass shifted to find a more comfortable spot in the world's most aggravatingly designed chair. Waiting room chairs had to be some sort of oxymoron, he thought. Staring at his watch, Jim's eyes widened at how much time had gone by and realized how little sleep either of them had.

"You going to stay here all night?"

Grissom's incredulous expression was all the answer he expected. Never really doubting it, the Captain stood up stretching. "Just needed to know how much coffee to get."

"You don't have to stay. I'll be here when he comes to," the entomologist remarked.

Jim snorted. "I think Nicky would prefer a prettier face to wake up to after everything he's endured. Besides, I know he can hear us deep down inside. You don't want bore the guy into wanting to sleep longer with all those monologues or some soliloquy from Shakespeare or even worse, or one of your lectures, do you?"

Jim was out the door before the entomologist could give him one of his I am not amused expressions.

Alone with Nick for the moment Grissom rose creakily from his chair. Cocking his head to one side he leaned closer, just enough to keep from raising his voice. "I could give you several definitions of resiliency as encouragement, Nicky. Then again, why waste my breath with someone who is the very embodiment of the word." He smiled. "Put me in my place, Nick. Few give it the same type of effort you do when I need it.

Warrick Brown was tired of the color white. The stark color of bleach, blank canvas, and bed sheets and of dull hospital walls and floors drove him crazy. What ever happened to soothing colors or works of art to promote healing? Of course most patients in the wing he was walking in were in need of silence, comfort and supervision. The Cardiac Unit was on the south side of Desert Palms and always a long walk, but it cleared his head.

He nodded to the nurses at the front station and turned the corner. The ward wasn't really full of rooms per se, just little cubicles of beds divided up by privacy curtains. Warrick made his way over to his partner his body relaxed for once when he pulled up a chair. Nick was no longer on full oxygen support; a nasal cannula supplied a normal amount of O2 for anyone who had to remain in this unit.

Nick turned his head as he got situated in the hard plastic. Warrick noticed the open brown eyes that were absent their previous dull vacancy, replaced by something closer to real alertness. "Hey, Man."

"Hey."

The voice was still rough around the edges but contained some of the strength he was accustomed to in the past. "I see you're finally in the real world. Welcome back."

Nick arched his eyebrows. "Yeah. They pulled the cotton out of my brains sometime last night." He had to take another lungful of air before his next sentence. "Although I'd prefer to be doped up compared to the piano they dropped on my chest and the test tube brush that they stuffed down my throat," he complained, the last words heavily laden with his Texan drawl.

"Well, now they got you off of all those breathing treatments, your lungs probably feel like a Brillo pad rubbed away a few layers," Warrick said with sympathy.

Nick breathed deeply, his chest rising slowly and steadilyy, his relief at the ability towards semi normal function obvious. He frowned at his surroundings. "How much longer do I have to stay in here?'

Warrick didn't conceal a small laugh. "You get to be in here another night to make sure that ticker of yours is as strong as your bravado, which is a tough act to follow. Then you get to stay longer in a normal room after one of them fancy surgeons puts a few shiny metal pins in your hand and wrist."

The aforementioned hand had remained motionless on top of its constant companion. Warrick noticed how one of the nurses had switched out the flat tiny pillow with a slightly larger and fluffier one.

Nick stared at his temporary cast, frowning. "Damn thing hurts like a sonofabitch. A nurse told me they have me on anti-inflammatories and boatloads of ibuprofen. No real narcotics."

Warrick sat forward. "Your lungs could barely circulate enough of the hot air in ya just a couple of days ago. The morphine's gonna have to wait, Bro."

Nick shifted uncomfortably, the simple motion causing him to accidentally move the object of their discussion. He groaned, balling his right hand in a fist, the sudden intake of breath resulting in a coughing fit.

Warrick grimaced while he waited for it to pass, his partner sinking further into the bed as a result. Feeling slightly guilty but not wanting the topic to be passed up, he licked his lips and gave him a serious gaze. "You know I'm not a doctor, but after the car crash, I doubt you had anything more than one or two fractures. Now you've got five in both your hand and wrist."

Nick turned his head away staring at some distant spot on the wall. "Yeah, well that doctor had a bit of an evil streak in her."

Warrick sat forward. "Yeah, just a bit. About that..."

Nick rolled his eyes. "What?" He cleared his throat risking a glance sideways. "I don't really remember very much. Hypoxic, I guess." He shrugged, signaling his wish to end it there.

Warrick shook his head. "Not this again, Man. You brought the hounds of Hell down on yourself. No blaming lack of oxygen. Sounds like pure Nick Stokes to me. It...it's one of the stupidest things you've ever done, but..." He swallowed. "Jesus, Nicky. What about self preservation?"

Nick kept his gaze, his voice heavy and thick. "I was dying... no...no sugarcoating things. I did whatever I could to give you back up. It..." He took another deep breath..."It was all I had left."

Seeing those accusing eyes, Nick grumbled. "Not like you charging off into the sunset, showdown at high noon. Warrick Brown versus an army of ninjas."

Warrick snorted. "Not really. Thanks to you, just a feeble old man in his pjs."

Nick quirked an eyebrow. "All parlor tricks. I took the disc Kenny gave me. When he didn't trade, once he put it in, I gave him a code that triggered a virus. Eradicated his whole network, destroyed all his files and took down his fancy security system. Everything was jacked into the same thing."

Nick looked suitable impressed. Warrick smiled. "All Kenny's idea."

Nick played with string to his hospital issued shirt. "Fool came back to help me." Then he mumbled something about a cowardly lion.

Warrick drew his breath to loose another earful about his friend's last bit of heroics, but Nick held up his right hand to cut him off. "It just seemed like the right thing to do. Instincts, I guess. Like I said..."

"Oxygen starved brain, yeah. You told me," Warrick interrupted not believing a word.

Nick's fingers trailed down to his neck, the skin irritated by all the scratches and marks left from his struggles. He rubbed at his chest in annoyance, twisting at one of the cardiac wires. "Stupid things itch."

Warrick folded his arms. "Stop messin' with them, Man. You want the whole wing bustin' in when you knock one of them off? I think I've seen them use those paddles one too many times already."

Nick stilled his fidgeting, closing his eyes briefly. It felt good to be able to hold a conversation again, but as short as it was, he was already tired. The various aches and behemoth ball of pain that was his left hand seemed to wear him out. Not to mention the effort of breathing normally was still, well an effort. Every once in a while a small hitch stirred up tendrils of panic; he didn't know how long it would be before that bit anxiety would diminish.

Warrick sensed the change of tide. His partner was healing, but his body was still trying to recover. He gripped Nick's elbow before he fell asleep. "I'm gonna take off. Your surgery is in a few hours and I'll be back before you go in."

Nick didn't even try to dissuade him, knowing what the answer would be. He nodded, already feeling sleep beckon him.

"Thanks, Nick."

Brown eyes snapped open and Nick latched onto the arm that was about to be pulled way. "This was a team effort, Bro. We always got each other's back."

Warrick Brown smiled, knowing never to doubt the trust in the man in front of him. Never to fear what that trust and friendship entailed. "Yeah we do." He patted his partner's shoulder. "Get some rest."

Nick's eye were closed, his breathing heavy and regular. Warrick stood in the entrance for a few moments comforted by the new somewhat relaxedness of his partner. Then he nodded his head answering a silent question and left to give Nick time to sleep.

tbc.

skipped normal replies for another chapter...we still read your thoughts