Title: Inside My Coffin
Disclaimer: Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.
POV: Nick
Chapter Four: Unfriendly Skies
I sit on the old hard wooden bench in the locker room. The rows of lockers remind me of the steel wall I try to keep wrapped around myself. At least the lockers keep out the sounds of the other rooms. The steel walls of my mind can't even keep the panic locked out. Warrick walks into the room muttering under his breath about a court appearance.
"Evening, Nick. Did the day treat you well?" He asks. I know that he's going to say the words before he actually does. He says them to me every night. Ever since…
I cover up the truth. Warrick doesn't need to know about Gregg kissing me. "Great, always great. Got to go to court tonight?"
He shakes his head. "No, tomorrow morning, at nine." I give him a look of disbelief while placing a few things in my locker. "Grissom gave me the night off so that I could be refreshed. I'd rather not go."
I close my locker. The door shutting echoes a little louder than I expect. Warrick raises an eyebrow at my obvious frustration. I choose to ignore his inquiring mind. "That guy still fighting you over the evidence?"
He doesn't reply right away. I think he's waiting for me to say something, to show a sign that something is really bothering me. When the sign doesn't come, he answers me. "You bet. This guy has become a really thorn in my side. I'm thinking of filling harassment papers."
"You should, that would make him leave you alone. How can the guy even afford a lawyer? Every time I see him he looks like a bum fresh off the street."
"His brother is his lawyer. He's doing it as a favor, I guess," Warrick replies.
We walk side by side out of the locker room. Sara is looking frantically into rooms, an unreadable expression on her face. She slams the door to the Gun Lab with a force full of anger and frustration. Wearily, her body relaxed with defeat, she turns in our direction. The spark flashes back in her eyes and her body goes rigid.
"I've been looking for you two, where have you been?" She asks impatiently.
"In the locker room. What's going on?" Warrick asks.
"A small plane went down in the desert. The police are saying that all six passengers and crew aboard are dead. Grissom says it's the only crime scene we have tonight. He wants all hands on deck," she explains.
Warrick shakes his head. "Sorry, Sara, I can't tonight. I have court tomorrow morning."
"I know that I gave you the night off, Warrick," Grissom states as he walks up on our other side. "But I really need you there tonight. I'll make a few calls and see if I can get the time of your court appearance moved to later in the day."
Warrick shrugs his shoulders and smiles broadly. "Well, when you're needed, you're needed."
By now Catherine and Greg have wandered up. I gaze toward Greg to see if I can read his mind. His face is blank as he listens to Grissom ramble on about the crime scene. Never once does he look in my direction. Anyone would find it hard to believe that we kissed earlier in the day. Even I am finding it hard to believe.
"Catherine, Sara, you'll ride with me. Warrick, Nick, and Greg, you take the second vehicle," Grissom says.
Greg flinches, his eyes grow wide. "Griss, I was kind of hoping I could ride with you. There are few questions I was hoping to ask you. About the crime scene. I've never been to the sight of a plane crash before."
Grissom gives him a small nod. "Alright than, Greg, you can ride with Catherine and I. Sara, you go with Warrick and Nick. I'm sorry, Greg. I sometimes forget that you are relatively new to field work."
The ride to the crash site is a quiet one. For me, anyway. Sara and Warrick sit up front talking about this and that. I pay them no attention. My insides feel cold and numb. As we left the lab I caught a glimpse of a cute little red-haired girl. An elderly woman had been sitting next to her. My body is in the car heading toward a plane crash while my mind is stuck in the lab thinking of that sweet innocent child. She deserved the team, at least one of us. Now her family is left in the dark mocking background. I close my eyes and rest my head against the glass.
The night is cool and as silent as a funeral. No clouds hang over head to cover up the stars. No storm waits on the horizon to drown us in its misery. All that's out here is the desert sand with its cacti guards. The darkness envelopes us as Warrick follows the other Tahoe. Something in the world outside shifts and I open my eyes. The horizon is lit like Las Vegas itself. The unmistakable orange flair of fire dances in the sky. As we draw nearer I can see the many tiny blue and red lights dancing to their own individual beats.
"Holy shit," Sara breathes.
The fire burns high into the sky releasing its smoky breath. Firefighters challenge the raging beast on the ground. The force of the water drives the fire back, away from the plane. I squint to cut out the glare of all the lights. There are two rows of firefighters. One row fights the evil fire. The other is washing away the jet fuel on the ground. Break the line of gas; break the connection with the plane.
Ambulances with lights off sit on the edge of all the excitement. All the passengers are dead. No one survived. I finally rest my eyes on the mangled heap of metal that was once a plane. Of course no one survived the crash. You can hardly tell that it's even a plane. What is left of the crash is half submerged in a natural rock wall. So it seems. The nose of the plane is probably crumpled like a tender piece of paper. We disembark from the Tahoe and join the others. All eyes are fixed on the fire.
"How come the Feds aren't covering this?" Sara enquires.
Grissom glances momentarily in her direction. "We have to find evidence of the tampering before the Feds will take over. Otherwise, it's just a downed plane and our crime scene."
The night is made hot by the roaring blaze. My shirt and vest are almost too much. I feel the uncomfortable and unwelcome panic flutter in my chest. The heat reminds me of the confines of my coffin. I place my silver kit on the ground and close my eyes. I try to force the panic away. Instead I start hyperventilating. My mind flashes back to the enclosure fit to my size. Made of some sort of plastic substance I was able to see all the dirt shoved on top of me. The annoying light that turned off the cooling fan with the oxygen.
"Nick, you okay man?"
The panic falters as Warrick brushes a hand over my shoulder. My mind returns to the here and now, leaving the coffin with its army of ants laughing at me in the distance. The heat causes a sweaty blanket to cover my entire body. Work tonight is going to be tiresome.
"Nick, this scene isn't going to process itself," Grissom yells with anger spicing his voice.
I pick up my kit and continue to follow them to the scene. Bystanders are starting to cumulate. Even out in the middle of nowhere. With the roaring of the fire and the shouting of the firefighters we all settle in to process the scene at hand.