Title: Inside My Coffin

Disclaimer: Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

POV: Nick

Chapter Six: Identity Crisis

I sift through the paperwork in my hands. All tests done on the downed airplane. Grissom stayed all day to work on them. Talk about dedication to your job. Or serious lack of a life. Sara would be great for him, if he would just open his eyes and look at her for once. Unfortunately, Griss always has his head in work. I bet that when he's not working, he's thinking about work or studying something that will be helpful for work.

I hold all the paperwork in one hand while rubbing the back of my neck with the other one. A chill makes the hairs on my neck stand up. A nervous gaze around the immediate vicinity reveals no reason for the eerie feeling. I shake my head; mad at myself for thinking something is wrong. Grissom wants all the tests handed over to Ecklie. I'm not happy about being his errand boy. No one likes talking to Ecklie. Least of all me. Partly because I blame him for my abduction. He's the one that switched the teams all around. Under Grissom's supervision the whole event would never have happened. It really got to me that the cop at the scene had not been reprimanded in any way. He had not been doing his job. He was there to watch out for the CSI's.

"Evening, Nick, you look a little flushed. You feeling okay?"

I fight back the urge to yell at Catherine. I am so tired of hearing that damn word. That whole phrase. "Feeling fine but dreading the fact that I have to see Ecklie."

She frowns. "Why are you going to see him? I thought you tried to avoid him."

I smile. "I do. Grissom sent out as his errand boy. Something important in the tests for that airplane."

Catherine slips the small packet of papers from my hand and gives me a reassuring smile. The trouble that clouds her eyes confuses me. "I'll take care of it. I don't understand why Grissom would send you on task like this. After…"

I let her drop it. I don't want to hear about it anymore. I'm well aware of what happened to me. She mumbles an almost silent goodbye before taking off for Ecklie's office. I close my eyes and lean against the wall. The hours in that coffin changed my life in so many ways. Ever since then I have avoided Ecklie. I can't bear to step into Grissom's office with all those bugs. Being in the dark gave me the chills. Being underground sent the panic into complete overdrive. And I find myself a little claustrophobic.

With a mind full of heavy thoughts I make my way to the break-room. My mouth is dry and I'm thirsting like never before. The TV in the corner is on, turned to a news channel like always. What easier way would there be to see if someone leaks valuable information? I pluck a bottle of water from the small fridge; the coolness of it on my skin is refreshing. All of a sudden I feel too hot. Too uncomfortable. Like being in that damned box. I stumble into one of the chairs.

The voice of the female news anchor breaks through my troubling thoughts. I glance at the TV. She's talking about the family of the little red-haired girl. The little girl who now has to live in foster care because her grandparents are not healthy enough to take care of her. No one claimed her. No one wanted her. I know all too well how it feels to be alone in the world. There's a lot of time spent thinking when one is locked-up under six feet of earth.

I leave the bottle on the table as I make a quick escape from the room. I don't want to be reminded of that poor girl. How she must be suffering. Does she even fully understand what happened? Does she cry out at night for her mom? Does she miss playing with her brothers in the sunshine? I cross my arms over my chest in an attempt to block out the ache that is being to grow. Why does this case bother me so much? Why can't I think straight? Am I finally losing my mind?

Greg, I need to talk to Greg. My feet redirect me toward the lab. He may not be the lab technician anymore but he's comfortable in his old territory. I'm likely to find him there. I near the corner of the hallway. A female laugh floats across the air, caressing the ears that hear it. A beautiful laugh. I round the corner and stop dead in my tracks. There is Greg. He's talking with the new technician. No, not talking, it looks like he's flirting with her. He's holding her hand, palm up, while tracing the fingers of his other hand over the sensitive skin of her palm. They look at each other. He says something. She laughs.

I feel like someone has dumped a barrel of ice water over me. I shiver and turn on my heel. The little ache inside grows into a yawning emptiness. How can he be flirting with a girl after this afternoon? Did it mean nothing to him? I don't even know what it means to me. I feel betrayed. I feel like the whole world is laughing at me. Another mistake. Another painful memory to add to the ever growing library in my mind.

I return to the locker-room. The silence wraps a comforting blanket around me. No one is here. No one can see me. No one can hear me. The feelings all finally boil together. I feel frustrated. Angry. Upset. The urge to punch something. In a cry of anguish I slam my fist into the metal of the lockers. The pain of my bloody knuckles feels heavenly. I watch the miniscule pools of blood with fascination.

Pain clears the mind. Releases all the pent up feelings inside. I like it. A glance over my shoulder proves that no one heard me. No one is running to check-up on me. No surprise there. On silent footsteps I walk to my locker. I open the door and root around in the dark interior. My hand falls on the coolness of the blade inside. I withdraw the knife. The knife that I carried with me for two days after being unburied. I run my finger along the blade. Still sharp. Another glance to the door. It stands silently, unmoving.

The blade presses against my flesh. It feels right. I put a little more pressure into it. The skin underneath breaks allowing the river of red to begin flowing. A thump against a wall startles me. I drop the knife, expecting to see someone by the door, watching me. There's no one there. I'm all alone. Always alone. My eyes catch the angry red streak on my arm. It's already drying. Not a deep cut. I pick the knife up off the floor and place it back in my locker. The door closes with a laughing hiss.

My arm burns slightly from the cut. Why have I cut myself? Why do I cause myself more pain? Does Greg mean that much to me? I turn my back to the lockers, leaning against them. When did my life start spiraling out of control? What did I do to piss off the universe? In frustration I bang my head lightly on the lockers. This is wrong. Why can't I be the me that I once was? The tough Nicky? The Nicky everyone joked around with? I hate being the Nicky that everyone walks on eggshells around for fear of upsetting me. I slide down the lockers, my head in my hands. The tears flow freely from my eyes. I don't feel right. I don't feel like me. I don't even know who I am anymore.