Author: Isabel Juno

Title: The Assassin's Decision:Chapter 3 Confessions

Disclaimers: the day i own csi is the day that the prez learns that is not nucular and that its nuclear... so yeah... never... sad...

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Confessions

Gil came into the kitchen looking tired and half dead. Catherine looked up at him. His eyes were slightly red and puffy. He avoided her gaze.

"Jim called." She told him softly. He was standing in front of the door his head resting on it. He didn't turn to face her.

"What did he say."

"Nick's been hurt." Gil turned around sharply his eyes attentive.

"What? What happened?" Gil's concern was written all over his face.

"He was attacked on the strip when he responded to somebody calling out for help. He saw who they were and he's working with a sketch artist. He's pretty beat up." Cath paused. Gil was shaking with rage. His eyes were closed tightly, his nostrils flared with poorly suppressed anger, and his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were bone white. Gil was furious that somebody would attack another member of his team. They didn't need this right now. Warrick was gone on the briefing of what had happened on the undercover stint. He would be in Washington explaining what had gone wrong. Gil was glad it wasn't him. He still didn't know what had happened. It was a week and a half later and he still didn't know. Jim was on leave and had only known about Nick because of a friend of his worked in the hospital. Poor Greg was still a mess of a tattered human being. Miles was afraid to tell them his full name or anything about his past. Now some jackass in the street hurt Nick, the only one of them besides Gil and Cath, to come out of this with something good. There would be retribution. Gil would make sure of that. Enough pain had been caused without somebody trying to kill the sensitive texan, who everybody on the team cared about. Gil smacked his fist on the doorway. He didn't seem to notice the fact that something in his wrist had made an audible cracking sound and that his fist had broken part of the doorframe off. He didn't even notice that the bit of the wooden doorframe he'd broken was now jammed deep into his fist breaking the skin and tearing through the muscle. It was about and inch and a half long sliver of wood. Catherine walked over to him and gently took his arm off the wall leading him silently to the table and seating him in a chair. He didn't fight her, he just followed silently. He dropped into the chair, his eyes burning circles into the table. She went upstairs and paused by the guest room wondering if she should tell Greg. She decided against it. She didn't want him to get even more depressed. She went to the bathroom and snagged the first aid kit before returning to the kitchen where instead of finding Gil sitting still glaring at the table, she found an empty room. She went out onto the porch to find Gil sitting in the wicker chair staring off into space ignoring the blood beginning to pool in the washcloth he'd wrapped his hand in. She walked in front of him demanding his attention; instead he continued to stare, now at her midriff. She took his hand and sighed noting the particular washcloth he'd used. It was an old ratty one she'd bought on sale. She wished that he'd grabbed a nicer one, one of the ones that didn't shed fibers. She grabbed some tweezers from the first aid kit and began to remove the splinters and bits of dull white fiber. He didn't seem to notice her ministrations and didn't even flinch when she tried to slip out the sliver of wood, which was now soaking in his blood like a vampiric piece of pine. She glanced up at his glazed expression. He seemed completely lost in his own thoughts. So it startled her when he spoke completely out of the blue.

"So are you going to get that bit of wood out of my hand or are you squeamish?" She frowned at him and gave the sliver of wood a slight tug. It seemed stuck fast.

"Well I don't want to hurt you." He looked down at her and frowned. He grabbed the nuisance in his fist and wrenched it out, twisting it as he did so to avoid shedding more splinters inside the wound. The look of repressed pain on his face made Catherine want him to stop. He seemed to notice her expression as the blood soaked annoyance finally was worked out of his skin.

"It had to come out sooner or later." He studied the sliver in a sort of morbidly interested manner. It was about an inch and half long with the green paint stained with rich red blood. Gil thought it looked a bit like a demented Christmas tree. Catherine thought it looked like and dark green dagger. Gil set it down on the washcloth and grabbed a q-tip and some antiseptic. She looked at him like he was nuts. At this point she was keeping the idea open. He noticed her stare as he applied the stinging ointment.

"I'm used to pain… it doesn't really affect me as much as it should." She stared at him wondering how much about him she didn't know. It seemed like he was leaving some important things out of what he revealed about himself. She wrapped the gauze bandage around his hand watching his face, which looked distant and tired.

"I just don't get it." He muttered to nobody in particular. She paused in the bandage wrapping to look worriedly at him. He gently to the bandage from her and finished the wrapping quickly.

"Do you think we should tell Greg considering…" She stopped realizing her mistake. Gil looked sharply at her also noting her mistake. He looked hurt and angry.

"You listened in." It wasn't a question or even an accusation; it was a statement. She nodded biting her lip and looking down at her hands like a child who had been caught fibbing. Gil stared out in to the continuing rain. Neither his eyes nor his face revealed what he was thinking. Catherine was scared. She knew Gil was a very guarded person who only revealed things when he felt comfortable doing so. He sighed. They sat silently for a few minutes while Gil collected his thoughts.

"I didn't really want you to know." She stared at him in disbelief.

"Well I understand its not something you'd really want to talk about but…" She trailed off, unsure what to say. He looked at her with the strangest look she'd seen on his face in a long time.

"Cath, this isn't something I ever try to think about. It's a very painful part of my past I'd rather not remember. It brings up to many memories and regrets. I want to focus on the future not the past." She watched him trying to puzzle him out. She hadn't been this confused about him since she met him and he started quoting Edgar Allen Poe's the Raven on a crime scene. Now she was used to that and was bewildered by such reasonable behavior, it was too normal. Gil was somebody who had always had normal emotions; he just went about them in a different way. This was… strange… Gil never acted like this. He respected the past and tried to learn from it. She had never seen him hide from it… had she. While she pondered this Gil struggled with his own emotions. He had never intended to tell Catherine about Liz and his daughter. It was too painful to think about. First he'd lost Liz because she was too strong of a woman to let somebody get hurt even if she couldn't do anything about it, but she wasn't strong enough to beat death. Then he'd lost his precious little girl, he hadn't had enough time with her. He knew that was something he'd always regret. He figured that was why he was so protective and active in Lindsey's life. It was a psychological thing. He didn't really know what to think of it. It had always been there. Now the woman he loved was poking at those old wounds, which had never healed fully and never would. He knew that Catherine had a right to know but he also knew he never thought it would be terribly relevant. The two sat staring off into space lost in their own thoughts and the rain continued.

Turning points

Greg sat dripping onto the bedspread of the tan guest bed in Catherine's house. He thought about what Grissom had told him. He had never known Grissom's past. He didn't think that any of the other CSI's knew either. He wondered if anybody besides the people who had known Grissom at the time knew about it. Grissom had chosen to live. Even after almost taking his own life, Grissom had chosen to live. Greg had never in his life expected to feel such pain and loss. His hands shook as they held the knife he'd kept in his bag. He hadn't told Grissom he'd taken it with him from his apartment. He knew Grissom would have confiscated it like his mother had confiscated his playboys when he was a teenager. He stared at the shining blade, which reflected the moonlight streaming through the window; the reflections danced off the walls like light dancing in water. He still wanted to end it all. He glanced at the half-healed slashes on his wrists, wondering if he really could just end it all with two quick, deep slices. It was an idea that he held close to him. Greg Sanders had never really believed in an afterlife, the idea didn't have any real scientific basis. However, if there was even a chance it existed and that Sara was there… he was willing to risk it. Wasn't he? He paused again in mid-slash thinking of Miles, the boy trusted him completely and he would be alone if Greg did this. He would alone. The words rebounded through Greg's skull like a rubber ball in a small room and something clicked. It wasn't just in his mind that something clicked either. The door opened as Catherine popped her head in to tell him something, her eyes fell on the blade in his hands. Her eyes widened and she darted inside the room. Greg dropped the knife onto the floor and it landed with a soft thump. So close… He closed his eyes. He didn't know what had clicked, Catherine had distracted him from whatever it was. She looked at him with a look of fear and disbelief. Her face asked him what the hell he was thinking and her eyes asked if he was ok. Greg just stared at her dumbly. He had no idea what had just happened all he knew was sitting her on her guest bed wearing only a dark green towel and that he had been so close to finding what he needed. He felt anger and disappointment. So close. He wondered what she had been thinking. His head felt close to bursting as he, himself burst into frustrated tears. Catherine stood completely confused. She wasn't sure if Greg had been about to kill himself but she couldn't risk it. She felt somebody taller come up behind her and observe the situation over her shoulder. Gil moved into the room placing his hand on Greg's shoulder in both a questioning and comforting manner. Greg's normally annoying manner had been notably absent for the last few weeks, he'd been depressed and Gil had known it. Gil had thought that telling Greg about his own issues would have convinced the younger tortured soul that life was still worth living. He saw the knife by Greg's still damp feet. He saw Catherine bend to pick it up. It was a simple antique hunting knife with a well-worn wooden handle and a scarred old blade. Gil thanked the powers that be that the knife wasn't very sharp. Greg apparently didn't know how to sharpen a knife. Gil could see the healing cuts on Greg's wrists; he could also see very old scars beneath them.

"That time at your apartment wasn't the first time you tried to kill yourself." It wasn't a question really. It was a statement. Greg looked at the scars he knew Gil was talking about and nodded miserably. He just wanted them to leave. He needed to think. He told them as much and before Catherine could protest Gil nodded. He gave Catherine a look that said out of the room. She relented losing her silent battle with Gil but taking the blade with her. Gil patted Greg's shoulder comfortingly and told him that he'd bring him some tea and sleeping pills in a little bit. Greg nodded still staring at his wrists and Gil walked out of the room slowly and closed the wooden door softly before turning to see Catherine's look of death. He sighed,

"Later ok? We need to go check on Nick."

"I'm not leaving Greg alone here." Catherine said firmly.

"I'm not saying we should… Miles and Linds can keep an eye on him." Gil said softly.

"Greg wouldn't want Miles to know that he's tried offing himself!" Gil flinched at Catherine's use of the word "offing", it was the same word that his friend Ronnie had used when he'd yelled at Gil about trying to commit suicide.

"Not so loud. It will do Greg no good to hear us arguing about him. I'll give him some sleeping pills and some tea and we'll go check on Nick when he falls asleep ok?" Catherine glared at Gil for a moment longer and nodded. Greg shut his eyes tightly and listened as Grissom and Catherine walked down the hall going about what needed to be done. He hated them worrying about him. It made him feel useless and a burden unto others. He wondered for the first time if Miles would actually be better off without him. He forced those thoughts out of his head. The boy was so much happier around him. He had to like hanging around Greg if he refused to go anywhere without him. Greg looked at the old scars remembering the incident that had caused both those scars and his decision to become a CSI. Hot tears squeezed out from his eyes and he curled up on the bed in the fetal position trying not to scream. He worked on trying to steady his breath and after a time, Greg wasn't sure how long, he heard the door open softly. A glass giving off a sweet herb filled aroma was set down with a soft clink on the small mahogany nightstand. The person draped a warm soft blanket over Greg's curled up towel-clad form and turned out the light.

"Leave the pills please." Muttered Greg. The sleeping pills were in a smaller glass that made a comforting clink as the person set them down.

"G'night Greg." Greg's eyes snapped open but he didn't move. Miles had brought him the pills and tea. This bothered him to no end and he wasn't entirely sure why. He supposed he didn't want Miles to see him weak. Miles drew on Greg for strength. He had needed Greg in the hospital as he was checked for injuries. Greg sighed and rolled over to look at the pills and sighed. He sat up and drank down the spicy tea quickly. It tasted sharp and fiery going down his throat and Greg suspected Grissom had thrown a little something extra in it. He dismissed this theory a minute later as he felt himself relaxing. Grissom had thrown something extra in there but it wasn't whiskey. He savored the burn like good rum. He contemplated his next move. He wouldn't give up on seeing Sara again. He stared around him in a determined manner. Grissom was wrong; life wasn't worth living if Sara wasn't in it. Miles was a tough kid; he'd get over it.

Same Time Different Place

Gil and Cath strode down the sterile halls side by side and to anybody who didn't know them it looked like they were two furious parents storming down the halls to check on an injured child. Essentially that's what they were doing. The two senior CSI's were the parents of the grave shift in a sense. Especially over Nick Stokes. They walked into his room barely waiting for the door to open before entering. Nick was sitting up in his bed with half of his face stitched and bandaged talking to beautiful and mysterious Kathleen Storm. Gil had done a background check on her to get more information. She wasn't very forthcoming with her past. Gil's determined search had produced very little information. He knew she'd been born in Michigan and that at age 10 her parents had been murdered. He knew at age 11 she'd disappeared and that she hadn't reappeared until she was 19, at which point she started college at University of Chicago and had gotten a journalism degree. She had published random articles since then. Most of her articles were on the merits or failures of books or movies. She was a harsh critic who occasionally had published articles on criminal cases. The Stanwick murders of Massachusetts had made the news because of her. She was a dangerous woman; Gil could tell that from the way she carried herself. She was strong and capable, her movements were fluid and assured. She sat beside Nick now discussing how much she disliked a book called Comic Epitaphs from the Very Best Old Graveyards. Gil smirked,

"I rather liked that one." She raised her eyebrows,

"You've read it?" Grissom nodded.

"Here lies John Racket

In his wooden jacket

Kept neither horses

Nor mules

Lived a hog died a dog

Left all his money

To fools." Gil quoted in amusement. Kathleen grinned at him.

"I actually liked this one," she began to quote, " To all my friends

I bid adieu

A more sudden death

You never knew:

As I was leading

The mare to drink

She kicked and killed me

Quicker'n a wink." Everyone in the room laughed. Laughing made Nick cough, and coughing caused him pain. The laughing also made him cough up blood. Gil yelled out the door for a doctor while Kathleen and Catherine helped Nick sit up to clear his airways. The doctor rounded the corner to get into the room, moving as fast as an excited seven year old on Christmas morning, he slipped on the linoleum and fell slamming into the wall. A nurse rounded the corner far more gracefully bolting into the room and began to run an endotracheal tube down Nick's throat the doctor had made it into the room by this time and was measuring out some medicine. He stabbed the needle down on Nick's stomach injecting it. Nick had almost lost consciousness at some point but the violent coughing slowed and stopped.

"What did you give him?" asked Gil catching the doctor's arm as he tried to rush out.

"Thromboxane." Came the curt reply.

"He has internal bleeding then?" Gil knew that thromboxane was a clotting agent. The harried looking doctor allowed surprise to register across his features as he nodded. It wasn't everyday that somebody knew what thromboxane was and what it was used for. Gil looked at Nick, concern apparent on his face.

"Is he going to need surgery?" Gil inquired still watching Nick's labored breathing.

"Yes." The doctor didn't feel the need to determine whether this man was family or not. Even if he wasn't family he acted like an angry and worried parent and the doctor knew from experience that dodging such subjects with the parents was on of the dumbest things you could do; typically it resulted in getting socked in the face or getting a rant from the enraged and hysterical parent. No this guy didn't worry him, his anger and concern for the patient didn't worry him. Quite frankly he would have been worried if he hadn't been concerned.

"We'll get him in surgery as soon as I can schedule the surgeon. So within the hour." He added seeing the look on the strawberry blonds face, that look that demanded the best care for her family member. He left still under the delusion that Gil and Catherine were Nick's parents. The nurse was still checking Nick's vitals; she knew that salt and pepper haired man and the strawberry blond were not the patient's parents and she chose not to pursue the issue. Nick's breathing was steady but labored. Gil and Catherine went over to him hesitantly. As if afraid their presence would be enough to damage his frail breathing. The dark haired angel by his bedside was enough to make Nick calm and relaxed even as the surgery team entered in their sea green scrubs and lifted him onto the gurney and rushed him out of the room. She had given him a beautiful confident smile that made him confident that he'd be fine. They rushed him down the hall and rounded many corners sharply, one after another after another. It felt like an insane waterslide and as he faded into complete oblivion he pictured her smile again and he knew she'd be waiting for him when he was out of surgery. He was sure. The blackness overtook him and he was lost in the swimming darkness of the subconscious mind. The surgeon shouted in anger as the patients BP fell and he flat lined. He screamed orders desperately around the room as he struggled to control the hemorrhaging in the stomach.