A/N: I promised another chapter, and here it is. This is probably the last one until later in the weekend due to family stuff.

Many thanks to the die-hards who are still reading and reviewing.

Chapter Nineteen

Friday, Late Afternoon

Tricia resolutely refused to look at the clock again. She knew it was late, that her shift should have already ended. But she also knew that Mr. Stokes' visitors had already exceeded the time limit Dr. Gentry had set for them by a considerable measure, and that she wouldn't leave until they did. She had tried once to interrupt, but had been unable to get past the uniformed officer standing guard at the door. She hadn't been able to call upon Dr. Gentry's authority; the doctor had been in surgery for the past two hours.

She couldn't even plead a medical emergency. Except for a few brief jumps in her patient's heart rate and BP, his vital signs had remained acceptably stable. And though his fever hadn't diminished as much as she'd hoped after that last dose of acetaminophen, at least it hadn't gone up.

When an hour had passed since the two detectives from Internal Affairs had gone into the room, she decided that enough was enough. She quickly prepared the injection for which her patient was long overdue, placed the syringe on a small metal tray, and strode purposefully down the corridor, prepared to shove her way past the officer if she had to.

She was spared that necessity. The door opened and the two detectives emerged, the older looking as unpleasant as he had on arrival, the other showing signs of disillusion with his superior. The captain paid her no attention at all as he told the uniformed officer he could go, but the other man politely held the door open for her. He even gave her a faintly rueful smile in response to the glare she leveled at him.

As soon as she set eyes on the man under her care she regretted not intervening sooner. His face was a study in misery. His eyes were closed, almost hidden behind the hand splayed over them. The muscles in his jaw twitched, and she could hear the hiss of breath between his teeth.

Tricia quickly uncapped the syringe, injected the strong pain reliever into his IV, and disposed of the empty in a series of swift, practiced moves. She looked back at him and realized that his eyes were now open and watching her, though still partially obscured behind his hand. "You can relax now," she said encouragingly as she pressed the control and lowered the head of the bed to a gentler slope. "That shot should take effect pretty quickly. In fact, you'll probably be asleep by the time your friend gets back."

Nick breathed a short, humorless laugh. "That man is no friend."

"Not him." Tricia took his hand and lowered it to the bed at his side. "A woman. She said her name was Sara and that you work together."

"Oh." Nick managed a faint smile. "Yeah. She does. Sara's okay." A tiny frown tightened his brow. "She was here before?" he asked. His eyelids were already starting to droop.

Tricia nodded but went about the business of making him as comfortable as possible, smoothing the sheet and blanket, removing the almost empty water bottle from its resting place against his left hip. "She came by while those two men were here," she explained. "She said she was going to go visit a Mr. – Grisham? – then she'd come back."

"Not Grisham. Grissom," he corrected. "Our boss."

His breathing seemed a little fast, and Tricia warmed her stethoscope between her palms before she slipped it beneath the open edge of his gown and pressed it against his chest, listening intently to the sounds of air moving in and out of his lungs.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his words starting to slur as the drug made its way through his system.

Tricia smiled reassuringly as she tucked the stethoscope back into the pocket of her uniform shirt. "Just checking to see if all the talking and the agitation overstressed that bruised lung," she said. "Is there anything else you need right now? I'm going off duty in a minute."

He shook his head, seeming unwilling to expend the energy to answer aloud.

"Okay. Dr. Gentry will look in on you when she does her evening rounds," she told him. "She's running a little late, but she should be along in an hour or so. What should I tell your friend when she comes back?"

"'S okay to come in," he replied slowly. "Can't promise I'll be awake…" His eyelids started to drift shut, and he forced them open with a visible effort.

Tricia patted his arm, leaving her hand in place an extra moment. "I'm sure she'll understand. Rest well, Mr. Stokes. I'll see you tomorrow."

She almost collided with Sara in the doorway, which opened just as she reached for the chrome handle. She took a half step back and looked up at the newcomer with an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

Sara looked past her – over her shoulder, actually, considering that she was a good five inches taller – to the bed where Nick appeared to be already asleep. "Should I come back?" she asked uncertainly. "I don't want to disturb him."

"He said it's okay to come in. Just don't expect too much in the way of conversation." Tricia looked back at her patient – okay, her favorite patient – and her smile disappeared. "He's pretty worn out. Those two men stayed a lot longer than Dr. Gentry wanted them to. And he's just had another round of his pain meds."

Sara nodded, her eyes clouded with concern for her friend. "Thanks," she murmured distractedly. "I'll just say 'hello' and sit with him for a while. If that's all right?"

Tricia lightly touched the other woman's arm. "Right now, I think having a friend close by is just what he needs."

The door closed quietly, leaving Sara alone in the room with Nick. Her lips lifted in a small smile when she mentally played back her brief exchange with the nurse. The woman radiated such a protective air; Sara suspected that if Nick hadn't already approved her visit, she would have found herself tossed out without a second thought.

She pulled the single chair close to the bed and deposited her shopping bag on the seat. She remained standing for a moment, her smile gone as quickly as it had come. Warrick had told her that Nick looked pretty banged up, and he hadn't exaggerated. Instead of his normal healthy tan, his face appeared faintly mottled, the admixture of the pallor of injury and illness with the flush of fever. His lip was still swollen, the miniscule stitches showing up as small black tufts against paler flesh. On his forehead, the bruising around an ugly laceration had darkened to blackish purple. A narrow swatch of dark hair had been shaved back from his natural hairline to accommodate the closely spaced sutures sealing the irregular wound. Even in drugged sleep, pain lines creased his face.

"Warrick's right, Nick," she said, her voice scarcely a whisper. "You've gotta quit doing this."

She startled when Nick's eye's opened, but quickly recovered her composure and smiled. "Hey," she greeted him warmly. She curled her fingers lightly around his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze; it would have to do in place of a hug that would probably hurt way too much.

He returned the gesture and the greeting, and managed to shape a semi-credible smile.

She reached into her bag and brought out the stuffed animal she'd chosen as a get-well gift. "Brought you a friend," she said, holding up the offering where he could see it. She'd chosen a soft, floppy puppy with long, pale gold plush fur and a band of red ribbon around its neck. It bore a remarkable resemblance to pictures of fuzzy little Golden Retriever puppies she'd seen on hundreds of calendars and posters. "See, the nice thing about this little guy is he doesn't have to leave when visiting hours are over."

She laid the puppy on the side of Nick's pillow near his uninjured shoulder. Her smile widened when he turned his head and pressed his cheek against the softness. She barely heard his whispered, "'s nice."

"I've got cards, too, from a bunch of the guys at the lab." Sara laid the stack on the bedside table and sat down in the now vacant chair. "I'll just leave them here. You can read them whenever…" Nick was losing the battle to keep his eyes open; Sara imagined him waking hours from now and wondering why there was a stuffed animal on his pillow.

"I saw Grissom," she said, pitching her voice to a soft monotone, letting her words lull him back to sleep, speaking more for her own benefit than for his. "He asked about you. I think you had him worried…imagine that. Mr. It's-Dangerous-Having-Empathy-for-the-Victims himself is showing serious signs of having empathy for a victim.

"You had us worried, too, you know. But you're gonna be okay."

She leaned forward in the chair and slipped a hand between the cold bed rails to grasp Nick's fingers again. There was no answering pressure this time; he was asleep, unaware of her touch, her presence. A surprising single tear rolled unbidden down her cheek, and she brushed it away. "Everyone's anxious to see you," she said shakily. "Catherine will fuss over you, I imagine. Or maybe she'll fuss at you for getting hurt again. Warrick will make sure you're up to speed on all your favorite teams. I bet Greg brings his laptop. He'll even come up with a way for you to play computer games one-handed. And once you're home, we'll take turns coming over to help you cook and do laundry and stuff. Of course, we'll try to do the same for Grissom, but he'll probably throw us out."

Sara's eyes closed momentarily and her lips pressed together to still their trembling. "I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead," she said flatly, "but right now I hope Dan Stevens is burning in Hell."

To be continued…