Nick squinted. It was an exercise in futility. He battled against pitch-blackness alternating with dizzy lights. Each fucking flash of bulb beat to the searing pain in his arm. Nick fought a queasy stomach; the hallway lurched with every step. He tried his best to balance his equilibrium. The haunted house special effects were made more cumbersome by the added weight of his charge. The older man hobbled along the best he could; Grissom had been silent, not more than a slight grunt here, a flinch there.
Whenever it felt like they were about to take a tumble to the floor, the supervisor would pull away, giving Nick an are you all right?' look he quickly brushed off with a quick nod. He was far from doing okay. He had left the defenseless guard to be slaughtered by a pack of animals. The younger criminalist re-ran the hallway scenario over and over again, with the same terrible result each time.
Nick shifted Grissom's arm when his aching body protested a bit too much. He couldn't help but wonder if they were lambs being lead to some new butcher. The trek was tedious and Nigel took every opportunity he could to send a glance behind his shoulder at their pace. The janitor muttered about excess baggage just loud enough for both men to hear. Nick kept as much distance as possible without losing the man in the dark.
Neither CSI had any clue which direction they were going; it was a maze in treacherous territory. The only good thing was that the screams and cries tapered off a bit in this new area. The trio neared another block of cells, some doors open, others closed, oblivious to the world. Nick heard the familiar whine of terrified men, wrapped up in living, breathing madness. Shadows of people flickered across his vision; invisible men, avoiding anyone else. He was glad that most of these prisoners suffered from paranoia.
His arm throbbed, undoubtedly the salt of sweat making its way along the line of stitching, some of which was undoubtedly open from the warm stickiness he felt in some spots of skin.
Both men jumped when a sudden 'Whack!' echoed in the corridor.
Grissom pulled his weight off the other man, hoping to give Nick a break. Neither stirred as Nigel warned a prisoner away who had veered too close. "Seems he's handy with a broom."
Nick frowned. The janitor taunted someone inside their cell, broken handle to an everyday cleaning tool now a precious weapon. The stand off over, Crane beckoned the other two with a curt head-nod forward.
Nick didn't budge for a moment, unable to see thick glasses that stared back in challenge. The smaller man simply ventured on, both CSIs having no choice but to follow.
"Easy, Nicky," Grissom whispered in his left ear.
The open halls and close proximity of his present company were stifling, suffocating. It was a whole other trap, with another unwilling role forced upon him. The cracks inside the dam had so many holes it was impossible to keep control anymore. The only thing he latched on to was responsibility.
For anything else that happened.
"You know, Nick. We could just put your friend in one of the cells. I'm sure he'd be safe and could even sleep while all this tapers off," Nigel suggested after ten minutes of silence.
Nick froze, almost ready to bolt. His supervisor stiffened, ready for a sudden change in plans.
Quiet laughter filled the air. "Fine. If you guys would stop being so damn slow we would have gotten where we needed to a while ago," he said annoyed.
"Where are we goin', Nigel?" Nick asked, as he glanced around for any attention that their talking sparked.
"What fun is it, if I tell you that?"
He felt muscles twinge as he prepared to lash out. He hated this vulnerability more than anything. Just as tendons spasmed before a launch, Nick felt Grissom's hands dig into his side and shoulder, the man's feet like the oldest, largest tree roots. His supervisor kept him immobile.
Where the Hell was this strength coming from? he thought, as his supervisor's breathing increased with the effort.
He knew he could break free, but something old and familiar tugged inside him. The need to listen, to trust, to impress with professionalism. It was so fucking hard. Betrayal and distrust reared its ugly head. Dr. Bale's words and revelations fresh in his mind. Grissom's perception that he was incapable to handle anything. Nick Stokes, too fucking fragile to deal with the truth. Nick's body trembled in response, the internal battle made physical.
"Nick."
It wasn't condescending, or commanding. It was a plea. Nick let his body sag, much to the relief of the other man. Nigel remained silent during the whole struggle. He couldn't see the way the janitor's jaw clenched at the battle and then subsequent control that the supervisor had over the younger man.
Nick sighed, his only signal to his boss of acceptance. The duo moved onward, Grissom's limp longer and more pronounced. They had only moved another few feet when Nick noticed a man slumped against the wall. He'd seen a few inmates made near catatonic with the mixture of medications and chaotic environment, but something propelled him to give this a closer inspection.
Despite a non-verbal protest from his superior Nick ushered Grissom towards the man rocking back and forth against the brick. Grissom leaned on the wall while the younger criminalist squatted down. He groaned when sore muscles moved in new directions.
Nick held his hands in a calming manner as the man let out a squeak of fright, arms folded around knees, most of the man's face buried behind them.
He turned towards Grissom. "It's Sheldon Tanner," he whispered.
Upon the soft words the man nearly rolled into a ball, garbled mumbles and sounds of fright muffled by fabric. Nick didn't know how to proceed; didn't want to touch the man and overly scare him. "Mr. Tanner?"
"Please," the man cried, the rocking back and forth more persistent.
Nick frowned. "Why don't you go back to bed?" It sounded stupid, but he didn't know what else to do.
A mop of blond hair popped up, more slobber on the lower lip. Shaking of the head back and forth, eyes squeezed closed. "Leave me alone," the man mumbled.
Nick looked at Grissom who studied the sad state of affairs.
"Punish me all you want, just make them all go away," Tanner pled.
Nick leaned closer, wary. Ready. "Who?" he asked.
Grissom stepped closer to Nick as Crane wandered over, bored, annoyed, dark eyes focused on Nick and the distraught patient. For the first time Crane made physical contact with the Texan; a hand shook the other man's shoulder.
"Don't waste time, Nick," he instructed.
Before Nick could let loose his fiery tongue, Grissom stepped in between both men. "Nick's talking to one of our suspects."
Crane stared at the older man; body fidgeted, but didn't budge. Grissom peered down at Nick sending waves of calm and time for distraction. The entomologist didn't like the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't move an inch away, crowding Nick, but for good reason.
Tanner mumbled away, nonsense babble, none of which Nick could follow with any focus. Not with Grissom nearly on top of him and Nigel urging him to leave. One thing was for sure, Sheldon Tanner was completely incoherent. One look at his face was enough of an indication that he was farther gone than during the interview.
Nick moved away cautiously as the patient began wildly gesturing at them.
"You won't take me!" the inmate bellowed before scrambling backwards and curled his body back up to rock back and forth again.
Nick stood up, glancing at his boss who finally backed away. "You think it's possible some of these men were drugged again?"
Grissom obviously didn't like the implications of that suspicion. He let the question wash over him, eyes trained on Crane who still loomed too close for comfort. The man's body language was much more nervous...possessive.
"It was dinner time when we got here. Perhaps...if it was Rhodes and he did want to try something, no matter how unorthodox, he might have had time to slip the same unidentified substance into their nightly meds," Grissom postulated. "Risky to do all over again."
Nick chewed on his bottom lip. "Ivan was certainly more 'out there' than the first interview."
Grissom nodded in the dark. Nick cradled his right arm to his side, not fully aware of the action. "I wonder where Joey is." He looked around lost.
"We don't have time for this," Nigel hissed.
Nick's body reacted before his brain. He moved forward before a firm hand gripped his bicep. Nick instantly shrugged it off. He glared at Grissom with fierce eyes at the same time that waves of recrimination laid into him. When had his emotions gone so unchecked? Where was all this anger coming from? He closed his eyes, trying to rein in some calm, but he felt crushed.
Neither criminalist spoke before the janitor spun on his heel, stalking further into the darkness. Nick cleared his throat quietly, nodded his apology to his boss and leaned his shoulder over as an offering.
"Should we just leave him like this?" Nick sort of watched the inmate lose himself to whatever swallowed him whole. The man was a rapist; a terrible bane to society. It wasn't his place to judge, but there was a time and place for punishment.
Grissom was silent; no words could provide the correct answers or hope. After a moment it was time to move on before losing Nigel to the underbelly of the prison.
"You still feel up to being a taxi service?" Grissom asked, draping an arm around Nick's left side.
The Texan actually smiled. "Just don't ask me how expensive the fare is."
Grissom was dead tired and sore all over. It hurt to breathe, although not as much as when he broke a few ribs when he was twenty. No, this was age catching up. He wasn't the most active guy when it came to hitting the gym, but he had never felt this out of shape before. Maybe he did spend too much time behind a microscope. He tried not to depend on the other criminalist too much. It was his duty to be on alert; following Crane around was the worst-case scenario personified.
Thankfully there were few encounters with anyone else, which ironically worried him greatly. Where were all the loose inmates? He didn't have time to ponder such random thoughts as Crane led them to a new section of the prison. Nick sort of froze, his body shifted to the right, the first time he seemed unable to support his weight, slightly lurching to one side.
Before Grissom could adjust his weight, Nigel turned to face them.
"Come on. We'll be safe here."
It took a few minutes to pass between tiled floors and ceilings before both criminalists knew exactly where they were. Grissom heard the slight chuckle from his colleague about their given environment. Without the annoying sickness of flashing red lights they were bathed in darkness.
The supervisor tensed along with his co-worker at the total lack of light.
"You two scared of the dark?" Crane taunted.
Before either of them responded, a click echoed inside and the white beam from a small flashlight emerged from Nigel Crane's hands. Then man directed the light around, the stream of illumination landing on the pair, both scientists squinting in result.
"You've had a flashlight the entire time," Grissom stated, feeling his own slip of control.
Crane waved the beam around. "Of course. Part of my supplies. Why would I try to attract attention on our little journey? Come on, wouldn't want all the loons around here following us."
Nick let go of his burden as he stomped over towards the inmate. Nick and Nigel locked eyes and the criminalist snatched the flashlight out of his grasp. He shined the beam under Nigel's chin; for once it was the other man blinking uncomfortably.
"I'll be borrowing this," Nick instructed. There was no room for argument from his tone.
Crane pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "You're bleeding, Nick."
His grip on the flashlight tightened as he rubbed at the corner of his mouth, smearing the blood there along the edge of his hand. Nick could taste the copper, the wound from the hard blow to his jaw during the staircase fight. He shined the light around, the beam illuminating the open set of community showers.
"Nice hide out," Nick remarked dryly.
Nigel smiled. "Last place anyone wants to be caught in the dark."
The CSI wandered over towards Grissom who sat against the cold tiled wall watching both men. The older man had his bum leg stretched out in front of him. Nick crouched next to him. "Wish we had some ice for your knee. You know how bad it is?"
Grissom rubbed at the injured joint, grimacing slightly. "Feels pretty swollen, though I won't be stripping anytime soon to make sure."
Nick actually smiled. "Yeah. You hurt anywhere else?"
The supervisor rested his head and closed his eyes briefly. "Nothing a nice hot shower at home won't cure. Kind of banged up, but nothing broken." He opened his dark blue eyes to study the younger man in front of him. "Why don't I take that light?"
Nick automatically handed the instrument over to Grissom's open hand. The supervisor switched it to a weaker setting so it wasn't so bright. "Take a seat, Nick. Let's see how you fared after being a one man army a little while ago."
Grissom reached out to inspect Nick's arm, but the Texan pulled it away. The supervisor tried not to sound like some exasperated parent, but he was cranky and in no mood for any stubbornness. "Nick, stop being so obstinate."
The younger criminalist wasn't being valiant, he was just uneasy under the present company. He didn't appreciate the verbal jab any less. He looked around the shower area, noting the absence of Crane. Nick kept his injured arm towards his body and allowed Grissom to shine the light without any prodding.
Blood caked one end of the bandage, but it seemed to have clotted. "The bleeding stopped. Must have re-opened the stitches during the fight." Nick pulled it away from any more inspection.
"We should try to re-wrap it. Clean it if possible to prevent infection," Grissom said, still trying to reach out and take a look for himself.
"You sure order Nick around a lot," Crane said with a leer from the shadows. He approached the supervisor, then threw a small towel at the young CSI. "Found this. I know you're capable of taking care of yourself."
Nick ignored the comment and folded the garment up around his arm for extra protection. Grissom didn't waste any time discussing things with the inmate, his attention still focused in front of him. "Did you suffer any blows to the head?"
The older man flashed the light over Nick's face revealing several fresh bruises beginning to form on his cheek. Grissom frowned as he tilted the beam down the short-sleeved shirt, ignoring dried up blood stains from earlier. Grissom knew the younger man wouldn't want to draw attention to himself, but he needed to know if Nick was hurt anywhere else.
Crane lowered himself to the same level as the two criminalists. "Need a hand? I could be a good nursemaid."
Nick scrambled up off the floor, reaching his feet as he used the wall for leverage. "Stay back," he warned the janitor with a glare. Nick turned towards his boss. "I'm fine."
"You know, Nick. When this is all over, maybe you should take a break from work. Go out and buy some of nice wood. Use that carving kit to whittle a new bird piece to add to your collection. I could help pick out the color stain."
Nigel stepped closer to the Texan who just stood motionlessly, like some trapped animal. Crane smiled. "You still like mahogany?"
"Quit playing games, Crane. It's a waste of time. You can't get to Nick that way." Grissom's voice broke the trance the other man had been lost in. Nick glanced backwards at his boss but said nothing.
"I'm not doing anything. I can't have a conversation with a friend?" Nigel entered the area bathed in light from the beam that rested in the entomologist's hands. "Do you know which species of birds are left in his collection?"
Grissom didn't reply and Nigel didn't miss a beat. "Or did you even know about his hobby?"
"Do you even know what he likes to eat? His favorite color?" Nigel didn't stop long enough for the supervisor to retort. He bent down, almost looming over the older man. "You're his supervisor, his idol. For someone who's worked with him for so long, you don't know very much about him."
Nick walked into the darkness, Nigel's babbling about intimate details of his life resounding in his head. The man was baiting his supervisor about things that were stolen from him. Moments Crane had snatched away like a god damned thief and the man was gloating about it.
All his cherished quiet time at home. Asleep in his bed, conversations on the phone, meals. Nick rubbed at his eyes, recalling how relieved he had been years ago that he had not been involved with anyone at the time.
Yet Nigel Crane was all wrong. He was stuck in the past and he wasn't the same Nick Stokes that was so damn fascinating a few years ago. Not at all.
"Obviously you don't have a clue how much Nick values his privacy." Grissom's voice drifted inside the room.
Something about those words...the fucking irony of it all. Grissom seemed to have quite a hand in his privacy. On what he was allowed to know and deal with.
Nick's own voice echoing inside the god damned box, sharing last bits of sorrow, uttering dying words of regret, only to be shared 'after' death. They had been heard, been communicated, without his knowledge.
"What was the last conversation you two had that didn't involve a dead body?"
Nick felt his stomach heave, despite its emptiness, just unmerciful hacks that served to draw attention and agitated his sore shoulder and side. He spat several times, clearing his raw throat. He wiped at his chin, feeling a storm brew under the surface. All this time brooding over stolen moments when they had left a man to die at the hands of sickos worse than Nigel Crane. People had suffered worse fates than what he allowed his mind to wallow in.
Nick marched over into the cloud of light, and stuck his hand in the air to cut off the inevitable question. He ignored the janitor for the time being and looked directly at his boss.
"We should do something about Franco." It was a statement, plain and simple.
Grissom was obviously unprepared for this subject, squinting. "I don't follow, Nick."
"We left him in that hallway. He could still be alive. There could be other guards or even patients out there wounded, or dying."
Grissom shifted uneasily. "I'm aware of this, but we're short on options."
"We don't have any idea what's goin' on out there, Man. We've got inmates running around, some of them hopped up on who knows what. We need to let someone know what's going down in here. Let the authorities know about Dr. Rhodes. Maybe even try to find Franco, see if they left him alone once they couldn't get past that door." Nick stared at his boss, all seriousness on his face.
Grissom shook his head in disbelief. "We didn't just leave Franco behind. We were ambushed and nearly killed."
"We didn't have time to think back there, Grissom. You couldn't move very well. We were surprised, but now..."
"But now, nothing, Nick." Grissom's voice raised with his ire. "You need to calm down. Think things through. We were very lucky in that stairwell. You're not Superman- we're outnumbered."
"It's our duty to try to communicate to the outside, let people know what they are dealing with. This isn't some riot. It's an orchestrated means for homicide. Someone tried to kill us, Gris. Are we just gonna wait for the rest of the prisoners to find us?"
Grissom seemed at a loss for words. "No, we're going to wait until..."
"We become the next victims," Nick cut him off. He looked at his supervisor who was staring at him with that look that made him ill. "There's got to be a phone around here. A land line."
"The infirmary and Dr. Rhodes' office both have phones," Crane chimed in after being so suspiciously quiet.
Grissom stared coldly at the man, knowing the inmate had hidden agendas. "Nick..."
"Which one is the closest?" Nick turned to face the janitor.
Crane actually looked eager, giddy almost. "Dr. Rhode's office. The infirmary is clear on the other side of the block. Plus, all the whackos would want to get their greedy little hands on all the goodies in those locked pharmacy cabinets."
Nick looked even more tense. Crane almost beamed with good news. "They have manual locks on the doors besides the electronic ones. I'm sure everyone inside is safe, Nick."
Nigel Crane even smiled something akin to encouragement. "In fact, I'm sure they're safe."
Grissom was busy looking back and forth between both men, not sure if he had just entered the Twilight Zone.
"What about Dr. Rhode's office? What kind of locks are on there?"
"Key card," the janitor answered. "It would be easy to enter. Phone's on the desk. Phone line is separate from the electronic security."
Nick nodded, plan formulating. People were hurt, his supervisor one of them. They all needed help. He needed to get away.
"If you reach some of your friends or the police, they could get clear information to the SWAT team which is bound to enter here. They don't really care too much about the prisoners as long as order is contained. Some of the staff here or even a select few prisoners might get injured in a full blown assault."
Crane's words were calculated, every line carefully executed. Grissom couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Nick, we need to stay put."
The janitor shrugged. "Mr. Grissom is right. I mean, I hear containment is successfully resolved with minimum loss of life. Estimates around 10 percent or so. That's if they get here in time. If the third floor is compromised, then it could take hours before they get up here."
He wasn't a fool; he knew what Crane was doing, his scenarios carefully constructed, but deep down inside, Nick knew the kernel of truth.
"Nick, we didn't have a choice back there in that stairwell. Listen to me," Grissom pleaded.
"Listen to your boss, Nick. He knows what is best for you," Nigel echoed like a parrot.
Nick looked at his supervisor, at his desperate need for trust about the situation. Nick gave his supervisor the same pained plea in his eyes. "We're talking about giving valuable information to the authorities. We can let people know what's goin' on in here."
Grissom shook his head, not even listening to his words. "Nick, you have to trust me."
He swallowed; his face betrayed the effect of those words. He looked over at Crane. "Can you tell me exactly how to get there?"
The inmate looked surprised, but carefully covered. "Maybe five minutes; it's really close. Though it would be better if I showed you."
Nick shook his head. "No, some detailed instructions are fine. I want you to stay here, with Grissom, just in case someone finds you guys holed up here."
It was risky placing the safety of his supervisor in the hands of Nigel Crane. In the stairwell they got lucky…all sorts of twisted Nick Stokes' brand of luck. They had been rescued by the unlikeliest of people. The next time there was no doubt in his mind that they would be discovered. Then what?
Crane and his broom handle? Him and his ripped open, throbbing arm versus a mass of prisoners? They needed to reach a phone; someone needed to alert the authorities about the exactsituation. Grissom couldn't move if something happened, he couldn't protect the man. Just like he couldn't prevent Franco from being taken by that mob.
Crane began to protest, but Nick wouldn't have any of it. He actually stepped closer, and placed his hand on the man's shoulder. Nick kept the tremble still, swallowed against disgust. "I need you to watch over my boss. He can't move around. I'm...I'm counting on you."
Nigel Crane for once was at a loss for words. He nodded. Now it was Nick's turn to smile. "Now tell me how to get here."
Grissom had managed to stand up before the conversation of tactics. He was hopelessly lost in some other dimension. What the Hell was going on? No amount of reprimand or scolding worked. Nick was bound and determined to find help. His criminalist wasn't listening to him, to his damn good, logical reasons. It wasn't until later that he realized his grievous error.
Nick began to leave with no flashlight or weapon. Grissom touched his shoulder. Knowing there was no argument left, he let the young man know who was still in charge. "If you're not back in 10 minutes, I'm coming to get you."
Grissom stood there, as obstinate as he felt his young co-worker was acting. In fact he almost saw a flush of warmness, of gratefulness, that was quickly gone.
"All right," Nick drawled.
"Ten minutes, Nicky," Grissom threatened.
Then his CSI was gone. Swallowed up by the labyrinth of the mental ward. The supervisor spun around, bad knee and all. He grabbed two handfuls of jumpsuit, his eyes as cold as death itself. "I swear to God, Crane, if something happens to him..."
Crane calmly pried the man's hands off of him, and gave him a small smile. "I'll never let anything happen to Nick." Crane coughed. "Unlike you."
tbc...