"It's over, Nick."
"Then...it's over."
"It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon."
Those fucking words were all that kept him from going back to another dark, tight space. Questions about integrity, honesty, and responsibility to keep him company. Nagging doubts about culpability, and his decision-making skills.
And why the Hell was he being argued about by the two people who at this very moment seemed so clueless to the fact that he wasn't deaf, nor was he some child to be curtly ignored. The world seemed to move so painstakingly slowly, not that he could judge the speed he was going with his eyes closed.
He may have felt like dying, but he certainly didn't need to be subjected to two forms of torture.
"Should have brought two wheelchairs," Nigel sneered near his ear. "Don't know why you put such blind faith in a guy who doesn't even--"
Nick felt the wheelchair lurch to a stop, his death grip on the armrests the only thing that kept him from spilling to the floor.
"This isn't the right way," he heard Grissom's voice to his other side. The supervisor had 'co-piloted' the whole time as it aided his ability to walk and gave the man some level of control, Nick thought.
Glad some things never changed.
"I know where I'm going," Nigel growled.
"You're taking us on another route. Stonewalling isn't going to help Nick and you know that."
Always the acting commander, Nick mused darkly as he bent over to separate his body from his injury. His head was spinning on top of everything and the flashing light made him equally nauseous.
Nigel's light chuckle was like the scraping of nails. "Feeling a little inadequate at the moment, hmmm?"
Nick tried to rein in his heavy breathing; his ears pounded like a war drum, and now there was an uncomfortable silence.
"Nick's not going to ask you how high anymore, when you order him to jump. Kind of smarts, doesn't it?" Nigel said smugly.
Nutty Nigel rambled on, goading, and twisting. While Gil Grissom stood there taking it, although they had handed themselves willingly to the inmate, hadn't they? Nick let go of a breath he had been holding, letting it slowly exhale from his lungs as he gulped down another fitful amount.
"You see I know Nick. I know what's best for him, and I know that you're jealous of that," the man sneered.
He felt his cheeks burn again, the raging waters free from the large cracks and ruins of self-control.
"Then you know that we should keep moving and in the right direction."
Grissom had found his voice after all, still so very calm.
"Yes, the best direction, although the correct answers are always in the mind of the beholder. Are all your decisions right?"
"No," Grissom replied.
He felt the wheelchair move again; he let out a strangled cry from the jolt, but never opened his eyes. The way there he bounced painfully along, the apparatus jerked sharply as the two grappled for purchase. Nick could imagine each man's firm grip on each handle, vying for dominance. It made him feel ill.
"We're going my way. I'm doing what's best for Nick," Nigel contended after they renewed his appointed direction.
"Nick isn't a pawn in some game of yours, placating your personal needs over his well being." Grissom's voice was rising, just like it did when he argued about anything over right and wrong.
Nick heard Nigel snort as the prisoner placed a hand along his shoulder. It was such a blatant gesture of fake condolence as he patted him like a fucking child who needed some affirmation. Nigel let his hand rest there. Nick sucked in another breath, battling a wave of revulsion, and pure rage that sort of snapped inside him.
"That's what you do right, as his boss? Make choices for whatever will set your mind at ease. Such the stoic supervisor, must be tough to deal with someone so opposite of you, so much more...sensitive."
Nigel's hand never moved, it still sweetly patted him. Nick could imagine the self-assured smile across the inmate's face.
Sensitive. The word burned though his mind.
Pain flared up in his back as they took a slight turn; the ability to try to deal with the constant throbbing was slipping, stealing away everything else with it. Nothing but a hot skewer, twisting deeper and deeper into the muscle.
"My opinion doesn't factor into things. I generally let my people choose and learn for themselves," Grissom retorted with that same cool cadence.
Nick couldn't believe his ears, and Crane squeezed his shoulder, in a 'soothing' way. All it served to do was make him finally lose it. Crane might as well have jabbed his index finger inside the hole in his back and wrenched it inside.
Nick bolted out of the chair and stumbled into the darkness, hunched over and terribly unsteady on his feet. Spasms seized up his back, and ripped away any other control. Gasping for air, and leaning against the wall he turned to face the other two.
"Screw you, Nigel," he panted. "I'm not some pet of yours," Nick spat.
He saw Grissom's outline in the blackness, made out dim features of his face, two hands out as if approaching some petrified animal. "Nick. Calm down. Just..."
"Don't tell me to calm down", Nick growled at him. He was seething, in pain, paranoid, and lost in the dark with no end in sight.
Grissom didn't move, hands up in surrender. "Nick, you're not thinking clearly. Please--"
Nick remained partially doubled over- one hand on the wall, the other warning his supervisor away, despite how it trembled. "Don't chastise me!" he shouted as sweat dripped down his face.
Crane crept up along Nick's other side, arms folded over his chest.
"Back off, Crane," Grissom barked at him.
"Let Nick fight his own battles," the inmate retorted.
Fucking nut job stalker on one side, and a man who had disappointed him more than any other in his life on the other. It was so overwhelming while the hallway of fun complete with those damn blinking lights swam before him.
"Just stop it! Both of ya!" he said between clenched teeth. Standing had not been a good idea. His knees were buckling.
"We're very close to where we need to go, Nick." Nigel feigned some interest. "Not too much further; you can even walk there-if you can." The man shrugged.
Grissom stepped closer. "We can discuss things whenever you want. But right now it's vital we get you some help. You know that, Nick," he tried to reason.
"We...don't…discuss anything... Ever." Nick forced the words out, tough when he fought to keep from slumping to the floor.
His body won out, forcing Nick to his knees, Grissom knelt down right next to him.
Nick teetered on all fours, with a cry of pain, followed by another erratic breath for air. The floor came up to meet him, but he stayed rooted on hands and knees, swaying badly.
"You had no right!" Nick swatted at his supervisor's hand that went to touch his arm. "I trusted you," he accused.
Grissom seemed utterly lost, frozen on the floor, his CSI breaking to pieces in front of him. Words seemed so meaningless at a time like this, yet for some reason Nick craved them desperately. It seemed he had wronged the young criminalist in so many ways. He didn't even know which the ailing man was referring to at the moment.
"I know, Nicky." Grissom's voice was cracked, his pinched expression lost in the darkness. "I-I screwed up."
"W-which time, man?" he hissed. "I'm glad you got over it all." Nick panted now; he buried his head in the crook of his elbow. "I'm...still living it," the CSI groaned, coughing.
"Enough with the soap opera theatrics; I thought we were in a hurry," Crane egged on, a heavy scowl on his face.
Grissom ignored him. "Come on, Nick. I'll promise to listen and pay attention this time. You've overcome so much despite my mess-ups. You have a chance to stare at your past right in the face and conquer it." The supervisor wanted to make eye contact to see if he was connecting at all or hopelessly lost.
Nick lifted his head and stared through blurry eyes. "You're part of that... it's not an easy fix, Grissom."
The supervisor swallowed hard. "Reconciliations never are."
"Touching," Crane sneered. "Real Hallmark moment."
Grissom helped lift Nick to his feet, hands under his armpits, as he took on the brunt of his weight and both hobbled over to the wheelchair. The supervisor held on to both handles and dared the prisoner to try to commandeer it with his steely gaze.
Nigel huffed, and adjusted his glasses. "Keep up with me."
Grissom shuffled with difficulty allowing the wheels to sort of aid in his walk, his knee so painfully stiff that it would bend barely at all. They followed their guide with caution, a new row of cells starting to appear on their left, doors open, with empty beds. More ghosts running rampant; only so many places to hide before they ran into more loose inmates.
Grissom looked down at his charge; Nick was curled up as much as possible to one side, eyes tightly closed, mouth open, ragged breathing. At least the man was spared the tourist attractions, closely packed rooms, dark narrow hallway. He'd been so dense.
Nigel began to take a keen interest in them, glancing backwards on a more frequent basis. It made Grissom nervous. As they rounded another corner he almost bumped into the geeky menace when he stood there, a cold smile on his face. The janitor had crossed his feet in a mocking away, leaning casually along an open door jamb. Grissom slowed down, unsure what the next set of hijinks was. They were wasting time.
"See, Nick? Pure example of the weak, a real waste of time. I will never understand why you squander good oxygen on such deplorable examples of human beings."
Grissom angled the chair away from the entrance still wary, but turned to see what had Crane so smug it bordered on giddiness. The supervisor peered into the room, unable to see anything, just outlines of a bed. Cautiously he glanced at Crane who shook his head annoyed.
"No boogeyman; of course when it comes to that walnut of a brain who knows. If I was him, I'd hide under my bed too."
Nick stirred, seemingly roused by the orchestrated taunts. Grissom wanted him to keep still, but his criminalist moved awkwardly to seek out what was inside the cell. Instead of wasting time with more senseless arguing, Grissom maneuvered the wheelchair so Nick could see whatever the inmate had planned. Undoubtedly not the brightest of ideas, but time was of the essence and taking part in the stupid puppet show might be the quickest route to get them to safety.
Grissom inched the chair more inside the shoebox of a room, vigilant for anything. Crane flicked on his flashlight and illuminated the floor. The supervisor squinted, the sudden light overwhelmed his sight and slowly his pupils adjusted. A lone mattress rested on a standard frame, covers strewn on the floor, the rest of the room barren.
The sheets hung over and were sort of pulled under the bed, as if someone grabbed them, but didn't bother to slide them all the way down. Grissom still waited for some tell tale tell sign or movement. Nick's gasps for air almost overwhelmed other subtle sounds.
Grissom's curiosity got the best of him and with a silent plea with Nick to stay, he ventured further into the prison cell and squatted despite the pain in his knee. Cowering under the bed was Joseph Brighten. The inmate shrunk back at the mere presence of the criminalist. Grissom frowned knowing this was just another round of head games to screw with Nick.
What was he to do? The prisoner was safest where he was-had been thus far it seemed. What was the point of this exhibit…? What was Crane so desperately trying to prove?
Nigel needed Nick unbalanced, so unfocused and vulnerable to his manipulations. Sure the inmate wanted to keep Nick alive, but this dog and pony show had to stop. Nick was bleeding out right in front of him, powerless to stop it. It was all about power, what he could wrangle from the prone CSI and more importantly... what he could exact on him.
No more.
"What's goin' on, Gris?"
Nick's voice was weak, but the man wouldn't give up. Nick knew something was going on and while he was walking the straight and narrow he needed to keep to it. Ignoring things anymore was not going to solve anything. Too bad this new enlightenment was so damn late.
"Its Joseph Brighten. He's safe Nick." Grissom turned to see the smirk on Crane's face, and the pale one of his criminalist desperate to see for himself why they had been lured here.
"Joseph…Joey is pretty catatonic. We can't do anything for him now."
Nick picked up on the softness, the underlying sadness to his supervisor's tone. Even in the most macabre setting, he could really tell the pained honesty of the man. No fudging the truth this time. Despite how badly he hurt, his instincts as a criminalist were intact. Joey wasn't anywhere he could see him, the words of Nigel's loomed.
The poor guy was hiding under the bed, scared of whatever imaginable horrors in his mind, compounded by the chaos around him. Nick thought back to the files on Brighten, his fairly normal life shattered by evil and then torn apart by injustice. A man shredded to just primal rage, succumbed to fear, anger, and despair. Those feelings were so familiar, so tangible. How many times did he ignore them, or let them eat at him day after day?
What was it liked to be so totally ruled by them? To have your humanity sucked away. Biology or environment. Leon Stoyanov vs. Joseph Brighten... What fork in the road separated those two? Both minds devoured by something. Who was to say who was more 'innocent' than the other?
One loved to kill and the other resorted to it when everything else was hopeless.
Nick opened heavy lids, straining to make out the shell of a man who lacked whatever controlled that invisible line.
Joseph was tucked away avoiding the mad mad world he saw himself in, totally shut off from reality, and too cut off to deal with anything. That precarious line was so close, so blurred that Nick felt his rapid beating heart slam along his sternum even harder. Once you lost faith and let that line in the sand fade, then anyone could slip into the blackness that threatened to swallow your soul.
Part of him wanted to help, but knew he had nothing to offer. His head pounded in tandem with everything now...he was finding it hard to latch on to anything other than the blinding throb of his back. Nick nodded towards his supervisor; the relief on the other man's face was so transparent. The anger on Nigel's emanated in dark waves.
"Humph, where's your cape, Nick? Leave it at home…or did you see something you didn't feel like saving?" Crane dug at him even more.
"No more stops, Crane." Grissom demanded.
Nigel rolled his eyes, clicking the flashlight off, blackness enclosed them once again. "Can't promise we won't run into any more fun times once we get to our final destination."
Truer words had not been spoken. The phantoms of the prison had to lurk somewhere, if all the exits were blocked and half the beds were empty. The promise of drugs in the infirmary could be too much of a temptation to resist.
They were trying to avoid prowling lions, but sought after a much-desired den.
A/N: I'm back connected and looks like this site works for once. What wonders.