Angelo wasn't about to play shrink with the older man, his response some sort of cryptic guilt. The male nurse tried to offer some small hope. "We're pumping him full of fluids; it'll help for a bit. Re-wrapped his arm, we'll let a specialist re-stitch it back up, so that we can avoid leaving too bad a mark."
"You finally give him some antibiotics?" Grissom asked, stalling.
The medical worker frowned. "Yeah, Man. We did." He cleared his throat. "Last we heard, SWAT entered the first floor maybe fifteen minutes ago. If they don't run into any snags we might have enough time."
It was like a giant bell went off inside his head and Grissom fixed the man with steel blue eyes. "You've been in contact with the SWAT Team?"
The man nodded. "Yeah. Up until you guys came in here. Been keeping up with them on the phone."
Grissom whirled around, searching the dimly lit room. "Have you told them about the new situation? About us?"
"Nah, man. We've been busy trying to help your guy here." The nurse sensed the impending question. "It's a cordless; you want to drop a dime on someone?"
He faltered, knowing that a few minutes would be worth spending. "Yes," Grissom replied all ready retreating from the bed.
Away from something he just couldn't do yet—wouldn't, if he had a way to change an outcome that had all ready been accepted by everyone else in the room.
Angelo scattered towards some point in the room, leaving Grissom alone with Nick. Before he could curse himself for being a coward Loretta made her way over, a more gentle air about her. It annoyed him a bit, how she suddenly learned a more compassionate bedside manner now that Nick's condition was considerably frailer. The older woman monitored vitals, every gesture as unobtrusive as possible, great care and warmth whenever she touched the young criminalist. Speaking softly as she sent him seething looks.
The supervisor stiffened under the scrutiny, a leopard judging him. Then it struck him as the other nurse bounded back eager phone in hand, that maybe Nurse Louretta and he had a lot more in common. That she knew. This complete stranger had him pegged for the chameleon that he was.
Grissom nodded at her, acknowledging her assessment and warning. He turned in time to accept the phone dialing a number he knew by heart.
The phone rang, and rang. He had almost given up hope, when a gruff voice answered.
"Jim." Grissom greeted.
"Gil? Jesus, man. Where are you? You guys still inside, I mean---"
"Yes, we are. Jim, I need you to listen to me." Grissom's hands ached around the phone, as he squeezed it tight with urgency.
Silence indicated he got the desired attention and he felt calmer as seconds ticked by. He slipped into command mode with gusto. "Are you in communication with the SWAT Team?"
"Sort of."
Good Jim, just answer my questions don't speculate, he thought. "It's imperative that they get to the fourth floor to the informatory."
"Is that where you guys are holed up?"
"Yes. They should have blueprints, the most direct route. We need EMTs up here right away. There are several injured prisoners and at least one guard that needs attention along this area."
He swallowed, trying to be objective, to be fair to the other casualties of this nightmare. The Captain caught on to his ruse.
"You guys all right? You take cover in there when things went to Shit?"
Grissom closed his eyes, his voice bare and brittle. "Jim, we got to get the paramedics up here now. Nick's...he's hurt real bad and he can't wait for them to take their sweet time. Get them here." He breathed. "Please."
"Christ Gil. I mean of course...but damn. They just entered the third floor, it's a mess."
"I don't care!" Grissom felt it crumbling all of it...everything...
He forced it all way...all of his feelings. Should have been an easy feat, a reflex. Instead he focused on his respiration.
This time his voice was softer. "Maybe get another team up here? While they're covering the third. They have two ways to enter here, Jim."
"I'll sure try, Gil. Christ. Okay, I'll pull in every favor, threaten who needs to be...we'll try. Look, everyone else wants to talk to you."
He was already shaking his head. "I can't. Not right now. Call this number when you know something."
Grissom shut the button off, cutting off a plethora of questions and worry. No, not now.
Angelo was out of earshot, playing guard dog over the increasingly twitchy Nigel, and keeping a respectful distance. No way to dodge the other caregiver; Nurse Louretta hovered too close, her job keeping her at arm's reach. She didn't say a word to him, didn't offer him to call her Lou---or any other form of charity.
The male nurse had moved a stool near the bed aware of his impaired movements, knowing full well his banged up knee was the last thing on his mind. He concealed a slow groan as he stiffly lowered his battered body to the seat.
It was there he simply stared; guilt, remorse, anger—yes at his actions and at Nick's. The man should have stayed at the Lab, followed orders—then again, if their communications skills hadn't been in such disrepair. If his CSI had not felt that he had ran away with the case in some awkward need to shield him. If Grissom had been straight and if Nick had been receptive...well...it was all moot.
Grissom watched the steady rise and fall of the man's chest, a bluish bruise marred his cheek right around a cut along his jaw. Another one marked his shoulder, blunt force along pale skin. The supervisor's hand tentatively floated above an arm swathed in cotton and tape. The limb had been cleaned and sterilized, though blood stains still smeared a wrist and hand where it had dripped from the wounds.
His mind went instantly to Nick's clothes, cut away denim littered the floor. Before his shirt had been sliced away, Grissom recalled a faint red bloody palm print around the collar, when Ivan had restrained Nick in an attempt to torture him. A shudder ran down his spine, goose flesh along his own arms. A fuzzy flash of a demented face; dead eyes, a scalpel's tip right below his right eye socket.
Grissom blinked back the memory and rested his hand on the young man's bicep. "Nick?"
It was the first time he noticed the oxygen mask had been replaced by a nasal cannula. He looked up confused at the nurse, who caught his stare.
"Once he calmed down his sats went back to around 94. Cannula should make it easier for him to talk for a little bit. He's on very heavy painkillers... thought it only right." She then busied herself with checking tubes, his pulse, anything to seem distracted.
He licked his lips, and shook the shoulder. "Nick, can you hear me?"
Eyes fluttered open, then squeezed tightly at the light from the two lamps that bathed him in low illumination. Nick moaned, head turning away from the light, mouth opened and closed, stale and dry from probable lack of moisture. Instinctively a hand clutched at the sheet and pulled it tighter over his body, as he faced his boss. Heavy lids closed and fought to stay open; a shaky intake of breath through a nose and open mouth.
Inaudible sounds from a dry throat, and Grissom looked on silently. Nick's head lolled somewhat, the dullness of his eyes struggled to focus, drugged-hazed brain and panic lazily fought. The criminalist peered down at his body sluggishly, but his expression reflected distress. He pulled at the thin white sheet that covered him.
His head seemed too heavy to lift, so it dropped back down. With great difficulty he turned it. Now very large eyes glared at him. Grissom leaned forward, hand patted awkwardly.
"What is it, Nick?"
It seemed all the ailing man wanted to do was shriek under the covers, hand still full of fabric, his body trembled now, teeth began to shatter.
"Mmmrphh"
Grissom searched franticly for the cause of alarm, trained but weary eyes tried to view everything like Nick would. His gaze fitfully drifted, no odd sounds. Crane invisible behind the barrier, no buzzing alarms, since there was no equipment to alert people of the increased anxiety.
Nick managed to wrap his fingers around his wrist and Grissom lost it. He fucking lost it all. Finally...mind in Nick's position, surrounded by this situation he got it.
He turned to the nurse who almost shooed him away for causing undo stress. "You have a blanket? Or another sheet?"
Louretta looked at him not comprehending...too hardened by a tough job. A man like Nick feeling so openly exposed and on display furthest from her thoughts.
"He's cold." That wasn't totally the truth, but he wasn't going to say anything else out loud for the younger man's benefit.
Massive blood loss could cause the man chills, but he ignored that logical part of his mind. Grissom tried not to take in a sick pallor, too pale to even show the hue of red along pasty cheeks. Nick's embarrassment and humility would be protected. Grissom grimaced for him as he fumbled, not knowing what was appropriate. Nick wanted what? Compassion, but don't show it. Respect, but don't over do it, or it was a sham. Anger because he cared but not too much or you were an evil SOB.
Instead he slid down his hand into Nick's, not caring about what was correct. The older man coughed. "Help's coming, Nick. Just stick with me, okay?"
All his criminalist did was twist the bed sheets with uncoordinated fingers, eyes away from his.
The nurse's arrival was a blessing as she draped a grey blanket over Nick's body, shielding any further vulnerability. The effect was immediate as he pulled the worn fabric up to his chin, tops of his shoulders still exposed. Tubes still snaked out from his arm and from another places, but Grissom adjusted his grip.
"It's almost over."
Nick seemed to wince at the familiar words and the supervisor soon regretted it.
"The SWAT Team is just below us, then help will arrive." He wanted to keep Nick's attention.
It was a struggle, Nick battled the narcotics. "Hmmm, another dead man." He finally looked at him. "By the office," he whispered, eyes fluttering.
Nick looked lost, zoning out to the tiles of the ceiling, but forced his head to the side, soft, faint eyes for the first time really looked at him. "W—what happened?"
Grissom scrunched his face not sure if this was another ramble, but then realized he must have looked a sight, cuts along his cheeks from Ivan's attempt at barber skills. "Nothing."
Even in his struggle with the pain meds, Grissom saw his words backfiring. He leaned closer, voice low, but loud enough to hear. "It's...it's frightening to be at the whim of a madman. No matter how formidable you are---how much brain, how much brawn...you feel helpless. Dependant."
Nick licked his lips, "It's...not easy." He closed his eyes, his deep breath along plastic tubes for air supply.
"Especially when you just want to pretend it never happened afterwards." Grissom added, hoping it conveyed what he had failed to ever talk about.
Nick moved his head, heavy mast of eyes adrift at the ceiling again, his hand slack between Grissom's fingers.
"Or...if others want...to forget as well." Nick's lips moved more, but nothing came out.
The sound of a BP cuff pumped, as Grissom strained to catch bits and pieces more. He looked up at the female nurse who stared at her watch, fingers on the carotid at Nick's neck, her eyes spoke the dreaded news.
"I just wanted what was the best for you," he blurted out.
Nick's eyes rolled over to his, "N-nnnot...your...choice," he croaked.
"No...It wasn't." He replied, his fingers curled tighter, but Nick's remained lax.
"Hmmmrh...you...stole...from...me...n...not...fff...aaair"
Nick fought oh he hung on, by every tooth and nail. Low catch in his throat as the drugs overpowered his system, as a body began to flutter and weaken.
It sounded like a wheeze, little scraps of words, so swallowed up, with just a little movement of muscles between his fingers.
Grissom never let go, bent over as much as he could, over that damn hitch in breathing as Nick resisted a need to submit.
"Nnnnneeee—vverrrrrr," the young man moaned softly, hand bobbled along Grissom's. "Wannted, t-this."
He rubbed his thumb a little between the fingers that grew colder by the second. "I know you didn't want this to happen. I've should have been more vigilante about your surroundings about the impact. I should have been extra cautious about this situation for the both of us."
Some alien whine, tore through the younger man's throat and the supervisor concentrated to the mere whisper. This time words didn't make it past the man's mouth, just lips that still tried to work. Grissom tried to read what Nick so valiantly tried to convey.
Didn't want ...to become ...so lost.
Grissom strained to see what sound couldn't make.
Didn't want... to be this... at all.
"You should really let him rest, Sir." Louretta glared at him.
"But, I'm not done," he told her and then, looked at Nick. "I'm not done. I..." Grissom closed his mouth knowing it was useless. "I was wrong, Nick. I ---" He shook his head. "I was selfish, it wasn't fair. None of it."
Nick's eyelids fluttered closed, too much of a struggle. Grissom felt his blood run cold, as the man drifted off, moisture ran trails around a slightly battered face.
"Sir," the pushy caregiver was trying to usher him away.
"He's not resting!" The supervisor snapped at her.
"Deal with your problems somewhere else, but don't harm the health of my patient," she hissed. Louretta looked for her co-worker as she began to move to the other side of the bed. Obviously she'd force the man away, the woman not afraid to exert her command.
Grissom ignored her, he was good at that. Dismissing people when they were too much, or he was uncomfortable with a topic. He shook Nick again, trying to rouse him. "Maybe I didn't act like I trusted you...that you were not capable of handling things. I didn't want you to lose yourself to Crane, to get sucked into his world. I know you, Nick, the man didn't deserve any empathy he'd steal from you."
Louretta shuffled closer only to be distracted by something or someone. Grissom paid it no mind as he felt like he had been given this only chance. "The whole Gordon thing—both times." He scooted closer, his voice a mere whisper over the man. "If I put it behind me, if I could do it, maybe you could too. But, I'm not you Nicky...never could be. Modus operandi---our ways of functioning are vastly different. I didn't give when you needed it, and pushed when you were unwilling. I'm a terrible teacher, Nick."
Grissom picked his criminalist's hand, held onto the limp, unresponsive fingers. "You don't need to be my student anymore Nick. You don't have anything else to learn, but please, give us a chance to rebuild the foundation. We can still work as a Team. I got you guys back, but I never reached out afterwards."
He swallowed, huge freaking lump in his throat. "I didn't learn Walter's lesson at all."
"Sir."
"Mr. Grissom."
He ignored them all. "You fight it Nick. You hear me!"
The supervisor held onto Nick's hand but tore away from eyes that never opened. He looked up at Angelo whose gaze he wanted to wipe away. Nurse Louretta stood behind the more kindly caregiver. "I know you're trying to help, but you need to let us do our jobs, man."
"Don't do it, Nicky. Not now. Not with what you've over come in the past." It was desperate, and he didn't really much care either way.
He moved away silently, his body almost unwilling to budge, be it pain or an ache in his chest. Grissom faltered slightly past the partition, but he hid his new low sense of being when he sensed Crane looming nearby.
"I want to talk with Nick," the geeky man demanded.
Grissom didn't answer him; his feet remained firmly where he stood. Between the ex-cable man and the man the stalker sought out.
"No."
Crane became incensed. "I'm the one who he came here to see. I saved him. Took care of him. You can't keep me from speaking to him," he huffed testily, body shaking as he seethed.
"Get back in the corner or I'll have Angelo sedate you," Grissom threatened.
Nigel's face reddened, "How dare you!" he hissed. He looked past the supervisor. "Nick! Nick, you tell him!" he bellowed. "Tell him how much you need to speak to me!"
He can't talk you little twerp. One of your buddy cell mates stabbed him and then you locked him in a damn closet. You bastard.That's what Grissom wanted to yell, to scream while he throttled the little man.
Instead he watched as Nigel Crane prattled on and on, cursing a storm, until the large black nurse stormed out to shut the man up.
Grissom really wished the nurse would just shoot the guy full of Ativan, but the meekly rat scurried back to his corner and pouted and stewed. Before the supervisor could suggest that sedation was the best thing despite a small voice of reason, the cordless phone rang and his heart thundered in his chest at the hope that Jim Brass had come through.
A/N: This will be 23 Chapters long. Thanks to all the new and older faces for your feedback. Notes at my bio.