Chapter Nine: On My End

After Nick stalked out of the lab that chilly night, it took all of thirty seconds for the graveyard shift to implode in on itself, and because of his proximity, Conrad Ecklie.

"You were going to lie for him, weren't you?"

"Wouldn't you, after what he's been through?"

Conrad sighed and pursed his lips, glaring out at the bickering CSIs. He would have thought his not-so-subtle comment about the lab's lack of soundproofing capabilities would have resounded with them, but he seemed to be having a luckless night.

"Why didn't you say anything to him, Gil?"

Conrad really didn't know how Grissom put up with all of that incessant nagging. He would pay good money to just one time hear the man tell Willows to shut the hell up. But Gil Grissom was Gil Grissom, and his only response was to squint as he stared blankly down the hall at the doors through which his little trooper had just exited.

"Why did you have to say what you did, Catherine?"

"I was trying to be comforting – "

"Maybe you should try a little harder next time," Sidle cut the other woman off, her voice rising.

Brown snorted and rubbed his face. "If we get a next time." There was an aimless accusation in his tone.

"This isn't helping anything," Sanders interjected, before the others could continue to fight with one another.

What the little mediator. Conrad wanted to gag. He brought his hands up to his head and massaged his temples. Unfortunately, no amount of pressure was going to rid him of this annoyance. "Everyone, shut up!" he demanded loudly.

The group of CSIs seemed to have forgotten he was even there, and they turned as one, regarding him with varying shades of anger and disgust, all of which he shook off easily. Like water off of a duck.

Conrad returned the glares. "Nick is on leave," he said, stammering slightly as he fought not to use the word 'suspension.' Though it was the truth, voicing it to this bunch certainly wouldn't help the matter any. He turned his eyes to the captain of this sinking ship. "One week, minimum," he started to explain.

"What? Why?" Brown asked, eyes fiery with anger. "Because you want him out of here for your little review?" He practically spat out the word.

While the upcoming lab review was figuring into his decision, there was no doubt about that, there were other factors involved. Factors he wasn't going to discuss in front of this group, no matter what it would make them think of him.

"Grissom," Conrad began, gesturing down the hall in the direction of his office.

"Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?" Willows chimed in.

Given the events of the past few minutes, Conrad found her words a bit hypocritical, but somehow managed to keep his comments to himself. "We'll continue this in my office," he gritted through clenched teeth, nodding to Grissom.

Grissom understood the implication, and he nodded. However, he made no move to calm the remnants of his team. Namely, Willows.

"Oh," she continued, crossing her arms. "So it's okay to humiliate people in front of their coworkers, just as long as it's not you."

Grissom finally shot her a look. "That's enough, Catherine."

That's it, Gil, Conrad thought. Reign in your beloved troops. He also shot Willows a look, though his was laced with a bit more distaste.

He impatiently turned back to Grissom with raised eyebrows. "My office?"

As he turned and moved towards his office, Grissom on his heels, Conrad heard the remaining CSIs continue to dig at one another.

"Don't try and stick up for him now." Sidle's voice was bitter, angry, and annoying as ever.

"This isn't my fault, Sara."

"Guys," Sanders said sharply. "Enough already!"

'Enough' was right. Conrad held open the door for Grissom before letting it shut with more force than was necessary.

"On what grounds are you suspending Nick?" Gil asked, not wasting any time. It was odd he only seemed to find his voice in a contained setting. It was odd he only seemed to be the support his team craved when they weren't around.

Conrad wanted to laugh. He thought the man would have at least understood his actions from a professional standpoint. "If this is how he's acting with you, and you're supposed to be his friends, I can only imagine how he'd behave in an interview with a suspect."

Conrad's lip curled, and he gave Grissom a superior smile. "Wait, I don't have to imagine it, do I? Let's just take a look back at the McBride case." A case file still conveniently resting in a drawer in his desk.

"That's not necessary," Grissom said, his voice low.

Of course it wasn't; they'd had this talk only a couple of weeks earlier, right after the incident in question.

"He doesn't usually act this way, Conrad, you know that," Grissom said, his voice hinting at the concern the man was feeling for his CSI. "This is the first time his actions have been called into question."

Conrad kept his posture straight, staring down at the case file lying open on his desk. Nick Stokes' personnel file sat next to it. "We don't just let these things slide. I don't like to make exceptions. Not for anyone."

Grissom looked away. "He connected with the victim. It's happened before."

Conrad leaned back in his chair. "So what's different now?"

Grissom turned back, but didn't say anything.

Conrad didn't know if it was because he couldn't find the words or if he was just that damned clueless. Either way, both men knew what was going to happen. He really didn't like to make exceptions, and he wasn't going to let Stokes off scot-free. That wasn't going to do the kid any good.

Conrad sighed. "I'll give him a warning," he said, making the mark in Stokes' file. "But as his supervisor, you need to have a conversation with him. If he can't keep a professional disposition on a case, then he's not going to be useful to this lab."

"I'll take care of it." Grissom's words, as always, sounded hollow and weightless to his ears. He had a habit of not flowing through with the things he told Conrad he would do.

Conrad finished the documentation and slid the file across the desktop for Grissom's signature. He watched as the man read the note he'd made, frowning.

He leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk. "I'm not making excuses for him, Gil. And you shouldn't, either. If he's not emotionally ready to carry this kind of workload, then we can cut his hours, or keep him in the lab, and eventually work him back up."

"That's not necessary," Grissom said, picking up a pen and signing the file.

Of course not. Nothing requiring communication on the part of Gil Grissom was ever necessary. Conrad had spent the past two weeks wondering if he should have gone ahead with the suspension, his gut reaction and initial course of action. Now, he had his answer.

Conrad leaned back, sitting on the edge of his desk. He crossed his arms and sighed. "Look, Gil. I already gave the kid a break, and you didn't follow through on your end."

"I understand your position," Grissom said coolly. "But I can take care of my own team, Conrad."

"I've given you ample time to 'take care' of your team, Gil." Conrad paused, one of the few times he stopped to consider his words. He had more to take into consideration than his anger at Nick's behavior over the past few days. "You've had six months, and things aren't getting any better."

Grissom stood remarkably statue-like, hands shoved defensively into his pockets, and absorbed his words. "What do you want me to do with him?"

Conrad shook his head. He knew what the chatter was, what people had to say about him, but in his opinion, it was the man standing in front of him who would never learn. He flipped through the rolodex on his desk. "I'm not your team counselor, but I'll give you a hint."

He pulled out a business card and handed it to Grissom. "As I said, Nick is suspended for one week, at least, and I want him to see Doctor Bruning."

Grissom regarded the card with a frown. "Nick's already been through all of the required therapy to come back to work. He's been cleared for months now."

"And we're right back in the same boat." Conrad nodded at the card, his expression serious. "I'm not making the call, and neither are you."

Grissom looked up, his face manipulated by the weight of a dozen questions.

Conrad moved around his desk and sat in his chair. He turned to the computer, and after a few moments printed a short letter to Nick, with the lab header at the top. He scrawled a quick signature across the bottom and dug up an envelope.

"Get him the number yourself," he said seriously, handing the envelope to Grissom, "and get him to call." With that said, he began tidying up the papers on his desktop, regaining his seemingly cold composure. "He's not going back on the schedule until I've spoken with the doctor and am satisfied with what she has to say."

"Why are you doing this?"

The question gave Conrad pause. In his little Conrad Ecklie fantasy world, Grissom just took his words as orders and accepted. But here in the real world, he always had a question. It was Conrad's job to always have an answer, or a comeback, however one wanted to look at it. Here, there were so many possible answers, none of which seemed to satisfy himself, let alone the man with the questions. He went with what he knew best.

"It's my job to look after the lab's best interests," Conrad answered without looking up, signaling the conversation's end. He could sense Grissom still standing there, but refused to glance up, hoping if he ignored the other man long enough, he would leave.

"You're a better man than we give you credit for."

Conrad's eyes narrowed in response, nearly burning twin holes into the file he was holding. "We were done, Gil."

There was no response, but he wasn't expecting one. Grissom had left.


Nick made it home that night in record time, trying to take out some of his frustration while driving. He had an ironically lucky drive home, hitting all green lights on the way. Probably a good thing, too, because he might have roared right through a red light out of pure spite. Not exactly safe or smart, but good for bit of tension release. His cell phone rang three times during the drive, and he didn't even bother to check the screen. He wasn't going to waste the energy turning off the ringer, either, and give them the satisfaction. He let it ring and ring, and when he didn't hear the voicemail chime, he shook his head with a short laugh. Only when it's convenient for them.

He slammed his truck into park in his driveway and fumbled to get the key into the lock on his front door. He didn't even notice his hands had started shaking. He would have slammed the door shut, but for his consideration of others. It was early morning, and his neighbors were sleeping.

Nick tossed his phone onto the counter and checked the clock to see just how early it actually was. A quarter till two. Great. His sleeping schedule was getting screwed with now, too. It was just as well, because he was way too tense and wired for sleep.

His phone rang again, and again he resisted the urge to see who was calling. It really didn't matter, because he didn't feel like speaking to any of them.

Nick attempted to release some tension, pacing the length of his living room, clenching and unclenching his fists, rethinking the conversation that had just taken place. He was out of there for, as of now, an undetermined period of time. Ecklie hadn't been very specific with him, so he was sure a phone call regarding the exact duration was on its way.

As if on cue, his phone rang again, and Nick gave a heavy, frustrated sigh, flinging himself onto the couch. His leg jiggled nervously as he stared at the blank screen of the television. He reached out for the remote, thankfully within arm's reach, and hit the 'power' button. Instead of being granted a pleasant distraction, his eyes screwed up in confusion when the screen filled with snowy static.

"What the…" he started, then remembered.

The cable bill, due last week. Great, just great. Just something else that had managed to slip his mind. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and he was going to have to find a new provider if this kept up.

Nick switched off the television and paused a moment. Just a moment, and then he heaved the remote across the room. He let out a satisfied breath as it struck the far wall and clattered to the floor in two pieces, a battery bouncing across the rug. Not the most constructive way to rid himself of some of that frustration, but certainly effective. He wasn't feeling quite as angry…more stupid, though. Now he had nothing to do but sit and stew in his own little self and friend-loathing world.

His phone rang once more.

"You're wasting your time," Nick said under his breath, vaguely searching for anything else invaluable within arm's reach he could throw.

He was reaching for a stack of cork coasters from the end table when he heard something he hadn't expected. The sound of a new voicemail message. He tossed a coaster between his hands and stared at the cell phone on the counter across the room.

"Ah, hell," he said, and pulling himself up off of the couch. He was ninety-nine percent sure it would have been neither Grissom nor Catherine. That just wouldn't make sense, not with what he'd said to Cath, and not with Grissom being Grissom. He was surprised to realize that he was more willing to talk to one of the others.

"Nick, don't stress it. Ecklie's a dick, and everyone knows it. Don't take it personally, he's got that lab review or something, and you know how he is…I'm not really sure what happened tonight, but I do know that it's totally fixable. If you don't want to call back tonight, or even tomorrow, I understand. Everyone else will, too. Just think about it, okay?"

Nick wasn't so sure Greg was right, that things were still so easily fixable. Maybe, if that night hadn't happened, but now, he didn't know.

He didn't call back.


Greg left his message, disconnected the call, and sighed. He knew he wasn't the only one who'd tried calling Nick, but he wasn't about to go out onto the battlefield and inquire as to the others' luck. He'd staked out this little corner of the lab and settled in for a long night of trying to avoid group speculation and frustration.

After shouting at his friends, effectively ending the fight that had been building like carbonation in a soda bottle, he'd stalked off to a workroom with his evidence bag, figuring that was best way to safely make it through the night, and a distraction to keep himself from dwelling on what had just happened.

Greg had to admit, a part of him was proud of Nick for finally saying what had been on his mind. At the same time, he was disappointed in himself for not catching on sooner. He was just as much to blame as everyone else, and the proof was in the fact that Nick hadn't answered his call. A wishful, childish part of Greg had really thought he would pick up.

We screwed up. Big time. Greg sighed again and reached for his evidence bag. He guessed he was working solo again. It just didn't seem so cool now.


There was a knock at the door.

Nick's eyes shot over to the clock, where they widened in surprise. Though the sun was now up, he guessed he hadn't really figured so much time could have passed. It was the perfect time for an impromptu 'we're so sorry' visit, as shift had ended just a little while ago.

Nick sat, arms crossed, weighing the pros and cons of opening the door or letting whomever was on his stoop stand there like an idiot for a few minutes before giving up and leaving. Another, more insistent knock caused him to roll his eyes and heave himself up off of the couch. He walked with heavy steps to the door and pulled it open with a scowl in place.

"Gris," he said, surprised and instantly furious with himself. He'd intended on a silent glare, but seeing Grissom there surprised him. Of all people, he was the last one Nick would have expected to come by. This wasn't Grissom; he liked to be shut up in his office, staring at bugs and sipping tea and covering his ears and shutting his eyes to the problems the people around were having. Grissom didn't pop by to talk things out.

Seeing Grissom made him angry. The man had just stood there, not giving him any support or even a hint of understanding. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he was so right in being angry with the people he'd shut out for months. But anger suited him more at the moment, and he could waste time with guilt and confusion later.

"What brings you by?" Nick asked with a big, fake smile, but the look in his eyes was icy cold. He held onto the doorframe, standing in the threshold.

Grissom stood with his hands in the pockets of his forensics jacket, eyeing him cautiously. "I was on my way home," he said carefully. "Can I come in?"

Are you kidding me? Nick didn't care for a lecture, and he sure as hell wasn't going to allow one to happen in his own home. His eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Grissom?"

Grissom manipulated his mouth into a small uncomfortable smile and inspected the ground. "How are you?"

Nick just glared, not even dignifying the question with a response.

"Right." There was a world of guilt in that word. Grissom sighed. "I spoke to Ecklie about your suspension – "

"How long?" Nick interjected.

While clearly stung by the harsh, uncharacteristic interruption, Grissom didn't let it show in his voice, remaining as calm and steady as ever. "At least a week."

Nick crossed his arms. "'At least'?"

An envelope was held out to him. Nick frowned and took it, immediately ripping it open and scanning the first few lines of the short note inside. He looked up sharply. "A shrink?" Again?

Nick's heart sped up to a near-frantic beat as the weight of the words hit home. He forced the panic he was feeling from his face and focused on the anger. His frown deepened and he held the paper back out to Grissom. "No thanks."

Grissom didn't move to take it. "I'm not asking you, Nick."

"You're telling me?"

Grissom shifted his weight, nodding at the note in Nick's hand. "Ecklie's telling you."

Nick gave a short laugh and inspected the rest of the note. Sure enough, there was Ecklie's signature. "Since when is Conrad Ecklie an advocate for my mental health?" He cocked his head mock consideration. "Since when are you, for that matter?"

It was clear Grissom was affected by Nick's words, and Nick was glad for it. The older man took a breath, letting it out slowly. He looked away, down the calm, quiet street. When he looked back, it seemed to be a struggle for him to meet Nick's eyes. "I've been trying, Nick, to take your feelings, what you went through, into consid – "

"I'll see the doctor, Grissom," Nick said suddenly. He'd already decided there would be no lecture, and no reconciliation that day. The situation was more serious than that. Grissom wasn't going to make up for the last few months of silence in an instant.

Nick straightened to his full height and backed into his house. "See you in a week."

And he shut the door, before either of them could utter another word.


To be continued...