Chapter Eleven: Tricks and Traps
Warrick's appointment, at the suggestion of the brilliant doctor, had been scheduled for a block of time she'd had open right before he told her he was due in for work. He was going in a few hours early for the next couple of days to help pick up the extra lab work spilling over since Nick's suspension. The appointment time had seemed convenient and efficient, and not suspiciously so. He should have been smarter than that.
Warrick was humiliated. Not just because Nick had seen him in the office, but because he'd been so easily manipulated. However, from the look on Nick's face, he hadn't been the only one.
"Why don't you come in right before your shift," Warrick muttered bitterly to himself in a high, mocking tone. He shook his head. No wonder she'd been so eager to set the appointment. "Idiot."
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he braked to a stop at a red light, as opposed to punching a fist at it. How were these games helping Nick?
Suddenly, his fingers fell limp around the wheel. Nick. That was Nick at the doctor's office. Not a doctor; a shrink. Warrick brought up a hand and rubbed his forehead vigorously, almost punishingly.
He was a fool for thinking they could possibly be past this. They were all fools. He was relieved Nick was getting help if he needed it, but this experience was just one more stab to the gut because he hadn't known about it. He might have been fooled, but he wasn't a moron. He understood what the doctor had been trying to do, the message she was trying to get across, the pointed look she'd given him over Nick's shoulder as he rushed past her.
Hoooonnnnk!
Warrick's ears perked and he glanced in the rearview mirror at the honker behind him. How long had the light been green? He pressed the gas pedal and hurried through the intersection. Sorry, buddy.
Nick had told her about them; that was the only explanation. That woman, to the best of Warrick's knowledge, was not a mind-reader. Nick had gone into that very room, sat on that very couch, and told her their story. Nick's story, sure, but it was Warrick's, too. For her to feel that stepping in was necessary and to involve him specifically, Nick had to have talked about more than what had transpired in the lab. He'd seemed the most upset with Catherine and Grissom, so Warrick didn't understand why they weren't being tricked by a tiny brunette with a post-graduate degree. Only if Nick used specific names, and specifically used Warrick's.
For every new rising and warring emotion, Warrick felt more and more hypocritical, and he sighed, feeling hurt. Here was Nick, his best friend, storming out on them and confiding in a complete stranger. Nick was supposed to storm out and confide in him. Pizza and beer and whatever version of a heart-to-heart it was they had as grown men, and then it was on with another day. It had happened before. Warrick was hurt at the thought it might not happen again.
Warrick squinted as he was hit with a twinge of anger he knew it was irrational, but he just couldn't help it. It was the adult male in him that was put off that his friend had been talking about their problems with a stranger instead of coming to him to resolve them. He'd essentially been in to see the doc to do the same thing, sure, and that was what was irrational.
He tried to reason with himself; they hadn't really ended up talking about Nick at all.
"It's Warrick, right?"
He nodded, shifting his weight uncomfortably in the middle of the neutrally colored office as she shut the door. He hadn't ever really been in therapy before, and wasn't sure what was expected of him. The petite doctor smiled warmly and extended a hand, which he shook. "Hi."
She gestured to an inviting looking brown leather sofa. "Why don't you take a seat, and we'll get started."
Warrick slapped his hands on his thighs and lowered himself onto the plush fabric. He bounced his leg and fidgeted until he was in an optimally comfortable position.
Doctor Bruning settled into a chair across from him, folding her hands and resting them on a legal pad in her lap. "What brings you in to see me?"
Warrick bobbed his head. Getting down to business, he thought. He couldn't very well tell her that this whole thing was his wife's idea, and not his. He wasn't going to lie, either. "Work problems, I guess."
She nodded with a small smile and made a note on her pad.
Warrick felt stupid. Work problems? She was the department shrink, for crying out loud. Of course he was there for work problems. You're a genius, man.
"Well, you look to be a pretty put-together guy," she said, looking up from the pad with another smile. "What's on your mind?"
"How much time do you have?"
She laughed lightly, but Warrick got the impression it was more out of politeness than his stunning sense of humor.
He sighed deeply. "We're just having a problem getting back in the groove." Like that's going to make any sense to her, dumbass.
"'We'?"
Warrick leaned forward and rubbed his face. "Yeah, my team. I'm not a cop, not really. CSI."
She raised her eyebrows and made another note. She nodded, encouraging him to continue.
Warrick looked at his hands. He found it easier to talk when he wasn't looking at her. "Something happened a few months back. Something…bad, and we've never really recovered."
He was very fascinated with his hands, mostly because he didn't want to look up and face that Doctor Look. He was being purposefully vague. Strangers weren't for getting so personal, regardless of the degree on their wall; that's why they were strangers.
"Have you talked about it?"
"Me? Oh, all of us – no." He shook his head. "Just kind of hoped it would, I don't know, go away if we ignored it."
"How's that working out?"
Warrick barked out a small laugh. "It's not. Really, really not."
Another kind smile and, for some reason, another note on the pad. "No, I didn't figure it had, seeing as how you're sitting here with me."
Warrick raised his eyebrows. "You're very perceptive."
"You're very avoidant."
Warrick had to laugh again. He liked her style, and found himself relaxing against his will. The doc was doing her job. "That's what our problem is. Everyone avoids it."
"And what is 'it'?" She even used finger-quotes, perhaps to illustrate how ridiculous this avoiding thing was getting.
Warrick paused. This was the reason Tina had given him her number. This was why he was here. And still, he couldn't follow through. "A nightmare," he said.
Doctor Bruning shook her head. "If you're not going to talk to me, and I mean really talk to me, then isn't this all a waste of your time? Not to mention my time." Though her words were harsh, her voice still carried that light tone.
"It's just…hard." He swallowed. "We haven't really talked about it, so it's hard."
"I know. We can start slow. Lay some groundwork today, get some background going, and then maybe next week we can – "
"Next week?" Warrick's head shot up. He had kind of thought of this as a one-time deal.
"I'm thinking weekly sessions," the doctor said. She cocked her head. "You didn't think we could get everything sorted out in an hour, did you?"
Warrick shrugged. "Guess I didn't think that far ahead."
That kind smile. Or maybe it was the smile of the sane looking down on one who was much less fortunate in the mental health department. "For today, let's just talk about you. Tell me about yourself, and we'll get into the 'far ahead' at a later date."
So he did. Warrick talked about himself for the next forty-seven minutes. He talked about his childhood, even his first pet, a golden retriever he'd named Dog. He talked about high school, the Little Land of Nerdiness he'd ruled over for four years. He talked about college, about "finding" himself and his own little corner of the world. He talked about the gambling, and about the work problems of the past. Holly Gribbs and butting heads with Sara when she first came to work with them in the lab. He talked about Tina.
He smiled and shook his head. "She's kind of the reason I'm here," he admitted.
"Well, I'm glad she got you in the door." Doctor Bruning glanced at her watch. "Well, that's the hour."
Warrick looked up again. "Really?"
"Yep. So, do you think you want to come back next week?"
Warrick was a bit surprised to find himself nodding. He actually felt better. They hadn't even gotten into the good stuff, and he already felt as though a weight had been lifted. "Yeah, I do."
"Okay. Great. I've got big plans for our next session." With a strange smile, the brunette stood and offered her hand to Warrick once more. "It was really nice to meet you."
Warrick shook her hand with more enthusiasm than the first time. "Nice to meet you, too."
She gestured to the door. "Just set up an appointment with Shelley," she said as they moved across the room. "She'll take care of you." She reached to open the door.
"Thank you," Warrick said.
He stepped out into the waiting room, and his heart and pride jumped simultaneously into his throat.
Nick.
Nick.
Nick had talked about them, enough for the good doctor to feel it was her place to step in and stir the pot. Not like they didn't already have enough to deal with. One thing was for sure, Warrick could no longer say he liked her style.
Warrick squinted. The doctor. Most of the surprise of seeing Nick in that waiting room, waiting to see the doctor, had stemmed from the fact Warrick knew Nick. Nick was stubborn, defiant, determined, and would rather let his emotions and problems eat him up from the inside out before going to anyone for help, and the last few weeks were proof of that. Something had finally driven Nick to the point of seeking professional help, and it couldn't have simply been the fight in the lab. Nick was like Warrick, and Warrick had needed Tina to get him into that office. Nick must have needed someone to get him there, as well.
As Warrick swung into his parking spot, his eyes were trained on the façade of the crime lab. The lab. The suspension. Ecklie.
Warrick shut off the truck and nodded slowly to himself. Ecklie had sent Nick in. It was probably the reason his suspension was lasting so long, and why Grissom hadn't told them how long it was going to be. "At least a week."
Warrick frowned as another light bulb flicked on his head. Grissom.
Grissom had said, "At least a week." Grissom knew, and he didn't tell them. Didn't tell him.
Warrick ripped the key from the ignition and stomped his way through the parking lot and towards the building. He didn't go to the locker room to change for shift, he went straight to the elevators. As soon as he stepped out of the sliding doors he spotted Catherine and Sara standing near the DNA lab. It looked as though they were all in early tonight. Well, if they were here, so was the man, himself.
"Cath," Warrick called, crossing the distance in quick strides. "Where's Grissom?"
He held up a hand before either woman could respond. "Let me guess," he said drily, jerking his head in the direction of the supervisor's office.
Catherine nodded. "He was in there when we got here, about…" She glanced at her watch, but Warrick had already started walking away.
"What was that about?" Sara asked.
"Who even knows anymore," was the exasperated response.
He would explain later. Not in full, of course, but he would make some kind of excuse for his rudeness. He stopped at the door long enough to knock once, tightly, before letting himself in.
"Gris, we need to talk."
It was his home base.
Gil had started rationalizing with himself over why he was spending so much time in his office. Because he knew he was going to have to explain at some point. It wasn't just a couple of hours he'd been holed away, but days now, stretching on towards a week's worth of free time he'd spent behind that closed door, seemingly without explanation.
It was his home base, where he could operate fully and, with remarkable ease, accomplish nearly whatever he needed to without traipsing all over the lab. It turned out he could call, even conference from his phone, the one with all the buttons he'd never taken the time to figure out. He could email, and have printouts either emailed to him or delivered to his office, which had worked out perfectly until Catherine started intercepting these printouts to gain entry. Gil was now realizing how convenient, and not necessarily as annoying as he'd previously thought, email could be.
It was his sanctuary. There had been very few instances during which he'd been made to feel uncomfortable in his own office. It was usually the visitor who felt uncomfortable, staring twitchingly into the dozens of buggy eyes watching him. Wincing at the fetal pig in the jar. Like Ecklie, chuckling nervously at the terrariums. Out there, and especially now, Gil would not only feel uncomfortable, but out of place. Everyone's emotions seemed to be running at an unhealthy and unprofessional levels, and wasn't anything Gil could relate to. He felt an odd pang here and there as Sara walked by, giving him that look, but it was nothing compared to what the others were feeling.
He felt one such pang as there was a knock at the door and it opened before he could respond. Gil's brain sometimes worked faster than even he was aware, and as soon as that door started to open he knew it was one of them, because if it had been a lab tech running a message they would have waited for a response. His team didn't wait, they barged in.
Like Warrick was barging in now. "Gris, we need to talk."
Gil sat back, eyed wide in surprise. He suddenly wished he had legitimate work that he could use as an excuse, but the others seemed to be getting everything done for him. That could hardly be a coincidence. "Sure, Warrick."
Warrick had been a key advocate for the "Avoiding Gil Grissom" campaign since the news of Nick's suspension. He didn't talk to Gil in rundowns or at scenes, though he did do plenty of glaring. Warrick randomly popping in for a chat was just that, random. With plenty of caution, Gil gestured for him to take a seat.
Warrick didn't sit. He stood just beyond the edge of the desk separating them, and Gil noticed his fists were balled. "Did you know?"
Gil frowned. "Did I know what, Warrick?"
Warrick laughed shortly, shaking his head. "Do you know where Nick was today?" he asked, more forcefully.
Gil's mouth dropped open in a small 'o.' This was precisely why he hadn't divulged this information to his team – the inevitable overreaction.
Beyond Warrick's looming form, Gil could see the door to his office was still standing open, and he made a motion for Warrick to shut it. The other man complied then returned to his post.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'," he said tightly, crossing his arms.
"Yes, Warrick," Gil supplied after a moment's pause. "I knew. I know. It was part of Ecklie's requirements for Nick to come back to work."
Warrick frowned. "This is my boy, Grissom," he said, placing his hands on his hips. "I thought we had an understanding."
It was obvious Warrick was upset, but Gil didn't know how to make the other man understand where he was coming from, not when he was in this kind of mood. "We do, but this is a different situation than we discussed."
"How?"
Gil sighed patiently. "Warrick, there's a difference between telling you if Nick has a slip-up in the lab and telling you if he's speaking to a therapist. It wouldn't have been right for me to tell you."
Warrick's eyes narrowed. "I'd have told you."
Gil cocked an eyebrow. "You and I both know that's not true, and if it is, then you would have been wrong to do so."
"Say whatever you want, man. We talked about this. You were supposed to tell me if you knew anything."
Gil rubbed his temple. This short conversation was already leaving a throbbing pulse in his head. "I didn't feel this was one of the things that – "
"No, Grissom, you can't just randomly place restrictions on 'anything.' If you knew anything you were supposed to tell me." Warrick stood defiant.
Though he was Warrick's boss, Gil knew better than to challenge what information he was and wasn't supposed to share with the man. It was a special circumstance. He sat silently, waiting for Warrick to finish.
"This is big, Grissom, don't you get that? Don't you get what this is doing to everyone, and you can't even be straight with us?"
"I'm being straight with you now, Warrick," Gil responded, hearing the testiness in his own voice. "I was protecting Nick's interests, in this instance. What good would have come from you knowing?"
Warrick's eyes took on a different look. "Well, we might have tried a little harder to get a hold of him, instead of giving him space."
Gil was hearing Warrick, but thinking at the same time, and his eyes shot up to lock on Warrick's over the rim of his glasses. "How did you know?"
Warrick's shoulders slumped slightly, and his face slackened. "What?"
"Doctor Bruning. How did you find out?"
It was a momentary falter, and then Warrick regained some of his composure. "That's not important."
Who's not sharing things now? Gil decided to use this opportunity to teach Warrick a small lesson. He respected the other man's privacy and dropped the subject, though he was innately curious. He nodded slowly.
Warrick's defiance was leaking away little by little, and his face had taken on a worried look. After a moment he sank slowly into the chair he'd initially refused. "So what's the deal?"
Gil sat back in his chair. "Ecklie's not going to let him back to work until he's spoken with the doctor and is satisfied with what she has to say about Nick's condition." He squinted as he said the word.
Warrick frowned. "What does Ecklie care?"
Gil still didn't have an answer to that question. He shook his head.
"Hell," Warrick said, rubbing a hand over his face. "If Conrad Ecklie cares, then it really is bad." He straightened. "Is it bad, Gris?"
Gil was amazed. The man had only moments ago been ready for a fight and was now looking to him for answers. Answers Gil wasn't sure he had. And then it hit him. He didn't have answers, because he didn't know. He hadn't tried. His home base, his sanctuary…his office was none of these things. It really was a hideout. As long as he was inside these walls, he could pretend everything was fine. And the most nauseating realization of all – Catherine had been right, about everything.
Nick was stressed out, working on wearing down that path in his living room rug, walking back and forth in front of the couch, chewing his thumbnail to a ragged stump. Every couple of minutes his eyes would tick over his cell phone, squinting to read the face, making sure he hadn't missed a call.
Would he miss a call? Would Warrick call, or should he? The whole waiting room thing had been setting up the both of them, so in theory, Warrick could be expected to make the first move just as much as he. But would he?
Nick continued to pace and gnaw on his nail until his teeth met the skin of his finger, then he locked his hands behind his neck and sighed. Being nervous and stressed out wasn't going to produce any positive result. He was only going to get himself worked up.
For the hundredth time, he made the turn when Nick reached the far wall and started back toward the center of the room. The glare from the setting sun sliced at his eyes and he winced. It was late afternoon. Early evening. If anyone was going into work early, and they usually did when a team member was off, and Nick had been off for several days, they would be in the lab by now.
Warrick would probably be there. Nick could call. He could, but he didn't want to bother Warrick at work. That seemed perfectly plausible. He didn't want to bother him at work.
Resigned, Nick turned and resumed his pacing.
After only four steps, his cell phone rang.
To be continued...
