Chapter Twelve: When I Go Down
I'll tell you flat out, it hurts so much to think of this
So from my thoughts I will exclude
The very thing that I hate more than everything else –
The way I'm powerless to dictate my own moods
I've thrown away so many things that could have been much more
And I just pray my problems go away if they're ignored
But that's not the way it works
No, that's not the way it works
The phone rang four times, and then Nick's voicemail sounded. Grissom looked up and met Warrick's eyes. He shook his head.
Damn it. Warrick stood, placing his hands on his hips. "Maybe I should have called."
Grissom recoiled slightly, pulling his cell phone away from his ear and disconnecting the call. "You think he doesn't want to talk to me."
Warrick bit back a retort. Of course he doesn't want to talk to you, he wanted to say. Instead, he wordlessly pulled his own phone from the clip on his belt. He held down the number to speed-dial Nick, immediately interrupted by the opening of Grissom's office door.
"Mr. Grissom?" Archie said, stepping into the room. His eyes fell on Warrick and his mouth dropped open a bit. "Oh, I can come back later…"
"What is it, Archie?" Grissom inquired.
Archie smiled nervously, shifting his weight in the doorway. "It's just…something about…that thing. That you, we, were working on." The man's gaze was sharp, like he was trying to get a message to Grissom telepathically.
Warrick frowned. He didn't like being out of the loop, something he thought he'd just explained to the man.
Grissom raised his eyebrows and allowed a ghost of a smile for the A/V tech. "Yeah, Archie, why don't you come back later."
"Okay." Archie smiled tightly at Warrick and ducked quickly out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Warrick looked to Grissom with the same frown, again bringing his phone to his ear. "What was that about?"
Grissom seemed to have forgotten Warrick was in the room, eyes taking on a faraway look uncharacteristic to the usually stoic man. He looked up sharply, and waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "Nothing. Just something I've been working on."
There was more to it than that; Warrick wasn't a kickass crime scene investigator because he accepted people's words at face value. There was always something more, always a hidden meaning, and he was definitely getting one of those vibes from the boss. Grissom was hiding something; but then again, what else was new?
Warrick shook his head and glared at the backside of Grissom's office door as he listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. He was silently rehearsing the message he was going to leave on Nick's voicemail, as it would inevitable be the only version of his friend's voice he would be hearing.
"Hello?"
Warrick's mouth fell open, struggling with a response. "Nick, man, what's up?"
"Not much. Pretty bored."
Warrick was taken aback by the casualty of Nick's tone. He didn't hear any of the stammer he heard in his own words. "Well, I…we were just wondering how you were doing. Haven't heard from ya in a few days."
"Not too bad."
Warrick had put the emphasis on the word 'we,' hoping to convey that he was with Grissom and knew the older man had just tried to reach him. If Nick noticed, he ignored it like the pro he was. He heard a throat being cleared behind him and he turned to address Grissom, looking into those unexpectedly wide, hopeful eyes, and shook his head.
"That's good to hear, man," he said into the phone.
Grissom looked down and nodded.
Warrick cocked his head sympathetically, feeling the need to take the conversation elsewhere. There was shit to be worked out between him and Nick, sure, but at least Nick was talking to him. He wouldn't even answer the phone for Grissom, and Warrick felt that talking to him in front of Gris was like rubbing salt into an open wound. Not to mention the fact he might have to say something that would tip Grissom off to exactly how he'd found out about Nick's revisited therapy, and he just had too much on his plate right now to deal with that, as well.
Warrick gestured that he was going to move out into the hallway. Grissom looked at him blankly for a moment and then nodded halfheartedly.
Warrick felt for the guy. He opened the door and took a few tentative steps down the hallway, not wanting the others to discover he'd finally gotten Nick on the phone or the conversation would dissolve into a battle for control of the cell. He ducked his head into a small workroom to his right and upon finding it empty, entered quickly and sank into a chair.
Nick had remained silent on his end for a long enough period of time for Warrick to feel uncomfortable. It was as though neither of them really knew where to go from there.
"The other day was kind of crazy, huh?"
Warrick laughed lightly, though the thickness of Nick's accent, the frustration and emotion of it, grounded him to the fact the situation wasn't as light as they were treating it. "Yeah, it was."
Nick cleared his throat but didn't speak.
Warrick fidgeted at the warm feeling of anger raising its ugly head again. He wanted Nick to speak, because he'd started this whole thing when he opened his mouth to the shrink and in his opinion, Nick should finish it. That was their homework.
Another moment's pause told Warrick that Nick wasn't ready yet. He sighed, but played the role of the good friend. "So when's she springing you?"
Another pause. The role of the friend with a little snark on top. Yup, buddy, I know about Ecklie's arrangement with the doc. Crack. Call me on it. Tell me to mind my own business. Warrick sent a barrage of silent pleas through the phone line, all them falling on seemingly deaf ears.
"Any day, man."
Warrick squeezed his hand into a fist to keep from pounding it on the tabletop. Shit, Nicky. Nick. What did we do to you? "That's great." He swallowed. "We're missin' you around here."
Nick chuckled softly, but with a manner Warrick wasn't sure he understood. There was a dark undertone to the light sound, like it wasn't really light at all; a world of stress was in the small sound.
"Shouldn't be too much longer."
It did not escape Warrick's attention that Nick didn't say anything about missing them in return. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was happier they weren't around; it would explain a lot. Like why he hadn't called any of them, or picked up when them called him. Like why he seemed content to never speak to Gris again.
"That's great," Warrick repeated hollowly, fingernails digging into his palm.
"Well, I better get going. Got a jam-packed night."
Nick's words were laced almost as heavily with sarcasm as they were with that Texan accent. Warrick nodded, and then remembered Nick couldn't see the gesture through the phone. "Aight, man," he said. "You get your ass back in here soon."
"Aye, aye, captain."
It wasn't spoken humorously; if possible, it was even more sarcastic than his previous comment. Warrick was growing so frustrated he feared he was going to throw his phone unless he ended the conversation immediately.
He opened his mouth to say 'bye' and was cut off with a click. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen of his cell. 'Call ended,' it told him.
Warrick shook his head. Call's not the only thing ending, he thought bitterly.
Catherine's head suddenly materialized in the doorway. "Grissom said you got Nick on the phone." Her eyes darted immediately to the device in his hand and Warrick was slightly alarmed she was going to pounce and wrench it from his fingers.
He wasn't entirely sure what it was causing him to shake his head but there he was, shaking it. "No," he lied.
Catherine frowned. "But Grissom said – "
"No," Warrick repeated, setting the phone aside on the table.
Catherine deepening frown betrayed that she didn't care for his testiness. "Sorry," she said, a little testy, herself. She tapped her fingers on the doorframe, studying him for a moment.
Warrick wondered if she was going to call him out. But just like Nick, she let it sit there, and pulled back into the hallway. He heard her heels clicking away in a fast, irritated rhythm.
Warrick stared at the wall and sighed, a heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't bitterness, after all; it was sadness.
Nick was learning new things about himself every day. Today's lesson: he was very easily agitated when stressed out and running on nearly no human contact for several days. Nick resumed his pacing, completing a few laps before he felt like a crazy person, like his living room walls should be padded. He came to an abrupt stop in front of his couch and simply fell back onto it. He sat stiffly, idly playing with the edge of the cushion.
He wasn't exactly sure what it was Warrick said that had set him off, but he'd found himself shooting off sarcastic comments before he even knew it was happening. The whole point of talking to Warrick was to manufacture a start to heading towards making things better, and all he'd succeeded in doing was making the divide between them even wider. Defense mechanism, maybe. Hopefully. Whatever it was, the doc was not going to happy with him. Which meant Nick wasn't going to be getting back to work; not tomorrow, at any rate.
Not that Nick wanted to get back to work tomorrow, because that would mean seeing Grissom, and the thought just served to anger him. Nick's analytical brain reasoned with his roiling emotions, telling him that he was, in essence, mad at Grissom for doing the same thing that he was doing, himself: avoiding everything.
He knew there were things that needed to be addressed, needed to be resolved, and there had been for months. Nick was so stuck in the mindset of ignoring his problems until he didn't think about them anymore that he was doing it now without any effort. It just happened. He didn't know how to deal with things. He didn't know how to talk to Grissom, and wasn't really sure that he really ever had. It seemed every conversation between the two of them had either consisted of Nick being scolded like a child or Nick attempting to stand up to Gris, only to still ending up feeling like he was being scolded.
Nick would give anything to be scolded right now, just to get a sense of emotion from the man. Grissom just seemed to stare through him these days and Nick had had a progressively growing feeling over the past month or so that Grissom wasn't telling him something. How do you think they feel, Nicky boy?
Don't call me that, Nick responded to the voice in his head.
He didn't know how to articulate the things he wanted to say to Grissom. This contributed a decent amount to the reason he hadn't answered the phone when he saw it was his boss calling. He was afraid he would misinterpret, misunderstand, and overreact. He stupidly thought talking to Warrick would be easier, even after taking into account the surprise encounter at the shrink's office. Warrick was his best bud and he was supposed to be able to talk to him.
The shrill ring of the landline interrupted his thoughts, the sound growing more and more annoying each time it sounded. Nick grabbed the cordless unit from the side table and checked the call ID. It was a local number, one he recognized but couldn't immediately place. "Hello?"
"Hi, Mr. Stokes? It's Shelley, from Dr. Bruning's office. She wanted to know of you could come in tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock."
Nick chewed his lip for a moment. Now they were calling him at home to come in. He wondered if it was another setup. Maybe something worse, like Warrick hiding in the room, behind the curtains, ready to spring out when Nick was out at his most vulnerable. Or worse, Grissom.
His boredom trumped his doubts in regard to the doctor and her plans, because he wanted to get back into the lab as soon as possible. "Yeah," Nick said, somewhat hesitantly. "Yeah, that's fine."
"Great. I'll put you down. Tomorrow at two."
"Great." Nick hung up and tossed the phone onto the couch, still feeling doubtful and nervous about going into that office again. That was it; the last time he answered the phone. Home or cell.
Answering the phone brought nothing but problems.
"What'd he say?"
Catherine looked into Sara's anxious eyes and shook her head. "He said he didn't talk to him."
Sara's eyes screwed up in confusion, and she held a hand out in the direction of Grissom's office. "But I thought…" She turned in the direction she was pointing, hoping to see the supervisor still standing at the threshold, but the open doorway was empty. He'd moved down the hall; not back into his office, which was both a relief and cause for concern at the same time.
She frowned, agitated. "Did they talk to him or not?"
Catherine shrugged and rolled her eyes. "I guess not."
Sara didn't buy it, either. "Then why would Grissom say they did?"
Catherine cracked a small smile. "Maybe he's finally lost it, and hallucinated the whole thing."
Sara cocked her head. "It's not funny, Catherine."
Catherine sighed. "I know. Just trying to keep myself from going crazy."
"If you find something that works, let me know."
Gil had started to move down the hall, but hadn't made it far enough not to hear what Sara and Catherine were saying.
"Maybe he's finally lost it, and hallucinated the whole thing."
Ha, ha, Catherine, he thought, picking up his pace. While he didn't appreciate their talking and joking about him behind his back, he guessed he deserved it. But while the conversation Warrick had on the phone with Nick hadn't been a hallucination, he didn't entirely understand why he'd told the others it hadn't happened.
Gil passed the print lab and saw a note on Jacqui's desk that she was taking a coffee break, and he took advantage of the empty room to collect his thoughts. His office felt somewhat tainted now.
He leaned back against the wall, grateful he could no longer hear Catherine and Sara's chattering voices, and closed his eyes. He couldn't understand why if Warrick had spoken to Nick he'd told them otherwise. A wave of guilt washed over him and he suddenly felt responsible for the collective avoidance and lying going on within his team. He didn't even know what kind of a team they were anymore. Professionally, of course, but outside of that; they were supposed to be there for each other, to open up to each other about anything, work-related or not.
Gil was the problem, he was sure of that. All of that time in his office, avoiding, ignoring, pretending things and people could and would fix themselves. In his home base, his sanctuary. He'd been setting quite the example for his colleagues. His friends. The closest ones he'd ever had, and the only ones he really had right now. If in fact he still had them.
And there was that other thing. The really important thing, weighing so heavily on his mind it was taking the place of gravity, rooting him to the ground.
Nick had answered when Warrick called. For the first time in days, Nick had answered the phone. When Warrick called. He hadn't answered when Gil called, though it had been only moments before.
"Mr. Grissom?"
He didn't even open his eyes. "Archie, you don't need to call me that."
"Sorry…Grissom."
"Did you need something?"
"Yeah, remember?" He heard the tech let out a slow breath, evidence of his discomfort with the situation he'd found himself in. "It's about the tape."
Gil's eyes flew open as he pulled himself off of the wall, staring at the A/V tech. He had such a conflict of thoughts and preoccupations in his mind, he'd completely forgotten Archie's previous visit.
His gaze must have communicated this to the other man, because he took a step back. "I can wait in the A/V lab," Archie said softly.
Gil nodded. The tech left the room, and he leaned back against the wall and sighed. He had no idea how he was supposed to make things up to Nick while he continued to keep more and more from him by the day. He was supposed to the one with all of the answer, and at the moment he'd never felt so clueless in his entire life.
Not in the mood to go out, Nick spent another night of quality time with his DVD player, watching a mini-marathon of movies he hadn't seen in years. He wasn't necessarily in the mood to lounge in his living room like a bum, again, but also didn't feel up to doing anything more strenuous. Or social.
Nick put the next disc into the player and flopped back onto the couch. He'd finally sent in the check to take care of that pesky overdue cable bill, but after channel-surfing for a few minutes realized that was all he was going to do. His only other companions for the night were a six-pack of tall boys and the extra pepperoni pizza he'd ordered.
To compliment his mood, he opted for movies full of machine guns and explosions, settling on the Die Hard trilogy. He wasn't even halfway through the original film before realizing he wasn't even paying attention, had been staring blankly at the screen.
Nick drained the last of his second beer and, sighing, turned off the television. It was only eleven-thirty, but he gathered the remains of the pizza, put the box in the fridge, and headed to bed, feeling like an old man. He should have been getting started on a new case, not hitting the sack so damned early. He shouldn't even be tired now; he was used to being at work. He was already getting into the groove of going to bed at night, instead of in the morning, and found even this was annoying him. Something else messing with his mind.
Nick hit the lights and threw his head back against his pillow with a sigh, with the same thoughts he'd gone to bed with every other night that week: how great it would be if he could just wake up and everything would have righted itself.
This was just wishful thinking, of course, because all he had to look forward to the next day was that appointment with the shrink, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it. Upon waking, much too early, the thought immediately plunged him into a sour mood with a complimentary headache like the cherry on top of this unappetizing sundae.
Sitting in the waiting room that afternoon was no better than it'd been before. Nick cast nervous glances at the door every time it opened, but it was just a parade of nuts waiting to have their brains prodded by one of the resident brain-prodders.
It seemed an eternity before his name was finally called, and like each time before, his ears burned with embarrassment at having it confirmed out loud that he was there, and there for therapy. As soon as he brushed past the doctor and into the office, his eyes roamed every corner, searching for hidden CSIs. Satisfied that they were alone in the room, he stepped further inside.
"Sorry," Nick said drily, ignoring the appraising look he was under and taking his seat on the couch. "But I didn't get my homework done."
Doctor Bruning sighed, and he could tell he was already testing her nerves. She sat in her beloved easy chair with that damn legal pad. "Nick…"
Nick grimaced, disgusted with how she managed to sound like his mother, eighth-grade English teacher, Grissom, and Catherine all rolled into one. "It's not like I didn't try," he said, defenses rising.
She sighed again, shaking her head, obviously not believing him. "Nick, I know you want to get back to work, and I want to help you out, but I'm not going to lie to your boss. You've got to give me something, here."
"Getting back to work would be nice," Nick said, "because, I gotta tell ya, Doc, I'm running out of rooms in my house to clean."
She shot him a look that was very nearly a glare. "I'm not joking here, Nick."
"I know," he said quietly. "Neither am I." He shifted in his seat, knowing what he was about to ask was a long shot, at best. "I can't do what you want me to, not under these circumstances."
"What do you mean?"
Nick noted gratefully that she had yet to make a note on her pad. "I have to get back in that environment," he said, keeping his voice firm, attempting to ensure she understood how serious he was. "I can't fix anything sitting alone at home."
She cocked her head. "So you haven't tried to reach out at all?"
"Yeah, I did," he protested. "I answered when Warrick called yesterday."
"What did the two of you talk about?"
Nick winced. "We didn't, really."
And there she went with the note-taking. "You're not listening to me, Nick."
"Look," he said, holding up his hands. "I'll make you a deal."
She looked up from her writing, much to Nick's relief. "I'm listening."
"Okay," he said, bobbing his head. "Okay, how about you tell Ecklie to let me back at work, and I promise I will work things out with Warrick while I'm there." Nick smiled his most innocent smile.
She was, regretfully, unaffected by his charm. "Just with Warrick?"
Nick's smile wavered. "And with the others. Look," he said, sighing. "I just have to get back in there. I'm goin' completely nutso."
Doctor Bruning's gaze bore steadily into him, and he tried to keep up the smile the best he could. He thought for a moment she was going to tell him no, but then there was just the slightest change in her posture, and years of sitting in interrogations told Nick that was her tell, and she had given into his plea.
"I still want you to come see me on Thursday," she said sternly. "And you better have something more than 'we didn't really talk' to tell me."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Don't make me regret this, Nick." She jabbed her pen at him, again sounding like an authority figure.
"I won't," he said, holding up a hand. "Scout's honor."
The joke caused her to shake her head. "And take this seriously. You're hurting, and I want to help you."
"I'm fine," Nick said quickly, and was just as quickly rewarded with a glare. His gaze shifted to the floor. "Yeah, that's not so convincing anymore, huh?"
"No," the doctor responded honestly. "It's not."
To be continued...
