Chapter Thirteen: Breaking the Habit
Nick answered the phone and, in retrospect, thought maybe he should have let it go to voicemail, like all the calls before.
"Hey," Greg exclaimed upon hearing Nick's voice. "Long time, no talk."
There was an accusation in his tone, and his words worked their magic, throwing in a little guilt to top off everything else Nick was feeling. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said. "I really meant to call you back, I just…"
"You don't need to lie, Nick. You needed some space. I get it. I really do."
"Yeah," Nick said softly over the lump of remorse building inside of him. "Yeah, you do. I forget sometimes."
There was a pause on the line, and Nick half-expected Greg to yell at him for being so wrapped up in his own problems and he hadn't even thought of going to Greg to talk. The thought had literally never crossed his mind, as the explosion in the DNA lab was just another item on the ever-growing List of Things We Can't Ever Talk About.
"I do, too." Greg's voice, calm and honest, finally came back over the line.
Nick began to respond, to apologize, but Greg continued.
"You know, enough times goes by, and you put it out of your mind. Enough time passes, and you finally don't think about it anymore."
Nick slowly nodded to himself, feeling a fog rolling over him. Not that Greg didn't have the best of intentions, but he was talking to the King of Not Thinking About It. He had enough Its to last a good many lifetimes, and was a pro at putting Its behind him. Or had been, until recently.
Greg seemed to talk Nick's silence as some kind of encouragement to continue, although it really, really wasn't. "I know that what happened to me and what you went through are hardly comparable. I mean, the explosion was a split-second thing, and you were down there for…"
Greg blessedly stopped talking right before Nick's head exploded. He didn't understand how Greg could tell him not to think about it and then continue to talk about it. He remained silent, listening to Greg nervously clear his throat over the line.
"So, uh, do you know when you're gonna be back to work?"
What a nice change of subject, and pleasant topic to touch upon. Nick grimaced and rubbed his free hand over his eyes. "Yeah, tonight."
"Really?"
Nick suddenly realized how badly he wanted the conversation to end. "You sound surprised."
"Well, Grissom didn't say anything about – "
"Maybe he doesn't know," Nick cut in, the words sounding lame even to his own ears. Of course he knows. He didn't tell them because of all the fun we'll have this way.
He sighed. "Listen, Greg, I gotta go. I've got stuff to do around here before work." He didn't, really, but sustaining a conversation for more than four minutes seemed beyond his reach at the moment.
"Yeah. Yeah, sure. Well, I guess I'll see ya tonight then."
"Yeah, I guess." He hadn't meant for it to come out so cold, and Nick winced. "Greg – "
Click. Greg had hung up on him, much as he'd hung up on Warrick.
Don'tcha know by now, Nicky? he thought, snapping his cell phone shut. Karma's a bitch.
Nick sighed and leaned his palms against the cool porcelain of his sink. Palms growing increasing slick with sweat. That was a phone call that had taken place a few hours earlier. It was short, but with so much to be taken from it. Greg, the one person he'd thus far managed not to piss off, and he'd made him hang up on him.
Nick shook his head, staring at his reflection. You're pathetic. You should be isolated and studied.
He was not looking forward to that night. He had been, before he really got to thinking about it. Getting out of the house would be great, and he needed it, really bad, before he lost what little bit of sanity he had left. He was just having a hard time getting going.
It was just work. Just going into work, into a job he'd been doing for years with people he'd been working with for years. He tried to remind himself of these things, but nothing was calming his nerves. It shouldn't be so hard, shouldn't feel so hard, just going into work. There was that thing where he hadn't spoken to anyone in days, except for that super-short phone call with Warrick and the slightly longer, more painful conversation with Greg. There was that thing where the last words he'd spoken to most of his friends had come in the form of yelling, followed by storming out, and he felt like he was actually going to snap the next time someone called him Nicky in that tone.
The little brunette had a plan. Doctors had a plan for everything. To them, there was always a solution. Nick seriously doubted any therapist he would ever encounter could even try to relate to the crap he'd been through. But she was trying. Lord, she was trying. To her, the first thing he needed to do seemed at face value to be the simplest thing she could have suggested. Talk to Warrick.
Nick had gotten himself into quite the little dilemma, one theoretically easily rectified by talking to Warrick. It seemed so simple. Talking was easy, Warrick was reachable, and yet talking to Warrick was sure to be awkward. And much more so now, after their conversation on the phone – if it could be called that. His temper was just so easily flared anymore, and Warrick was even more hotheaded, and on a more regular basis than Nick. It wasn't a good combination.
It seemed forever ago they'd watched their last baseball game. It seemed forever ago they'd had any real time to spend just being friends. And getting it back seemed hard. Maybe too hard, and for the briefest of weak moments, Nick wondered if it maybe wasn't worth it. But he'd made a promise, and being the person he was, Nick would make good on that promise no matter the discomfort it caused him. He had to risk inevitable discomfort to get his best friend back.
Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Nick sighed. He was going to have to get it done tonight, or he was going to continue to put everything off as much as he could. He didn't know what else to do. He was going to have to go in that night with an open mind or he was going to achieve nothing besides lending even more aid to the collective team collapse.
Nick glanced at his watch, resting on the bathroom counter. T-minus five hours and counting.
"Nick's coming in tonight?"
"That's what Grissom said."
Warrick's ears perked to the conversation as Catherine and Sara entered the break room. This was news to him.
The women glanced strangely at him as they passed, seated at the table in the middle of the room. He tried to remain unaffected by those scrutinizing eyes. He noted that the two of them had been sticking pretty close lately. Maybe the secret to staying sane was in the buddy system, a strength in numbers kind of deal. They didn't seem to be exceptionally well-rested, but not quite as rundown as he felt, so maybe it worked. He would have to see what Greggo was up to later.
Or Nick, you dumbass, the pesky little voice in his head said. You remember him? Your best friend?
As Sara settled into the seat across from Warrick, giving him a look he didn't quite understand, Catherine frowned. "What kind of suspension lasts nine days?"
Damn, if that woman wasn't just curious to the point of being annoying. She couldn't simply accept Nick's suspension was over, no, she had to question the strange number of days it had lasted. Why couldn't you just round it out to ten, Ecklie? Damn, man, help me out here.
"It is an odd number, isn't it?" Sara continued to stare Warrick down, and he tried to look as innocent as he could. He didn't know why she had to assume he knew what was going on. He did, but that wasn't the point.
Catherine sank into the chair next to Warrick and continued to speak to Sara without so much as casting another glance his way. "Wonder why he did it." She tapped a finger on her chin.
Warrick, one-third of the people that knew about the stipulations that had been set, meaning the shrink visits, felt compelled to put a stop to the conversation. They were fishing for information and he wasn't going to allow himself to be used like that. And more importantly, he didn't want them to find out things he didn't want them to know.
He finally spoke up. "Don't worry about it."
Catherine and Sara exchanged a look. One of those looks, and Warrick had the feeling he was about to be double-teamed.
"Do you know something, Warrick?" Catherine asked, pouring on the innocence in a sickly sweet tone.
Sara smiled the angelic smile to match. "Because if you did, it would be wrong not to tell us."
Warrick's eyes narrowed as they moved between his interrogators. "Don't worry about it," he repeated, in the same monotonous voice.
Catherine sighed and tipped her chair back, resting it on two legs. She squinted at Warrick and crossed her arms. "You know, if there is something going on, I'm going to find out what it is."
Warrick raised his eyebrows and stood. "Oh, I don't doubt it."
He left the room without looking back to catch their expressions, though he sure felt those piercing eyes on his back. He was walking away quickly, just wanting to be out of reach of the women, and nearly smacked into Greg in the hall.
The other man held up his hands with a crooked grin, but it was obviously forced. "Whoa, Warrick. Where's the fire?"
Warrick shook his head. "Just getting away from…did you know Nick was coming in tonight?" It came out much more demanding than was intended.
Greg cocked his head, hesitant to respond due to Warrick's harsh tone. "Yeah, I called Nick this morning and he told me."
Then that look came over his face, that look of realization, and he averted his eyes, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "He didn't tell you."
"No. Must've slipped his mind."
Greg chewed his lip. "I just figured…"
"If he told you then he told me?"
Greg bounced on the balls of his feet. "It's not like he came to me with this information. Maybe if you called him…" he trailed off when Warrick shot him a glare cold enough to freeze. "Look, Warrick, things are a little crazy right now, and I get that, but everything's gonna get straightened out – "
Warrick cut him off with a wave of his hand. "You don't need to stick up for him, Greg. I get it." He shrugged his shoulders, feeling even more defeated than he already did. "He doesn't want to talk to me."
Greg continued gnawing on his lower lip and Warrick was afraid for a moment he was going to bite it clean off. "He does," he said finally. "And you guys'll talk and make up and – "
"And what, Greg?" Warrick cut in with a pathetic smile. "We'll have a big group hug? I think it's too late for that."
Greg's shoulders visibly slumped, and Warrick cursed himself for letting his own pathetic situation leak out and affect the one person who always managed to see the brighter side. When Greg Sanders couldn't see the silver lining, you knew you were in trouble.
Greg regained his composure before Warrick even had time to apologize. He looked up with a big grin. "It's never too late for a big group hug, 'Rick." And then he turned and walked away, still with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
Warrick felt like a small weight was leaving him and walking away with Greg. He wasn't sure if that mean talking with Greg had helped alleviate some of the stress he was under or if Greg, already seeming more beaten than usual, was taking it away with him.
Of course Sara wanted to hug him. Nick wasn't really in a touchy-feely mood but he returned the gesture, giving her a light, quick pat on the back.
"I'm glad you're back," she said in his ear. "We missed you."
Nick pulled away then, holding her at arm's length, at a safe distance, and chuckled lightly. "Yeah. It wasn't the same being home."
He wasn't going to lie; being home for the past nine days hadn't been the same. It was enough to satisfy them for the time being, and Sara started chatting away as though nothing had happened. It was really quite something. He bobbed his head along, pretending that yes, he did want to hear what prank Bobby had pulled on Hodges and yes, he wanted all the details about how Greg's solo had gone – wince there, for forgetting to ask; maybe another reason Greg hadn't seemed too pleased with him on the phone – and yes, he cared about how all the cases were going.
She was the only one who seemed to have mustered the courage to talk to him, which could account for the amount and speed at which she was talking. Catherine and Greg leaned against the table, watching Sara with amused expressions. When Nick met Catherine's eyes, she winced and gave him an 'I'm sorry' look.
He couldn't help but frown and give only a quick nod, and she looked immediately back to Sara. Greg raised his eyebrows, and appeared to be holding back a laugh as Sara rambled on.
It did not escape his notice that Warrick was nowhere to be found. Strike One. It was hard to believe that only hours earlier Nick had contemplated calling him. If Warrick wasn't even willing to be in the same room as him, then he had to wonder what hope there was.
Nick was facing Sara as she talked a mile a minute, but his focus was elsewhere. Grissom was standing somewhere behind him; he'd entered the room as quietly as ever, but Nick always knew. There was a presence in the room now, and it had been pretty obvious when Sara's eyes ticked over to look at something over his shoulder. Only Gil Grissom could put that look in her eyes, equal parts longing and contempt.
Just knowing Grissom was there was enough to kill any hope of having a good night. Nick hadn't said a word to the man since his surprise visit the morning after his suspension, and was perfectly fine with that. If Grissom wanted to take this opportunity to hop on the Poor Nicky bandwagon that was fine, but Nick didn't have to listen to it. He didn't need to hear, or care to hear, the man's half-assed sympathy now. All he'd wanted was a little understanding over the past few months. He didn't want the silent treatment, and didn't like the feeling that he was out of the loop on something.
Nick had been so intent on focusing on Grissom's inactiveness behind him, he hadn't realized Sara had stopped talking and they were all looking at him. He glanced in turn at each imploring face with wide eyes and tried for an easy grin.
Sara cocked her head. "So…what did you do?"
"What?"
Sara frowned. "With all of that free time?"
"Oh." Nick shrugged nonchalantly. "Cleaned a lot."
For some reason they all seemed to find that funny. Or maybe it was just an excuse for easy laughter, attempting to lighten the already flailing mood.
"Stokes?"
"Yeah," he said, gratefully turning to the new speaker. That gratitude faded instantly as he realized the speaker was Conrad Ecklie. He quickly hid the grimace overtaking his features.
"If you've got a minute," Ecklie said, gesturing in the direction of his office, in a way to let Nick know he was going to be speaking with him whether he had a minute or not.
Nick nodded a bit halfheartedly. He gave his team a small smile and followed Ecklie out of the room and down the hall to his office.
"Now, Nick," Ecklie started in that patronizing tone the very second the door latched shut. "I spoke with Doctor Bruning, and she said I could allow you back to work, but she didn't hesitate to tell me she has reservations about it."
Nick winced and glanced down at his boots. He should have counted on that.
"Now, I don't know if you worked her over with that 'southern charm'," Ecklie continued, even employing finger-quotes as he spoke, "but if she has her doubts, then so do I." He crossed his arms and stared Nick down.
Nick smiled his best faking in front of the boss smile, one he had a lot of practice with. "What can I say, Conrad? She told you I can work, yeah?"
Squint. "Yes."
"Then what's the problem?"
Ecklie unfolded his arm, placing his hands in his pockets in what he must have thought was a casual manner. "There'd better not be one, Nick."
Wider smile. "We're cool."
"Okay. Then get to work."
Nick was no more than two feet outside of the office when he let out the longest breath he'd never known he was holding.
It only took the one night.
One night of throat clearings, of awkward glances and even more awkward forced laughter, coming too loud and too often. Of big, fake smiles and feeling eyes on the back of his head. Sara tried, but one person's efforts weren't enough.
It only took that one night, and Nick knew it had to end. This had to end. And he was the only one with the power to end it.
They were mocked that late winter night by The Powers That Be. The only case for the graveyard shift was a triple homicide at a gas station on the outskirts of town. It appeared to be the work of a traveling serial killer who'd held the place up with no reservations about cutting down the teen behind the counter or the elderly couple filling up their Crown Victoria.
They loaded up the equipment, their kits, and rather strategically, themselves into two vehicles and headed out of town. Nick, Greg, and Sara in one truck; Grissom, Warrick, and Catherine in the other.
When they met up at the cars Warrick had some excuse for his tardiness, checking on blood evidence for another case, but it was painfully obvious to everyone what was really going on. And all it did was add to the tension.
There was very little conversation in Vehicle Number One. Greg and Sara offered to let Nick drive, perhaps as a sign of trust. He would be lying if he said he didn't mind the special treatment – he minded it very much. He didn't want it, and he certainly didn't need it. But he smiled and hopped into the driver's seat, braking with plenty of room at red lights and driving at a constant, reasonable speed.
There had never before in the history of crime scene investigating been a scene so quiet and tense, Nick was sure. Grissom doled out responsibilities and they each kept to themselves for the better part of two hours. It was a crowded scene, police and press, and messy enough to keep everyone busy. Still, they each seemed distracted, stuck in their own heads. Sara began lifting prints from a gas pump without gloves. Greg knocked over a jar of print powder. Catherine nearly lost her cool while talking to a possible witness. Only Grissom remained seemingly unaffected by…him.
It was him. It was all him. All his fault. All of the tension and the awkwardness. The reason they couldn't talk. The reason they didn't work well together. It was all him.
Nick watched them all working from his own little self-appointed station photographing blood drops inside the station center, and bit his lip until the taste of blood brought him crashing hard back to reality.
He was going to have to put his discomfort with Warrick, his childish annoyance with Catherine, and all of his anger with Grissom aside and think of what was best for the team. Because if he didn't, there wasn't going to a team left to think about.
"Grissom?"
It was a voice that had never before sounded so hesitant in requesting his attention; this was usually the voice of a man who was eager, nearly starved for it. Gil's head snapped up so fast he got a crick in his neck, but it was worth it to see Nick standing in his doorway. That was something he'd almost convinced himself was never going to happen again.
He found himself staring dumbly a moment before his voice caught up with him. "Yeah, Nick. What do you need?"
Nick entered the office and gently closed the door behind him. No slam, and Gil inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He was sure he deserved a slam, not for anything specific that night but for all the collective nights.
The CSIs had returned to the lab about forty-five minutes earlier and everyone had gone off to their own little corner of the lab to process the evidence they'd collected or wait for test results. Gil was doing the latter, planning on checking in with DNA in another ten minutes, just to see where they stood. For all he'd known, Nick was somewhere doing the same thing. But no, Nick was standing uneasily in the middle of his office.
The uneasiness he saw in the younger man didn't last long. Nick seemed to be taking a moment to collect his thoughts and choose his words, but it was only a few seconds before he met Gil's eyes. There was a glint in those brown eyes that communicated more to Gil that his tone of voice ever could.
"I don't want things to be weird anymore," Nick said, accent thick, a testament to his discomfort from simply being in Gil's presence. Gil also noticed he chose to remain standing. "I just want everything to get back to normal."
Gil frowned and started to speak, but Nick raised a hand and stopped him. "And I don't want to be mad at you anymore."
Gil's mouth opened slightly, and he pulled off his glasses. "I don't want you to be mad at me anymore, either," he said tentatively.
"I want to be open," Nick said, eyes boring holes deep into Gil's heart. "With you, and with everyone. I want to be straight with you guys about what's going on with me." He shifted his weight. "I don't want to keep things from you guys, because I think that's where all of this…crap, is coming from."
Each word was an individual slap across the face for Gil, sitting at his spacious desk containing a file labeled with the name of the man standing in front of him. A file Nick didn't know existed, with information Nick didn't know about. Not information. Evidence.
Gil nodded slowly. "That, that would be nice, Nick."
Nick bobbed his head as well. "And I'm gonna start now." He moved to the chair and sat opposite Gil. "I'm here tonight because I asked to be, Gris. Not because the doc thought I was ready." He cracked a smile close to his usual easy-going grin. "If she had her way, I'd probably be in a straightjacket right about now."
Gil nodded along slowly, not knowing what else to do.
Nick scratched a spot behind his ear. "Yeah. I just wanted you to know that. That I'm still gonna be seeing her. Probably on a regular basis." He shrugged. "I think maybe it's a good thing."
"Anything that will help you, Nick," Gil said, surprised to have found his voice in such an ironic situation.
There was that smile again. Still a little forced, but part of it was genuine. Nick smacked his palms on the arms of the chair and stood. "Better check on that evidence. And I think I might talk to Warrick."
Gil raised his eyes to keep in line with Nick's. "That's good to hear."
Nick started out of the door, and Gil squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't let him leave like that, not after what he'd said about being open and honest. Not knowing what he'd done. "Nick."
"Yeah?"
He couldn't do it. Gil had kept his secrets from Nick for this long, and revealing information about the tape would only anger him. It would be better for both of them if he never found out. "Nothing."
Nick tapped his fingers on the doorframe for just a second, and then he was gone.
To be continued...
