Chapter Fifteen: Your Best Shot
She wasn't looking at him with understanding, sympathy, or as someone who'd recently pledged to the Nicky Stokes cause. Not that he was expecting any of that, but the look the doctor was giving him bordered on disappointment and a simple tolerance to his presence, stemming from anger she was harboring. She wasn't happy, that was for sure.
She'd said she wanted him to return to her office with more to say than "we didn't really talk," and he most certainly had more than that to tell her. New traveled fast, but it didn't seem Ecklie had thought to call and warn the nice lady about what the complete screwball coming in to see her had gone and done. He probably thought it was some kind of justice for Nick to have to tell her himself. She hadn't taken the news lightly, and in fact had been sitting silently for the past few minutes, glaring at him. Professionally, of course.
Every now and then Doctor Bruning would shake her head lightly or open her mouth to say something, but it seemed she would decide against it and her mouth would reset to a thin line. Her right hand was tapping her pen against the arm of her leather chair, but at least she wasn't taking any notes.
Nick used the unscheduled time to sit and just be quiet. There had been a dull roar thundering about inside his head for the past thirty-six hours, one resulting from too many auditory stimuli refusing to let go. Sara screaming at him, Catherine pleading with him, Greg shushing Sara and attempting lame jokes, Warrick sighing and huffing and stomping off, and that low buzz emanating from behind Grissom's closed office door.
It was the sighing and huffing and stomping from Warrick that really got to him. He hadn't expected Warrick to understand; the man had always gotten everything he wanted from Gil Grissom. Solos, promotions, he named it and it was his. To Warrick, it must have seemed like he was throwing a tantrum, and his career and friends away. He had every right to be angry, and he really thought Warrick would try to understand the position Grissom had put him in.
Grissom's absence from the Ganging Up on Nicky festivities wasn't in the least surprising. He'd once again retreated to the dark confines of his office and Nick was just fine with that. Not once in the last day and a half had Grissom tried to talk to him. Nick was a little annoyed himself that he cared. He'd made his decision, and was positive neither Grissom nor anyone was going to talk him out of it. Somewhat positive.
To be fair, Nick hadn't really said much, himself. He'd already said what he needed to, and even if there was something else, his mouth didn't seem to want to work. He'd taken off pretty early that morning, after he left Grissom's office, and by the time he'd returned to work that night, well, everyone already knew.
He had a headache he couldn't seem to shake, and every now and then there was a stabbing pain in his temple, one that would recede just as quickly as it came. He had too much to process and his brain would be much happier with the whole situation if it could shut down and reboot. He hadn't been able to find a single moment to collect his thoughts. The time he'd spent away from the lab had been a few hours of what he wasn't sure actually qualified as sleep, and it was right back into the jungle with heavy steps and bags under his eyes. Right back to finishing the case, and finding himself cornered by CSIs for all of that screaming and pleading and shushing and sighing and huffing and stomping. He'd been summoned and wrangled away from the melee and straight into Ecklie's office.
"Nick, take a seat."
While he'd really rather stand, Nick sat in the proffered chair, which hadn't been so much offered as pointed at. He refused to give in and break eye contact with the lab director, leaning against the edge of his desk with crossed arms, glaring down at Nick.
"Well?"
Nick smiled coolly. "Well, what?"
Ecklie wasn't amused. His nostrils flared, and his lip curled. "Look, Stokes, just because you put in a notice doesn't mean you get to strut around these halls and do and say whatever the hell you want for the next seven days."
He was clearly affected by Nick's decision, and Nick couldn't for the life of him conjure a reason why. His smile faded. "I'm not strutting." Slinking, maybe. Certainly not strutting.
Ecklie's expression didn't soften and his posture didn't loosen in the slightest. "What's going on?"
"I put in my weeks' notice."
"Drop the attitude, right now. Try again, or you won't get another week."
The threat was mildly tempting, and Nick cocked his head, considering. In a brief moment of clarity, he sighed. He didn't really want to quit. He didn't want to leave the others; Warrick, Sara, Catherine, Greg, Brass, Archie, Bobby, even Hodges…they were a team. He would never have thought he would be the one to pull the first brick from the foundation, but he doubted it would be the one to bring down the building.
Nick pursed his lip and shook his head. "Professional differences." He was reaching, and it almost came out as a question.
Ecklie raised his eyebrows, starting to straighten. "With who? Is it the new DNA guy? Because I've been hearing a lot about – "
"No," Nick said softly, shaking his head. "No, it's not the new DNA guy."
"Then who?"
Nick was hesitant to answer and didn't know why. Didn't know why he should cover for Grissom. He was so mad with the man he couldn't think straight, and yet here he was, protecting him to the end.
"I'd rather not say," he said shortly.
Ecklie was seething. "Fine."
The two men stared each other down for a moment or two before Ecklie switched tactics.
"Look, Nick," he said patiently. "In all honesty, the lab needs you. You're a great CSI, and a very valuable asset to this organization."
Nick laughed lightly. "Bet I'm hell on the insurance policy though, yeah?"
Ecklie actually cracked a smile. "Can't argue with you there." His posture finally relaxed and he leaned forward, bracing his arms on his desk. "I can't do anything to convince you to stay?"
Nick paused and after a moment, shook his head. "No," he said, unable to keep the inflection out of his voice. "You can't."
A loud, pointed sigh from the doctor brought Nick back. He wasn't entirely sure if it was a testament to her current level of frustration or if she'd simply noticed he was spacing out and was trying to regain his attention. Either way, it seemed she was finally ready to speak to him.
Doctor Bruning looked up at Nick with embers burning low in her eyes, a look of both frustration and disappointment, probably with both of them. "Do you remember back a few days ago, Nick?"
Nick nodded.
"Do you remember when you were sitting there, and I was sitting here, and I said to you, 'don't make me regret this'?"
Another small nod. He refused to look away from those piercing, and increasingly more irritated, blue eyes. He refused to feel ashamed of himself or his decision.
"This, Nick?" she said, gesturing wildly with both hands. "This is making me regret it."
"It had nothing to do with any of the sessions we had."
"Maybe not. But you asked me to tell your boss to let you return to the lab. You said it was what you needed to do to work out the problems that you and your coworkers were having, and despite my better judgment, I went along with it because I wanted to help you."
"Yes." Nick didn't know what else he was expected to say. He was done making excuses.
"So then what happened?"
Everyone wanted explanations but no one wanted to lend an ear and just let him talk. There was a big difference but no one was taking the time to distinguish the two.
Nick sighed, feeling exasperated, himself. "I just got fed up."
"Fed up with what?" There went the pen. The scratchy, scratchy damned pen. Flying back and forth, spewing out far too many lines for the five words he'd spoken.
Nick found himself watching the pen move. "It's way too long a story to get into here."
The pen slammed down onto its friend, the legal pad. "Then what's the point of this, Nick? Why are you here?"
Because you told me to be, Nick thought. But that was a lie, and much too sarcastic a comment to have come from his mind, he was sure of that. The whole of his brain functioning had been shaken radically. He didn't even feel like himself anymore.
Nick swallowed, feeling that newfound anger swelling inside him once more, just thinking about it. "It was Grissom. He…knew some things. And he didn't tell me."
Pen once again tangoed across legal pad. "I'm sure he knows a lot of things he doesn't share with you, Nick."
"Things about my kidnapping."
Doctor Bruning looked up sharply.
See, Nick thought, frustrated. Even the damned doctor can see the problem with that. Why couldn't Grissom?
She didn't say anything, but motioned for Nick to continue. So he did.
Warrick sat, not sure what else to do. He sat in the break room, leaning his elbow on the table, cradling his chin in his hand. He was in before shift, much before, but had felt even more useless sitting at home.
The previous night, he'd had a feeling the entire shift that things were too calm. There should have been a breeze or something. A barking dog, a squeaking fence, rustling leaves. In reality, nothing but a nervous calm. Warrick felt a strange responsibility to fill the silence, attempting small talk on the way to the scene.
Nick had been driving, staring out the windshield in such a way to make Warrick think back to the episode Nick and Greg had, and was slightly unnerved. He kept glancing out the window to his right, making sure the trees and mailboxes were keeping a safe distance.
Satisfied Nick wasn't spacey, just focused, Warrick attempted conversation. "So…what did you want to talk to me about?"
Nick adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. He drew in a breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. "I don't like this."
Warrick nodded. There was no need for Nick to clarify; Warrick understood perfectly what he was saying. "Yeah. I'm not exactly sure how we got here, but it sure ain't a picnic."
"What did we do?"
Warrick laughed. "Shit, man, I don't even remember."
Nick smiled. "Me, either."
Warrick bit his lip. "You think we should keep it that way?"
Nick cocked his head. "I dunno. Pretending things didn't happen isn't any way to resolve them."
"True that."
"When we get back?"
Warrick nodded. "When we get back."
But there had been no talking when they got back to the lab. The weird case they'd been handed had taken the most unexpected turn possible. Kelly Gordon, murder suspect. Nick Stokes, CSI. It had been a rough night from the get-go, even more so after they found the tape recorder.
Voice comparison, Nick, Warrick though, shaking his head. Great idea, really bad timing.
Warrick's anger wasn't properly focused on a single target. On the one hand, there was Gil Grissom, the obvious choice. The best friend's choice. Catherine had used her special ways to get enough out of the supervisor for Warrick to piece to together what had happened. Grissom had screwed up, royally. And he'd driven Nick away.
On the other hand, there was Nick, who had decided after a whole fifteen minutes to just give up. Warrick didn't understand. Yell, scream, get angry, sure, but just up and quit? It was bailing. When the going gets tough, the tough don't split. And after so many years, Warrick was endowed with an unwavering confidence the Nick Stokes was one of the tough. But in the instance, the tough bail.
And then there was his own inner dilemma – was he really angry with Nick or with himself?
Warrick figured the only way to get through the night was to stop trying to place blame. He settled on a feeling of general anger at the situation they were in and that at least allowed him to think more rationally when it came to the individuals involved. Grissom had done something stupid, and he wasn't changing his position on that. It could have – should have – been handled better. Grissom had screwed up, and Nick had done something stupid.
It could have been handled a lot better.
Warrick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted. He hadn't gotten any real sleep, instead lying awake, rehashing how he'd screwed up, too.
Sara had been yelling, and Warrick stayed in the background. They all took their turns, using their individual tactics, but not Warrick. He hadn't said anything, just stood there, still unaware of what was really happening. And then after he heard, he'd stomped right out the door, wanting nothing more than to be out of that mess.
Nick slunk out at the end of last shift without a word, and Warrick had heard the buzzing start after only twenty minutes. A buzz agreeing unanimously that Nick had quit. A few dozen unanswered calls later, Warrick started worrying. And the next shift confirmed his worry.
Catherine was the one who told them, and Warrick couldn't believe it when he heard. They'd gotten so close, and it was so quickly slipping away. Nick came in and there for a minute Warrick found himself bracing for another fight but instead he hadn't said anything. He stood there, then stomped out. Nick stuck to the lab that night, finishing their case while Warrick took on a new assignment and again managed to sneak out of the building before Warrick cleared his head and could get a hold of him.
Not this time. Warrick was waiting in the break room, staring at the object sitting on the table in front of him, the football he'd found in his locker. He remembered when things were easier, and the only tension between he and Nick was a friendly challenge here and there.
Catherine walked in suddenly, running her hands through her hair, looking as disheveled as Warrick felt. She stopped short when she saw him and made a halfhearted attempt to smooth her hair. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Waiting for Nick to get here."
Catherine jerked a thumb behind her. "He's here."
Warrick frowned. "Where?"
"Down the hall."
"For how long?"
Catherine sighed. "I don't know, Warrick. I just got here."
Warrick stood, grabbing the football from the table, and moved past her, touching her arm lighting in both an apologetic and sympathetic way. She nodded and motioned for him to go.
He found Nicky only three doors down, sitting at a workstation. His back to Warrick, he was going over a report of some kind, pen poised in his right hand. "Nick."
Nick didn't look up.
Warrick leaned in the doorway of the small work room and sighed, frustration growing. He knew damn well Nick hadn't gone deaf in the past few hours. "Nick."
Nick jerked his head just the slightest, proof that he was hearing Warrick, but still ignored him.
Warrick glanced down at the football in his hands and gave it a light toss. The ball bounced off of Nick's right shoulder, finally causing him to turn, annoyed.
"What?"
"We need to talk."
"We already talked," Nick said coolly. "You didn't seem to have a lot to say." His accent was thick, angry and hurt.
He bent to scoop the ball off of the floor where it rested by his feet and chucked it behind him as he turned back to whatever evidence it was he was working on.
Warrick had to reach to catch the aimless toss and he brought it back to his side with a huff. 'Well, I've got things to say now."
"Sorry, I'm busy."
Warrick gave another frustrated sigh. "Can we do this outside?"
"Do what?"
"Whatever it is we need to do."
Nick gave a small laugh and twisted in his seat to face Warrick. "Is that a challenge?"
Warrick shrugged. "Take it however you want it." He gestured over his shoulder with the football. "Let's go."
Nick hesitated, sideways in his chair, and regarded Warrick with a squint.
Warrick wasn't going to ask twice, as it appeared he didn't have the time to afford to that luxury any longer. "Now."
He turned stiffly in the doorway, starting down the hall for the side door that would take him out to the small grassy area along the side of the building. Nick knew where he was going; they'd been out there many times before.
Warrick took up his position a good sixty feet from the door, and as soon as Nick emerged, he gave the football a healthy hurl in his direction.
Nick had to get his hands up fast to keep the ball from colliding with his nose. His frown deepened. "Do you have a problem?" as asked angrily, heaving the ball back at his friend.
There was enough force behind the throw to leave a slight sting in Warrick's hands when he caught it, and he shook out his right one briefly before slinging it back. "Apparently it's you who's having the problem."
Nick caught the ball, bending forward and cradling it to his stomach with an "oof." When he looked up, Warrick raised his eyebrows in some sort of challenge.
Nick grimaced, hurling the ball back with impressive force. "I'm just done with this bull, 'Rick. I needed to do something."
Warrick frowned as he caught the ball centimeters from crashing into his face. "And this is the best thing you could come up with?"
Nick turned his body to catch the ball against his side, scowling slightly. When he straightened, his face was set. "If you're gonna be my friend, then act like my friend, 'Rick. But don't act like you understand what I've been going through."
The words stung nearly as badly as the football had. Warrick didn't even respond; he barely let the football rest in his hands before whipping it back at Nick.
Nick tried to dodge it but was a hair too slow, and the ball connected with his jaw line. The ball, quickly forgotten, bounced out of the way. He glared up at Warrick and rotated his jaw. "You have it out for me or something this week?"
"You have it out for yourself?" Warrick shot back.
Nick's eyes narrowed further, until they were shining obsidian slits in a pinched face. He winced from the movement and rubbed his jaw. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"What are you tryin' to pull, Nick? What are you hoping Grissom does?" Warrick walked a few feet to his left and scooped up the ball.
"I'm not hoping Grissom does anything, Warrick. It's done."
Warrick tossed the ball back and forth between his hands, the weight of it keeping him grounded. He raised his eyes and tossed the ball back to Nick, lightly, maybe hoping its weight could somehow keep Nick grounded, too. "So that's it?" he asked as Nick easily caught the smooth overhand pass.
Nick shrugged indifferently. "That's it."
The ball sailed back into Warrick's hands, a perfect toss from a well-trained arm. It seemed like a joke, only it was one he wasn't in on.
Warrick looked down at the ball in his hands, at what it symbolized. "I can't say anything to change your mind?"
Nick caught the ball in his right hand and sighed. "It wasn't you, 'Rick."
"Doesn't feel that way."
"'Rick – "
"We can fix this, Nick. You can't just walk away." Warrick didn't care if it sounded like he was begging because, hell, he was. If things ended there, if Nick left at the end of the next week and never looked back, how was he supposed to live with himself, knowing he'd been such a stubborn ass?
Now it was Nick's turn to stare at the ball, and Warrick prayed Nick was seeing there everything that he had. Nick gave a slight shake of his head, and Warrick felt lighter. It wasn't a negative shake, but a 'what the hell am I doing?' shake, and it was all he needed to see.
Nick didn't want to do this. He knew there was another way and he wanted to find it just as badly as Warrick did. He'd acted rashly, fueled by raging emotions and a frustration with Grissom that seemed to have been hanging with him for months. Nick was trying to appear strong and confident in his decision to leave the lab, but Warrick knew better.
Despite the edge in Nick's voice, the uncharacteristic harsh words and attitude of late, Warrick was getting the feeling his friend was sinking, flailing, grasping for someone or something to hold onto and float back to dry land. And Warrick was done being the lifesaver that was just a bit too far out of reach.
"Then find it, 'Rick, but I'm done playing games." Nick gazed at the ball a moment longer before chucking it back to Warrick in a way that signified it was the final toss. "You've got a week."
Warrick nodded with renewed confidence. "I won't need it."
To be continued...
