Chapter Sixteen: Out of Order

Nick stared at the computer, not quite sure what it was he was trying to accomplish. Maybe he thought if he stared long enough, the information he was looking at would disappear as a favor. It wasn't as though he had the access to change it himself. All he could do was stare at the screen.

New evidence logged, said that computer screen. There was his employee photo, information he'd read a hundred times, and a few links he didn't have the stomach to click. Links that said Walter Gordon and Kelly Gordon. It was the other one that was getting to him, though. New evidence logged. Gil Grissom, Supervisor.

The words were mocking him, daring him to see what it was they held behind them, to uncover their secrets. But they weren't secrets, not when they were in the database for anyone with a goddamned password to see.

I'm on display, Nick thought, his hands growing cold. Always on display.

He didn't know what it was that made him look up his file in the first place. Now that he was here, it became perfectly clear it was just one of those things. One of those feelings. One that turned out to be right.

New evidence logged. Gil Grissom, Supervisor. Nick Stokes, victim. On screen and on display for the whole wide world to see.

He was overreacting and he knew it. No one would look up his file without a good reason. It wasn't like people outside the lab were going to hack into the system to check up on him. Except, that had happened before, and Nick allowed himself a little paranoia. He had the right to be uneasy with it came to personal information left so carelessly in a heavily secured government system.

But really, he wasn't worried about the people on the outside, but those on the inside. The people who walked these halls and sat at this computer and looked through these databases on a daily basis. It was those who had access to the system, those who really knew him. It was his friends. He didn't want them to be able to open up his file whenever they wanted to and see this. Grissom had opened up his file, and had updated it. New evidence logged. He hadn't yet gathered the nerve to find out what the evidence was, he just stared at the computer.

You're being ridiculous. Just click the damned button. So he did.

"Hi, CSI guy. You wondering why you're here? Because you followed the evidence. Because that's what CSIs do. So breathe quick, breathe slow. Put your gun in your mouth, and pull the trigger. Any way you like, you're going to die down here. Okay."

That vile voice glided through the speakers and Nick swallowed, a pitiful attempt at calming his stomach, which seemed to be holding a gymnastics meet. He was reaching for the mouse, reaching to make the voice go away, when he heard it.

"Perfect."

How had he missed that? Probably because he'd been too busy panicking, staring at the pounds of dirt covering his field of vision. What little vision there'd been. It wasn't Walter Gordon's voice, the voice he still heard in his nightmares. It was a different voice. A voice that seemed strangely familiar.

Nick frowned, his queasiness over hearing the tape and the voice melting away into a tolerable discomfort as his thoughts drifted back to the current case. He'd found another tape recorder, with two new voices.

"Your father loved you very much."

"A bit too much."

Nick's trained, analytical brain started to put the pieces together. He had a lot of evidence at his disposal. Three voices on tape, and they were all connected. To him, and to each other. Kelly Gordon. Walter Gordon. Two names written in Sylvia Mullin's handwriting, in Sylvia Mullin's date book. Kelly Gordon. Walter Gordon. Two names connected to the victim. Connected to the case.

In that moment, he should have gone to Grissom and told him, and he knew it. He knew it then and he knew it now. He would be taken off the case, and the others would solve it. Case closed, evidence logged.

But Nick didn't go to Grissom. He went to Archie, wanting to see exactly how connected all of the voices were. He hadn't exactly had a strong hand in handling his own affairs the past few months, and wasn't going to so easily pass this strange bit of information along as well.

"It's Kelly Gordon's voice on tape. I wanna see if it's the other voice on the Walter Gordon audio file." Nick handed Archie the tape, somewhat stiffly.

The tech took the tape with a puzzled expression. "Grissom told you?"

Nick paused, midway to taking a seat next to the A/V tech. His heart hammered at lightning speed, and he frowned so deeply it hurt, focusing on that anger to cover whatever other emotions might be fighting their way to the surface. "No, but it's obvious he told you."

"Oh…"

"You know what?" Nick testily waved a hand. He didn't want to hear about it. Not from Archie. "Forget about it. If this girl's involved that means she's capable of murder. It's all cued up for you. Her voice is first."

Angry was an understatement. Nick was overcome with such a fierce fury he couldn't see straight, and a lot of that anger was directed towards himself. He had been so incredibly stupid. Going to Grissom, trying to making things better, vowing to be honest with the man and try to resolve their issues.

"I just want things to get back to normal. And I don't want to be mad at you anymore."

"I don't want you to be mad at me anymore, either."

"I want to be open. With you, and with everyone. I want to be straight with you guys about what's going on with me. I don't want to keep things from you guys, because I think that's where all of this…crap, is coming from."

"That, that would be nice, Nick."

Do you know what else is nice, Grissom? Nick thought, fuming so furiously that he wasn't even paying attention to the voice comparison Archie was doing. Not making people feel like complete jackasses.

"Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"Nothing."

He was going to tell him. Grissom was going to tell him, but he didn't, and Nick couldn't remember a time he'd been so angry. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from exploding.

Grissom had told Archie. Archie know more about Nick's case than Nick did. He wasn't mad at Archie; the tech was just doing what Grissom told him to do, like all of them. They were pieces in Grissom's little play set and he could do with them whatever he wanted.

Nick wasn't a play thing. He was a human being with emotions and he deserved respect, something he didn't feel he was currently on the receiving end of. Because Grissom knew, and Grissom didn't respect him enough, as a person, a man, a colleague, a friend…to come to him and tell him.

Nick pursed his lips and balled his right hand into a fist. Right after he'd told Grissom be was going to be open. God, he felt like a jackass.

He left the A/V lab, having heard what he needed to, although not exactly sure what he was going to do just yet, and stormed down the hall.

Straight into Grissom's office.


"It doesn't really matter now," Catherine said dully, voice muffled by her palm. She sat, chin in hand, elbow propped on the table, and had a look about her that Greg had never seen her: defeated.

"Yeah," Sara responded in an equally lifeless tone. She hadn't once looked up from the same spot on the table for the past ten minutes. "Sounds like he's made his decision. What do you expect us to be able to do, Greg?"

So much for rallying the troops, Greg thought miserably.

It seemed that everyone was resigned to let Nick walk out the door on Friday and never look back. He had the sinking feeling if it happened then another one of them wasn't far behind. And then it would be another, and another, falling like a carefully placed row of dominos, and Greg couldn't let that happen. He was quite happy with where his life was and had the feeling if everyone started jumping ship he would be the last one, reaching out to everyone else until the last possible moment.

"I don't want to lose you guys," he said seriously, trying to make them understand the ramifications of just one departure.

Catherine straightened and cocked her head at him. "You're not losing us, Greg. And I'm sure Nick will keep in touch."

"Are you?" Greg asked. "Are you really sure? What if he just leaves?"

"He wouldn't do that," Sara said. "He's Nick."

"And everything that's 'Nick' is being seriously called into question, don't you see that? He's not the same guy, and not one of us has allowed room for that to happen."

The two women looked at him like he was crazy. "You're saying this is our fault?" Sara asked finally.

"I'm not saying that it's anyone's fault," Greg replied, exasperated. "But if we want him to stay, we're going to have to make some changes. We're going to have to give him some room."

Catherine laughed shortly. "We tried that. Don't you remember the blowout because we did?"

"I'm not talking about physical space," Greg tried to explain, growing more frustrated with their stubbornness. "I mean room." He made overly dramatic sweeping gestures with his arms.

"Face it, Greg," Sara said quietly, running her hands through her hair. "He's leaving on Friday, and we can't change it."

Catherine just looked at him and shook her head as if to say 'oh, you sad, hopeful little boy.'

"I'm gonna find a snack," Greg said, sighing deeply. He pulled himself up out of his seat. He couldn't sit and listen to it anymore. He needed some sugar, some energy, to think, regroup, and try again.

Greg headed for the vending machines, groping in his pocket for change. He victoriously came up with a pair of quarters and turned to the snack machine.

Out of order, read a handwritten sign taped to the glass.

Greg sighed, resisted the urge to kick the machine, and headed back for the break room. Figures.


Figures, Nick thought, braking to a stop for the fifth straight red light on his way home.

He sighed, loud and long and full of frustration. It was a sign, it had to be. He was supposed to have made the right choice, and eliminate the source of all his stress. That had been the plan, but it felt so wrong.

Considering how the night could have gone, it had passed quite uneventfully. He worked yet another homicide with Greg, the only one who at the time had been willing to talk to him without begging or pleading. It helped that he didn't gaze at Nick with wide eyes and try to break him down. Greg had made a few attempts throughout the night, had put his two cents in, but he hadn't been overly annoying about it. Not at all like Catherine and Sara were being. Those two got the message by the end of the night and had sulked off, but it hadn't made him feel any better. Quite the opposite. And Warrick. Well, Nick's jaw was sore as hell but they'd parted ways at the end of shift on better terms that they'd been in weeks.

Grissom, well, he was floating somewhere in the middle, in the place Nick didn't want to think about. And yet he couldn't stop thinking about it. A nagging voice in his head kept telling him that he was taking the easy way out. Ironic, since it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. And he'd had to do it, he was sure.

When the going gets tough, the tough get the hell out of dodge, right? Nick shook his head at himself. Of course, that's assuming you're tough, huh?

Nick wasn't tough. He was tired and achy, inside and out. This job was tuning out to be more nerve-wracking than he'd thought possible. Guns, stalkers, graves, bosses, and now the Kelly Gordon thing. That was the kicker. And it was, like a kick to the gut.

"Care why I did it?"

Nick was breathing heavily, staring down the infamous Kelly Gordon, staring at them with an air of confidence and smugness, like they weren't there to arrest her. Or maybe just like she knew it wasn't going to get that far.

"Doesn't really matter now." Was that his voice? That hollow, heartless sound? Nick's words held volumes of truth. To Kelly, and to himself. He's made his decision. Doesn't really matter now.

It wasn't her voice, he told himself. It wasn't her. You can't hate her. And yet there were so many emotions, so much anger, and everyone who deserved to be on the receiving end of it was already dead. He would be happy to see her led away in handcuffs.

The apartment was small and stuffy, and Nick was starting to sweat, small drops sliding down from his hairline, a tiny, annoying trickle down the middle of his back. Something was off.

"She told me my dad didn't leave me anything," Kelly spat out.

The 'she' had been the answer, the connection. The voice, that dreaded, new voice.

Nick's bad feeling was growing. Kelly wasn't acting like someone afraid to go to prison and saying anything she needed to, to get out of it. He'd seen that plenty of times, and this was something different.

"He never would have done that. He loved me," Kelly continued. There wasn't a hint of regret in her voice. Not a hint she thought she'd done anything wrong.

"So you kill her?"

Nick glanced over at Sophia. He'd forgotten the detective was even in the room. At least she'd found her voice. Nick was standing still, feeling strangely dazed and paralyzed. Too many bits of information floating in the room for him to get a handle on any one.

"The ransom was her idea! She didn't get the money! She took it from me!" Kelly yelled this, and Nick realized she was yelling at him.

He remained oddly unaffected, staring blankly at her. Nothing she had to say was going to make a difference now. Doesn't really matter now.

Sophia shot a look Nick's way, and was apparently alarmed by what she saw. She frowned, started moving forward to end this tirade, hand reaching for her cuffs, when Kelly Gordon's eyes suddenly widened and her body stiffened. The woman fell back onto her bed.

Sophia rushed forward but it was already too late. She yelled into her walkie as Kelly's body was wracked with violent spasms, and Nick was immediately freed from his trance. His eyes darted wildly around the small room as he ran to the table against the wall, spotting various pill bottles.

No, no, no, he thought desperately. Someone in this story's gonna pay for what they did. Nick read the names on the amber bottles and called them out to Sophia.

"She's ODing!" he called pointlessly over his shoulder, fumbling with the bottles. "Vicodin, INH, and methadone."

Nick turned to where Sophia was huffing, attempting to administer CPR, but he could already see it was a hopeless cause. He looked down at the bottles in his hands and took a stumbling step back, colliding with the table.

There was nothing left. There was no one else. Grissom had wanted it to be over, and he got what he wanted, just like always.

Nick stood back against the table and watched Sophia as she tired from the pointless effort to save Kelly Gordon. He could have taken over, but it wouldn't have helped. Doesn't really matter now.

A few more moments and Sophia made a small, frustrated sound, and Nick knew it was done. Over.

The detective pulled her hands away and flexed her fingers. She looked at Nick and shook her head slightly, wiping a hand over her forehead.

"She's gone," the detective said. "It's over."

Nick nodded. It was over in more way than Sophia knew. He looked down and realized he was still holding the pill bottles. He had all of the pieces. He knew all of the answers. And still. Doesn't really matter now.

Turns out, it did matter, and more than he wanted it to. He was amazed he'd made it this far. It really was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, with the possible exception of pretending he didn't care. Like it didn't hurt. It hurt, bad, but Nick kept telling himself it was the right thing. It was what he needed to do.

And it had been working well enough to get him through the week, but Warrick had managed to break something down in him that night. Brought all of the emotions up from where they'd been safely hiding, and he'd admitted his doubts. Not in so many words, but he'd given Warrick the opportunity to try and salvage something, to fix things. To fix him, although he wasn't sure it was him that needed fixing this time. It was Grissom, and the man wasn't exactly broken, but maybe had a piece missing.

Through all of the anger, frustration, exhaustion, and disappointment, or maybe despite it all, Nick hoped he found it. Immediately as the thought crossed his mind, the light turned green. As did every light between that intersection and his house.


Gil looked up, startled, at the sound of approaching footsteps. He half-expected to actually see Nick come stomping in again. Or maybe he just half-hoped it. Since dropping that bomb on him, Nick had been avoiding Gil like he carried some form of airborne disease. Who was he kidding, maybe he did. Was stupidity contagious? What about careless abandonment of your friends in their time of need?

At any rate, it wasn't Nick, but Warrick, who barreled in, slightly rumpled and winded, slamming the door behind him.

"Have you figured it out yet?" he demanded.

"Figured what out yet?"

Warrick was not to be trifled with, not in the bottom of the ninth. "What you're going to do to get Nick to stay."

Gil sat back heavily. "Warrick, there's nothing I can do."

"That is not true." Warrick walked back and forth in front of Gil's desk. "All this is, is a cry for attention." He stopped and faced Gil. "Your attention."

Gil shook his head. "No."

"Yes, Grissom. You haven't been around him nearly as much lately. He doesn't want to do this."

"Well, those are two different things."

"I can't stand here and believe you're just going to let him walk out of here. Damn it, Grissom, it's Nick!"

"I know that, Warrick!" Gil said loudly. He wasn't who was more surprised by the outburst, Warrick or himself.

Warrick recovered in the blink of an eye. "Then why aren't you doing anything about it? You're holed up in here like the sky is falling." He frowned. "There isn't anything out there that can hurt you, Gris. There's more damage being done by your keeping out of it."

Gil regarded the other man silently. Everything Warrick was saying was making sense, but he wasn't sure he was capable of fixing the situation they'd found themselves in. Too many coinciding events had chosen the exact wrong moment to happen.

The B and E. The tape. Kelly Gordon. Things that separately could possibly have been easily overcome, but one right after another, and with Gil in the picture…well, he always managed to take a bad situation and make it exponentially worse. He definitely didn't know how to fix this on his own.

Warrick's frown deepened at the lack of response. "Just tell him that you want him to stay."

"It's more complicated than that."

"How do you know?"

"Because I tried that," Gil said quietly.

He stood in the doorway and glanced down at his shoes. He was positive Nick knew he was in the room, and had been for the past few minutes, and yet he was ignoring him, focusing his full attention on checking his gun and getting ready for the night's shift. His regular routine was taking much longer than usual.

Nick checked the cartridge on his gun a little too pointedly and Gil felt a bit uneasy. Maybe he should wait for Nick to put the gun away before he tried to speak with him. "Nick."

Nick's eyes ticked over briefly, and he returned his attention to something inside his locker. "Didn't see you there," he said hollowly.

Gil had a feeling in his gut that he wasn't actually doing anything, just stalling. It wasn't a good sign, and he wasn't about to waste any more time. "Nick, I know a lot has happened to you in a very short amount of time, but we can work through our – "

"Grissom?" Nick interrupted, turning toward him. "Could we not have this little lecture moment right now? It's not really how I like to start my night." He punctuated the statement with the harsh bang of his locker shutting and moved to leave the room.

Gil grabbed his arm as he tried to pass. "Nick, I want you to stay."

There was a beat, during which Nick stared at the hand on his arm.

"Why? For what?" Nick finally asked.

And again, Gil couldn't seem to find the words Nick wanted to hear. "We need you here," he said, hoping to relay the collective thoughts of his team. Thinking maybe that would help things.

Nick gave a small, sad smile. "You guys did fine without me over the summer, and you'll do fine without me now." He pulled his arm away and walked heavily out into the hall.

"Then you try again," Warrick said harshly, bringing Gil back to the present. "And again, and again, and again. You do anything, anything you need to, to keep him in this lab, you hear me?"

Such an outburst was not unprecedented. He and Nick were closer than anyone else in the lab, and he was likely to be the most affected by Nick absence. Or would he?

Gil sighed. "I can't make Nick's decisions for him."

"This is the wrong decision, and you know it."

"Yes."

"What?" Warrick asked, pausing in his pacing.

"Yes," Gil repeated. "It's the wrong decision. It's wrong for him, and it's wrong for us. I know that, Warrick."

"Then why aren't you doing anything about it?"

"And what would you like me to do? Nothing I say to him is going to change his mind." Gil was resigned to that fact. He'd tried to the best of his abilities to reach out to Nick lately and each time it'd gone more horribly than the time before.

"All we can do is try to make the best of the rest of the week," he said softly, and it pained him to say it.

Warrick's anger was fading away; Gil could see it in his eyes. "You're wrong, Grissom. You're so wrong. Anything you say to him is going to change his mind. Tell him what he means to us, but more than that, what he means to you. And you gotta show him, man."

Warrick had chosen just the right words to do it. To click everything into place and pick up on one of Gil's most secret insecurities.

"What does Nick Stokes mean to you?"

The question he'd heard in his head over and over and over again. He thought he'd known then, but he hadn't. Not really. How many times was he going to have to almost lose his CSI before he could articulate the words? Not another time.

"You haven't been around him nearly as much lately."

He heard it clearly, it was as if Warrick had said it again. Gil looked up at Warrick, standing statue-still, still breathing somewhat heavily, and he started to formulate a plan.


To be continued...