Chapter Nineteen: The Best Part of "Believe"

Nick might have been feeling a little, or a lot, less like himself lately, a little worn down, but his ears were still in perfect working order, and they burned as they picked up Catherine's remarks and the light laughter she shared with Warrick at his expense. He supposed it wasn't really that offensive a comment, and maybe his friends needed a little humor to lighten the mood - and to be quite honest, they weren't necessarily wrong - but he was still left annoyingly embarrassed and agitated. Like it wasn't bad enough he was so disoriented that he could barely follow what he was saying, but here he was, hearing that he was sounding like Gil Grissom. He needed that like he needed shot in the foot.

Thankfully, he wasn't the only one left embarrassed by the comments and laughter. Grissom certainly took his time turning back to face him, shifting his weight uncomfortably when he finally did.

This time, it was Grissom who averted his eyes, who found his safe spot on the floor to stare at. "I'm going to check with Jim and see where we stand with getting this Sean Ammerman brought in to the station."

Nick nodded. It was just as well. Maybe if he was left alone he could actually get some work done. "Let me know."

Grissom paused in the doorway. "It's just something I'm trying, Nick."

That came out of left field. What the hell? Nick didn't even know if he cared. So what if Grissom threw on the empathy switch for once; that wasn't his issue.

"Why?" He would have been happy with squinting, maybe just frowning, but the word flew out of his mouth without his permission. Something about his subconscious was annoyingly attached to Gil Grissom.

"Because it works for you." Grissom spoke so matter-of-factly, it was like he was reading a statement from a textbook. Like just because he was saying it, it had to be true.

No, Nick thought, slightly shaking his head. It doesn't work for me, because I catch shit for it. Always have. He hadn't even found out the names of Kevin Barnett's little girls. He didn't know why he hadn't, didn't know why he'd been so withdrawn on this case.

Nick squeezed his pen so tightly on his hand, his fingernails dug into his palm. He wasn't sure if he was meant to respond to such a ludicrous statement, if he was supposed to feel awestruck by Grissom's thoughtfulness. What do you want from me, Gris?

Nick looked down at the shoe treads spread on the tabletop in front of him. He'd lifted them from the kitchen floor in the Barnett house. It was the closest thing to evidence they had on this trying case. Trying in more than one way, and one of those ways was staring him in the face right now. Or would be, if Nick ever brought himself to look up again.

Nick swallowed. Grissom was still staring, he could tell. Everyone was always staring at him. Always on display.

Grissom made the decision for him. "Come and get me if you find out anything."

"Okay," Nick replied thickly. He didn't have to respond. He didn't have to worship.

Grissom left the room and Nick glared down at the print of the show tread, and the catalog of treads next to it. He couldn't seem to focus. If it always took him this long to find a match, then he was a pretty piss-poor excuse for a CSI. Well, you don't have to worry about that for too much longer, do ya?

Nick threw his pen down onto the desktop and rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to think about anything ever again. He just wanted to be left alone, with no one staring at him, talking to him, watching and waiting for him to make a move, playing games with his head. He just wanted to shut the door and sit at the table and solve the damned case. That's all he owed to anyone.

Shit. Maybe he really was turning into Grissom. Or maybe he just finally understood the appeal of a quiet room to yourself when you head was buzzing with so much noise you were afraid it would just spin right off your neck.

And maybe he had more to learn than he thought.


"Hey, man, get off me!"

Sean Ammerman was not at all what Jim had expected. For a suspect whom Kevin Barnett was so sure had murdered his wife in cold blood, Sean was a wiry, pimply kid who looked to be about nineteen years old, certainly no more than that, and it was taking something that could hardly be called force to keep him under control as he was led into the police station. Despite his size, the kid was still putting up a fight. More of a fight than he would expect from someone claiming innocence.

"I didn't do anything!" he yelled at Jim as the two officers gripping his skinny arms led him past the detective and into an interrogation room.

Jim cast a sidelong glance at Nick, standing to his right. "They always say that," he remarked drily, with a smile.

Nick stared blankly at the door the kid and officers had gone through, no visible evidence on his face that he'd even heard the comment. Or, for that matter, that he was even aware what was going on around him.

Jim frowned and reached out his hand, touching the CSI's elbow. Nick simply turned his head, blank stare still in place.

Frown deepening, Jim gave Nick's elbow a light squeeze. "Hey, kid. You okay?"

Nick shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Which reason do you want today? "You look a little…" Jim trailed off, not even able to articulate what he was seeing in Nick's drawn face.

Nick turned his head away and mumbled something that sounded like, "Like Grissom."

"What?"

"Nothin'. Let's get this over with." Nick stepped forward and entered the room.

Jim was taken aback by this new Nick he'd been seeing lately. This was not a Nick Stokes attitude to have with regards to a case. But then again, the kid had been through a lot lately, and he dealt with things the way he dealt with things, and Jim wasn't in any position to judge. That didn't mean he couldn't be concerned – that was Uncle Brass's job.

He stayed in the hall a moment longer, moving down to the window into the interrogation room, and watched as Nick sat down across from Sean.


Nick had a look like he was starting to go stir-crazy sitting in the lab, so Gil had given him the opportunity to get out for a bit, and go to the station to interview Sean Ammerman. The fact still remained that Nick was better with people than he was, even murder suspects. Usually. There was the incident with the McBride case, and Gil had attributed that uncharacteristic outburst to the fact Nick had gotten too close to the little girl, though she'd still been missing at that point. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong.

Whether he'd been right or wrong in that instance, this was another chance to show Nick some trust and respect with regards to his abilities as a CSI. Letting him interview the suspect, the only name Kevin Barnett had been able to give them. A kid from the neighborhood whom he'd said had made some threat after Kevin had accidentally backed into him pulling out of the driveway the previous week.

Turns out this was just another good deed gone unseen, and it didn't really matter who'd conducted the interview, because they'd come up empty. Nick had been back for a little over an hour and Gil hadn't heard a peep out of him. He could only assume their case was slowly going to hell in a hand basket. But the case wasn't the only thing he was worried about.

Nick was quiet. Too quiet. He looked tired, and…done. Like whatever was going on inside his head was too much and he'd put the 'out to lunch' sign up on his forehead.

Gil was no longer floundering for ideas. He didn't need ideas or theories or plans. He just needed to be there, because there were things needing fixing, and it was going to take more than just called a man by his first name to show Nick that he was capable of compassion. And Kevin Barnett was not the person he needed to be compassionate towards. They would wrap up this case, no more antics, and then Gil would talk to Nick and see where they stood.

"Grissom?"

It almost startled him, hearing Nick's voice. Almost, except he'd been watching his door like a hawk. "Yeah, Nick. Come in."

Nick stepped into the office, holding out a paper. Gil could make out the lab's seal in the top left-hand corner. A report. The purpose of this visit was their case, and nothing more.

Gil took the paper and frowned, scanning its contents.

"Sorry, man, but everything we've got is inclusive." Nick sighed and crossed his arms. "We've got nothing to hold the kid."

Gil set the paper aside and rubbed the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses. This wasn't happening. "This is our only suspect, Nick."

Nick nodded. "Yeah."

"This is the only name we have."

"I know."

"I told Mr. Barnett that we were going to find the killer."

"I know."

There was more of an edge in Nick's tone this go-round. A thinly veiled accusation, a need to know what the hell Gil was thinking. And Gil didn't know what he was thinking, and he got it. He looked up into Nick's face and he got it. He understood how it felt to be on the other side of this lecture. How he came across to other people, from the edge in those two words. He knew he'd messed up.

How do you do it, Nicky? How do you do this? There was a reason Gil didn't do the kinds of things he'd stupidly done with Kevin Barnett. More than the fact it was unprofessional, but because life was unpredictable, and the very second you opened your mouth to tell someone you were going to make everything better was just beckoning the powers that be to screw with you.

Gil was certainly being screwed right now. He pondered the evidence they had, which was very little. Shoe treads, and that wasn't going to catch a killer. "Can you trace the purchase?"

"Of the shoes? It'd be pointless. We'd get too many hits to be able to sort through."

"What about the warrant?"

Nick shifted his weight from foot to foot and Gil knew his chances of hearing good news was growing worse and worse. "It's already served. Checked all of Sean's shoes and came up with nothin'."

Gil pressed harder on his nose. "What else do we have?" he asked, and was answered with silence. "We have nothing?"

Nick swallowed. "Gris, we have a killer we're only assuming is male, who took the murder weapon with him, wore a mask, gloves, and a very popular pair of sneakers…"

"Which we can't find in the possession of our only suspect," Gil finished. "So we have nothing."

"Yeah," Nick confirmed quietly.

Gil drew his hand away from his face and looked up at Nick. "I told him we were going to find his wife's killer."

"I know."

Gil continued to pull at the loose strings in his mind, unconsciously rubbing at his beard. "What about his alibi?"

"Checked out. He was at work until midnight."

"You talked to his boss?"

Nick sighed patiently. "Yeah, Gris. I've done this before."

"I know, I just…"

"I know."

Gil sat forward in his chair. "I should talk to him."

"Yeah."

How do you do this, Nicky? Why can't I do this? Gil waited for the 'I told you so,' but it never came.

Nick stood for just a moment longer, arms still crossed. He rocked back a bit on his heels. "Is that it for this case?" he asked hesitantly.

"I don't know," Gil said, shaking his head. "For now, I suppose. Unless we find something else."

Nick nodded slowly, and Gil saw it in his eyes. It could very well be their last case together, and it was a bust. The bad guy beat them.

"I could go back to the house," Nick offered with a small attempt at a nonchalant shrug.

Gil took a breath. "I think I should talk to Kevin Barnett before we do anything else."

"Yeah."


It was a slow night, nearing one in the morning, and there were less than a dozen vehicles spotting the parking lot outside of the police station as Gil made his way out of the building. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his CSI windbreaker and exhaled deeply, his breath clouding in the cool night air.

It hadn't been the most pleasant trip to the station. Things were harder when you tried to connect with people, especially when you did it for the wrong reasons. Gil guessed he'd never really understood until now the weight Nick carried with him, trying to make that connection with everyone he met.

Kevin Barnett had sat silently while Gil spoke. While he told him that he'd said things he shouldn't have, that they didn't have the answers, that they didn't have a suspect, and it didn't look like they were going to be able to catch the killer. He saw more staring back at him in those unblinking, lifeless blue eyes. Those eyes were telling him that they were horrible CSIs, and he was a horrible person, and just wanting to know why.

Kevin had left the station about forty minutes earlier, and Gil had stayed behind, just to sit and think. However, the plastic chairs along the hall of the station weren't ideal for quiet reflection, and Gil had finally managed to force himself to leave.

Gil paused about ten feet from his vehicle. He didn't want to go back to the lab and have to face Nick, not like this. Not after this. What he really wanted to do was walk around aimlessly in the cool, crisp spring night air and attempt to get his head back on straight. Figure out what he'd done wrong, done right, and shouldn't have tried to do at all.

"Mr. Grissom?"


Nick trotted down the front steps of the crime lab, taking them two at a time, and rotated his neck. He was doing that a lot these days. He surveyed the parking lot. Grissom was supposed to have made a quick run to the station to speak with Kevin Barnett and should have been back already, but his car wasn't in the lot.

Nick glanced at his watch and sighed. It had been well over an hour, pushing two. No new cases had come in and his help hadn't been needed by any of the others, so Nick had literally nothing to do. He was ready to take off for the night, but needed to talk to Grissom before he could do that.

More had happened in the past two nights than he'd thought possible. It was like a soap opera, Grissom trying to act like Nick, Nick apparently behaving like Grissom…and it wasn't working for either of them. If that wasn't an afterschool special in the making, Nick didn't know what was.

Walk a mile in someone else's shoes, Nick thought, shaking his head. Nick got enough exercise, thank you very much. But still.

Nick walked over to his truck and leaned stiffly against it. He closed his eyes and knocked his head back lightly against the window, maybe hoping to knock some sense into himself. There was no way he was going to be able to leave things like they were; it wasn't who he was. Grissom was trying to say something, to make a gesture, and he should at least stick around long enough to see what exactly his boss was trying to do. Nick unlocked the door and hopped into the driver's seat.

Maybe if Grissom hadn't decided to head home, he could still catch him at the station.


Gil had to squint to make out the figure standing on the other side of the car. The dusky yellow glow of the parking lot lighting wasn't exactly ideal for peering into shadows and identifying faces. But this face was familiar. "Mr. Barnett?"

"She was my life," came the reply. Low and calm, and Kevin Barnett began to move around the front of the vehicle with slow, heavy steps.

Gil swallowed, eyes narrowing further. This wasn't what he was good at, as had already been established. He couldn't comfort this man. "Mr. Barnett, I'm very sorry for your loss – "

"Are you?" Kevin asked coldly, cocking his head. "Are you sorry?" he spat. "Or is that just what they teach you say to calm us down?"

Gil exhaled deeply. He could hear Nick's voice in his head, saying the things he never really would. What were you thinking, Gris? This was all a mistake. I told you so.

"I am truly sorry, Mr. Barnett. I know how this must seem. I never should have said those things – "

"What things? That you were going to find Laura's killer? That he was going to pay? That you promised?" Kevin Barnett was no longer speaking in a low, steady tone. His voice was gaining in both volume and pitch, and Gil took an unconscious step back.

"And what now?" Kevin continued, taking another heavy step forward to match. "You tell me that you can't find her killer? Her murderer. So what do I have now? I have nothing. I have no justice. No peace of mind." He paused, a dark glint in his blue eyes. "How does that make you feel? It might have been easier, if hadn't said those things."

Gil was speechless. Even his mind was blank. He couldn't think of anything to say to this man. "Mr. Barnett – "

"What happened to 'Kevin'? Was that just to shut me up, too?"

He shouldn't have even tried, because the man in front of him, slowly stepping forward to match every step Gil took back, was not be reasoned with in this emotional state.

Kevin Barnett raised his right hand, and Gil raised his head, eyes widening. Comfort and understanding weren't at all what this man was looking for.


The feeling hit Nick the moment he got into his truck. He settled in the seat, reached with his key for the ignition, and had just known. Something was wrong.

Nick tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as he waited at a red light. He wasn't sure what had him so nervous, he just had a bad feeling. Like he wasn't where he was supposed to be, and something somewhere was wrong. The light turned green and Nick hit the accelerator like he was street racing, peeling away from the intersection, leaving an older couple to glare through the windshield of their Ford Taurus.

He was only a mile from the police station when the feeling intensified so much that Nick's breath hitched in his throat. Whatever it was, it was bad. His foot twitched then reflexively pressed harder in the accelerator. Pulling up alongside the station parking lot, Nick could make out two figures standing beneath one of the lights. It was Grissom and someone else he couldn't identify. It didn't matter who it was, because the other person raised an arm and something in his hand glinted in the light.

Gun. That was Nick's first and only thought as he swung the truck into the parking lot with impressive control considering the speed with which he was managing the heavy vehicle.


How frustratingly fitting and ironic this was happening in the parking lot of the police station. There were officers with weapons only about two hundred feet away, but it seemed a world away right now. No one was close, no one was hearing or seeing any of this. He was alone.

Gil raised his hands slowly and steadily, even with his chest. Not that he needed to assure Kevin that he wasn't a threat. Hell, he was unarmed. And an old man. There was no threat there.

In situations like this, Gil's voice had never once betrayed the panic he felt, so he was not surprised to hear his own voice float out into the air, cool and calm and collected as ever. "Mr. Barnett, there's no need for this. You need to put the gun down, and we can talk."

Kevin was obviously unsure and inexperienced with the weapon in his hand, though he held it firmly and kept something of a steady aim. He might have run right out and purchased it after leaving the station, or had it safely tucked away at his house in a drawer somewhere, but either way Gil was certain the man had never held a gun before, let alone point it at another human being. He didn't utter a sound, simply shook his head.

"Mr. Barnett. Kevin – "

Gil was cut off by the screeching of tires as a large black SUV took a hairpin turn into the lot.


Nick didn't think about the cell phone on his belt or the radio in his glove box. He didn't think about calling for help. He didn't think about what he was going to do. All he thought was, gun.

Nick jumped out of the truck and found his own gun in his right hand before another thought could run through his mind. Both Grissom and the other man, who turned out to be Kevin Barnett, much to Nick's surprise, turned to him with wide eyes. Nick didn't look at Grissom, because he could just imagine the look he would get in return. No, Nicky, go back inside. You shouldn't be out this late. It's past your bedtime.

He didn't look at Grissom. He couldn't look at Grissom.

Nick stepped forward, holding out his free hand in a non-threatening manner. "Mr. Barnett," he said, marveling how steady his voice sounded when he was sure it should be shaky. He was certainly feeling anything by calm. "I know you're in pain, but this isn't going to solve anything."

"Neither is he," Kevin said, voice just as surprisingly even. For a man who had seemed to be so utterly broken only hours before, neither his grip nor his aim faltered.

Grissom's eyes darted between the two men, hands still raised.

Nick's heart thundered so loudly, he was sure the other men could hear it. He swallowed, with difficultly. "Mr. Barnett, you need to give me the gun."

Déjà vu, anyone? At least he was one of the ones with a gun this time. Nick felt his stomach flop from the familiarity of the situation. And the irony. Their roles were reversed again. Gil Grissom the victim, and Nick Stokes the rescuer. He wasn't sure it was a role he fit into.

Kevin shook his head slowly, tears of rage and despair filling his blue eyes. "You have no idea," he said through clenched teeth. "No idea."

Wanna try me? Nick adjusted his grip on his gun just the slightest. Not enough to draw any attention to it, just enough to keep a hold of it. His palms had begun to sweat and he didn't want to drop the firearm and give Kevin Barnett an opening neither man knew what he would do with.

"I do," he found himself saying, so softly it went unnoticed by Kevin. But not by Grissom.

The older man's hands lowered slightly as he focused his full attention on Nick, lips parted like he wanted to speak.

"He lied to me," Kevin said to Nick, gesturing at Grissom with the gun. "He betrayed me. He told me things that I wanted to hear, but it was all lies."

Nick's shoulder twitched and he had to adjust his grip on the gun again. "I know," he started, and found the words catching in his throat. It seemed he had more in common with Barnett that he'd thought.

He took a breath and rotated his body just enough to put the blurry outline of Gil Grissom into his field of vision but would not, could not, look directly at him.

"I know it might feel that way," he said, speaking to both men at the same time. "But it's not true. Kevin, he…" Nick bit his lip and struggled to swallow. He refused to focus on Grissom but could feel that piercing gaze. "He did what he thought was right. He was trying to help you."

Nick felt like he was talking to himself. There were two unstable people with guns in that parking lot, after all. He was trying to get to me. He was using you to get to me. Nick fought to maintain eye contact with Kevin. He couldn't look at Grissom. Not right now.

Kevin Barnett barked out a short laugh. "Help? Help? Is this how you people help? By building up someone's hopes and then just…just…" He shook his head, lost in a little world of pain all his own. More tears rushed to his eyes, and Nick saw him lower the gun just a fraction.

Encouraged, Nick's fingers tightened on his own weapon and he took a careful step forward. "Mr. Barnett, this is no time for that gun." He reached out his left hand, keeping aim with his right. "Just let me have it, okay?"

Kevin's hand jerked, face hardening. "But someone needs to pay," he said in a choked voice.

Nick nodded. "Yeah, someone does."

No, no, no, he thought desperately. Someone in this story's gonna pay for what they did.

"But not him." Nick took another step, keeping Grissom out of his direct line of sight. "He didn't do anything to you," he said quietly. "He just did what he thought was right."

"Nick – "

It was the first thing Gris had said since Nick had jumped from his truck, and Nick silenced him with a quick look. Not now, Gris. Let it go. Close your ears. Close your eyes. Just let it go.

Nick turned back to Kevin Barnett. "Just give me the gun, okay? We'll get back on the case. We'll go over every bit of evidence again, and we'll do our best to find your wife's killer, okay? Just let me have that gun."

Kevin stared at him for what felt like a lifetime, thought it was only a moment or two. A minute or two in which Nick's heart galloped and his head buzzed. And he couldn't look at Grissom.

Finally, Kevin bobbed his head in a small sign of acceptance and his right hand went limp. He held out the gun, and Nick moved forward quickly to take it.

"You okay, Gris?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of the man.

"Yeah, Nick," Grissom answered slowly.

Nick nodded, no longer trusting his voice. He reached out and gripped Kevin's elbow firmly. "We're gonna go inside for a bit, okay?"

Kevin Barnett's head bobbed again. Nick nodded, himself, and started for the double doors to the building. He couldn't look back at Grissom, and Grissom didn't follow.


To be continued...