Chapter Twenty: Miles to Go
Nick sat. He wasn't really sure what else he was supposed to do, which was pretty funny considering. In no way was it the first time he'd been part of a situation like this. None of it was new. Not the gun, not the emotionally unstable person wielding it, not the presence of Jim Brass and/or Gil Grissom…but this was different. It was the first time Nick hadn't been on the other end of the gun, the first time he wasn't the one needing saving.
His brain didn't seem to be willing to carry out any higher levels of processing at the moment, so he sat in the hall and waited for it to catch up to him. There was something stiff and uncomfortable about sitting in one of those chairs where loved ones waited for news, good or bad, where people waited to be processed. Nick didn't want to be processed, he just wanted to sit. So he slid to the floor, crossed his legs, leaned his head against the wall, and sat.
Brass came up and stood next to him. Just stood with his hands in his pockets, and he knew the detective was worried about him. Something about Jim Brass: he didn't just stand, and there had never been a time Nick could recall when the man had been rendered speechless. He always had something to say, but not now. He just stood, so Nick just sat, and stared at the detective's shoes. You could tell a lot about a person from their shoes, and Brass's were so shiny, Nick could practically see himself in them.
The two of them, though the conversation was mostly one-sided and carried on by mostly Brass, had spent a decent chunk of time talking to Barnett. If the man was an emotional mess before, there were no words to describe what he'd become over the course of the night. He was a blabbering mess, and didn't seem to really understand what had just happened in the parking lot. Nick sure understood the feeling.
He and Brass had a little pow-wow in the detective's office and, without Grissom's vote, came to the consensus the supervisor wouldn't want charges brought against the man. Brass was still plenty pissed at Barnett and had a uniform escort him to a cell for the night, for him to calm down. It was now well after two in the morning and it felt like he'd been there forever.
Nick couldn't take the sitting and the standing and the silence any longer, and he looked up at Brass, craning his neck to do so.
"We did it wrong," he said quietly. Nick wasn't sure where the words came from, but they came from somewhere inside of him, low and honest.
Brass gave him a small smile and with a sigh and creaking knees, lowered himself to the floor next to Nick. "I think that's an understatement," he said, just as low and honest.
Nick nodded and glanced down at the floor, studying the pattern in the tiling. There were a lot of things being understated lately, or not stated at all.
"You know I'm not the one you need to talk to."
Nick looked over sharply at Brass. Maybe that was the reason he was still sitting there. Delaying the inevitable. The talk, and the questions. Heaven forbid, maybe even the answers. He knew what he was supposed to do. He knew what was expected of him. He knew what the questions were going to be. It was the answers that scared him, because he couldn't give the same answers he'd been giving the past few months. And for his sake, he couldn't hear the same answers he'd been hearing for the past few months.
Nick guessed his stare wasn't really all that blank because Brass smiled knowingly and jerked his head towards the doors. Nick started to stand, to stretch his legs, to leave, to run…it was still up in the air, and he paused when he felt a hand on his arm, frozen in an awkward crouch.
"Everything'll be all right, kid," Brass said in that perfect way of his. It was stern enough to be a command, yet gentle enough to be taken with the comfort and understanding with which it was meant. It was just Brass, and it just worked.
"Sounds good," Nick mumbled noncommittally.
No matter how much better Brass made him feel, he wasn't ready to believe the clouds were about to open and a rainbow was going to stretch over Vegas. He knew better than that.
He paused, sensing the captain had more to say on the matter, as they always did, but the man simply smiled widely.
"I'm never getting up off this floor," Brass said, shaking his head.
Nick laughed lightly and held out a hand to help the poor man up. Brass thanked him and, rubbing his knees, started down the hall. Nick watched him leave before setting off in the opposite direction. He wasn't sure where he was going to go, just heading out because he was done there. 'Home' was a very appealing thought.
Nick's walk out of the building was stopped short as soon as he pushed open one of the double doors leading out of the station, and he stood holding it open. It wasn't that he hadn't given any thought as to where Grissom had gone to over the past hour, he just hadn't expected to stumble upon the man sitting on the steps right outside the building. He figured Gris had gone home, had hoped he'd gone home. He wasn't ready for the talk.
Nick wordlessly released the door and let it swing shut behind him, clicking loudly into the latch and announcing his presence.
Grissom looked up, startled by the sound, but didn't speak.
Nick stared back silently for a long moment. "Were you waiting?" he finally asked. It was an odd thought, but he didn't know what to do with his hands. He let them hang limply at his sides.
Grissom gave a small nod, his own hands fumbling with themselves between his knees. "Yeah." It was a voice so small and unsure Nick had trouble believing it was coming from Grissom.
"Okay." And with that, Nick found himself taking a seat next to his boss on the cold, concrete steps.
They didn't say anything for a good long while, just stared out at the parking lot or at some piece of gravel that had made its way to the steps, carried on the bottom of a shoe. Nick watched a few cars pass on the highway, oddly fascinated by them.
Grissom swallowed, and threw the first pitch. Underhanded and lofty. "Thanks."
Nick nodded. Ball one.
The next was a curve ball, low and outside. "How do you feel?"
Nick gave an unconscious shrug, and perhaps an even more unconscious laugh. He let his mouth answer for him, brain still down and out. "Like I'm on a slow boat to China."
Strike one. Grissom cracked a small, uncomfortable smile, obviously not sure what to do with such a response. "And, uh…and are you still thinking about jumping ship?" Fast ball this time, right across the plate.
Nick's initial response was a sigh. Long and frustrated, and for a moment he thought Grissom was going to leave so as not to upset him further. But it wasn't Grissom he was frustrated with, not now. Not about this. It was himself. In all honesty, leaving the lab wasn't even an option anymore, if he had really ever been serious about it. It had taken all of two and a half seconds to come to that conclusion. He had a feeling Grissom already knew, and had probably known well before he asked the question. Grissom just had that way about him. He knew things before you did.
Nick stared at a small rock close to his foot and nudged it with the toe of his boot. He was avoiding saying it, and wasn't really sure why. Not with what he'd just said to Kevin Barnett, with Grissom in such close proximity. What he'd admitted to. There was no way to avoid these things anymore. He'd told Grissom that same thing only days before, and he was going to keep up his end.
Nick kicked the rock away and sighed again. "I would never have been able to go through with it," he said.
He felt a hand grip his arm and looked up. Grissom's face was serious. "No, Nick," he said, shaking his head.
Nick felt his heart plummet as Grissom agreed with him. He started to look away once more, but Grissom continued, causing him to pause again.
"No, Nick," he repeated. "You would have been able to go through with it. And you would have been just fine. We wouldn't have been able to do it. Not without you."
Warrick was pacing. He cracked his knuckles, rolled his neck, rotated his shoulders, and he paced, because he wasn't sure what else to do with the nervous energy radiating through his body. As soon as he'd hung up the phone with Brass, he'd wanted to race out of the lab as fast as he could. If Catherine hadn't been in the room at the time, he might have done so.
"It's over, Warrick," she said firmly, and not for the first time. "Rushing over there isn't going to do anything. Just wait for them to get back." She sounded way too calm for Warrick's liking.
"He had a gun, Cath," he said, making the turn at the break room door. "He was going to…he was gonna – "
"I know!" Catherine interjected loudly and emotionally.
Warrick glanced at her sharply, and she bit her lip.
"I know," she repeated, much softer. "But there isn't anything you can do about it now."
She was right, and he knew it. But it was Gris, and it was Nick, and it was a loony with a gun, and Warrick would never, ever get used to a situation with those factors. You would think he would be used to it, too, as often as it happened. This time was sending over the edge, mostly because he had no idea where things were going to go from this point. It could very likely be the thing to push Nick over the edge right along with him. Nick was on the fence about leaving, and this little confrontation at the station could have very well made up his mind for him, and not in the way Warrick was hoping for.
He checked his watch and shook his head impatiently. "They should be back by now."
Catherine sighed. "Warrick, stop it."
"How can you be so calm?" he asked harshly, making another rotation at the counter and mini-fridge.
"I'm not," Catherine said, frowning. She shifted in her seat at the table. "Would you just stop moving?" she asked testily. She brought a hand up and massaged her temple. "You're giving me a headache."
"You don't have to be in here."
"No, I don't."
"Then why are you?" Warrick snapped, turning again at the door.
Catherine's eyes narrowed. "You're not angry with me."
Warrick glared at her, then sighed. He took the turn at the counter slower this time. "No."
"So then don't be angry with me."
"Sorry. It's just…"
"I know." Catherine stood and moved to the doorway, blocking Warrick's well-beaten pacing path.
He stopped in front of her. "He's gonna leave, Cath," he said, meeting her eyes.
She didn't say anything, just shook her head.
"You don't know that."
Catherine sighed. "No," she said. "But I know Grissom. And Grissom won't let him."
Gil sat, not really sure what else it was he supposed to do in this situation. This time, he wasn't the one handling things, the one leading the nutjob with the gun away. He was the one left behind to collect himself, to get his breathing under control, to slow his heart rate to a healthier pace. It was different, and it didn't take as long for Gil to calm himself as he would have thought. He found himself wondering how long it had taken Nick. He hadn't really found out, that night five years ago, and couldn't help thinking that it had probably taken much longer.
Gil sighed. He'd wanted the cool spring night air to clear his mind. He'd wanted to walk around and collect himself and his thoughts when he'd left the building. And that sure as hell was what he was getting, thoughts racing. Gil didn't feel up to walking anymore, though, so he sat. He collapsed on the steps outside the station. They were cold and hard and not at all comforting, but they were solid, and Gil needed that. He sat, hands clasped between his knees, feeling the chill of the breeze through his light jacket.
"He lied to me. He betrayed me. He told me the things I wanted to hear, but it was all just lies."
Those words might as well have come from Nick's mouth, the way they ripped so mercilessly at Gil's heart. And Nick's response, that had been even worse.
"I know."
The way the words caught in his throat. From the truth and the knowingness that Nick had admitted. And it had gotten worse still.
"He did what he thought was right. He was trying to help you."
Gil rubbed a hand over his face. He couldn't stop replaying the moment. It was more than the panic and the fear and the guns. It was the words. All of the words and the certainty that had come with them. Like a package deal, two stabs for the price of one.
"He didn't do anything to you. He just did what he felt was right."
Three stabs. Nick hadn't been speaking only to Kevin Barnett. Nick had made that perfectly clear, taking that step to the side so that Gil was in his eye line. Not directly, but enough for Gil to get the message. Those words, all of them, had been meant for his ears, as well.
And they were all so wrong. Nick was so wrong.
It was odd, hearing Nick agree with the defense Gil had spent months creating for himself, and it all sounded so wrong. Gil supposed he didn't realize how weak that defense really was until he heard it out loud.
"I did what I thought was right."
Lame.
"I was trying to help you."
Even worse.
"I was trying to protect you."
He couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to say that. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Nick was right, that wasn't his job. Nick wasn't someone Gil needed to protect; he wasn't someone that needed protecting at all. If he'd proven anything of himself over the past few years it was that he was capable of anything, and of making it through any curveball life threw at him.
And if Gil had proven anything of himself over the past few years, it was that he was uniquely capable of underestimating Nick. Over and over and over. And it seemed he'd done a fair job of teaching Nick to underestimate himself.
"I never would have been able to go through with it."
There were so many things wrong with that statement, Gil didn't even know where to begin. He laid a hand on Nick's arm, and gave it a squeeze. "No, Nick."
Nick started to look away but Gil wouldn't let him. "No, Nick. You would have been able to go through with it. And you would have been just fine. We wouldn't have been able to do it. Not without you."
Nick frowned, and Gil thought for a second that he was going to laugh. At least he had Nick's attention, and while he had it, he was going to take full advantage of it.
"Nick," he said, fighting to maintain eye contact. If ever there was a time to not wuss out, it was now. "I did some things very wrong. I handled some things very badly."
Nick smiled sadly. "I handled them worse."
"No," Gil said sternly. "You did the best you could with what you had. With what I left you with." He held Nick's gaze firmly. "I was wrong. I'm sorry."
Those were the magic words. The ones he'd been waiting to hear. And there was something about them that seemed so out of place.
Grissom was sorry. Grissom was admitting that what he had done was wrong, and he was sorry for it. Great. Truly and deep down inside, that couldn't possibly have been all he was after.
Nick had come to the place where he understood. Somehow, and completely unexpected, he understood the position Grissom had fancied himself in and, right or wrong, how he'd made a choice based on what he thought and felt. He'd tried to help, tried to protect. It was still frustrating to think Grissom felt he'd needed to protect Nick from the tape. The damned tape wasn't going to do anything to him.
Maybe he'd thought he was protecting Nick from himself, and that was the saddest thought in the world. He wasn't fragile. He could have handled the information Grissom had been keeping from him. So what if there was another voice, an accomplice; it hadn't been about Nick. And that's why Grissom was apologizing. Because he had gotten it wrong, and he knew it.
"Okay." All of the thoughts that had run through Nick's head, all the things there were to say, and that was all he could manage. He'd thought he would be yelling by now.
Grissom seemed to be having a similar line of thinking, because he frowned and leaned back. "Okay…"
Those few words couldn't really make everything better, and Nick told him so. "It's not fixed, Gris."
Grissom nodded slowly, though he looked uncertain. "I know."
"It's not okay."
"I know."
Things weren't okay. Not yet, and not by a long shot. But they were going to be. And that was enough for now.
Word had circulated quickly, and walking back into the lab proved to be more difficult than either of them had anticipated. Nick wished he would have gone home instead, as he was subjected to a group ambush, and more hugging than he knew what to do with. Surprisingly, he found it didn't bother him as much as it had the last time.
Nick detached himself from Sara and took a step back, giving himself some room to breathe. She then took the opportunity to launch herself at an unsuspecting Grissom, who grunted and staggered. With an uncomfortable smile, he patted her on the back before more or less pushing her away.
"We're okay, Sara," he said once he had her at a safe distance.
"I know," she replied. She seemed embarrassed, avoiding everyone's eyes and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"When we heard what happened – " Catherine began, but Grissom cut her off quickly.
"You know, I don't really want to talk about it anymore tonight."
They all looked at Nick, and he nodded his agreement.
"Okay," Catherine said. "Sure, that makes sense. We should have thought about that."
"But you guys are okay?" Warrick asked, face filled with concern.
Grissom glanced at Nick, who again nodded. He nodded, as well. "Yeah."
A collective sigh of relief was breathed by all in the room. And then that breath was sucked right back in.
"Hell of a last case, huh?" Greg asked. He was always there to say whatever it took to make a moment as uncomfortable as possible.
Nick stared at him for a long moment. And everyone else stared at Nick, and waited.
To be continued...
