Title: Crash N Burn
Author Note: See profile.
Disclaimer: Angst, slash, violence, sexual content, language.
POV: Nick
Chapter Three: Falling Toward the Sky
The sounds of beeping machinery echoed around the room. The bed underneath me was not exactly comfortable but definitely not uncomfortable. My pillow could have used a fluffing. The blanket wasn't thick and I felt chilly. The bandage on my side created an odd feeling of fragileness, like if I moved just a fraction of an inch I'd rip open a large whole in my side. And that wasn't too far from the truth. I didn't have to open my eyes to know that I lay in hospital bed with IV's sticking in my arms and my body hooked to various machines that did things I didn't understand. I'd been here before and the feeling couldn't be easily forgotten. At least this time I hadn't put myself in here. That little tidbit gave me a moment's relief. Last time, I tried to kill myself and they had had to restrain me, in my own bed. There were no restraints this time. Just the hollow feeling of having lost something near and dear.
At first my mind didn't register the fact that two other people occupied the room too. For some reason I was angered that I couldn't be given a room all to myself. After all, I was an officer. I put my life on the line just doing my damn job. Go figure, I'm not working when I get hurt. The sent of dirt drifts across the room. Mixed in with it was the smell of vegetation and blood. Only one person I know has ever smelled like that; Grissom. His obsession with bugs and work gave him the unique smell on a few occasions. This didn't seem like the proper time for him to be playing with bugs. Not while I'm lying in a hospital bed. Then again, Grissom is kind of bad when it comes to people skills. Makes me wonder how he ended up with his choice of career. He could have found a job with bugs in a museum or something like that. He wouldn't have had to deal with so many people then, he could have worked behind the glass. Away from the swarming thongs of people we get at crime scenes.
From the smell of cologne and floral fabric detergent I deduced that the other presence was Warrick. Ever since he got married his clothes have smelled rather…odd. One week they smelled like fresh rain, the week after that it was a summer's breeze, or so he said. Why his wife just couldn't use an ordinary fabric detergent is beyond me. On a few cases I had worked with him the smell had been too overpowering. He told me he'd talk to his wife about it and apparently, if he had, he lost the battle. Fabric detergent was the least of his problems, though. I saw the way he looked at Catherine. His feelings for her weren't completely gone, they ran too deep into his heart to just disappear with a simple 'I do'.
"What did the doctor have to say about the wound?" Warrick asked in a hushed voice.
Grissom shifted in his seat, the old wooden chair creaked a little. "It wasn't too deep and it missed the kidneys, didn't nick any major arteries either. He'll have a scar but it should heal up nicely. We have to make sure he doesn't rip the stitches though. The doctor is worried about infection."
I imagined Warrick would shake his head at this point. "An infection, that's the last thing we should be worried about."
"Infections after surgery can be life threatening," Grissom said, kicking into full scientist mode. Why must he always do that? Why did he have to hide behind his knowledge instead of showing how he cared for human life? "The infection could lead to Septic Shock, which lowers blood pressure and slows the flow of the blood. The death rate is extremely high, especially because of organ failure. Infections should never be taken lightly, Warrick."
"Okay, okay," Warrick gave up. "I understand that things could go even farther down hill. But I think we need to worry about Greg, too, not just an infection that's currently hypothetical."
Grissom let a few minutes of silence pass before he spoke again. "This case has become a bit disturbing."
"What have the others been able to uncover?"
"I don't like what the evidence is telling us. All that blood in the house belongs to Nick, none of it is Greg's," Grissom said. "Both Sara and Brass inspected the front door and every single window in that house, there's no evidence whatsoever that someone broke in."
Warrick sighed. "Well, what about the bloody handprint on the door?"
"It's Nick's blood but when we ran the prints they came back to Greg. I don't want to believe that Greg would do something like this," he stated. "However, in the last few months I've begun to question the type of person he really is."
At that point I heard Warrick get up and start pacing the floor. Good thing I pretended to be asleep, I hate watching people pace. It's like they think walking back and forth is going to help them think better or speed time up. It does neither. All you're doing is letting the world know that you can't handle the pressure anymore. Never let them see you down; they'll take advantage of you.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I've been working with you and Nick in the field for a fair amount of years now. I know the two of you so well. Believe it or not I think I knew Nick fancied men over women before he did," Grissom began to explain. I could picture Warrick giving him a questioning look of disbelief. "The scientist in me notices things like that. Greg, on the other hand, had been working in the lab and I rarely found myself in the company of him. I was happy when he wanted to try working in the field, he was the top of his class and graduated young. It was time to tap the potential he had inside."
"Sounds to me like you knew him okay," Warrick pointed out.
"Just because you know a few facts about a person's background does not mean you know them entirely, Warrick," he pointed out. "Greg was notorious for telling jokes and doing other somewhat childish things that didn't seem appropriate for the lab. I let them slide because he's damn good at his job. Once out in the field that personality began to disappear. He became a bit more grim."
Warrick laughed, he tried to keep it low so as not to wake the fake-sleeping me. "We all get a bit grim at times. How do you expect people to react when they see the violence that we do day after day? It takes a toll, Griss. Ask Sara and Catherine, they'll tell you the same thing."
"I just have a bad feeling about this whole thing."
"You're letting feelings interfere on a case? That's not like you at all," Warrick said. "Look, I know that you're worried and I know that you're very protective of Nick, we've had this talk, but you can't go doubting Greg."
"I don't want to doubt Greg, Warrick. I'm just looking where the evidence points. There was no forced entry; Nick's blood is the only blood there; Greg can't be located and he won't answer his cell phone. If someone kidnapped him, why haven't they called looking for a ransom or something along those lines?" Grissom mused. "Even when Nick was taken we were contacted. This doesn't make any sense."
Warrick stopped pacing. I know this because his sneakers stopped squeaking on the tile floor. "The evidence says Greg did this to Nick. What does your heart tell you, Grissom?"
Grissom was looking at me; I could feel his eyes on me. "My heart tells me that something has gone terribly wrong. My heart says that Nick was supposed to die and that Greg won't be far behind. That's why I'm not listening to my heart, Warrick, I don't like what it's saying."
"I don't like what it's saying either. Who would want to kill Nick while he sleeps, kidnap Greg, and then kill him in some unknown location?" Warrick asked, sitting back in his chair.
"That's something I would rather not think about. As far as I know we finished up the business of Nick's kidnapping, unless there was a third undisclosed party. The man who stalked him is still in jail, I checked this morning," Grissom explained. "Can you think of anyone who has threatened Nick at any of your investigations?"
Warrick probably shrugged. "If they did, I didn't hear them and he never said anything to me. Something tells me that if he did get threatened at work that he would tell Greg."
"Talking with Greg is not an option, currently," Grissom stated bluntly.
Silence held onto the room for a few minutes while they both thought over the last few months. I found myself doing the same thing. My mind went through each and every scene that I had processed. It went over each word of the conversations that I had with victims and suspects. Nothing jumped out; no one was waving a red flag of possibility. So my mind shifted gears and began to worry about Greg. There hadn't been any problems with us since he moved in, no arguments, maybe a small disagreement but those were always quickly resolved. Life had been going great and bam, the happiness was gone in the blink of an eye. Would Greg have hurt me like this? The simple fact that even I questioned his intentions surprised me. This was the man I had given my heart to, I wouldn't doubt him. But…some things about the evidence didn't make sense. Maybe the others were missing something. They had to be. I just hoped they found it in time to save Greg. Or my heart was going to shatter all over again.
"Do you think he's going to wake-up soon?" Warrick asked after the silence became to daunting; or his thoughts became too troublesome.
"Eventually, but we should really leave, let him rest," Grissom replied. "We need his mind to be fresh when he does wake-up."
I hear the door click shut after they leave. Only then, in the empty silence of my hospital room, do I finally break down and cry. Why does this keep happening to me?