Chapter 1

"What happened?"

Grissom's voice cut clear through his jumbled thoughts where he sat on a plastic chair right by the ER doors. He had never managed to get any further inside as Brass pushed him into the chair and hurried inside, leaving Warrick by the swinging doors. He didn't even have a clear memory of the ride to the hospital or what had happened at the crime scene after they loaded Nick into the ambulance. He remembered losing the content of his stomach, Brass' cursing as he dragged him away and sat him on the passenger seat of his patrol car. Asking him if he needed an ambulance, if he was hurt? He was sure he had protested rather harshly and denied any kind of help. But the scent of Nick's blood had lingered in his nostrils, the picture of his bud lying is a pool of his own blood and that sound, raspy labored breathing that slowed with every passing moment had more or less taken up his entire concentration. He wan't able to shake the terror that had gripped him and held him captive with flashes of mental images combined with smells and sounds assaulting him totally out of his control.

Brass had called Griss and said he'd get in contact with Tina as soon as he got her number. Because Warrick couldn't remember it for the life of him, it seemed so trivial right now. Phone numbers, wife; he wasn't quite capable of grasping anything. He had been offered something to drink while Brass discussed the situation with Vega that had appeared seemingly out of the blue. It all came to him like snippets of a scene from a black and white movie as he sat there, trying to gauge what really had happened.

"Nicky," was all he got out at Grissom's question.

"All right," his boss said, looking at him with a concerned face. "Warrick, I need you to pay attention," he spoke firmly and pulled him up from the chair by gripping his elbow, dragging him further inside. "I need them to look you over Warrick, I've phoned your wife, she's on her way in."

"Nicky," he repeated, his legs oddly numb when he walked with Grissom's hand steering him onwards.

"I don't know Warrick, Cath's trying to get some info. Just sit here, I'll get someone to come take a look at you."

And suddenly he found himself sitting on a gurney, still not capable of collecting himself.

"No need, just – just lemme know about Nick. He was –oh shit, he was bleeding dry Griss!"

The sweet irony smell of fresh blood invaded his senses again, suffocating him with its intensity and closing his eyes all he saw was the white letters on Nick's vest turning a rusty red. His body started shivering again, and he groaned at the lightheadedness that swept through him. If he'd only get rid of the picture of Nick's pale face and blood everywhere he'd be able to fight the nausea and collect himself.

"Hold on Warrick," Grissom said, "you look like you're about to faint."

"All that blood," was all he managed before his field of vision got fuzzier around the edges and he felt Grissom's hand on his neck, forcing his head down. There was a strange deafening sound in his ears, a sound of gunshot, frazzle and over it all, labored slow breaths dying out.

He came to slowly, the voices seeping into his consciousness at first, sounds more than words. But one word made him open his eyes and grit his teeth.

COD.

"Hey Rick," His wife's face swam into his field of vision and he struggled to get up to a sitting position, shaking his head to clear it.

"You got a little low on blood sugar there after the adrenaline rush," Tina said,"forgot to eat?" Her voice was sympathetic and her hand reached out to feel his brow. "It happens after an emotional shock like that, Rick, nothing to be ashamed of."

Warrick blinked twice, wanting to slide under the tiled floor. He fainted? A grown man like him fainted? If Nick ever got wind of this he'd -. The thought brought reality back with full force and he rose to a sitting position, dread filling him anew.

"Nick?" he asked and Tina looked over his shoulder to the woman standing there, watching them. "I'll go get you something to eat," she spoke softly. "Catherine will fill you in."

He followed her gaze and his landed on Cath's drawn face.

"Oh God," he groaned at the sight, "please no."

"Rick no," she said, gripping his wrist to ground him. "We don't know anything yet, he was rushed to the OR and all they've told us is that it's going to be a long procedure."

Warrick bowed his head and massaged the bridge of his nose, "I thought he was dead. He was bleeding all over the place, was he hit in the heart?"

"No, his spleen, lung and probably a vein took the worst. He's – he's hanging on last I heard Rick." She swallowed audibly and her voice was thick when she continued; "it's the bleeding from the liver that's causing them the most trouble. It won't stop."

Warrick shuddered and Cath came to sit right by his side. "He's a fighter, we know that."

"Enough is enough, Cath. He's been fighting a lot already, how much can a man take?"

Cath slid her arm around his waist and rocked him quietly, like he were a child. And Warrick knew he was a substitute for Nicky, that Cath wanted to do this to Nick. Rock him slowly into peace and calm. "I don't know Rick, I just don't know," she spoke when Warrick laid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, acknowledging her need.

"And I faint from low blood sugar" he said, "Christ! Shoot me now and lemme out of my misery. This is embarrassing." He looked up in anger and found his wife standing there, a sandwich and a cup of coffee in her hands. She was looking at the two of them curled up in joint agony and Warrick knew she'd never be part of his life like a wife should. He read it in Tina's eyes, the knowledge of not belonging entirely as she handed him the steaming coffee and plastic packed sandwiches. He knew he should say something but he was too wiped out to talk. He reached for her hand but she avoided his touch.

"I'll go home and get you some clean clothes," she said, "my shift starts in an hour and I can't be late. It's this flu going around, there's already too few of us. I can't find anyone to replace me. Will you be all right? Promise?"

He nodded, "l'll be fine."

Tina laid a hand on his wrist, squeezing lightly. "I'm sorry Rick, call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

Warrick knew why she was sorry and it had nothing to do with her shift starting. It tore at his heart but he'd known for some while now this was coming. He had made one mistake after another and now this? Why hadn't he pulled the gun and shot before the perp had time to turn and shoot Nick? Why the hell hadn't he yelled a warning? Why hadn't he moved and pushed the perpetrator to the side, making him miss Nicky? Why hadn't he done anything instead of standing there, staring at the barrel, frozen.

A nurse walked up to them, a questioning expression on her face. "You CSIs?"

Catherine nodded and the nurse handed her a transparent plastic sachet. All Warrick saw was the letters forming Stokes smeared in rust red pressed up against the side. Sliding down from the movement as the nurse extended the bag to Catherine. The letters left a red trail on the inside of the bag. The smell invaded him instantly and the coffee in the mug splashed over the edge and burned as it hit his leg. His hand shivered like in a fit of a seizure and he just stared at the display, frozen.

Twelve hours. That's how long they had waited without much news at all. Twelve hours of wandering the corridors, of Greg drinking hospital coffee and not even smirking, of Sara sitting still with hands clamped together and shoulders slumping and of Grissom constantly walking up to the nurses and asking for news. Twelve goddamned hours of pure hell. Warrick watched them all, needing something to occupy his mind after he had showered and gotten out of the clothes drenched with Nick's blood. Clothes that Cath had bagged as evidence while her hands shook before she went home to check on Lindsey. Seven hours since Nick's folks showed up, pale and drawn, not understanding how this could happen. His mother's 'that's why I begged him to quit the police force' rang in his ears. 'Wasn't there any back-up?' Warrick wanted to wail at the question; yes there had been a swarm of officers but Nick was the one who took the shot because he, Warrick, had frozen. He'd never be able to meet their eyes. Never. Holly, Nick and now Nick again. One of these days he would get Nicky killed, maybe today?

He rose and started pacing again, up and down the corridor, unseeing; just fleeing the tightness in his chest and the shivers creeping up on him again.

Six hours since Brass had him write down a report, one that came out filled with huge gaps because however he tried he couldn't remember. All he remembered was the finger squeezing and the pale face with darkening blood on the front of the vest, covering the name on the pocket. He'd forgotten how the other officer was killed, had no recollection of what happened before that soft sound of the bullet leaving the silenced barrel. He was able to describe the hand that had held the gun in detail; bitten dirty fingernails, a slightly infected sore on the knuckle of the middle finger, edges irritated and red. Nicotine yellowed tips of the fingers, skin almost grayish in tone. Nervous flicker of the finger as it rested on the trigger, the muscles reacting in the same instance it turned towards Nick and pulled.

Brass had looked at him with concern while he described the few things he remembered. The hand, the shot and Nick's face.

He followed the white line of the tiled floor, down to the end of the corridor where the rest of the team sat, turned and walked up to the entrance again. Nick's face following his every step, the memory getting more and more vivid. He remembered the coolness of his skin now, the barely there breathing, the dampness of his skin and the lips slowly turning a tinge of faint blue.

Someone stepped in his path, effectively blocking him. Lifting his eyes from the white line on the floor he saw Grissom's face, his lips moving.

"Huh?"

"He's out of surgery Warrick, he's being taken to the ICU. He'll be on a vent for a day or two but he's still with us. They took his spleen out and repaired the injuries to the left lung, they finally stopped the bleeding from the liver and patched up the ribcage. It's not over yet, he's still very weak but he's still with us."

Grissom must have sensed the shiver running through him but he didn't comment.

"Can I – can I see him?"

"Just through the window," Grissom said. "We can't go in, we're not family."
'The hell I'm not', Warrick wanted to scream, 'I fucking love him!' But he just nodded instead, "I just need to see him."

"Follow me."

Then all of a sudden he found himself in his own bed, doped up on sedatives. Tina told him he'd almost fainted, again. She was in the kitchen now, making him something to eat while his world seemed fuzzy and padded. He didn't remember seeing Nick after surgery, he had no recollection and his mind kept making up pictures of the worst case scenario despite the dullness provided by the medication. All he had some memory of was the lightheadedness and the nausea assaulting him full force and Grissom taking him home while he had to curl his fingers into fists not to give in to the need to kick and scream and puke.

"Warrick," his wife called softly and he sat up, shaking his head to get it clear from the cobwebs invading it.

"Not hungry," he protested, "I need to get back. How long has it been?"

"You've been asleep for five hours only Warrick, you need more rest and you need some food or you're going to get dizzy and nauseated because of low blood sugar all over again. Your boss promised to call if anything happened. You need to eat and sleep, you look awful."

He looked down on the tray containing various packages from his favorite Chinese take-out being gently placed on his lap and still he felt like puking his guts out.

He shook his head, "I'm not bagging z's while my bro is fighting for his life.

"Warrick, please listen to me. I know this is killing you but you getting sick is not going to help anybody. It's all coming back to you isn't it? All that happened to Nick before, you're just not over that and I had no idea it still bothered you to this extent. I'm so sorry Warrick, if I had known I would have done something. I didn't realize, until I saw you at Palms, how much about what happened to him you've kept bottled up. And not just that, there's other things you can't tell me, isn't that right? Because you can't even tell yourself, can you?"

With a glance at his wife's glazed eyes he ate, just to appease her and not get into a discussion. She had been crying, he could tell and he felt guilty.

She didn't sit down by his side, she instead waited standing, her breath a tad uneven; handing him a pill when he was through.

"So you can sleep."

"No, Tina, no more."

"No discussion, just take it." Her eyes flickered with pure anger at his refusal so he caved.

"We'll discuss things later Warrick, when you're up to it."

And he nodded; things had been going downhill since the night he'd spent with Nick. He'd been expecting this for a while because he wasn't able to go back and was drifting away slowly. It was all his fault, from the beginning to the end. Tina was a saint to have been putting up with him for this long. It wasn't fair to her; the marriage had been another of his famous fleeing attempts. Run and nothing will get to you. It always did catch up with him at last. Like with the judge, with his gambling and now with Tina. She deserved so much more than his half hearted presence, she was worth to have it all and he was unable to give her that.
"Yeah, we'll sort it out later."

She looked at him, sadness in her eyes. Looked long and hard and her hand cupped his chin. "I wish I could say I wish I were him, but the way he's now -. "

Warrick swallowed and gripped her wrist. "Tina, don't."

"I'm sorry," she spoke softy before she turned and left the room.

In that instance Warrick realized what had attracted him to Tina. She had that same tenor to her voice as Nick did; it hit him like a ton of bricks. He had been looking for someone like Nick all this time, without realizing that what he craved was right besides him all along. No one would become Nick to him, no one would be able to replace him and he had searched and searched and Tina was paying for his failure to understand that it had been right there.

"Nicky!" The name escaped him like a soft groan as he lay down on the pillows again. The claws of medically induced sleep dragging him down to an artificial rest.