Grissom walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "How are you doing Warrick?"
"Better than Nicky," he replied and it came out in anger. "Griss, if that punk wasn't already dead I'd like to rip him apart piece by bleeding piece."
"Nick wouldn't want you to," Grissom remarked soberly and Warrick shuddered again.
"He saved my life Griss, I don't much care what he would want right now. I need him to come back to me, to us - and I need to have someone pay for what happened. It shouldn't have gone down that way. What the hell went wrong? Where did that punk come from? Why didn't anybody see him?"
"Nick saw him."
Warrick swallowed hard. "Yeah, he did."
"Warrick, the one you want revenge on is already dead. There's nothing more you can do. We ran his prints; he has a rap sheet raging from robbery to rape. He was let out four days ago, payoff for crucial testimony. But Shaun Mallow might just have signed his own death certificate by testifying. We can't get information on that since it is an ongoing case."
"They let the bastard out?" Warrick said seething, "they made this possible?"
"That's our system, you know that Warrick. A major player on the drug scene may get life instead, that's all I have been able to dig up. But the trial is not even in this state, nor do any of the indicted have any ties to either Nevada, Rohypnol or our legal system."
"And the punk knew it was just a matter of time before he bought it himself?"
"Probably." Grissom's voice was calm and rational.
"The system Nick works for did this to him? Someone's gotta pay Griss. The DA that let this man loose might just as well have pulled the trigger."
"You know it's not true. That man was high on Rohypnol and heroin, he was already dying and you just happened to be in his way."
Warrick turned to look at Grissom. The man's eyes were fixed on their friend in the hospital bed. No emotions revealed on the face of his boss. It seemed he simply stated the fact and moved on.
"But Nick's the one paying."
"And that is eating you alive isn't it?"
He chose not to respond but let his eyes wander back to the room. Nick's mother's eyes bore into his and she rose from her seat and walked towards them. For a moment Warrick feared what she would say; did she know that the bullets slammed into Nick were intended for him? Did she know he had frozen and been useless?
"Grissom, Warrick, you want to see him?"
"If you allow us to, Mrs. Stokes." Grissom spoke, "we don't want to intrude."
"It's Jillian, you know that," she replied, voice sounding oddly worn out and quavering. "You're his family too, I've learned that."
Warrick moved hesitantly to the side to let Grissom pass, not knowing if he really wanted to get a better look, chances were that the truth was after all worse than his imagination. But Grissom's presence behind him urged him forward slowly, until he came to a stop at the railing of the bed. Not before that he lifted his eyes and took a look while his jaws clenched from trying to compose himself.
He let out the breath he'd been holding; his bud was clearly still alive and breathing, if not on his own. He still looked small on that bed, small and vulnerable in a way Warrick had never seen him before. He knew Nick's strength was amazing but still, seeing him this still and pale in contrast to his usual expressive self was enough to jar Warrick's intestines. Nick's eyes were closed with transparent tape, his lashes damp from a thick clear substance protecting his eyes. One IV hooked to his arm, another line fastened under a white compress over his clavical bone. A number of colored cables running from under the blanket to the machines that beeped and wheezed as air was pressed inside of him.
"Oh God, Bro," escaped Warrick and his fingers searched for Nick's. He felt warm to his touch and without thinking Warrick let his fingers move slowly over Nick's slender ones that were bent in a loose and totally relaxed half grip on the sheet, to then wander up his wrist to the soft skin on the inside of the elbow where the palm of Warrick's hand finally came to a rest.
Grissom moved at his side and Warrick's gaze flew from Nick's face to Grissom's. His boss's eyes locked with his and Warrick knew that Griss had seen what Cath already knew; his feelings ran deeper than brotherhood. And it seemed to make the pieces fall in place for Grissom and he smiled sadly while turning his eyes back to Nick.
"Warrick, want to stay here for a while?" Grissom asked.
Warrick looked to Nick's mother, afraid she's refuse but she nodded and Warrick saw fresh tears in her eyes. It sent dampness to his own.
"Yeah." The one word came out garbled and strange sounding.
"I'll find you a chair and leave you be. I'll come by later. Brass needs to speak with you Warrick, I'll send him by. Anything you need?"
He shook his head, content to feel the warmth of Nick's skin against his palm.
"How is he, really?" Warrick asked after Grissom finally left. "They won't tell me anything and I need to know."
He turned to watch Jillian at the sound of a strangled sob. She stood at the window, back to them and Warrick could see her shoulder's trembling. But he didn't want to let go of Nick's arm.
"They're afraid of blood clots, an operation like this always carries risk of an embolus and if it reaches his brain, heart or lungs it's all over. The medication to stop the clotting makes hemorrhage more likely. He had episodes of tachycardia in the ambulance, his blood volume was just too low to let his heart function properly and it might have affected his brain. The EEG is not conclusive, they don't know if there's some minor brain damage due to the disturbed circulation. The transfusions carry a risk and they probably changed his blood twice during surgery. Kidneys are working overtime right now, and his splenectomy makes it harder for him to regenerate the anti-bodies and the red blood cells he so desperately needs right now. He'll always have to remember that, he'll always be in greater risk if hemorrhaging. And he'll probably have to have injections of B12, for the rest of his life. "
Her voice broke and Warrick's head had sunken down to rest on the railing of his bud's bed, his nausea increasing with every word she uttered.
"That is if he survives."
Warrick had to let go and turn to Jillian who was now crying aloud. Crumpled by the window, holding herself with arms tightly pressed around her diaphragm she cried with short pained sobs pressing out of her lungs. Warrick draped his arms around her, gripping the chair she had placed by the window, dragging it along while steering her to sit by her son's bed and holding on to her while he sat down on the stool beside her.
"He had some kind of episode when Catherine was here, his heartbeat rose alarmingly but they don't know why. My son might die any minute and they won't even know what ultimately caused it."
Her voice was low, words coming out punctuated with sobs and to his surprise he felt tears roll down his cheeks and his own voice was raw and garbled when he answered; "No way in hell we're losing Nicky, ain't gonna let that happen. No way in hell." His hand came to rest right below Jillian's on the soft skin of Nick's wrist.
He rose when the door creaked and Nick's father appeared with a doctor in tow. The doctor cleared her throat and looked at him questioningly. "Mr. Brown?"
"Yes." He affirmed, his hand still on Nick's arm.
"Some detectives are asking for you, they are waiting right outside."
"All right." He let his eyes sweep over Nick's face once more; hoping to see some flutter of the eyelids, some movement but there was none. "See ya Nicky," he said and stroked the matted hair that had fallen over the brow to the side.
"Let me know if – if something changes, all right?" He asked without directing it to anybody specific in the room.
"I will, I'll find your number on Nick's cell, right?" Jillian said and her hand came to rest on his arm in a consoling gesture.
"You will, thank you," Warrick mumbled, still not sure if his voice would hold. "I truly appreciate that."
"I know you do," she said and their eyes met for a moment in complete understanding before he rolled his aching shoulders and walked out.
He hadn't taken more than two steps outside the door before he was met by Jim Brass and Nestor Ortega, IAB. The latter looked grim as he spoke with a voice full of disdain.
"CSI Warrick Brown, we have a problem."