"Well, thank you." Warrick couldn't help but grin at the woman sitting on one of the plastic chairs that Warrick was sure had won awards for the lack of ergonomic features. "Any news?" He nodded to the window where the blinds were closed. "Why are the blinds down?"
"Doctor's in with him," Catherine said, "been there a while now."
"Something happen?"
"Checking his neurological status, I hear it's not so good. Either they have him too heavily anaesthetized or - " she let her voice trail off.
"Shhh," Warrick laid his arm around her drooping shoulders and pulled Catherine closer. "That's Nicky in there. Most stubborn man I've ever met and he's gonna come through this and then he'll kick my ass for not being careful on the crime scene. Wanna bet on it?"
Catherine shook her head, a sad smile forming on her tired face.
"Nicky would," Warrick said, "cos the man can't pick a winner for his life."
The sound of footsteps inside, nearing the door made them rise from their seats and turn expectantly towards the creaking door but they were forced to step back as trolleys of medical equipment were wheeled out of the room.
Warrick shot Catherine a worried glance but she was focused on Jillian talking sotto voce with one of the doctors.
"I wish I knew how to read lips." She remarked, "would come in handy now. Or that Gil was here."
Jillian spotted them and made a gesture in their direction.The physician looked over and nodded. With a last word to Jillian he strode over while the rest of the team hurried to other waiting cases.
"Mr. Brown, Ms. Willows, I guess you want the news too?"
"Please," Catherine breathed but Warrick felt the twinge of insecurity for a brief moment, before nodding. Any news was always better than no news. The physician looked at them both as if gauging how much they could stand. Warrick thought for a moment and felt a cold shill run down his spine. "We're bringing Mr. Stokes out from under total anaesthesia sooner than estimated, he's sensitive to the barbiturates and his pulse is slowing a little too much for our liking. So we will discontinue it and move to A-morphine, better known as Dilaudid. That will allow him to awaken but he'll be relatively pain free."
"But not totally?" Catherine asked.
"Ideally we would have kept him under total anaesthesia for another 24 hours before slowly bringing him to consciousness, to spare him pain. But that can't be done without risks."
"Is there neurological damage?" Warrick asked, his mouth as dry as sandpaper.
"We can't be totally sure before he's conscious and checked by a neurologist but the EEG looked much more promising when we stopped administering barbiturates. His CT was always clean, not indicating any lesions from the asphyxia. But he will be very disoriented when he wakes up."
"It's promising then?" Catherine asked and blinked as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "He will be all right?"
"Mr. Stokes has a lot of healing to do but his prognosis is 80 better than when he was first brought in." The physician smiled at them, "I've read his chart and he's a fighter."
"He is," Catherine whispered, drying her eyes with the heel of her hand. "That's our Nicky. Thank you doctor."
"You're welcome," he replied, "I'd suggest you go take a coffee break meanwhile. A specialist will stay with Mr. Stokes and disconnect him from the vent when he's conscious enough for his own breathing to work to our satisfaction. It may take hours so I suggest you get some rest. Mr. Stokes won't be lucid enough to recognize anybody today but you can always check in on him later."
"We will," Catherine hiccuped, "thank you." The physician left and Catherine sank to sit on the chair, sighing in relief. "He's gonna make it, Rick. He's gonna make it."
Warrick's throat was too tight for him to talk. Catherine craned her neck to look at him and her lips curled into a smile before she reached out and let her thumb run tenderly over his cheek. "Rick, you're crying," she whispered. "it's gonna be all right, everything's gonna be fine," she crooned.
To his astonishment he felt hot dampness slowly trickle down his face.
"Heard you went off on Ortega," Catherine chided him over the coffee. "Not a good move Rick. I really don't know what to do with you men, you have no sense of how to play the game."
"Game?" Warrick replied tersely, "the man was so out of line the field wasn't even in sight any longer."
"You and Gil are politically blind," she sighed, "you just don't know when to shut up do you?"
Warrick glared but decided to take the advice this time and shut up. He let his eyes take in the surroundings of the over-filled cafeteria. People in scrubs replying to beepers and darting out with half-eaten meals left behind on the tables. Families with grumpy toddlers clutched tight, trying to convince them to eat, while occasional tugs of war over spoons and food ended in wails of refusal. Elderly people hovering over a cup of coffee, their tired eyes fleetingly observing the chaos to then sink down to their meals. It seemed such a normal day. Warrick idly wondered how many had loved ones fighting for their lives while downing the same brew he was trying to swallow, with little success.
"What I just don't get is why Gil doesn't demand to get this case. It was ours to begin with and after hearing how dayshift is handling this, I just don't get it" she continued, poking around aimlessly at her salad.
"What ya mean?" Warrick looked at the plate with the bread roll in the plastic wrap and literally saw the myriad of bacteria roiling therein.
"Jillian told me O'Connor from dayshift came around asking for Nick's cell but didn't have either identification or a warrant with him. Jillian refused to hand it over, I would have done the same. It just isn't professional to forget your ID when you're on a case."
"What?" Warrick's head started pounding, "why didn't they take it at the scene if they needed it?"
"Nick had it in his vest pocket and it was the paramedics that retrieved it and gave it to Jillian." Catherine said. "You know what a mess that scene was. I don't think anybody was functioning on a rationally after Nick went down. I heard even Brass was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Rumor has it he didn't even take your gun at the scene, did he?"
Warrick glared, "I don't remember and you're starting to sound and awful lot like IAB. Career change?"
"Hell no," Catherine shook her head. "Just looking out for my favorite guys and this case isn't making any sense. Why would O'Connor come barging into the ICU causing a ruckus and not leave word at the nurses' desk?"
"That don't sound like O'Connor," Warrick pointed out, "sure it really was him?" His paranoia had started to work big time by now. "Did you know someone called from a disposable cell, pretending to be Nick, giving counter- orders for the tow-truck? Said an escort wasn't needed after all. Voice unrecognizable."
"What?" Catherine's fork fell into the bowl of salad. Her eyes narrowed and her hand fished for something under his line of vision.
"Uhm-mm," Warrick nodded before swallowing the mouthful of bleak and bitter concoction described as coffee on the price list, "how much do you know?"
Catherine wasn't listening, holding her cell to her ear she looked impatient, drumming her fingers against the table. "O'Connor. It's Willows, I need some information. – About Nick's case – yes, I know you're handling it but stay with me, did you come over to Desert Palms looking for his cell?" Catherine's face tensed as she lifted her gaze to meet Warrick's. "Ok, that's all I need – No, I'll take care of it." She stared at the phone in her hand while closing it. Her voice was just above a whisper when she spoke. "O'Connor was never here."
Warrick stared at her for a moment, incomprehension shadowing the green eyes and making his hand tremble slightly as they held on to the edge of the table. Then, without a word they both rose and half ran to the ICU. Warrick casting a glance over his shoulder in a spout of paranoia. They rounded the corner to the ICU simultaneously, stopping dead in their tracks at the sight of the empty chair that should hold a detective.
"What the hell?" Warrick spat at the sight but Catherine was already on her way to Nick's room. She yanked the door open with force, hand on her weapon and breath running unevenly, Warrick taking three long strides to catch up. Three pairs of startled eyes met them as they burst in.
Vega was the first to regain his bearing. "What's the big rush?" he asked, taking in their air of full-fledged anxiety.
"Change of the guards?" Catherine asked and Vega nodded. Warrick leaned against the doorway, trying to gather himself.
"Is something wrong?" Jillian asked and Catherine took the opportunity to ask for Nick's cell phone.
"Sure I still have it, but the battery died. I don't have his PIN code," she said, walking to her purse and rummaging for it. "Why do you need it? Did that other CSI tell you why they are looking for it?" she asked, handing it over to Catherine.
Catherine threw Warrick a glance over her shoulder, unsure about how much to tell Nick's mother. The woman had enough on her mind anyway.
"I need a moment with the two of you," Vega interrupted and with a smile in the direction of the baffled nurse and Mrs. Stokes, he ushered them out of the room.
"What the hell is going on here?" he asked as the door shut behind them.