He woke the next morning with his feet propped up on a chair – a hospital issue blanket covering him and a nurse nudging his arm. "Sir?"
"What the - ? " His neck screamed when he straightened up and he had to groan out loud. And he was supposed to watch over Nick?
"I need to give Mr. Stokes a sponge bath, Mr. Brown. I ask you to step aside for a moment."
"Uh huh," Warrick shook his head. "Nick is never to be left alone."
"But it's against hospital policy to -,"
"See, I figured offing your patients with insulin was against hospital policy too." Warrick snapped.
"Rick? Wha'z going on 'ere? Insulin, what ya talkin' bout?Someone got hurt?" Nick tried to rise from the bed but had to fall down back with a wince.
"Hey buddy," Warrick leaned in to catch Nick's eyes. "You don't remember do you?"
"Remember what?" He looked confused, wrinkling his brow and narrowing his eyes. "And would somebody start telling why y'all look like I'm in grave danger or something? Does this all have something to do with Griss asking me if I remembered a man in the alley? I don't even remember the alley."
Nick's eyes pleaded with him.
"I'll fill you in, bro, first let's get you that sponge bath."
Nick groaned.
"Nick, Mr. Brown here says he has to stay in the room during the procedure," the nurse informed him and threw a reprimanding glare in Warrick's direction.
"What? Says who, Nell?" Nick had actually managed to get up on one elbow but his face was already showing signs of too much effort put into that simple move. "No way. 'Warr, get out, please!" Turning to the nurse he adopted the pleading look again: "Can't I just take a shower?"
"Maybe tomorrow, Nick," nurse Nell beamed at him.
"Oh," Warrick grinned, "so you two are one first name basis already? Well Nick, it's me or Vega, take you pick." He found Nick adorable when he blushed, and berated himself for even thinking that about his best bud; a grown man shouldn't be considered adorable and he'd kick butt down the entire length of the strip if anybody did the same to him.
"What?" Nick sank back into the bed. "Would you at least close your eyes and try not to have such a freaking good time with all this, boss?"
"Nope," Warrick smirked, "I'm gonna treasure this moment and use it as collateral next time you're about to laugh your head off at my misgivin's."
"And then you're gonna sing like a little canary or I'll spill who short-circuited the A/V lab," Nick mumbled.
"Take heed, nurse Nell. He actually is that evil."
Nurse Nell smiled at his Nicky and he didn't like the expression in her eyes one damned bit.
"Am not," Nicky pouted with his best hurt puppy look and looked down on his hands, fiddling with the cover.
Warrick picked up yesterday's newspaper from Nick's nightstand and feigned to read.
"You done gloating now?" Nick asked after nurse Nell left the room. "So's you can finally fill me in? Coz dammit, nobody's talking here." He glared under his brown, hand wiping nose in embarrassment.
Warrick grinned. "Not done yet but ok bro, what you need to know?"
"Everything, I've only managed to catch some pieces here and there, not enough to the the whole picture. Who wants me dead and why? You okay? Everyone else okay and why these strange faces every time one of you walks in?"
Warrick nodded, knowing he'd tried to shelter Nick and that must have pissed the man off. "The thing is Nicky, we don't know jackshit about what's going on. And that's what is driving us up the wall."
"Everyone okay?"
"Yeah," Warrick said, leaning back in his chair, looking everywhere but at Nick. He'd have to spill and he had nothing to tell. The second best lab in the country had come up with next to nothing.
"Good, so start talking!" Nick sounded tired but he wouldn't let up, Warrick knew him enough to lay his cards on the table in times like these.
He tried one last diversion. "Tina served me the papers for a speedy divorce, otherwise, everything is fine and dandy."
"What?" Nick turned to watch him, "You're not kiddin' ar'ya? Shit man, how you holding up? I'm so sorry man!"
"Not like I didn't see it comin', bro."
"Still, shit man. I'm sorry"
"You said that already," Warrick pointed out.
"Well, " Nick looked away, "if you were avoiding her the way you've been avoiding me I can't say I don't understand her."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Nick threw him a tired glance, letting his eyes drop to his hands as soon as he'd spoken. "Y'know exactly what I mean, man."
Warrick was just not ready for this discussion now so he spilled about the rest. Casting glances at Nick every now and then, just to gauge his reactions. He hesitated just for a moment when he had to tell about the B& E and the surveillance equipment, noting Nick's eyes narrowing and his shoulders tensing. He told him about his fake suspension, their need to keep this low profile while they still were working the case night and day. He told him they felt they were chasing ghosts: faceless shadows and partial truths at best.
When he'd said everything he looked at Nick staring at his own hands, palm up on the white sheet.
"Bro?"
"So all this wouldn't be happening if I remembered who I spotted in that car?" His eyes were black when he turned to Warrick, "I'm putting you all in danger because I can't remember?"
"Hey," Warrick protested, "we don't know that."
"I do," Nick said quietly, his hand flexing around the rim of the bed and face contorting as he tried to find a more comfortable position in bed. His voice was drained and tired. "I gotta get out of here or I'll get somebody killed."
"What the hell are you thinking man?" A flash of fear tinged Warrick's voice. "Not your damned fault, bro."
Nick looked away, "Don't gimme that crap. This all is because I don't remember. Dammit! I mean it's all a mess and nobody was telling me anything."
"Well you weren't quite up to taking in any kind of information until now, bud."
"Sorry."
Warrick could see Nick was totally wiped out. The strain of everything was getting to his man. Sweat trickled down his temple and tremors made his hands twitch on the sheet.
"Sorry for what?" Warrick asked, "for being human?"
Nick looked at him and shook his head, wincing as he did so. "For messin' up."
Warrick moved his chair closer to the bed, ready to launch into a sermon but Nick's eyes were tightly closed against tears that escaped him anyway and Warrick found no words. On some level, Nick was right; all this would probably be over if he was able to name the people in the car or alley. He had resented Grissom pointing that out and now he resented the man even more for putting everything on Nick's shoulders. After all the shit he'd been through, it was a miracle he remembered his own name.
"I'm calling the nurse man, you need pain medication. You look like shit."
"Thanks," Nick mumbled with eyes still closed.
He remained looking at his bud until a nurse came in, excusing herself for the delay in the administering of the painkiller and telling Warrick that detective Jim Brass needed to see him outside. Warrick nodded but did not move, not until the hands slackened and the breathing deepened, telling him that Nick was asleep. His pallor was still evident, the fact that he still needed IVs and oxygen was indicative of how weak he really was still. But Nick was right about needing to get out of here, not to protect them but for them to better protect him. Too many people moved in and out of this hospital on a daily basis. Too many MDs, nurses and orderlies had perfect opportunities to take Nicky out. And still, he needed to be under medical supervision. He didn't move until Sara laid her hand on his shoulder.
"My turn."
He rose on stiff legs, eyes still on his man as Sara took position in the chair and cupped her hand over Nick's.
"I've got him Rick."
He found Brass in his usual seat, right outside the door to Nicky's room, newspaper in hand and eyes peering over the edge.
"Yo, what's up?" Massaging his still stiff neck, he slumped down to the chair besides the detective.
Without a word Brass produced an envelope and handed it to Warrick. He held it in his hand for a moment, sensing the weight and hesitating. There were photos in the envelope, this much he could make out by the solid papers and the size. With a look over at Brass' grim face, he opened it and watched a youngish man in a hospital bed. The photo was taken to include the BP readings of 0/0 and the flat line. With a glance over at the detective he flipped it to the back of the pack and watched the next one with growing discomfort. It was a close-up of the man's neck, thumbprints in blue visible on the white skin. The next one showed a zoom-in of a bracelet, similar to the one Nick was wearing right now and Warrick felt the world tilt as he read the name "Nicholas Stokes" and the social security number under it.
"What the fuck," he exhaled in a rush.
"That's the FBI turncoat, Timothy Welder," Brass said. "Got word from FBI that they're taking over the case and LVPD has to stay hands-off and divulge all information. Happened last night; he was dumped out in the famous alley, pictures taped to his chest. DOA and ID'd through his fingerprints. Autopsy still pending and Doc Robbins didn't touch the body before the Feds hauled it away."
"Where was he killed?" Warrick asked, eyes refusing to move from the name on the bracelet.
"Archie is trying to get some logo or brand name off the equipment and check it out. The feds are givin' us nothing. Claim they have a team led by Agent Culpepper on it. Remember him?" Brass smirked, "the dope wouldn't find his own thumb even if it was stuck in his ass."
"We gotta move Nick," Warrick said, sweat forming on his brow. "He's not safe here. The bracelet, was it on the vic or did someone get close up to Nicky here? This a fucking warning?"
"I don't think Nicky's safe anywhere anymore."
Warrick met the detective's eyes and saw something akin to fear for the first time ever.