He sighed and opted for a shower after hauled the four bags with necessities to the SUV waiting for his return to Grissom's. It was already late and he'd pick up Nick's favorite pizza on his way back. Maybe if it wasn't Sara or Cath on watch, he'd be able to sneak at least a bite to Nick.
He was rinsing his hair when he heard the phone go off and Nick's answering machine finally pick up. He found it odd that someone would call Nick on his home-number since he'd more or less abandoned the landlines for his cell-phone. Being the traditionalist he was he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. He grinned at the thought of Nick clinging with arms and teeth to the old technology, never quite trusting the new one until it had proven infallible, which of course, it never did. The phone went off again and he turned the water off, listening and wondering. The answering machine picked up again and he shook his head at the tenacity of the caller while toweling himself dry and getting in to the new clothes he'd picked up. When the phone rang for a third time, he stalked over and picked it up.
"Brown on Stokes' phone, Nick's not home, can I take a message?"
He was met with silence.
"Lo' ? Who's there, need me to relay anything?"
Still nothing and Warrick was getting pissed off. "Hey you fucker, I'm having this call traced. Whatcha want?" He silently cursed Nick for never getting that ID-checker, was this somebody's sick joke? A prank call or just somebody dialing the wrong number?
A low chuckle was heard, the voice clearly scrambled and metallic in tone. Not recognizable. "Tell him good-bye." The message was spoken in a ghostlike, hollow and metallic voice and then the beep of a dead line followed. He jerked the phone off the table and slammed it shut. Warrick felt his breathing become jagged, blood pumping hard as he fought to keep his rage under control. Teeth clenched he tried to suppress the need to bang the phone into the wall, throw it out the window or simply kick it into tiny plastic pieces. He was a CSI, he should be able to handle situations like these. But this was different, the intended victim was Nick and he felt like blowing every fuse, all at once.
Concentrating hard, he managed to regulate his breathing to somewhat normal while he disconnected the phone and the answering machine, putting them methodically into his sports bag. Working on auto-pilot, he finished up and with one last visual control of the premises, he walked out. Gripping the steering wheel hard, he closed his eyes for a moment, working to un-clench his jaw and relax his fingers. His breathing was still harsh and uneven as he turned the ignition and was off, looking periodically in his rear-view mirror and taking the longest route possible to get to Gil's house. Just in case someone was watching, and somebody had to have been, the timing of the calls told him that the chase was still fully on and the ghosts might appear around any corner.
It took him one hour and 45 minutes to reach Gil's and by that time his rage was a low simmering ache in his gut and temples. He parked his car two blocks away from Gil just in case and took three bags with him, realizing he'd have to leave the rest behind. Scanning the street in the dim light, he dryly noted that terror was a very personal state of mind and he now lived it.
Sara looked perplexed when she opened the door at his ring. "Warr', where's your car? Something wrong?"
Warrick let his eyes sweep over the rooms in view as he stepped in, not noticing Nick anywhere close, he nodded. "Yeah. Nick got a call."
"A call?" She tilted her head, waiting for more information.
"Someone called his house and told me to tell him good-bye."
She looked at him, eyes wide and the same fear he'd seen in Detective Brass's eyes flicked in hers; that same fear that had taken residence in the pit of his stomach.
"Recognize the voice?"
"Scrambled, I have the phone and the answering machine in my bag. Need to get it to Archie. Where's Nick?"
"He's with Grissom, still going over the evidence, I'll go get Griss. These sick bastards are playing with our heads, that's all, Warrick. They're just playing with our heads."
"Wanna bet on that?" Warrick spat. "Didn't look like a mind game to me when Nick was convulsing on that stretcher."
Sara didn't manage to meet with his eyes and she turned away, calling out for Grissom. Warrick sank down on the chair by the table, resting his head in his hands. "Fuck!" The word escaped him in a low, moaning complaint.
"Warrick?"
He raised his head and looked at the man standing in front of him. "We gotta get him outta here, Griss, and then we gotta find these damned fuckers!"
"What happened?" Grissom sat down, seemingly cool as a cucumber and that sometimes irritatingly logical mind refusing to yield to any emotion.
"His house must still be under surveillance because somebody knew I was there, somebody called him and told me to tell him good-bye. I have the phone and the answering machine, gotta get it to Archie. Don't they get it that he doesn't remember? Why the fuck do they keep on dogging him?"
"Let's not assume, they might be calling periodically to check up on his possible return."
Warrick glared. "Then why tell me I need to tell him good-bye? Why just not hang up when they realized I wasn't him?"
"Because they thrive on terror, Warrick, they love instilling fear because fear makes people react without reflecting."
"Fear of what? You ai'ght, bro?"
They both turned at the sound of Nick's voice and Sara's pleas for him to stay put. He was standing in the doorway to the living room, Sara right behind him, holding his arm and trying to steer him away. Nick didn't even seem to notice her pleas. "What are you keeping from me this time, Griss?"
Warrick jerked; Nick's tone of voice was all business and his gaze was dark as it landed on Grissom, who actually squirmed a bit in his seat. This was the Nick that kept emerging more and more often; the no-bullshit Nick that had developed slowly after the box incident. There was more self-assuredness and authority in this Nick, a new side to him that Warrick found both scary and attractive. A new variable in the enigma that was Nick Stokes.
Grissom looked at Warrick, sending him a look of 'see what I mean'.
Warrick rose to walk up to him, but Nick's calm gaze stopped him in his stride and all he got out was: "Nicky."
"Rick, I need all cards on the table, man. I need to see those crime scene pics from the original scene, I need to know what else has happened that no one is telling me. You all walk around on egg-shells and I am not taking it any longer." His voice was low and vibrating, a no-nonsense air all about him and it worked on Warrick.
He turned to look at their boss, "Griss, you need to –"
"I know," Grissom rose too, suddenly looking older and defeated. "I'll go get the pictures, all the pictures I haven't shown you." With a nod at Nick, he walked into his study.
"And you, what was that all about?" Nick turned the steady gaze, that tolerated no nonsense, on Warrick.
"C'mon man, you need to sit down for this; it's long it's complicated and it's messy." Gripping Nick's arm, he tried to get him back to the sofa in the living room but at Nick's refusal to budge, he had to meet Nick's gaze and nod in understanding. "C'mon man, all cards out, got my word."
Finally Nick relented, and with a short nod in agreement he accepted Warrick's hand around his elbow as they walked back into the living room.
They sat in silence while Nick went through all the photos, scrutinizing them with an uncharacteristically expressionless face. Taking in every detail but not uttering a word. Warrick cringed when Nick got to the photos where the chalked outlines of where he had fallen were visible, the blood still present. It took him right back to the smell and the heat, the blurring of the surroundings and his heart beating fast while he clung to Nick and begged him to fucking survive while he watched him nearly bleed out. What had it been? Seven days ago and it still felt like it all happened yesterday; the smell of the dumpster, the sickly sweet coppery scent mingling with the stench of the hot asphalt cooling off in the night. He had to look away and that earned him a inquiring look from Nick.
Sara readied herself to leave for work when Greg would arrive for his watch. Grissom decided to join her as protection. They still had evidence to bring to Archie. Nick's absentminded nod at Grissom's explanation jarred Warrick all over again. Nick acted like this all wasn't about him but about some one else, some unknown victim. A thing he wasn't actually able to pull off when it came to any other case, except this one.
Nick barely reacted when Greg stormed in with the fixings of a late night meal. A mere nod in the younger man's direction followed Greg's enthusiastic greeting. The somber mood did not go unnoticed by Greg, and with a bewildered glance at Warrick, he sent off Grissom and Sara before he went for plates and silverware just as Nick got to the last photos. The ones of the man lying flatlined in a hospital bed and the close-up of the bracelet. Nick read the attached notes with interest, then he let the stack of paper rest in his lap and Warrick waited for the questioning to start. The first question uttered did take him by surprise.
"So how many exactly have died on my account?"
"Geez, Nicky!" Warrick shook his head, not believing what he was hearing.
"It is kind of oxymoronic really," Nick continued in an eerily calm voice, considering the topic. "Someone wants me dead for something I have absolutely no recollection of."
The truth in the words was riveting and Warrick found himself out of a witty comeback.
"All I really remember is coming into that alley and seeing that punk about to off you. I really have no recollection about getting to the crime scene; did we take one or two cars? No recollection about what I even did the night before, we did pull a double, huh? I remember being pissed off at that punk and scared shitless. I remember waking up in the hospital and hearing someone cry – I was sure he had gotten you."
"Nick," Warrick's voice threatened to break.
"I kept imagining you
lying there, skull disintegrated and blood all over the dumpster."
Nick's voice was cracking and Warrick turned to watch him. Dark
eyes met his, the pained expression making Warrick's breath hitch.
"Don't ever freakin' do that to me again, bro!" Nick's voice was thick and the darkness of his eyes made Warrick's breath falter.
Once again he was left speechless as Nick looked away, eyes landing on the stack of papers in his lap just as Greg appeared with plates and glasses.
"What'cha bring to eat Greggo?" Nick asked, voice under control anew, coming off light and close to flirtatious as it often did around Greg.
Greg eyed them both tentatively for a moment before he launched into a desperate effort to keep the mood elevated with exaggerated joviality.
Warrick remained in his seat, battling to keep up his 'cool cat from the hood' attitude while his emotions were all over the place.
Warrick lay awake in bed, it had been close to 2 a.m before they had gotten to bed and Nick had looked dreadful by that time and still the stubborn man had refused to lie down and rest. It wasn't until Grissom had spilled all about his plan to send them up to a location near Tonopah that he relented. Without a word, Grissom had provided Warrick with a quilt and asked if they'd both be all right in the guest-room. Warrick hadn't dared look at Nick at that instance, he merely nodded. He could always chalk sharing bed up to keeping an eye on the man.
Nick went out like a light, lying on his back he snored peacefully. Warrick let his thoughts wander to what Grissom had told them. Tomorrow Nick would have a check-up at Palm Springs; if Doc Bloomfield okayed the transit, they would be off by nightfall. To Grissom's old friend's father's fully equipped and isolated cabin. Outside of graveyard, only one of the doctors in town, a Frank Gladstone that Grissom knew since college, would be aware of their location. The doc's wife would get them all the provisions they needed and, according to Griss, the cabin was built for a siege. The man building it had been paranoid since WW II and had even built in a panic-room before those even were invented. They'd be safe there while the rest of the team would lure the demons out and nail them. It was a question of weeks, tops - according to Griss - and Warrick would be on paid leave thanks to Conrad Ecklie. Sometimes Warrick had to wonder if dear Conrad had a thing for Nick too?
The plan might work, unless Nick got a wind of the fact that they intended to lure the culprits out with the help of Vartann, doubling as Nick. That was one thing nobody would tell Nick and if he found out, he'd have all their heads on poles. Or worse. There were far too many loose ends to the entire thing for Warrick's liking, but there really was no other alternative.
He closed his eyes, listening to Nick's breathing and once again matching his own to the rhythm as he slipped away.
He woke with a start, disoriented at first before he realized that the man sleeping at his side was now breathing harshly, hands clawing at the sheets.
"Fuck!
Nick? What's wrong?" He never realized he nearly screamed the words
before
Nick jack-knifed up and unfocused, panicked eyes roamed
the room. A pained sound escaped him as he curled up in a fetal
position with his arm curved around his middle and he bent over with
a low painful exhale. Warrick scooted up to sit at Nick's side with
his bent knees around the man, going for the pulse and exhaling a
rush of relief when he found it fast but steady. It was then that it
dawned on him; he remembered this reaction from the weeks he'd spent
with Nick after the incident of the box. The blind terror he'd hear
in Nick's screams and then finding him sitting up in bed, tense and
shivering violently with his breath running fast and uneven. He
recognized it from his own vivid nightmares, the times he would wake
up screaming with hands pulling at the sheets from digging for Nick
and never finding him – just hearing a shot ring out that would
awaken him into a terrified stupor.
The door was yanked open, revealing Grissom stopping in the doorway at the sight of the two of them plastered together on the bed.
Warrick shook his head at Grissom, warning him not to talk. Greg appeared behind their boss, taking in the scene and casting questioning glances at them, but thankfully getting the cue to keep quiet.
Warrick turned all his attention back to Nick, hating the fact that his discomfort would be witnessed by his colleagues.
"It's all right Nicky, breathe through it. You're fine, not in the box, you're right here." He laid his palm on the back of Nick's neck, feeling the damp skin and the shivers running through him. "It's all right, I gotcha," he repeated like a mantra, waiting for Nick's breath to settle. When it finally turned to shallow, quick intakes and shivering, labored exhales he searched for Nick's eyes, seeing the panic transformed to humiliation. The low moan Nick let slip out from the smallest movement alerted Warrick to connect all the evidence.
"Griss," he spoke to the man still standing in the doorway. "Nick needs a booster, would you please?"
"Of course," Grissom moved forward, his eyes still on Nick.
"I'm fine," Nick mumbled and Warrick sighed: "An' I'm Donald Duck. Just take the meds, bro. You must have jarred your ribs the way you darted up."
He pulled Nick closer instinctively when Grissom reached for the hand with the cannula, gripping it carefully and flicking the lid of the injection port open.
"Slowly," Warrick ordered and Grissom obliged, his eyes still not leaving Nick's face as he pushed the meds in and waited for a reaction. It didn't take long before Nick relaxed in Warrick's hold and his breath steadied.
Grissom let go of Nick's hand and Nick mumbled a 'thank you'. Grissom looked at Nick with what Warrick feared was pure love. The horned green devil was sitting on his shoulder again, leering and poking at him. But now was not the time to feed the jealousy devil, he'd be battling him forever, he already knew that.
"I'll go get you a glass of water," Greg spoke up from the door and Nick closed his eyes.
"It's okay bro," Warrick crooned. "Just relax."
When Greg returned and put the glass on the nightstand Grissom told them they'd be leaving them alone and ushered the former lab-tech out of the room, closing the door with a loud enough thud for Nick to register.
"All right bro, they're gone. You still have nightmares about the box?"
"It's been months now," Nick spoke quietly.
Warrick nodded and massaged Nick's still tense neck. "I still have them occasionally. Wake up all fucking shaky and needing to phone you and check up on you. And I wasn't even in there."
"It wasn't me in there this time, man." Nick lifted his head to face Warrick. "And it was actually worse."
Warrick draped his free arm around Nick's bent knees, encircling him with his body. "Shit, man!"
"Warrick, you can't tag along to that cabin. You gotta stay back, this is my mess and I'm not dragging more people into it. I'm making a freakin' fool of myself here already, that's crappy enough. You gotta stay back Warr and I gotta move on, this co-habitation is getting' on my nerves."
Warrick snorted in disbelief. "What the fuck Nicky? You really think it'd be easier to stay behind? Not knowing what's going on with you? I know you know better so don't even try it. No puppy-eyes or this new Grissom-attitude of yours will work on me. I'm tagging along, end of discussion. Now lie down and rest. On your right side man, weren't you listening to the Doc? Right side will help you breathe easier and not jar the ribs."
"Warr, I think I'm fully capable of handling myself," Nick protested meekly.
"Wanna bet?" He positioned the man as instructed by Dr. Bloomfield and curled up behind him, hoping his warmth would keep Nick grounded. "And not another word about this or I swear I'll pop you one. Coz I'm coming, nothing will change that little fact of life."
"Not even bribery?" Nick asked into the pillow.
"What'cha got to bribe me with? Your crappy CD collection? No way man."
Nick actually chuckled at that and Warrick let his let arm slide under his man's neck and gripped the hand laying palm up on the quilt.
"Think this is appropriate, bro?" Nick asked, curling his fingers around Warrick's.
"Does it look like I care?"
Nick was silent, fingers relaxing slowly when Warrick let his brow rest on Nick's shoulder.
They lay there in comfortable silence and Warrick realized he'd never felt quite as at home with anybody before. He really didn't even mind everybody knowing, not anymore. And he regretted all the lost time he'd spent chasing something that was right before his eyes. Chasing a different ghost than the ones chasing Nick this time; his ghost was a piece of him, the guilt and the remorse but Nick's ghosts were all about survival. That was anything but fair and the insight that he might lose everything now that he'd actually found it was too hard to handle and he tucked that fear away with all the others.
"This sucks man," Nick spoke drowsily and Warrick knew exactly what he was talking about. He really didn't need much explanation when it came to Nick.
"Yeah," he replied, knowing Nick would get the big picture – he always did.