"Don't make the last fifteen minutes of my life the hardest of yours."
Nick didn't open his eyes when he finally hit the desert ground. He didn't open them when what Mike had said to him kept replaying over and over in his mind. He wanted to open them, to see if Mike was still alive, but he couldn't do it because he knew he wasn't. The hand was gone from around his ankle, but he felt like it was still there. A similar feeling was in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. The gun, still in his hand, felt like it was getting heavier by the minute, just like Nick's heart.
"I love you very much. Don't you ever forget that."
Nick would never, ever be able to forget his brother's last words. They were burned into his memory, and would stay there no matter what. The sincerity in his voice had made it enough for Nick to not only believe him, but say it in return. He hadn't known his older brothers for very long, but that didn't make any difference to Nick. He still loved him, and still missed him now that he was gone, even though he hadn't been gone for that long. Nick had subconsciously been keeping track of time in his head since he had pulled the trigger. He kept his eyes closed and gripped the gun as tightly as he could, hoping that when he finally opened his eyes, Mike would be sitting in front of him perfectly fine.
Sixteen minutes and twenty-three seconds had passed between when Nick had pulled the trigger and when he had finally opened his eyes. Mike had said that he had fifteen minutes left. Nick opened his eyes, the cool night air stinging his tear filled eyes. Of course, Mike was laying exactly where Nick had last seen him. But now he looked...peaceful. Nick thought he was forcing himself to think that at first, but after a moment he realized he was actually right. He looked peaceful and freed from his pain and suffering.
Nick had vindicated his brother.
Even still, Nick still felt guilty. He had killed someone. Not just someone. His older brother. His actual older brother. He had pulled the trigger, ending his life. Deep down, he knew he had done the right thing. But at the time, it didn't feel like it. He kept wondering what if he could have saved him? What if he could have gotten help somehow? Mike could have made it. He could have been okay, but now there was no way that could ever happen. It was over, and it was Nick's fault.
Nick sat there, staring at Mike. He felt like he was slowly dying from heartbreak. Everything he had set out to do was slowly being destroyed. Jack was dead. Mike was dead. He had been arrested and sat in jail for an extended amount of time he wasn't even sure of. And to top it all off, he was almost one-hundred percent sure that he was being watched at that very moment.
After the Nigel Crane incident - as Nick preferred to refer to it as - he had had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched all the time whenever he was alone. He had spent many a night at Warrick or Catherine's because he was so paranoid. That soon subsided, but after he was always able to tell when someone was, in fact, watching him. Whenever he was with his family and one of his nieces of nephews were playing spy and were hiding somewhere, he could always tell. He couldn't explain it, he just always knew.
Now was no exception. He could feel eyes burning into him, no doubt coming from the depths of the shadows near and far off in the desert. A tank could be behind the bushes that were fiteen feet away from him, and Nick wouldn't be able to see it because it was so dark out. The city lights were doing nothing to illuminate what the shadows obscured.
And at the same time he was worried, Nick didn't care. Sitting there, looking at Mike, Nick realized he did not care what anyone was trying or hoping to do to him anymore. He had to fight and work harder than he ever had before to get his friends to talk to him again, only to have his job and life ripped out of his hands when he was framed and arrested for the murder of his mentor, who was dead, along with his older brother. He didn't care who wanted to hurt him, or even kill him. If they wanted to, best of luck to them, because he sure as hell wasn't going to lay down and die for them now.
It's funny how certain things can make you do others. As Nick sat there, the desire to bring down James Sparazza's crime empire slowly began to build until it was almost an obsession. He wanted nothing more in the world than to get him thrown in jail for the rest of his life. Nick knew it wouldn't bring Jack or Mike back. He knew it wouldn't change the fact that he had been arrested for murder. He even knew that it would probably not lift the burden off his shoulders that had been there since before he could remember. Nick knew all these things, but didn't care. Because he was going to do it anyway.
Nick was pulled from his thoughts when he heard incoherent mumbling followed by a phone snapping shut come from somewhere in the shadows behind him. He froze, but didn't turn around or make any physical incantation that he had heard or suspected anything. He knew James Sparazza was out there somewhere, watching him. And again, he didn't care. Nothing mattered. Nothing was going to stop him now.
The Texan had still been subconsciously keeping track of time in his head. It had been fifty-eight minutes in between when he had pulled the trigger and heard the phone shut. Sixty-three minutes sitting there on the ground before he saw the blue and red flashing lights coming towards him, growing bigger with each passing second. Sixty-four minutes before he could hear the piercing shrieks of the sirens. Sixty-seven minutes before three cruisers came to a stop in front of him, their headlights bliding him from seeing the cops get out of their cars and draw their guns on him.
Nick stood, shielding his eyes from the lights with his left arm, still holding the gun in his right hand. He made no attempt or move to surrender. He just stood there, not putting his hands in the air, dropping the gun or falling to his knees.
"Put the gun down Nicky."
"You know I can't do that Brass," Nick replied.
"Yes you can," Brass responded. "You're under arrest, again."
Jim Brass was the only cop not pointing his weapon at Nick. He was the only one speaking to him, but not the only one watching. The cops weren't the only ones watching either, but none of them knew about the other person. Only Nick knew someone else was watching, but that didn't matter.
"For what?" Nick asked, no surprise what so ever in his voice.
"The trafficking of illegal intelligence devices to other governments and known criminals. We got a tip about all of them, caught them, and they ratted you out."
"Only me?" Nick asked.
Brass nodded. "Yeah. And you're also under arrest for the murder of Michael Sparazza as reported by a witness," he added. "I've never gotten a warrant so quickly in my life."
Nick knew what he was going to to do before even thought to do it. He had had the whole thing planned out in his head as soon as he heard the phone. He knew what was going to happen, and had figured out what he was going to do before he even knew if he was going to be able to do it or not.
"Don't run Nicky," Brass said, reading the other man's mind. "They won't fire unless they have to. Don't give them a reason. Don't run."
Nick shook his head slowly as he smiled slightly. "I never had a choice."
With that, Nick turned and ran as fast as he could, disappearing into the shadows before the police officers had a chance to do anything about it. He was out of sight when they took off after him, pulling out their flashlights and catching glimpses of the fleeing man every few seconds. Brass was in the lead and had his flashlight out, keeping it on Nick's feet so that the cops wouldn't be able to shoot at his retreating back if any of them felt inclined to do so.
"Damn that kid's fast," Brass gasped breathlessly as he struggled to keep up with Nick.
He didn't have to struggle for long. They chased Nick up a sand dune and stopped half way across it when their flashlights landed on Nick's back. He was standing on the far edge, his back to them, gun still in hand. Nick wasn't breathing nearly as hard as the others behind him, and caught his breath much quicker. Still he stood where he was, staring out into the night before him.
"Turn around," Brass instructed. Nick did as he was told. "Now drop the gun."
Nick did the opposite of what he was told. Instead of dropping it, he raised his arm, pointing the gun directly at Brass. He held it there steadily and silently. On the surface, Brass remained cool and seemingly unfased. But inside, his heart jumped into his throat and his heartbeat increased tenfold.
"So you're going to kill me now too?" Brass asked, his voice as cool as his composure.
"I didn't kill them," Nick said.
"It doesn't matter right now," Brass said. "Don't do something you're going to regret."
"I'd rather regret doing something than regret having done nothing," Nick replied.
"Put your guns down," Brass instructed, and his men complied. In return, Brass drew his own gun, poiting his own back at Nick. "Is this what you want?"
Nick shook his head. "I rarely get what I want. None of this is what I want. This is what I have to do."
"I don't have a choice in this Nick," Brass said. "This is what I have to do, and I wouldn't be doing it if I didn't have to. You know that."
"I wouldn't be standing here, holding this, if I didn't have to. You know that," Nick said.
"I have to do my job," Brass said.
Nick smiled slightly. "That's what I'm counting on."
Without any further ado, Nick fired his gun twice. Prior to doing so, he adjusted his aim up at least two feet, sending the bullets soaring over Brass' head, missing the apparent intended target by a substantial amount. Brass had no other choice than to return fire, both bullets hitting the younger man in the chest.
Nick had expected it. He had wanted it. He had planned it. He slowly fell to his knees, the tightness in his chest from before getting worse and worse. The gun fell from his hand. The last thing he remember was the ground rushing up to meet him.
The next thing Nick knew, he was in the backseat of a police cruiser, handcuffed and being rushed to Desert Palms. He opened his eyes, expecting a lot more pain than he was experiencing. He figured the shock had set in by now, and was why he wasn't feeling much. He did feel strong hands pressing down on his wounds, though. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and focused on Brass, who was kneeling on the car floor next to him, applying pressure to his bleeding chest.
Nick opened his mouth, and upon doing so noticed the taste of blood that filled it. He ignore that, along with the warm blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth. He opened his mouth, and forced himself to speak.
"L-left," he managed to choke out.
"Shut up," Brass said gently. "Relax kid."
Nick shook his head as much as he could. "L-listen to m-me. L-left pocket. Make s-sure you geh-get it."
Brass frowned in confusion. Nick took his shaking, handcuffed hands and removed one of Brass' from his chest. He brought it down to rest on his left leg, where the police captain could feel the zip disk through the think fabric of Nick's jeans. Brass was still puzzled, but figured it out after a moment. He smiled when he did.
"That a boy Nicky," he said happily.
Nick smiled as well. "Just doing my job."