Jim Brass could count on two fingers the number of times a suspect escaped police custody, while they were at the police station. James Sparazza was the second person to do it. They were still unsure of how he did it, but that didn't matter right now. What did was the fact that Nick had left about ten minutes before Sparazza made a run for it and got away. There was no doubt in Brass or Grissom's mind that he was headed for Nick's house, where Nick was by himself, helpless if anything were to happen. Grissom was unable to reach Nick. He had been alternating between the younger CSI's cell and house phone for the last five minutes as him, Warrick and Brass sped towards his house. Every other cop was out looking for Sparazza or meeting Brass and Nick's house. They had to get there before it was too late, before anything happened that they wouldn't be able to live with. Or without.
Nick had no idea what was going on, but he should have expected something like it. He let his guard down and tried to relax, but soon realized that that wasn't going to happen. He didn't even notice that the power was out in house because it was day time. He sank down into his leather couch and closed his eyes, trying to forget the events of the last year or so of his life. The harder he tried not to think about them, the more he thought about it. He thought about everything, and doing so seemed to make it all come back to reality.
Nick's front door flew open, slamming against the wall with such force that it shook all the pictures hanging on the walls. Nick immediately stood, only to dive to the floor a split second later as James Sparazza pulled the trigger of the gun in his hand, sending a bullet just over Nick and through into the wall behind him. Nick pushed himself off his chest on the floor with his hands so he was up on his knees. Before James could fire again, Nick picked up the paid of scissors on the coffee table in front of him and threw them at James. They spun in the air twice before the closed blades pierced his upper left arm, causing him to drop the gun to use his right hand to try and stop the bleeding.
James yelled out in pain as he kicked the coffee table over, sending it flying into Nick. It knocked him over and pinned him against the floor. Nick pushed it off himself and rolled over to the gun before James could bend over and pick it up. Nick grabbed it and in one fluent motion pointed it at James, stopping him dead in his tracks.
"So you're going to kill your father, just like you killed your brother," James said.
Nick shook his head. "You killed him. I saved him."
"Keep telling yourself that," James replied. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"All because of you, I haven't slept in so long," Nick said. "And when I do, I have nightmares, most of the time about what I've done, but other times about drowning. I dream about drowning in the ocean, trying to get to shore where Mike and Jack are yelling for me to swim harder. But the harder I try, the farther away I get and the softer their voices become. All because of you, I've lost everything I've ever loved."
"When are you going to accept the blame for the things you've done?" James asked.
"When I do something that's my fault," Nick replied. "I've accepted what I've done for you and your stupid business. I came to grips with all the bad things I did, but I'm making up for it by getting you thrown in jail."
"Wouldn't you rather kill me?" James asked. "Because no matter what you do, nothing will bring back Mikey or Jack."
Nick couldn't hold back any lomger. His fist flew forward until the gun in his hand connected with James' head. It sent the other man to the floor, where he landed with a thud. He began crawling on the floor until he was up against the far wall, hand over his bleeding forehead.
"They're still dead," James said mockingly. "And you know that it's your fault."
Nick cocked the gun and pointed it down towards the man on the floor. He heard the sirens of the cars pull into his driveway and the pounding of the shoes running up to his house. The footsteps stopped dead right behind him, where Brass, Grissom and Warrick came to a dead stop. In front of their eyes was the exact opposite of what they had been expecting. Instead of coming to Nick's rescure, they were apparently coming to James'. Nick had the gun on James, and it didn't look like it was going to end well from there.
"How does it feel to be on your own?" James asked. "How does it feel to have nothing left to live for?"
Nick didn't answer. He knew his friends were behind him, but he didn't care. He tried to block out the millions of things running through his head and focus on the task at hand. Nothing was stopping him from pulling the trigger. He had already lost his job. He had already lost his brother and one of the only people he's ever been able to trust. He didn't know what to do anymore or how to make it all better. He'd thought he had won, but he was beginning to think he was wrong. Sure James was going to go to jail, but Nick hadn't gotten anything else accomplished other than destroying the biggest crime business in history. That didn't seem good enough.
"Why are you still living?" James asked. "You should have given up a long time ago."
Nick shook his head. "I'm not giving up."
"Why the hell not?" James asked. "What is there left for you to do? You can't change the past."
"But I can make it better," Nick said.
James scoffed. "How?"
Before Nick could answer, Warrick chimed in. "It's not worth it man," he said softly. "Come on Nicky, we got him. He's going to jail for the rest of his life."
"And you're going to regret everything throughout the rest of yours," James added.
"Don't listen to him bro," Warrick said. "You can't give up now. Don't give up man, you never give up."
"You gotta start somewhere," James said coyly. "You had the guts to shoot Mike. How is this any different?"
"Because I love Mike," Nick answered. "And I hate you. I saved Mike. Now I'm saving myself. I'm letting go."
Nick moved his arm to the right about three inches. James closed his eyes, expecting to be dead at any minute. Instead, he was met with the sound of gunshots ringing through his ears. They continued until Nick was out of bullets. James flinched with each one, waiting for one to hit him. None of them did. They all went into the wall, where Nick was aiming. When he was out of bullets, Nick threw the gun as hard as he could at the man curled up in the fetal position on the floor. It hit him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him and making it easy for Brass to pull him to his feet.
While Brass and another officer who had just arrived on the scene cuffed James, Warrick grabbed Nick by the shoulders and carefully pulled him out of the house into the backyard. Nick didn't fight him on it and went willingly. Once they got out there, Nick fell to his knees, bringing Warrick down with him. His best friend pulled him into a tight hug as the tears fell from Nick's sad eyes.
Warrick held onto Nick as he let go.
Doc Robbins had only thrown Nick Stokes out of his office once, and that was because he had snooping around, looking for a report after he had been repeatedly told it was still in the process of being finished. This time, Doc didn't want to throw Nick out, but keep him out because of who he was working on. But his efforts had been futile, and now he was standing across the table from Nick, with Mike Sparazza in between them.
"What's the COD?" Nick asked Doc, his eyes glued to his brother's body in front of him.
"You shouldn't be in here," Doc said for the tenth time. "I know you've been cleared, but this is too much for you Nick."
Nick looked up at the doctor with tears in his eyes. "What's the COD?" he asked again, softer this time.
Doc Robbins couldn't help but give in to that look. "It's hard to say for sure," he answered honestly. "It appears to be the gunshot, but there was minimal tissue reaction, which tells me that he was on his way out from his other injuries he had sustained. The bullet killed him quicker than everything else would have."
Nick looked back down at Mike and nodded. "He was suffering from all of it," he said more than asked.
"Yes," Doc confirmed. "That's true. But you already knew that."
Nick nodded again. "I was with him. He could barely move. He was in so much pain...he begged me to."
Doc froze uncomfortably. "Are you sure I'm the person you should be telling this to?"
Nick looked up at Robbins and smiled sadly. "Super Dave's not around."
Doc Robbins laughed lightly. "I'd say you did the right thing. He was suffering, badly. You made it quick and painless, if it's any consolation.
Nick shook his head slowly. He looked down at the floor as the tears fell from his eyes. "It's not."
"Not much is going to be," Robbins said. "Just hang in there, would ya?"
Nick nodded as he turned to leave. "Thanks for not throwing me out Doc," he said with a small smile as he left.
He was halfway to his car in the parking lot when Brass came running up to him. The captain came to a stop and immediately frowned when he saw that Nick's eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
"I just saw Mike," Nick answered, his voice cracking slightly.
Brass nodded slightly. "Oh," he said simply.
"So what's up?" Nick asked.
"Ecklie and agent Waters are holding a press conferece."
Nick frowned this time. "For what?"
"You," Brass replied. "The FBI is so estactic that we got Sparazza that they called the sheriff and Ecklie and wouldn't hang up until they agreed to reinstate you."
"You're kidding," Nick said in disbelief.
Brass shook his head. "I'm serious. Everyone's so excited he's off the streets that they don't care about the rules. They're bending them. You get your job back if you get your ass to that press conference right now."
Nick sighed sarcastically. "I hate press conferences."