Pure Luck
"Judge
Stokes, Mrs. Stokes, I assure you that every available resource we have is
going into bringing your son home safely. All our men are working on this, and
we're not going to rest until we get him back. I know I already introduced
myself, but I'm Catherine Willows, head CSI on Nicky's shift." Catherine
paused awkwardly, and Warrick knew it was because she'd referred to Nick by a
nickname, unprofessional behavior when talking with the parents of a victim
during a case.
Catherine pulled herself together and gestured to him. "This is Warrick
Brown, a level three CSI that works the mid-shift with Nick."
Warrick held his hand out and greeted, "We met once before--two years ago
around Christmas-time."
"Of course," Mrs. Stokes answered, returning the handshake and edging
on her toes to kiss his cheek politely. Warrick didn't know whether she
actually recognized him or if she fell back on her ingrained perfect Southern
hostess demeanor to get through these frivolities.
"Still a Raiders’ fan?" Judge Stokes asked.
Warrick felt a small chuckle release some of the tension inside him.
"Always, sir. Still rooting for the Cowboys?"
"They are America’s team,” he pointed out. “And with Bledsoe I
think we’ve got a real shot this year."
“I guess we’ll have to see.”
“Yeah, we will.”
Both men smiled for a moment before falling back into pained silence. Catherine
cleared her throat and continued introducing the anxious CSIs and lab techs.
"This is Sara Sidle, CSI level three." Sara shook their hands, but
Warrick recognized the distant look in her eyes that said her mind continued to
dissect and try to connect the evidence even while she spoke. She proved his
theory correct when she dismissed herself back to the trace lab a moment later.
"That's Archie Johnson at the desk. He's the audio-visual tech working on
finding out where that video feed is coming from."
Archie turned around and waved before going back to typing on the keyboard in
front of him, his forehead wrinkling in concentration.
Catherine gestured at Hodges working beside Sara on the other side of the glass
wall. "That's David Hodges, another lab tech."
Hodges nodded at the crowd on the other side of the window when he looked up.
Catherine turned around slowly, looking for more people to introduce to Nick’s
parents. Warrick recognized this classic method of trying to ease their minds.
When someone hurt a child, parents always wanted to do something—be part of the
process—and more often than not they did more harm than good. Introducing them
to the people working on their case usually gave them a sense of power over the
investigation.
Warrick felt a little guilty for manipulating the Stokes in that way, but
barring them somehow producing a million bucks out of thin air in the next
hour, there was nothing they could do to help. If meeting everyone brought them
some comfort, as it seemed to, then Warrick was all over that.
At that moment, Greg walked around the corner, and Catherine motioned him over.
With a wary look, he slowly made his way to stand in front of her.
"Yeah?" he asked. Warrick's CSI-honed eyes noted the hesitance in his
usually confident step, and the pale, chalky-whiteness of his skin. He knew
Greg and Nick had become close over the last two or three years. Greg still
hadn't desensitized himself from the horror of everyday cases yet, so Warrick
couldn't imagine how he dealt with this so soon. Warrick felt flailing and
helpless, like a useless kid, and he’d been doing this for seven years.
"Greg, I want you to meet Nick's parents. Judge and Mrs. Stokes, this is
Greg Sanders, CSI level one and the best DNA lab tech we have."
Warrick could tell Catherine expected Greg to react to her compliment on his
abilities, but he only stood there, staring at the ground and looking
uncomfortable.
“Greg?” Mrs. Stokes asked, her voice choked.
“Yes, maam,” Greg answered with unusual deference.
Mrs. Stokes placed a hand over her mouth, and hesitantly stepped up to him.
“Greg?”
Then to Warrick’s surprise, she flung her arms around him, gripping tightly.
Greg stood frozen for several seconds before bringing one hand up to rest
between her shoulder blades.
“You’ll find him, won’t you?” she asked. “You’ll bring him back to me.”
Greg disentangled himself from her arms, his face blank. “Grissom and Catherine
are in charge of the investigation, and we’re doing everything we can.”
“But you’ll…” Mrs. Stokes began before Judge Stokes put his hand on her arm.
“Leave him alone, Jill,” he said. Then to Greg, “We know you’ll do your best,
son.” He looked around at all of them, “We know all of you will, and we’re very
grateful.”
Greg motioned to Jacqui’s lab. “I have to get back.” He slipped past the group
and headed down the hall.
“We should all get back, actually,” Catherine replied. She gave Warrick a
questioning look, and Warrick shrugged. Somehow they both missed how close Nick
and Greg became.
--
Warrick gripped the quarter in his hand so hard that the ridges around the
outside imprinted themselves into his palm. It had to be some kind of joke that
the toss of a coin could do this to Nick, the most decent person that Warrick
ever met. Warrick knew all about betting and percentages. One coin, two sides,
a fifty-fifty chance, even odds, pure luck. It wasn’t right.
Warrick was the fuck up. The CSI with two years of experience that still let
Holly Gribbs die. The dumb college kid who picked up an addiction to gambling
that put him in the pocket of a crooked judge. The hothead that drove a
grieving father to kill an innocent man. So why wasn’t he in that box instead
of Nick? Nick, who never did nothing to nobody, and yet never caught a break.
It was Nicky in hell, trapped by a lunatic for no other reason than Warrick
picked heads. He let the coin fall out of his hand and kept walking.
“Hey, you dropped your quarter.”
Warrick turned around and saw Sophia bending down to pick it up. Her long
blonde hair was held fast in a tight, simple bun near her neck. She wore casual
jeans, a sweater, tennis shoes and no make up. She must have had the day off
and come in when she heard what happened.
“I don’t want it,” he answered. “It’s bad luck.”
Sophia grinned. “That’s only pennies.” She grabbed the quarter and handed it to
him. “Besides, it was on heads. That’s good luck. And we need all the
good luck we can get.”
“I guess so,” Warrick said as he accepted it. He studied Washington’s face
staring up at him and then shoved it back in his pocket.
Sophia continued down the hall. “I have to get to Trace. I’m trying to make
sense of that Styrofoam cup.”
“Good luck,” Warrick said.
“Yeah, you too.”
He shook his head, though he knew she couldn’t see him. “I've got all of that I
can take.”
--
Warrick walked into the locker room to put away his coat. They had arrived back
from the warehouse about twenty minutes before, but Grissom caught him on the
way in and questioned him about the prototype box Catherine, Greg and him
found.
He was surprised when he found Greg there, sitting on the bench with the lights
off, his legs pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees.
“Greg?” he questioned.
Greg jumped, legs sliding off the bench and landing on the floor with a thump.
“Oh, hey.”
Not one to waste an opportunity, Warrick sat down next to him to apologize for
ragging on him earlier. The last thing he needed was more guilt festering
inside him. At the rate he was going, he’d suffocate faster than Nick. That
last thought made him cringe and run his hand through his hair.
“Look, man, I’m really…” he started, but Greg waved his apology away.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
“No, I can’t. I acted like a jerk. I’m just…so fucking scared, you
know?”
Greg nodded and grinned without mirth. “Yeah, I know.”
The way he said it gave Warrick pause, and easy as that, the events of the last
few hours twisted and locked into place. Judge Stokes called Greg son.
Mrs. Stokes trusted him, and counted on him to bring Nick home. She couldn’t
know that Greg had only worked as a CSI for a few months, or what kind of
pressure that could put on someone so green. She couldn’t know what combining
that with crazy worry about someone he cared for would do to him.
God, and here Warrick was pitying himself for winning that fucking coin toss,
meanwhile Greg…
“I need something to do,” Greg said suddenly.
“What?”
“I need a…task. I need to do something.”
“You could stay with Archie and try…”
“Is anyone looking at the prototype?”
Warrick paused and stared at Greg. “I was about to,” he answered after a
moment.
“I’ll do that,” Greg decided, “and you help Archie.”
“Sure. Hey, you all right, man?”
“I’m fine,” Greg responded over his shoulder on the way out the door.
“Yeah,” Warrick said out loud to the empty locker room, thinking about him and
Greg and all the others, “picture that.”
--
The EMTs converged on Nick the moment the dust settled, checking his vitals and
making sure he hadn’t lapsed into anaphylactic shock from the fire ant bites.
Little whimpers of pain and fear wrenched from Nick’s throat as he laid still
and let them work.
Warrick watched as Catherine fell to her knees at Nick’s side, dust billowing
around her, and calmed his panic with her patient, confident voice. Grissom
stood above the mass of huddled bodies like some sort of avenging angel; feet
planted, arms crossed and face etched with stubborn determination.
Finally, he couldn’t observe anymore, the combination of relief, horror and gut
churning guilt too much for him to handle. He stumbled a couple of feet deeper into
the nursery, bent over and wretched, images of Nicky covered in fire ants and
holding that gun under his chin invading his mind.
He hadn’t eaten all day, so all that came up was water and acidic bile that
burned his throat and puddled in the dirt. It felt good to get rid of it, like
a physical catharsis.
As the last empty heaves left his body, he felt a hand cup the back of his
neck. Slanting his eyes to the left revealed Sara’s long, jean-clad legs beside
him. Her other hand brought a bottle of water into his field of vision.
“Thanks,” he said as he reached for the bottle and straightened up. Her hand
slipped from his neck down to rest on his lower back. He could feel the heat of
it warming his terror-frozen body through his shirt and vest.
“Sure,” she responded.
He twisted the cap off of the bottle and took a mouthful of water, swishing it
around in his mouth, getting rid of the taste of vomit and the sting of acid,
and then spit it out on the ground. He did that one more time before finishing
the rest of it in one deep swallow.
Looking at Sara for the first time, he frowned.
“It’s over,” he said when he recognized her expression.
Her hand tightened into a fist against his back, clutching the material of his
shirt. “No,” she replied softly, her sorrowful brown eyes almost black with
emotion. “It’s barely even started.”
--
The EMTs lifted Nick onto a stretcher and began strapping him in. Warrick
looked over at Greg who watched them work with blank eyes.
“Greg, do you want to…” he motioned at the ambulance.
Greg jerked his head once in negation. “No, I’ll follow. You go.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he answered. He wrapped his arms around his chest and
clutched his elbows in a defensive gesture.
“All right, man,” Warrick agreed, not wanting to anger him, and also needing to
be in that ambulance, to be close to Nick, as a way to assuage his guilt.
He jumped into the vehicle and clutched Nick’s hand carefully when it reached
up.
“We got you, buddy, we got you.”
Nick said something, lips moving, but his voice inaudible. Warrick lowered his
head to hear. “Say it again?”
“Greg,” Nick repeated, the word more breath against Warrick’s cheek than actual
sound.
Warrick frowned and sat back. “He’s coming. He’s following us. Gonna take you to
the hospital and get you all patched up. I’ll be whipping your ass in
basketball again in no time.”
“…taller…” Nick rasped out, his voice a little stronger.
“Height ain’t got nothin’ to do with it,” Warrick responded. “It’s all about
skill.”
Nick let out a shaky chuckle that made Warrick sick with relief. Beside him, he
heard Catherine shudder out a loud, wet-sounding breath. Nick winced and jerked
when one of the EMTs stuck a needle in his arm.
While Catherine talked him down from the pain, Warrick thought about being a
CSI. After seven years, he somehow forgot that the vic isn’t the only person
affected by a crime. Warrick looked at spouses, parents and friends and saw
only motive and suspects and opportunity. A grieving husband’s behavior was
evidence, his tears often a lie to hide the truth.
Nicky never forgot though. When he looked at that same grieving husband, he saw
pain, loss. He always worried about the people. More proof that Nick’s stronger
than Warrick would ever be. After this, he sure as hell would never neglect the
human element again. He’d try to be a better man. After this, he’d try to be
more like Nick.
--
An hour or so later, the doctors stabilized Nick and the group of people in the
waiting room was allowed to see him. Nick’s parents went first, and Judge
Stokes returned fifteen minutes later to let them in.
Everyone jumped out of their seats and made for the door. Only because he was
looking for it did he notice Greg, uncharacteristically silent the whole hour,
break away from the group and head the other way down the hall. For someone so
often the center of attention, commanding all eyes his way with those loud
patterned shirts and that ever-changing hair, Greg did a good job making like
Houdini and disappearing when he felt like it.
In the room, Nick looked much better. He had calmed down, probably due to the
IV in the arm farthest from the door, doped to the gills on morphine. They’d
washed away the dirt and blood and cleaned the bites too. They still looked
disgusting, clustering all over his skin, bright red and bulbous. Warrick
didn’t want to think about how Nick would feel when the drugs wore off.
Catherine, Grissom, Sara and Warrick all lined up at the bed to speak to Nick.
Catherine and Sara both kissed his cheek, and Grissom even looked a little
misty eyed. Warrick knew that what went down between the two of them before
they opened the lid on the box affected Grissom in a serious way.
When it was Warrick’s turn, Nick bent his arm at the elbow and Warrick clasped
his hand. Warrick feared he’d let loose all the things that went through his
mind today. How much he respected Nick. How he loved him like a brother. How it
should have been Warrick in that box. How jacked up this whole situation was.
Instead, Nick spoke first, his face serious, his voice hoarse.
“Thanks for the save, bro.”
Warrick closed his eyes against the memory of Nicky pushed to his limit, gun
against his throat, end of the line. He tightened his grip on Nick’s hand.
“Anytime, man.”
Warrick stepped back. Getting over the emotional first greetings seemed to
lighten everyone’s spirits, because Mrs. Stokes let out a small laugh that her
husband echoed. Catherine began telling Nick about putting the old team back
together, not bothered for the moment about the demotion that would entail for
her. Grissom contested something she said, and the two of them began that
married couple bickering they always do. Sara met his eyes and her lips spread
into an honest-to-god-gap-toothed-Tina-who grin that he couldn’t help but
return.
“Nicky, do you need something?” Mrs. Stokes asked.
Warrick looked back at the bed and saw Nick’s eyes darting around the room.
Immediately, Warrick knew what—or rather who—Nick’s eyes searched for in the
little room packed with people.
“No, I’m fine. I just…has anyone seen Greg?”
Catherine frowned. “He was outside waiting with us. I don’t know where he
went.”
“He’s probably at the vending machines or something. I’ll go take a look,”
Warrick said.
He walked out of the room and spotted Greg down the hall, pacing around a row
of uncomfortable plastic chairs. He saw Warrick approaching and sat down
wearily in the one closest to him.
“Where’ve you been?” Warrick asked when he reached him.
“Getting some coffee,” Greg replied, his head falling against the back of the
seat.
“This hospital start serving Blue Hawaiian?” Warrick questioned.
Greg shrugged. “Figured I couldn’t be picky.”
“Nick’s asking for you. Now. And on the ambulance ride over.”
Greg froze for a moment and then turned to face Warrick. “He must be
delusional.”
“No,” Warrick argued, and then sighed. “Look, G. I get what your problem is.
Well, not ‘get,’ but I see where you’re coming from. Still, whatever your
issues are, deal with them later. Right now is about Nick, and he asked for
you.”
Greg put his face in his hands and didn’t respond for a long time. Then, he
pushed himself out of his seat and nodded.
“You’re right, let’s go.”
--
As they walked into the room, Nick’s voice trailed off mid-sentence. His eyes
focused on Greg who stood beside Warrick with his hands shoved in his pockets
and his red eyes trained back at Nick.
The others followed Nick’s stare, the room’s roar of voices dimming to a murmur
and then finally tapering off into silence. Warrick observed Grissom’s knowing
gaze as he looked back and forth between Nick and Greg. Catherine and Sara
flanked Grissom on either side. As Warrick watched, the puzzle clicked into
place for Catherine, the evidence of Greg’s behavior throughout the day
bringing her to the correct conclusions. Sara just looked confused, but then,
Warrick thought with fondness, she probably hadn’t noticed anything except the
case from the time when Nick first went missing until they ripped him out of
the ground.
He also saw three women, who hadn’t been there when he left, clustered together
in a corner, arms linked, with the same brown hair and All-American good looks
as Nick. The one in the middle appeared the most emotional of the bunch. Her
mascara had smudged under her eyes, and her head rested on the shoulder of the
woman to her left, whom Warrick assumed to be the oldest of the group due to
the shiny strands of gray streaked through her braided hair. Next to them, Mrs.
Stokes brought her handkerchief up to dab at her cheeks and swipe under her
nose. Judge Stokes had an arm around his wife’s waist, his expression a cross
between solemnity and stark relief.
The silence stretched on, pulled thin like his grandmother’s homemade taffy,
while Greg became tenser with each passing second.
Finally, Nick managed a small smile and a weak, “Hey, Greggo.”
That seemed to be the catalyst Greg needed, because in three long strides he
arrived at the edge of the bed. He grasped Nick’s hand, and his breath caught
and pulled on a long, jagged sob.
“Shh, shh,” Nick soothed. His eyes were half shut and distant with the strength
of the painkillers, and his voice came out a whisper, barely audible. “I’m ok.
You did good.”
Warrick again felt blown away by Nick’s inherent selflessness. The comment only
served to further upset Greg, though, causing his gasping, shallow breaths to
quicken and tears to slip down his face. Through his soft cries, Warrick could
make out a repetition of Nick’s name.
Greg’s free hand traced desperately over the features of Nick’s face, careful
not to aggravate the fire ant bites. Nick’s eyes closed the rest of the way to
let him.
“I thought I found you,” Greg choked out after a minute. “In the warehouse. But
it was a dog. A fucking dog. I thought I found you…I thought…” Another angry,
painful sounding sob followed a tremor that wracked his whole body.
Nick swallowed and opened his chapped lips slowly, eyes still closed, head
tilted towards Greg. “You did find me.”
Greg shook his head and then pressed a kiss to the scratched and swollen hand
in his. “No, not me. Catherine. Warrick. Not me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Warrick noticed Judge Stokes ushering his family
out the door, Catherine and Grissom following suit. Sara stayed frozen at the
edge of the bed watching the display in front of her, her eyes wide and her
mouth hanging open. Despite everything, the sight made Warrick smile.
He walked over to her and put his arm around her narrow shoulders. “Come on,”
he whispered in her ear. “We’ll go to the cafeteria and I’ll tell you all about
it.”
She glanced up at him and nodded, a little grin twitching the corners of her
mouth, before looking back at the bed to see Greg running his hand through
Nick’s short hair.
“Picture that,” she said in wonderment, and it surprised a snicker from Warrick
that went unheard by the other two occupants in the room.
They headed out of the room. Warrick turned to close the door and saw Nick
shifting over to one side, mindful of the IV in his arm, and Greg crawling into
the bed beside him. He shut the door.