Still Holding On, Part 2 of 3 (Nick Stokes/David Hodges)
Title: Still Holding On (2/3)
Authors: moira_fae11 and pabzi
Warnings/Spoilers: Bad language, very upset characters and contemplation of self abuse.
Rating: NC-17 (for the whole series, although this one is more like R.)
Pairing: Nick Stokes/David Hodges
Summary: Now that they're apart, can Nick even survive without David? And can David survive himself?
A/N: We're working on this one together, so it's an interesting journey. Let us know what you think!
Part One can be found here.
Cath let her flashlight trace the form of Eleanor Garten, 32, the DB’s eyes glazed with the clouds of petechial hemorrhaging that was almost definitely caused by the silk scarf left tied around her neck by her killer. The strawberry blonde clucked her tongue softly as she bent down to tweeze a few fibers from the corpse’s hair and then glanced up.
Nick was standing silently, his flashlight focused on the woman’s shoes, his eyes unblinking, face and thoughts obviously elsewhere. Catherine cleared her throat and then shot her flashlight up at him, squinting in the low light as he flinched and blinked back at her. “Hey, Nick. Wanna help me out here? Or is there something wrong with her foot that Dave missed?”
“What?” He said softly, confused by her using David’s name, and then realizing it wasn’t even the right David and shook his head, kneeling down. “No, no. Sorry. Nothing. It wasn’t anything.”
“Hm.” A soft, noncommittal noise from the supervisor as she bent back to her task, bindling a few suspect hairs and then examining the area around Eleanor’s head.
Nick did not have his mind on the job. It had been over twenty four hours since David had sent him packing in a state of utter confusion, and his head was back in that hallway, his hands still planted against the door, trying to think of any way to understand what had happened. He slowly picked a few fibers off the woman, giving her a few glances, then went to stand.
Cath looked at him curiously, raising an eyebrow, “Nick. I asked you to do her fingernails and get samples of the dirt on her shoes, remember?”
The Texan’s forehead bunched as his face went tragically apologetic, kneeling back down as he pulled out a few bundles. “Right. Right, sorry. I forgot.” Glancing up at the woman, he pursed his lips, “So how do we think Helen here died?”
“Eleanor died from being strangled, Nicky,” Cath said, looking both perplexed and a bit worried by the younger CSI’s strange behavior. “You were here when David pronounced, remember? The scarf around her neck?” Peering up at him, she added carefully, “You okay, Nick?”
“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry. Just feelin’ a bit spacey tonight,” He sighed, wanting to smack himself in the forehead suddenly. He was blowing this, and he needed to pull it together. That didn’t stop him from acting just as distracted and out of touch for the rest of shift, needing to be reminded by Cath and even by Greg what to do next, or what he had been doing.
Back at the lab, they began to parcel out the necessary evidence to the necessary technicians. Cath fingered several of the bags, handing them around, “I’ve got tox and some tapes for Archie. Greg, take these to DNA,” He took the parcels handed over and went running, then she turned to Nick, “And if you’ll take this to Ronnie and then swing by Hodges and drop these off … “
“I’ll hand this over to Ronnie, but then I’ve … er, got to get going. I have a … thing. That I need to do down in the, er, drying room. Real important, Cath. You don’t mind, right? Thanks.” Nick was gone so fast there were nearly rubber streaks in the floor tile.
Cath’s eyebrow cocked slowly, confused … But somehow things were starting to become a bit clearer, she thought as she turned towards the trace lab. The next stop she was going to make would either make or break her theory.
Of course, one take of the look on Hodges’ face and Catherine knew that she was dead right. Nick and David’s relationship, the one that they had kept quiet but that everyone in the lab knew about, was either on the rocks, or completely over. David looked angry, perhaps even a tinge sad. His hands were a little shaky as he tried to put evidence onto the platform of the Fourier, and he kept nervously running his fingers through his hair or stuffing them into his pockets. For some reason, it was the first time she noticed he was looking unusually thin. Cath watched him for a few moments from the door before she took a few steps into the lab.
It took a lot of self-restraint to keep from saying anything, to keep from asking the rather burning questions she had in the back of her mind. Of course, she was a little certain that David had never quite forgiven her for accusing him of blowing up the lab when it had been her fault in the end. It probably wouldn’t help if she began interrogating him about why their relationship was affecting both his and Nick’s work.
Instead, she walked over quietly, setting the evidence in the in box. When he glanced up at her, his ice blue eyes ringed with tired circles, she just pointed at the bindles, waving her hand nonchalantly, “Hey, Hodges. Just a few things from the Garten case. No rush. Page me when they’re done, okay?”
He gave her a silent, curt nod and then went back to whatever it was he was struggling with under the microscope. She left him there, shaking her head with worry, now for both Nick and David.
Caught up in her thoughts, she was turning the corner towards the layout room when she almost ran smack into Bobby Dawson. A rather worried looking Bobby Dawson, actually. Why was it that suddenly everyone was looking so worried, she wondered silently.
“Oh, hey Catherine,” The Georgian breathed, looking like she had absolutely scared the bejeebus out of him.
“Bobby,” She said, straightening herself and then looking him up and down. “Boy, is there something in the water around here? Everyone’s looking all jumpy and upset.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the Trace Lab, and then raised that Cath eyebrow at Bobby, who wilted accordingly.
“You noticed, huh?” He ran a hand through his wild curls, grimacing in that same direction. Bobby was the closest friend next to Jacqui that David had, and since Jacqui had been transferred to New York, he would be the best person to know what was going on with the man. “Yeah. He’s … not in a good mood. Sorry ‘bout that, Cath.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement, Bobby,” She said drolly, eyeing him as he shifted nervously. There was a pause, and then she decided to ask, no sense in wasting precious time. “Did he and Nick break up?”
Bobby looked at her archly for a few moments, then his shoulders sagged and he nodded, glancing back David’s way again, even though they couldn’t see much inside the trace lab from where they were standing. “Yeah, unfortunately. David’s been … well, he’s been actin’ weird lately anyways, but tonight’s jus’ been odder than normal. He’s not happy. When I finally figured it out myself, he growled at me and then threw a phonebook at me.”
“Bobby! That’s … “
“No, Cath,” The ballistics tech raised a hand, wincing at her since she was rearing back, looking outraged for his sake. “It’s okay. He hit th’ wall, I don’t think he was actually aimin’ at me. An’ he’s just been so upset because of th’ other day … I don’t know what happened, Cath, an’ he won’ tell me.” He let out a long worried sigh, adding, “I’m jus’ not sure what t’do, lady.”
“Have you seen Nick?” She said softly, her look turning anxious. “He’s very distracted, upset … I hope it’s not just a breakup, Bobby. But would a breakup effect them both this way?”
“I saw him, yeah. Reminds me a’ how Dave looks. He’s gotten real thin, Cath.” Bobby’s brown eyes were pained and then he shrugged, “I guess people deal with pain different ways. They’re just in a lotta pain.”
Catherine looked uncertain, shaking her head. She glanced down the hall and then gave Bobby a reassuring pat on the arm. “I’ve got to go work on some evidence, Bobby. Keep your eye on Hodges, okay? Let me know if anything happens, alright?”
“Sure,” Bobby nodded, looking hunted. He actually doubted he’d talk to Catherine if something was up with David. But she’d put an idea in his head. Maybe the best person to contact would be Jacqui.
They parted ways and Cath finished her trek to the layout room. It wasn’t empty. Nick was standing over the underlit table, two crime scene photos in front of him. She supposed he had started out trying to find something in them, but now he was only staring at the glowing space between them, lost in some thought somewhere.
“Nicky, we need to talk,” Cath said softly as she walked over and patted his arm.
Woken from his reverie, Nick jumped out of his skin, leaning away and looking at Catherine like she had momentarily sprouted an extra head. After a few deep breaths he smiled at her, a weak thing compared to the brilliant Nicky smiles she was always used to.
“What’s goin’ on, Cath?”
“Nick,” She said cautiously, walking on tenterhooks, “I’m a bit worried about you.”
“I’m just tired, Cath. I’m having a little bit of a hard time, but I’ll be fine, promise,” He assured her, pushing away from the table to turn towards her more. He looked almost desperate, as if telling him he wasn’t okay would make him fall to pieces.
“It’s … This is about David, isn’t it?” She finally went straight to the point. It had to come out, and she was going to make sure, once and for all. The silence that followed wasn’t too reassuring, but Nick finally gave a small nod, looking back down at the table.
“Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head emphatically no, looking up at her with pleading brown eyes. “I’m fine, Cath. Just need time, that’s all.”
“Well, if you need anything. Drinks after shift tonight or something,” She offered. He shook his head again.
“Thanks, Cath. I’m fine now. But thanks.”
Catherine couldn’t do anything but shrug and nod compliance. Another awkward moment of silence followed until she stuck out her hand, indicating the evidence and photos he’d pulled onto the table. “So, what’ve you got here?”
It took them a few hours, but they poured over what they had, wrapping it up to a point that they could go home and catch some sleep before returning to follow some leads and talk to some people about their findings.
Nick was relieved to be able to make his way home, and he was tying the laces on his shoes in the locker room when his phone rang. He answered, not even looking at the caller ID. “Stokes.”
“Goddamnit, Nicolas Stokes! What the fuck is going on? What the hell have you done?”
Nick had quickly reacted to the shrill yells on the other end, holding it away from his ear. Finally, he moved it back, saying gingerly, “Hey, Jacqui. How’s New York?”
“Don’t you goddamn ‘How’s New York?’ me, Nick! What the hell? What is going on with you and David? I got a panicked call from Bobby a little while ago telling me he’s going unhinged and you’re dropping the ball at work! That you’re both acting miserable and you look miserable … So you tell me right now, what the hell is going on, Stokes?”
“Jacqui, look,” He sighed, his hand slipping to his forehead in frustration. “We’re both goin’ through a difficult time right now. He’s been actin’ very oddly and last night he broke up with me … but it’s probably for the best. He’s bein’ very self destructive, Jacq, and I can’t really take it anymore if he won’t tell me what’s wrong.” He took a deep breath, finishing with, “I asked him to get help, or let me help, but he won’t, Jacq. I can’t stay around him like he was.”
There was silence for a few moments on the end of the phone. Nick was beginning to wonder if she was thinking or if he’d dropped the call when she finally sighed into the receiver, sounding like a windstorm. “I’ll call him. Try to talk to him. He’s stubborn as an ass, though, Stokes, so I don’t know how much good it’ll do.”
“Anything’s better than nothin’, Jacq,” Nick sighed, hoping he was right. Still, somewhere in the pit of his stomach he knew David was probably too stubborn, and that he’d probably dig his heels and it’d get worse if Jacqui started to meddle. But she was his best friend, and not likely talked out of it. Nick would just have to take that chance.
“I’ll give him a call. Take care of yourself, okay, Stokes?”
“Sure, Jacqui. Take care out there in New York.”
“I will. Bye, Texas.”
“Bye.” He hung up and then let his head drop, taking a few deep breaths. He needed home and he needed sleep. Maybe then he could try to pull his life together, because at the moment, it just wasn’t working. Everything was just blurring together. He hoped, as he made his way to his Denali, that some sleep would cure it.
~~~~~~
Nick found himself at home, flipping automatically from ESPN to The Discovery Channel and then checking to see if he had recorded his favorite show on bird watching. There had been consideration on eating, but he wasn’t hungry, and drinking, but he hadn’t eaten and there was the sincere fear of doing something completely stupid like drunk calling David to tell him how much he missed him already.
David sat on his bed, staring at his cell phone. If it rang, he would pick it up. No, no, he wouldn’t. He’d throw it against the wall. Or maybe he’d just walk away and pretend it didn’t exist. If he didn’t want to pay the bill for replacing the damn thing, he could throw it at the neighbor’s dog and kill two proverbial birds with one goddamn stone. But that would be rash and illogical, and it wasn’t the dog’s fault his owner kept him outside and chained up all the time.
Still, an hour, part of a basketball game and two parts of a show on myna birds, and Nick found himself lining up another shot of whiskey. Just to help me sleep, he thought blackly, glaring at the bottle as he poured and then downed the brown liquid. He turned off the television and crawled into bed, but only found himself staring at the ceiling, feeling slightly hazy and running the scene with David over and over in his mind: Broccoli, fork, fist slamming, running, door slamming, crying, shouting and leaving.
The haze was beginning to drop away before he hoisted himself out of bed to try a few more shots to at least fuzzy if not block out the memory. He wanted to forget feeling hurt and used. He wanted to drown the slamming and the shouting, and especially the crying.
David could turn it off, just press the button and turn it off, but then work could call and he would get in trouble for not returning the call. God, it would be a relief to get called into work just so he could get away from the house and the memories and the thoughts that were driving him slowly out of his mind. Could he will the damn thing to ring?
It kept going for what felt like forever. He’d pull himself up, down two shots, then try to fall asleep, or watch another hour of TiVo’d nature specials. Nothing was helping. All he could do was obsess over what he could’ve done differently, why David wouldn’t listen to him.
And the look on David’s face when he hit the table in frustration … Pure horror, as if something had snapped, but also … some sort of relief, as if something he’d expected to come had finally happened. Every part of Nick, the CSI, the lover, the detective, the friend, wanted to know what the hell that look meant.
There was the possibility, though, that he could run into Nick at work. The idea both made David’s heart flutter and his stomach turn sour. He wanted to talk to Nick, make him understand. No, no, he wanted Nick to stay away. Far, far away from him and his broken, shattered little world. Nick could fall off the face of the earth, for all he cared. It was better for both of them. No calls, no contact, and it was better that Nick kept sending his partners in to see him instead of coming to get results himself.
When the clock finally hit four pm, Nick rubbed his eyes, took a shower and ate a salad. By now, the sleeplessness had finally thinned his thoughts to an underlying buzz. They were still present, but Nick was in such a stupor that he switched into autopilot. He had to find a way to just get through the day, he told himself as he squeezed his keys hard in his hand and headed out to the Denali.
Even though that final sign of admittance, that it was so over they didn’t want to see or speak to each other, hurt David almost as much as the self-imposed separation did. Didn’t Nick want to see him at all? No, of course not. He probably wouldn’t even care if David died. Perhaps this was all right in the end, he had been right to reject Nick and send him away. And he certainly didn’t want to speak to him on the phone.
In a moment of decision, David turned the phone on vibrate and set it on the nightstand, then turned over and dropped into a fitful sleep.
~~~~~~
The lab was in a fair state of uproar. Mandy best described Hodges’ state as bordering on bi-polar hysterics. He had dragged Henry in and sat him down to tell him a long joke that, apparently he found so funny he went on a two minute laughing streak even though Henry was mystified as to what the actual punchline was. Minutes later, he was barking curses at the CSIs who had come searching for results, nearly going so far as to threaten to launch a rack of test tubes at Greg’s quote, “Spiny, idiotic, mousse-ridden, addled, dyed, twitterpated, obnoxious, and furthermore stupid head!” unquote.
It wasn’t affecting his ability to work, and it was just strange enough to be considered weird David behavior. Only Bobby and Archie really saw how hurt David was feeling. Most of the lab knew what was happening to the two, but they tried to chalk it up to a bad Hodges day and leave it at that.
Nick, on the other hand, had gotten himself into trouble. Nearing his third day of sleep deprivation, already acting even more spaced out than the day previous, he pulled a rather large party foul. He left his kit at a crime scene, making it necessary for Sara to drive them in laps and make them waste time that they would otherwise be using to do lab work and track down the killer. While processing, he kept muddling the information of the current case, a teen named Jeremy Swenson, with the case of the lady from the day before, going so far as to wonder several times in a row about evidence from one case as opposed to the other.
After a while, Sara couldn’t take it any longer. When they decided to finally take a break, Nick headed for the break room and Sara turned to go straight to Grissom’s office. If he wasn’t there, she was hunting him down because she was convinced that Nick was clearly unfit to work that evening.
“Where are you headed? You’ve got that determined Sara look on your face. Got a suspect already?” Catherine’s voice stopped her in her tracks, and Sara paused to let her catch up before continuing down the hall.
“I’m going to talk to Griss,” Sara explained, concern mixing with frustration, those dark brows furrowing. “Nick’s not himself. He can’t handle evidence, Catherine. He keeps getting our DB mixed up with the case he worked on with you yesterday. They’re female and male. It shouldn’t be that hard.”
“Well,” Cath said cautiously, hefting the file to offer to Sara, “I was going over what notes I could flag down on some of the stuff you’ve got being tested and comparing to my notes. They look connected to me, Sara. Maybe that’s what Nick was seeing and he’s just tired?”
Sara gave her a sideways look as she took the file that spoke skeptical volumes and Cath just raised her hands in submission. “Okay, fine. Maybe we can convince him to take some time off. Maybe he should visit home or something. Visit Texas. I can tell you that he has a lot of vacation days set aside … ”
“I have a feeling,” Sara breathed as she knocked on the glass door to Grissom’s office, “That he’ll only listen to one person when it comes to a suggestion like that.” As she nodded towards the door, the soft call to enter came and the two of them went inside to make a case for - and against - Nick.
Not much later, Nick was draped in the chair opposite Grissom, looking positively angry. It was a surprising contrast to the pure neutral look on the supervisor’s face, but no one was around to note it besides Nick, and the calm demeanor of his boss just served to piss him off more.
“What d’you mean, take time off? I don’t want to take time off, Griss. We’ve got a serial murder on our hands now, and all the sudden you want me to take a vacation? Go back to Texas?? Well, no way!”
“Nick, I’m worried about your health,” Gil said softly as he squinted across the desk at him, examining his furious protégé kindly. “But I’m also worried about the state of this lab. Right now the one affects the other. If you can’t function properly, then you put the lab and all the evidence in peril, and you know we can’t have that. The evidence is sacrosanct. It’s all we have. If you can’t take care of yourself enough to realize when you need to take time off, then we have a problem.”
“So, what,” Nick growled, crossing his arms like a petulant child, “You’re gonna force me to take time off? Well I don’t want to! I wanna work, Griss. Please.” There was begging in that last word, almost desperate enough to make Grissom’s heart ache slightly for the younger CSI. He knew vaguely what was happening with Nick and Hodges, and he felt for Nick, but to let that affect his work … It was a lesson he was going to have to learn.
“Nick,” There was that fatherly tone that Nick knew well, the one that Grissom used to reprimand them when he wanted them to know that he still cared about them. “Catherine and Sara, as well as several of the lab techs, have told me that you’re letting personal emotion interfere with your ability to work. You know I can’t allow that. I’m putting you on five days mandatory leave. Go home, Nick. Get some sleep.”
“Sara … Cath?” He almost spat the names, feeling hugely betrayed by his close friends and coworkers. How could they? Yeah, they told themselves that it was for his own good, but home was a trap, and here he could at least try to put his head into something and distract himself for a while.
“Grissom, I’ll be fine! I’ll … “ He trailed off as Grissom’s face hardened, looking over his glasses at him with a firm look in those ocean blue eyes. If he had a hard time with the fatherly tone, Nick could not withstand disappointing Grissom, and now he could see that he was doing just that. His heart sank and he finally gave a silent, reluctant nod and stood, walking out of Grissom’s office.
~~~~~~
Nick arrived home after shift and put the truck in park. The tears were still falling, but for some reason, he just couldn't get them to stop. His house felt so empty as he locked the door behind him. Ever since he’d gotten in the car, the knowledge that he was banned from the lab, even for a few days, had overwhelmed him. His boyfriend had rejected him and now his second family was spurning him. He felt like he had a black lump in his chest that was spreading and eating at his insides, the pain needling away at him, and it made his heart hurt.
Slowly, he discarded his clothes and got into the shower, moving on autopilot. As he began to wash, he wasn’t even paying attention to what he was doing. All of a sudden he realized that he was covered in soap, but he didn't remember even grabbing the soap, much less soaping himself up. Falling back into the motions of washing, he realized he was too busy playing the other night over and over in his head.
The bed felt cold and empty, he noted sadly as he pulled the blankets over himself. He wished David had been there, at that moment, spooned up with him comfortably. Not only that, but he wished that David would just hold him and make all the pain go away. All the heartache and the nausea, that he would just hold him until it all faded and he could fall asleep. But that would be David as David used to be, not the David that he had become. The David who would care, listen, ask how his day was, what was wrong and what he could do to help … The David that would laugh and smile, who would say random things and bring up odd facts. That David. That was the David he wanted. Not the man with fear in his eyes who had kicked Nick out of his house two nights before. That man was someone else. It wasn’t David. Not his David.
For hours he tossed and turned. His brain felt like it was full of electricity and just wouldn’t shut down, all the little synapses firing at once. It was impossible to sleep like this, even when he was so exhausted. That pain was continuing to gnaw at him. It reminded him somewhat of the panic attacks that he had had right after the kidnapping. However, unlike those, this pain wasn't mostly fear. It didn’t make him want to hyperventilate; it made him want to cry, because it was pure sadness. There was a tinge fear there, too, but it was the overwhelming hopelessness of it all that made him ache. In the end, he just didn't have the words or the energy to place quite what he was afraid of.
Committed for a while to insomnia, he went out to the living room and turned on the TV. There was a bird documentary on The Discovery Channel. As much as he loved birds, his heart wasn't really into it, but what was better than staring at that screen? Looking at the walls? He’d done that for hours already, and couldn’t stand it any longer. He couldn’t concentrate enough to read a book, and god help him if he turned on his computer or tried to call someone - even without having had anything to drink he was worried that he could email or call David and blurt out something completely stupid.
He resorted to making himself his favorite sandwich, grilled cheese with tomato. Even though it didn't look appetizing as he sat staring at it, he knew that he had to eat. Nothing would look appetizing at that moment. Setting out a tray, he brought the sandwich and a glass of juice into the living room and began to eat. Bringing the glass to his lips to sip, he noted the color.
This is David's brand of juice, he thought, surprising himself with the realization. He still bought David's favorite brand of orange juice, even after months of David not coming over. Without warning, the tears started again. What is this? He chastised himself, To cry over something as minute as orange juice?
My ex boyfriend's brand of orange juice, He added in his mind painfully. Ex boyfriend.
"Fuck." He exclaimed suddenly, throwing the remaining half of his sandwich followed by the plate across the room. It was more in frustration that the tears just wouldn’t stop than anything else, and he sank back into the couch, sobbing.
"Fuck."
Cisco had taught him that grown men weren’t supposed to cry. Harshly, he wiped his tears away and looked blearily over at the TV, suddenly remembering that the bird special was on. He tried to force himself to watch, to take his mind off all of it, but he just ended up staring through the TV, as if it wasn't there. Although the sound of the birds from the TV seemed far away, he did hear it, and it somewhat relaxed him. Before he knew it, the show was over, some man was talking about tigers, and Nick was back with his thoughts. On a normal day the show would slightly interest him, but not now.
Now he forced himself to get up and clean up the mess he made, but only half heartedly, not bothering to do much more than pick up the sandwich and the big pieces of plate and toss it all in the garbage. On the way out of the kitchen, Nick realized he was cold. As to why, he had no clue, seeing as it was 70 degrees and sunny outside and he was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but he was freezing cold.
He made his way to the thermostat and gingerly turned on the heat. He was so tired that the numbers were blurring together. It was time to take another crack at sleeping. Walking down the hall and stumbling into the bedroom, he saw David in his head once more. His David, with that trademark smirk and those crystal blue eyes, the peaceful look that he had when he slept ... Nick started to cry again and crawled under the covers, curling in on himself.
~~~~~~
For many people, there is a happy middle ground, emotionally. A place between sad and happy, or perhaps anxiety and liberation, where a person can feel grounded and in touch with the world at large. David hadn’t been in that place in weeks, perhaps months, and it was wearing him down to nothing. He was feeling as gaunt and stretched as he looked, unable to eat because he just didn’t feel hungry, sleeping fitfully when he did, often waking drenched in sweat, his head swimming with nightmares of the past.
When he found something amusing or interesting, he had begun to overindulge, laughing loud enough to make his workmates wonder about his sanity, or obsessing so much that he’d snap almost viciously at anyone who interrupted his train of thought. His snark was starting to fade away, subtlety and wit something that was eluding him at this moment. The worst thing was, he was too intelligent not to know what he was doing to himself.
David Hodges was out of control.
It felt like living on a seesaw, and David was getting so tired of it. He wanted to talk to Nick, to run back to him and apologize for everything, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right and he had to protect himself, or neither of them would be safe. This was the way it had to be. Except it hurt so very, very much. It was like David’s grasp on himself and the situation had gone straight out the window, and he desperately wanted it back.
He had done the preparation mechanically, boiling everything to be sanitary, wiping down the top of the bathroom counter with alcohol and laying everything out on a clean towel. As he stepped out of the shower in a cloud of steam, he stared at his constructed temple of release as if he couldn’t remember putting it together in the first place. It was as if he had stepped backwards in time, back to the bad old days of LA, the pain and helplessness of the past. A chill went up his spine, even though his skin was lobster red from the heat of the shower as he realized, he was reverting.
He stepped closer, letting his fingers ghost over the instruments of his own betrayal. A sharp filleting knife he’d found in a kitchen drawer, a loose razor blade, a chunk from the glass he’d broke the other day, and the manicuring scissors he used to trim his nails. There was a bottle of iodine, cotton balls, Neosporin and a box of band-aids, all lined up and prepared to be useful. His hands were trembling and suddenly his knees couldn’t support his weight, gasping a sharp breath as he sank down onto the toilet.
It had been at least five years since he’d even thought about doing something like this again. Looking over the palate of cutting tools, the heat around him as he even sterilized his own skin and the smell of alcohol made him want to gag. And yet, he thought grimly, It would be so easy … Just one time. One little scar, one little cut would feel so good …
He wanted it because the cutting was a release, a way to gain control, at least over his own body. His fingers traced thin, faded scars on his arms. Bending down, he pushed his towel to the floor and found lines on his chest, his stomach, his thigh. Silently he wondered if Nick had ever noticed, or if he had, if he had even thought to ask. His stalwart ex probably just assumed he’d gotten them in the lab explosion, or from lots of little accidents, hardly worth mentioning or asking after.
It was definitely, almost certainly doubtful that Nick guessed that they were almost all self-inflicted.
Oh, god. It was like offering a hit to a junkie who had been detoxed and clean for years. His fingers itched to pick up the scissors, to force them with just enough pressure and draw them along the side of his arm, ignoring the sting. To watch the blood suddenly bubble from behind the blade as he did, and feel the absolute relief. It was like the bloodletting of the Dark Ages, trying to get all the bile out and balanced. Savoring the wound as it healed and hoping it wouldn’t be too soon before feeling the need to draw that razorblade against his thigh …
David let his head drop and laced his fingers behind his head, taking steady, deep breaths of slow cooling air. He’d stopped, when the situation ‘corrected’ itself, when the pain was finally behind him. He’d mentioned it the few times he’d gone to the therapist when Ecklie had made him go those first few months. It had been a condition of his transfer, and one that he’d been relieved to get out of.
It almost made him sick as the shrink told him that cutting was normal, saying out loud everything that he’d told himself in his head to coax himself into being okay with it. But she was wrong, it was wrong. Even if it felt right at the time, even if it was the only release he had at the time. The woman had tried her damnest to convince him that everything he’d done was okay, and that he was okay, and the whole time all he wanted to do was scream at her that it wasn’t and run out of there. The last of which was what he’d done, once his required amount of sessions were up.
Fucking therapists. Maybe what he needed was someone like that to talk to. Jacqui had actually offered to refer him once to her psychiatrist, and anyone that Jacqui Franco approved of surely couldn’t be as bad as that simpering harpy that tried to tell him all that mattered was that he loved himself. Fuck that. He needed to forgive himself, and that was something he’d had to figure out on his own.
Standing, he picked up the trashcan resolutely and pushed all the paraphernalia of his past life into it, towel and all and set it down harshly. He’d call Jacqui later and get that number from her if she still had it and maybe … Maybe if he could get past this thing, he could pull himself back together and just maybe Nick would still care enough for him to forgive him.
That thought was enough to try and coax him into some form of sleep, thankful for once for a day without work.
Authors: moira_fae11 and pabzi
Warnings/Spoilers: Bad language, very upset characters and contemplation of self abuse.
Rating: NC-17 (for the whole series, although this one is more like R.)
Pairing: Nick Stokes/David Hodges
Summary: Now that they're apart, can Nick even survive without David? And can David survive himself?
A/N: We're working on this one together, so it's an interesting journey. Let us know what you think!
Part One can be found here.
Cath let her flashlight trace the form of Eleanor Garten, 32, the DB’s eyes glazed with the clouds of petechial hemorrhaging that was almost definitely caused by the silk scarf left tied around her neck by her killer. The strawberry blonde clucked her tongue softly as she bent down to tweeze a few fibers from the corpse’s hair and then glanced up.
Nick was standing silently, his flashlight focused on the woman’s shoes, his eyes unblinking, face and thoughts obviously elsewhere. Catherine cleared her throat and then shot her flashlight up at him, squinting in the low light as he flinched and blinked back at her. “Hey, Nick. Wanna help me out here? Or is there something wrong with her foot that Dave missed?”
“What?” He said softly, confused by her using David’s name, and then realizing it wasn’t even the right David and shook his head, kneeling down. “No, no. Sorry. Nothing. It wasn’t anything.”
“Hm.” A soft, noncommittal noise from the supervisor as she bent back to her task, bindling a few suspect hairs and then examining the area around Eleanor’s head.
Nick did not have his mind on the job. It had been over twenty four hours since David had sent him packing in a state of utter confusion, and his head was back in that hallway, his hands still planted against the door, trying to think of any way to understand what had happened. He slowly picked a few fibers off the woman, giving her a few glances, then went to stand.
Cath looked at him curiously, raising an eyebrow, “Nick. I asked you to do her fingernails and get samples of the dirt on her shoes, remember?”
The Texan’s forehead bunched as his face went tragically apologetic, kneeling back down as he pulled out a few bundles. “Right. Right, sorry. I forgot.” Glancing up at the woman, he pursed his lips, “So how do we think Helen here died?”
“Eleanor died from being strangled, Nicky,” Cath said, looking both perplexed and a bit worried by the younger CSI’s strange behavior. “You were here when David pronounced, remember? The scarf around her neck?” Peering up at him, she added carefully, “You okay, Nick?”
“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry. Just feelin’ a bit spacey tonight,” He sighed, wanting to smack himself in the forehead suddenly. He was blowing this, and he needed to pull it together. That didn’t stop him from acting just as distracted and out of touch for the rest of shift, needing to be reminded by Cath and even by Greg what to do next, or what he had been doing.
Back at the lab, they began to parcel out the necessary evidence to the necessary technicians. Cath fingered several of the bags, handing them around, “I’ve got tox and some tapes for Archie. Greg, take these to DNA,” He took the parcels handed over and went running, then she turned to Nick, “And if you’ll take this to Ronnie and then swing by Hodges and drop these off … “
“I’ll hand this over to Ronnie, but then I’ve … er, got to get going. I have a … thing. That I need to do down in the, er, drying room. Real important, Cath. You don’t mind, right? Thanks.” Nick was gone so fast there were nearly rubber streaks in the floor tile.
Cath’s eyebrow cocked slowly, confused … But somehow things were starting to become a bit clearer, she thought as she turned towards the trace lab. The next stop she was going to make would either make or break her theory.
Of course, one take of the look on Hodges’ face and Catherine knew that she was dead right. Nick and David’s relationship, the one that they had kept quiet but that everyone in the lab knew about, was either on the rocks, or completely over. David looked angry, perhaps even a tinge sad. His hands were a little shaky as he tried to put evidence onto the platform of the Fourier, and he kept nervously running his fingers through his hair or stuffing them into his pockets. For some reason, it was the first time she noticed he was looking unusually thin. Cath watched him for a few moments from the door before she took a few steps into the lab.
It took a lot of self-restraint to keep from saying anything, to keep from asking the rather burning questions she had in the back of her mind. Of course, she was a little certain that David had never quite forgiven her for accusing him of blowing up the lab when it had been her fault in the end. It probably wouldn’t help if she began interrogating him about why their relationship was affecting both his and Nick’s work.
Instead, she walked over quietly, setting the evidence in the in box. When he glanced up at her, his ice blue eyes ringed with tired circles, she just pointed at the bindles, waving her hand nonchalantly, “Hey, Hodges. Just a few things from the Garten case. No rush. Page me when they’re done, okay?”
He gave her a silent, curt nod and then went back to whatever it was he was struggling with under the microscope. She left him there, shaking her head with worry, now for both Nick and David.
Caught up in her thoughts, she was turning the corner towards the layout room when she almost ran smack into Bobby Dawson. A rather worried looking Bobby Dawson, actually. Why was it that suddenly everyone was looking so worried, she wondered silently.
“Oh, hey Catherine,” The Georgian breathed, looking like she had absolutely scared the bejeebus out of him.
“Bobby,” She said, straightening herself and then looking him up and down. “Boy, is there something in the water around here? Everyone’s looking all jumpy and upset.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the Trace Lab, and then raised that Cath eyebrow at Bobby, who wilted accordingly.
“You noticed, huh?” He ran a hand through his wild curls, grimacing in that same direction. Bobby was the closest friend next to Jacqui that David had, and since Jacqui had been transferred to New York, he would be the best person to know what was going on with the man. “Yeah. He’s … not in a good mood. Sorry ‘bout that, Cath.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement, Bobby,” She said drolly, eyeing him as he shifted nervously. There was a pause, and then she decided to ask, no sense in wasting precious time. “Did he and Nick break up?”
Bobby looked at her archly for a few moments, then his shoulders sagged and he nodded, glancing back David’s way again, even though they couldn’t see much inside the trace lab from where they were standing. “Yeah, unfortunately. David’s been … well, he’s been actin’ weird lately anyways, but tonight’s jus’ been odder than normal. He’s not happy. When I finally figured it out myself, he growled at me and then threw a phonebook at me.”
“Bobby! That’s … “
“No, Cath,” The ballistics tech raised a hand, wincing at her since she was rearing back, looking outraged for his sake. “It’s okay. He hit th’ wall, I don’t think he was actually aimin’ at me. An’ he’s just been so upset because of th’ other day … I don’t know what happened, Cath, an’ he won’ tell me.” He let out a long worried sigh, adding, “I’m jus’ not sure what t’do, lady.”
“Have you seen Nick?” She said softly, her look turning anxious. “He’s very distracted, upset … I hope it’s not just a breakup, Bobby. But would a breakup effect them both this way?”
“I saw him, yeah. Reminds me a’ how Dave looks. He’s gotten real thin, Cath.” Bobby’s brown eyes were pained and then he shrugged, “I guess people deal with pain different ways. They’re just in a lotta pain.”
Catherine looked uncertain, shaking her head. She glanced down the hall and then gave Bobby a reassuring pat on the arm. “I’ve got to go work on some evidence, Bobby. Keep your eye on Hodges, okay? Let me know if anything happens, alright?”
“Sure,” Bobby nodded, looking hunted. He actually doubted he’d talk to Catherine if something was up with David. But she’d put an idea in his head. Maybe the best person to contact would be Jacqui.
They parted ways and Cath finished her trek to the layout room. It wasn’t empty. Nick was standing over the underlit table, two crime scene photos in front of him. She supposed he had started out trying to find something in them, but now he was only staring at the glowing space between them, lost in some thought somewhere.
“Nicky, we need to talk,” Cath said softly as she walked over and patted his arm.
Woken from his reverie, Nick jumped out of his skin, leaning away and looking at Catherine like she had momentarily sprouted an extra head. After a few deep breaths he smiled at her, a weak thing compared to the brilliant Nicky smiles she was always used to.
“What’s goin’ on, Cath?”
“Nick,” She said cautiously, walking on tenterhooks, “I’m a bit worried about you.”
“I’m just tired, Cath. I’m having a little bit of a hard time, but I’ll be fine, promise,” He assured her, pushing away from the table to turn towards her more. He looked almost desperate, as if telling him he wasn’t okay would make him fall to pieces.
“It’s … This is about David, isn’t it?” She finally went straight to the point. It had to come out, and she was going to make sure, once and for all. The silence that followed wasn’t too reassuring, but Nick finally gave a small nod, looking back down at the table.
“Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head emphatically no, looking up at her with pleading brown eyes. “I’m fine, Cath. Just need time, that’s all.”
“Well, if you need anything. Drinks after shift tonight or something,” She offered. He shook his head again.
“Thanks, Cath. I’m fine now. But thanks.”
Catherine couldn’t do anything but shrug and nod compliance. Another awkward moment of silence followed until she stuck out her hand, indicating the evidence and photos he’d pulled onto the table. “So, what’ve you got here?”
It took them a few hours, but they poured over what they had, wrapping it up to a point that they could go home and catch some sleep before returning to follow some leads and talk to some people about their findings.
Nick was relieved to be able to make his way home, and he was tying the laces on his shoes in the locker room when his phone rang. He answered, not even looking at the caller ID. “Stokes.”
“Goddamnit, Nicolas Stokes! What the fuck is going on? What the hell have you done?”
Nick had quickly reacted to the shrill yells on the other end, holding it away from his ear. Finally, he moved it back, saying gingerly, “Hey, Jacqui. How’s New York?”
“Don’t you goddamn ‘How’s New York?’ me, Nick! What the hell? What is going on with you and David? I got a panicked call from Bobby a little while ago telling me he’s going unhinged and you’re dropping the ball at work! That you’re both acting miserable and you look miserable … So you tell me right now, what the hell is going on, Stokes?”
“Jacqui, look,” He sighed, his hand slipping to his forehead in frustration. “We’re both goin’ through a difficult time right now. He’s been actin’ very oddly and last night he broke up with me … but it’s probably for the best. He’s bein’ very self destructive, Jacq, and I can’t really take it anymore if he won’t tell me what’s wrong.” He took a deep breath, finishing with, “I asked him to get help, or let me help, but he won’t, Jacq. I can’t stay around him like he was.”
There was silence for a few moments on the end of the phone. Nick was beginning to wonder if she was thinking or if he’d dropped the call when she finally sighed into the receiver, sounding like a windstorm. “I’ll call him. Try to talk to him. He’s stubborn as an ass, though, Stokes, so I don’t know how much good it’ll do.”
“Anything’s better than nothin’, Jacq,” Nick sighed, hoping he was right. Still, somewhere in the pit of his stomach he knew David was probably too stubborn, and that he’d probably dig his heels and it’d get worse if Jacqui started to meddle. But she was his best friend, and not likely talked out of it. Nick would just have to take that chance.
“I’ll give him a call. Take care of yourself, okay, Stokes?”
“Sure, Jacqui. Take care out there in New York.”
“I will. Bye, Texas.”
“Bye.” He hung up and then let his head drop, taking a few deep breaths. He needed home and he needed sleep. Maybe then he could try to pull his life together, because at the moment, it just wasn’t working. Everything was just blurring together. He hoped, as he made his way to his Denali, that some sleep would cure it.
~~~~~~
Nick found himself at home, flipping automatically from ESPN to The Discovery Channel and then checking to see if he had recorded his favorite show on bird watching. There had been consideration on eating, but he wasn’t hungry, and drinking, but he hadn’t eaten and there was the sincere fear of doing something completely stupid like drunk calling David to tell him how much he missed him already.
David sat on his bed, staring at his cell phone. If it rang, he would pick it up. No, no, he wouldn’t. He’d throw it against the wall. Or maybe he’d just walk away and pretend it didn’t exist. If he didn’t want to pay the bill for replacing the damn thing, he could throw it at the neighbor’s dog and kill two proverbial birds with one goddamn stone. But that would be rash and illogical, and it wasn’t the dog’s fault his owner kept him outside and chained up all the time.
Still, an hour, part of a basketball game and two parts of a show on myna birds, and Nick found himself lining up another shot of whiskey. Just to help me sleep, he thought blackly, glaring at the bottle as he poured and then downed the brown liquid. He turned off the television and crawled into bed, but only found himself staring at the ceiling, feeling slightly hazy and running the scene with David over and over in his mind: Broccoli, fork, fist slamming, running, door slamming, crying, shouting and leaving.
The haze was beginning to drop away before he hoisted himself out of bed to try a few more shots to at least fuzzy if not block out the memory. He wanted to forget feeling hurt and used. He wanted to drown the slamming and the shouting, and especially the crying.
David could turn it off, just press the button and turn it off, but then work could call and he would get in trouble for not returning the call. God, it would be a relief to get called into work just so he could get away from the house and the memories and the thoughts that were driving him slowly out of his mind. Could he will the damn thing to ring?
It kept going for what felt like forever. He’d pull himself up, down two shots, then try to fall asleep, or watch another hour of TiVo’d nature specials. Nothing was helping. All he could do was obsess over what he could’ve done differently, why David wouldn’t listen to him.
And the look on David’s face when he hit the table in frustration … Pure horror, as if something had snapped, but also … some sort of relief, as if something he’d expected to come had finally happened. Every part of Nick, the CSI, the lover, the detective, the friend, wanted to know what the hell that look meant.
There was the possibility, though, that he could run into Nick at work. The idea both made David’s heart flutter and his stomach turn sour. He wanted to talk to Nick, make him understand. No, no, he wanted Nick to stay away. Far, far away from him and his broken, shattered little world. Nick could fall off the face of the earth, for all he cared. It was better for both of them. No calls, no contact, and it was better that Nick kept sending his partners in to see him instead of coming to get results himself.
When the clock finally hit four pm, Nick rubbed his eyes, took a shower and ate a salad. By now, the sleeplessness had finally thinned his thoughts to an underlying buzz. They were still present, but Nick was in such a stupor that he switched into autopilot. He had to find a way to just get through the day, he told himself as he squeezed his keys hard in his hand and headed out to the Denali.
Even though that final sign of admittance, that it was so over they didn’t want to see or speak to each other, hurt David almost as much as the self-imposed separation did. Didn’t Nick want to see him at all? No, of course not. He probably wouldn’t even care if David died. Perhaps this was all right in the end, he had been right to reject Nick and send him away. And he certainly didn’t want to speak to him on the phone.
In a moment of decision, David turned the phone on vibrate and set it on the nightstand, then turned over and dropped into a fitful sleep.
~~~~~~
The lab was in a fair state of uproar. Mandy best described Hodges’ state as bordering on bi-polar hysterics. He had dragged Henry in and sat him down to tell him a long joke that, apparently he found so funny he went on a two minute laughing streak even though Henry was mystified as to what the actual punchline was. Minutes later, he was barking curses at the CSIs who had come searching for results, nearly going so far as to threaten to launch a rack of test tubes at Greg’s quote, “Spiny, idiotic, mousse-ridden, addled, dyed, twitterpated, obnoxious, and furthermore stupid head!” unquote.
It wasn’t affecting his ability to work, and it was just strange enough to be considered weird David behavior. Only Bobby and Archie really saw how hurt David was feeling. Most of the lab knew what was happening to the two, but they tried to chalk it up to a bad Hodges day and leave it at that.
Nick, on the other hand, had gotten himself into trouble. Nearing his third day of sleep deprivation, already acting even more spaced out than the day previous, he pulled a rather large party foul. He left his kit at a crime scene, making it necessary for Sara to drive them in laps and make them waste time that they would otherwise be using to do lab work and track down the killer. While processing, he kept muddling the information of the current case, a teen named Jeremy Swenson, with the case of the lady from the day before, going so far as to wonder several times in a row about evidence from one case as opposed to the other.
After a while, Sara couldn’t take it any longer. When they decided to finally take a break, Nick headed for the break room and Sara turned to go straight to Grissom’s office. If he wasn’t there, she was hunting him down because she was convinced that Nick was clearly unfit to work that evening.
“Where are you headed? You’ve got that determined Sara look on your face. Got a suspect already?” Catherine’s voice stopped her in her tracks, and Sara paused to let her catch up before continuing down the hall.
“I’m going to talk to Griss,” Sara explained, concern mixing with frustration, those dark brows furrowing. “Nick’s not himself. He can’t handle evidence, Catherine. He keeps getting our DB mixed up with the case he worked on with you yesterday. They’re female and male. It shouldn’t be that hard.”
“Well,” Cath said cautiously, hefting the file to offer to Sara, “I was going over what notes I could flag down on some of the stuff you’ve got being tested and comparing to my notes. They look connected to me, Sara. Maybe that’s what Nick was seeing and he’s just tired?”
Sara gave her a sideways look as she took the file that spoke skeptical volumes and Cath just raised her hands in submission. “Okay, fine. Maybe we can convince him to take some time off. Maybe he should visit home or something. Visit Texas. I can tell you that he has a lot of vacation days set aside … ”
“I have a feeling,” Sara breathed as she knocked on the glass door to Grissom’s office, “That he’ll only listen to one person when it comes to a suggestion like that.” As she nodded towards the door, the soft call to enter came and the two of them went inside to make a case for - and against - Nick.
Not much later, Nick was draped in the chair opposite Grissom, looking positively angry. It was a surprising contrast to the pure neutral look on the supervisor’s face, but no one was around to note it besides Nick, and the calm demeanor of his boss just served to piss him off more.
“What d’you mean, take time off? I don’t want to take time off, Griss. We’ve got a serial murder on our hands now, and all the sudden you want me to take a vacation? Go back to Texas?? Well, no way!”
“Nick, I’m worried about your health,” Gil said softly as he squinted across the desk at him, examining his furious protégé kindly. “But I’m also worried about the state of this lab. Right now the one affects the other. If you can’t function properly, then you put the lab and all the evidence in peril, and you know we can’t have that. The evidence is sacrosanct. It’s all we have. If you can’t take care of yourself enough to realize when you need to take time off, then we have a problem.”
“So, what,” Nick growled, crossing his arms like a petulant child, “You’re gonna force me to take time off? Well I don’t want to! I wanna work, Griss. Please.” There was begging in that last word, almost desperate enough to make Grissom’s heart ache slightly for the younger CSI. He knew vaguely what was happening with Nick and Hodges, and he felt for Nick, but to let that affect his work … It was a lesson he was going to have to learn.
“Nick,” There was that fatherly tone that Nick knew well, the one that Grissom used to reprimand them when he wanted them to know that he still cared about them. “Catherine and Sara, as well as several of the lab techs, have told me that you’re letting personal emotion interfere with your ability to work. You know I can’t allow that. I’m putting you on five days mandatory leave. Go home, Nick. Get some sleep.”
“Sara … Cath?” He almost spat the names, feeling hugely betrayed by his close friends and coworkers. How could they? Yeah, they told themselves that it was for his own good, but home was a trap, and here he could at least try to put his head into something and distract himself for a while.
“Grissom, I’ll be fine! I’ll … “ He trailed off as Grissom’s face hardened, looking over his glasses at him with a firm look in those ocean blue eyes. If he had a hard time with the fatherly tone, Nick could not withstand disappointing Grissom, and now he could see that he was doing just that. His heart sank and he finally gave a silent, reluctant nod and stood, walking out of Grissom’s office.
~~~~~~
Nick arrived home after shift and put the truck in park. The tears were still falling, but for some reason, he just couldn't get them to stop. His house felt so empty as he locked the door behind him. Ever since he’d gotten in the car, the knowledge that he was banned from the lab, even for a few days, had overwhelmed him. His boyfriend had rejected him and now his second family was spurning him. He felt like he had a black lump in his chest that was spreading and eating at his insides, the pain needling away at him, and it made his heart hurt.
Slowly, he discarded his clothes and got into the shower, moving on autopilot. As he began to wash, he wasn’t even paying attention to what he was doing. All of a sudden he realized that he was covered in soap, but he didn't remember even grabbing the soap, much less soaping himself up. Falling back into the motions of washing, he realized he was too busy playing the other night over and over in his head.
The bed felt cold and empty, he noted sadly as he pulled the blankets over himself. He wished David had been there, at that moment, spooned up with him comfortably. Not only that, but he wished that David would just hold him and make all the pain go away. All the heartache and the nausea, that he would just hold him until it all faded and he could fall asleep. But that would be David as David used to be, not the David that he had become. The David who would care, listen, ask how his day was, what was wrong and what he could do to help … The David that would laugh and smile, who would say random things and bring up odd facts. That David. That was the David he wanted. Not the man with fear in his eyes who had kicked Nick out of his house two nights before. That man was someone else. It wasn’t David. Not his David.
For hours he tossed and turned. His brain felt like it was full of electricity and just wouldn’t shut down, all the little synapses firing at once. It was impossible to sleep like this, even when he was so exhausted. That pain was continuing to gnaw at him. It reminded him somewhat of the panic attacks that he had had right after the kidnapping. However, unlike those, this pain wasn't mostly fear. It didn’t make him want to hyperventilate; it made him want to cry, because it was pure sadness. There was a tinge fear there, too, but it was the overwhelming hopelessness of it all that made him ache. In the end, he just didn't have the words or the energy to place quite what he was afraid of.
Committed for a while to insomnia, he went out to the living room and turned on the TV. There was a bird documentary on The Discovery Channel. As much as he loved birds, his heart wasn't really into it, but what was better than staring at that screen? Looking at the walls? He’d done that for hours already, and couldn’t stand it any longer. He couldn’t concentrate enough to read a book, and god help him if he turned on his computer or tried to call someone - even without having had anything to drink he was worried that he could email or call David and blurt out something completely stupid.
He resorted to making himself his favorite sandwich, grilled cheese with tomato. Even though it didn't look appetizing as he sat staring at it, he knew that he had to eat. Nothing would look appetizing at that moment. Setting out a tray, he brought the sandwich and a glass of juice into the living room and began to eat. Bringing the glass to his lips to sip, he noted the color.
This is David's brand of juice, he thought, surprising himself with the realization. He still bought David's favorite brand of orange juice, even after months of David not coming over. Without warning, the tears started again. What is this? He chastised himself, To cry over something as minute as orange juice?
My ex boyfriend's brand of orange juice, He added in his mind painfully. Ex boyfriend.
"Fuck." He exclaimed suddenly, throwing the remaining half of his sandwich followed by the plate across the room. It was more in frustration that the tears just wouldn’t stop than anything else, and he sank back into the couch, sobbing.
"Fuck."
Cisco had taught him that grown men weren’t supposed to cry. Harshly, he wiped his tears away and looked blearily over at the TV, suddenly remembering that the bird special was on. He tried to force himself to watch, to take his mind off all of it, but he just ended up staring through the TV, as if it wasn't there. Although the sound of the birds from the TV seemed far away, he did hear it, and it somewhat relaxed him. Before he knew it, the show was over, some man was talking about tigers, and Nick was back with his thoughts. On a normal day the show would slightly interest him, but not now.
Now he forced himself to get up and clean up the mess he made, but only half heartedly, not bothering to do much more than pick up the sandwich and the big pieces of plate and toss it all in the garbage. On the way out of the kitchen, Nick realized he was cold. As to why, he had no clue, seeing as it was 70 degrees and sunny outside and he was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but he was freezing cold.
He made his way to the thermostat and gingerly turned on the heat. He was so tired that the numbers were blurring together. It was time to take another crack at sleeping. Walking down the hall and stumbling into the bedroom, he saw David in his head once more. His David, with that trademark smirk and those crystal blue eyes, the peaceful look that he had when he slept ... Nick started to cry again and crawled under the covers, curling in on himself.
~~~~~~
For many people, there is a happy middle ground, emotionally. A place between sad and happy, or perhaps anxiety and liberation, where a person can feel grounded and in touch with the world at large. David hadn’t been in that place in weeks, perhaps months, and it was wearing him down to nothing. He was feeling as gaunt and stretched as he looked, unable to eat because he just didn’t feel hungry, sleeping fitfully when he did, often waking drenched in sweat, his head swimming with nightmares of the past.
When he found something amusing or interesting, he had begun to overindulge, laughing loud enough to make his workmates wonder about his sanity, or obsessing so much that he’d snap almost viciously at anyone who interrupted his train of thought. His snark was starting to fade away, subtlety and wit something that was eluding him at this moment. The worst thing was, he was too intelligent not to know what he was doing to himself.
David Hodges was out of control.
It felt like living on a seesaw, and David was getting so tired of it. He wanted to talk to Nick, to run back to him and apologize for everything, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right and he had to protect himself, or neither of them would be safe. This was the way it had to be. Except it hurt so very, very much. It was like David’s grasp on himself and the situation had gone straight out the window, and he desperately wanted it back.
He had done the preparation mechanically, boiling everything to be sanitary, wiping down the top of the bathroom counter with alcohol and laying everything out on a clean towel. As he stepped out of the shower in a cloud of steam, he stared at his constructed temple of release as if he couldn’t remember putting it together in the first place. It was as if he had stepped backwards in time, back to the bad old days of LA, the pain and helplessness of the past. A chill went up his spine, even though his skin was lobster red from the heat of the shower as he realized, he was reverting.
He stepped closer, letting his fingers ghost over the instruments of his own betrayal. A sharp filleting knife he’d found in a kitchen drawer, a loose razor blade, a chunk from the glass he’d broke the other day, and the manicuring scissors he used to trim his nails. There was a bottle of iodine, cotton balls, Neosporin and a box of band-aids, all lined up and prepared to be useful. His hands were trembling and suddenly his knees couldn’t support his weight, gasping a sharp breath as he sank down onto the toilet.
It had been at least five years since he’d even thought about doing something like this again. Looking over the palate of cutting tools, the heat around him as he even sterilized his own skin and the smell of alcohol made him want to gag. And yet, he thought grimly, It would be so easy … Just one time. One little scar, one little cut would feel so good …
He wanted it because the cutting was a release, a way to gain control, at least over his own body. His fingers traced thin, faded scars on his arms. Bending down, he pushed his towel to the floor and found lines on his chest, his stomach, his thigh. Silently he wondered if Nick had ever noticed, or if he had, if he had even thought to ask. His stalwart ex probably just assumed he’d gotten them in the lab explosion, or from lots of little accidents, hardly worth mentioning or asking after.
It was definitely, almost certainly doubtful that Nick guessed that they were almost all self-inflicted.
Oh, god. It was like offering a hit to a junkie who had been detoxed and clean for years. His fingers itched to pick up the scissors, to force them with just enough pressure and draw them along the side of his arm, ignoring the sting. To watch the blood suddenly bubble from behind the blade as he did, and feel the absolute relief. It was like the bloodletting of the Dark Ages, trying to get all the bile out and balanced. Savoring the wound as it healed and hoping it wouldn’t be too soon before feeling the need to draw that razorblade against his thigh …
David let his head drop and laced his fingers behind his head, taking steady, deep breaths of slow cooling air. He’d stopped, when the situation ‘corrected’ itself, when the pain was finally behind him. He’d mentioned it the few times he’d gone to the therapist when Ecklie had made him go those first few months. It had been a condition of his transfer, and one that he’d been relieved to get out of.
It almost made him sick as the shrink told him that cutting was normal, saying out loud everything that he’d told himself in his head to coax himself into being okay with it. But she was wrong, it was wrong. Even if it felt right at the time, even if it was the only release he had at the time. The woman had tried her damnest to convince him that everything he’d done was okay, and that he was okay, and the whole time all he wanted to do was scream at her that it wasn’t and run out of there. The last of which was what he’d done, once his required amount of sessions were up.
Fucking therapists. Maybe what he needed was someone like that to talk to. Jacqui had actually offered to refer him once to her psychiatrist, and anyone that Jacqui Franco approved of surely couldn’t be as bad as that simpering harpy that tried to tell him all that mattered was that he loved himself. Fuck that. He needed to forgive himself, and that was something he’d had to figure out on his own.
Standing, he picked up the trashcan resolutely and pushed all the paraphernalia of his past life into it, towel and all and set it down harshly. He’d call Jacqui later and get that number from her if she still had it and maybe … Maybe if he could get past this thing, he could pull himself back together and just maybe Nick would still care enough for him to forgive him.
That thought was enough to try and coax him into some form of sleep, thankful for once for a day without work.