Fic: Someone's Hero
Title: Someone's Hero
Author: plexippus
Rating: eh... soft PG-13?
Spoilers: not close enough to spoil
Warnings: mush. language. (yes, at the same time)
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. Concept isn't mine. Heck, even the idea wasn't mine! (prompt: bad day) I will take credit for the comma splices...
Additional disclaimer: it's been a while since I've posted on lj, so if I mess up the cut I'll take credit for that too.
Someone's Hero
Every CSI has a type of case that just burrows a little deeper under the skin.
There's usually a reason that a case has an inordinate effect on someone. It usually reveals something personal, something deeply ingrained, but a criminalist is a little callous by nature and most aren't inclined to talk about the things that go bump in the night. Combine that basic truth with the often accurate cliché about men not talking about their feelings, and it wasn't such a stretch to believe that Warrick knew that cases involving kids were the ones that affected Nick, but didn't know exactly why.
It didn't really matter why. When Warrick found his best bud sitting alone in the locker room, staring listlessly at the floor, he could guess what had happened.
"Found the girl?" Warrick asked, sitting on the bench beside him.
Nick nodded once.
Warrick waited until it became clear that no elaboration was forthcoming. He was afraid to ask whether they'd found the kid dead or alive. If she was dead, there probably wasn't much holding Nick together and Warrick wasn't about to strip that away in the locker room. If the kid was alive and Nick was still brooding, it must still be pretty bad.
Lightly patting Nick's shoulder, Warrick got up. "Come on, man. Let's go get a beer."
"Yeah. Okay." Nick got up and grabbed his jacket, clearly anxious to be out of there. Warrick followed him out the door and into the early morning.
Getting a beer usually meant either Nick's place or Warrick's and whatever was in the fridge. They went to Nick's house this morning, and Warrick made himself at home. He spent nearly as much time at Nick's as he did at his own place, though not as much time at either as he spent at the lab lately. Nick's living room had the same slightly neglected air that Warrick's had-he didn't spend enough time there to really make it look lived in, but just enough to leave the mail scattered on the coffee table and an empty glass by the chair.
Nick emptied his pockets while Warrick wandered into the kitchen. "Got anything to eat in here?"
"Cereal or burritos," Nick replied.
Cereal would work. Warrick didn't ask, but poured Cheerios into two bowls and added milk. He found spoons and dropped one of the bowls onto the counter in front of Nick. "You don't need beer on an empty stomach."
Nick didn't argue. He also didn't really eat. He jabbed his spoon at the Cheerios and dunked them, then watched them pop back up again. He continued for several minutes, until Warrick had eaten most of his cereal and was chasing down floaters. When Nick finally took a bite, Warrick considered it safe to press a little.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"Kid ran away," Nick replied, making a face. No doubt the cereal was mushy. The few bites that remained in Warrick's bowl were about twice as big as they'd started and roughly the consistency of a saturated sponge. "Left to go live with her dad."
"Did she have a reason for it?" Warrick probed.
"Yeah," Nick said softly. "We found… there were black smudges on some of her… uh… on some of her clothes." Warrick raised an eyebrow and Nick took another bite of soggy cereal. "Dry erase marker. Teacher."
"Ah."
Nick pushed the cereal away. "She hitched a ride, showed up at dad's house on Thursday. Caught dad in bed with a hooker, freaked, hit the road again. Shacked up with… some guy." He was shaking his head. "What? Do girls have a radar for every loser in a ten-mile radius? What was she thinking?"
Warrick shook his head. "Dunno." Surely Nick didn't expect him to have an answer, whether rhetorical or specific to a case he wasn't even working.
"She's pregnant."
Warrick grimaced. "Teacher?"
"Too soon for a paternity test."
"So there's more than one possibility? Nice. How old is this girl?"
"Fourteen," Nick said softly.
Warrick exhaled slowly. "Damn shame."
"No. It's criminal."
"Statutory rape? Yes. That's why it's a crime."
"No, not that. The guy just moved here from Montana. Town chased him out for getting an eighteen-year-old girl pregnant."
"Have we got enough on him to put him away?"
"I hope to God we do. If we don't, I might-"
"You might what?" Warrick interrupted. "Go after him yourself? You can't do that, Nick."
Nick sighed and closed his eyes.
"You know what? Why don't we skip that beer. You look like you could use some sleep. Come on." Warrick half-shoved Nick to his feet and marched him, protesting, to the bedroom. "You want me to tuck you in?" he half-threatened as Nick sank onto the bed.
"Yeah," Nick muttered. "And tell me a bedtime story that will make the night go away."
Warrick smiled a bit. "Seriously, man. You need anything?" Nick shook his head. "I'll lock up. See you later, a'right?"
"See you."
Warrick left.
The next night, they had their beer. It had been a better shift for Nick as he sifted through the evidence and compiled a report for the DA. It had helped that he found evidence of the vic in the teacher's car, and with any luck they were going to go to trial by the end of the month.
Nick was in an altogether better mood as he sat on Warrick's couch, beer in hand, watching a Weather Channel special about tornadoes. True geeks, Nick thought, but he wore his geek badge with pride. Besides, he was at least a geek who knew who was in the Final Four.
During a commercial break, Warrick killed the volume and turned to look at him. "You doing better tonight?"
"Yeah."
"Too bad," Warrick said.
"Why?"
"Well, you were pretty down last night. So I had a surprise for you tonight."
"What kind of surprise?"
"If you're doing better, maybe I should save it for a night when you're taking it hard again."
Nick grinned. "Well, it was actually a rough shift-"
"Oh, yeah, I can tell you're pretty beat up tonight."
"No, seriously, man. I got a paper cut when I walked in and it all went downhill from there."
Warrick's eyes were gleaming. "Aww, poor baby. Want me to kiss it, make it better?"
Nick managed to reign in his grin long enough to effect a pout and held up a finger. Warrick rolled his eyes and turned the volume back up on the TV.
"Aww, come on. You can't tell me you've got a surprise then leave me hanging," Nick protested.
"Sure I can."
"Bastard."
"Redneck."
"Dumbass."
"Dipshit."
"Douchebag."
"Jerkwad."
"Fuckstick."
"Buttsucker."
"I wonder how one goes about sucking a butt."
Warrick snorted his beer. "Thanks, buddy, for putting that image in my head."
"Hey, you're the one who came up with it." The tornado was back on and they watched silently for a few minutes, then Nick said, "So come on. I want my surprise."
"Do you really?"
"Yeah."
Warrick avoided looking at him for a minute, then finally shifted on the couch so he was leaning in the corner. "C'mere then," he said, hitting the mute.
"What?"
"Do you want your surprise or not?"
A little suspicious but much more curious, Nick scooted closer, close enough for Warrick to snag him and pull him into his arms. "So what's this about?" Nick asked.
"A bedtime story," Warrick replied.
Nick leaned against him cautiously. Theirs was a peculiar relationship; from time to time, they'd ended up naked together somehow, panting and sated, but it wasn't something they ever talked about in past, present or future tense. It wasn't a joining marked by excessive cuddling or tender embraces. Dozens were more their speed than sweet nothings.
This intimate display was a little jarring, so Nick was already a little off-kilter when Warrick began a soft, slow narrative.
"Once upon a time, there was this ordinary guy who wanted to be extraordinary, and one day he found a sorcerer who would grant him the power to be a hero, but only under one condition-he could only use his power if he only used it for what was right. At first, the hero thought that would be easy, because he was a good guy. He was smart and friendly and compassionate, and he really, honestly wanted to help people. He wanted to do good.
"One day he heard of a young princess who was trapped on a volcanic island surrounded by fierce sea monsters. The hero thought it would be easy to rescue her, so he fought his way through the monsters. When the last one lay slain, he made it to shore just as the volcano started to rumble. He reached for her hand and shouted for her to come with him, but she wouldn't budge. He tried to pull her along with him, but she refused to go. So finally he picked her up and started to carry her away, running as the lava started to flow past them in fiery rivers. As he was running, he tripped, and he and the princess fell. The princess was knocked unconscious.
"That moment was all it took for the lava to surround them, but before it could swallow them, the sorcerer appeared and asked the hero what had happened that the princess lay limp, nearly engulfed in molten rock.
"'I tried to rescue her,' the hero said. 'I fought the monsters, I found her. She wouldn't come, so I tried to carry her.'
"'And you failed,' the sorcerer said. 'You could not carry her. Do you know why?'
"'No. I thought that I had the power to do good.'
"'You do,' the sorcerer said. 'But you do not always have the power to see what is good. You looked at the island and saw a helpless girl in a dangerous environment surrounded by terrible things, but you never asked how she came to be there in the first place.'
"'How did she come to be there?' the hero asked.
"'She chose her place, and she chose to stay there.'
"'But she's too young to choose,' the hero protested.
"'By whose standards? This girl comes from a long line of princesses who chose to live on an island of lava surrounded by monsters.
"'That's no choice,' the hero said.
"'It's not your choice, either. Your choice is this-you may leave this girl to her volcano and monsters, and you will be free to go; or you may stay and try again to carry her away. If you try to carry her away, you will lose the powers I have given you.'
"'But I'll never be able to rescue her without those powers!'
"'No,' the sorcerer said. 'And you will be trapped here with her. But if you leave now and let her be, you will retain your powers and be able to save another princess on another island.'
"The hero thought hard about it. He knew that there were many more princesses and many more islands, but to sacrifice the one he knew for the ones he had not yet seen would take a strength he wasn’t sure he possessed. He wasn't afraid to die, and he wasn't too proud to die in vain, but he knew that the sorcerer was right-there were battles yet to be fought and if he continued to fight this lost cause, other monsters that might be slain would go uncontested. So, with a heavy heart, he agreed to leave the princess to her fiery island and he walked away with all his powers intact but a jagged scar across his heart."
Nick had long since relaxed in Warrick's arms, and his voice was thick as he asked, "How did he live with himself?"
"Well," Warrick said softly, "he cried sometimes. And sometimes he laughed, and he tried to remember all the people he saved, not the ones he couldn't help. And he found someone who reminded him that just because he couldn't save everyone in the world, that didn't mean he wasn't still a hero."
Nick rested his head against Warrick's shoulder. "Did someone know that he saved the hero?"
"It isn't a story about someone. It's a story about the hero that someone couldn't live without."
Author: plexippus
Rating: eh... soft PG-13?
Spoilers: not close enough to spoil
Warnings: mush. language. (yes, at the same time)
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. Concept isn't mine. Heck, even the idea wasn't mine! (prompt: bad day) I will take credit for the comma splices...
Additional disclaimer: it's been a while since I've posted on lj, so if I mess up the cut I'll take credit for that too.
Someone's Hero
Every CSI has a type of case that just burrows a little deeper under the skin.
There's usually a reason that a case has an inordinate effect on someone. It usually reveals something personal, something deeply ingrained, but a criminalist is a little callous by nature and most aren't inclined to talk about the things that go bump in the night. Combine that basic truth with the often accurate cliché about men not talking about their feelings, and it wasn't such a stretch to believe that Warrick knew that cases involving kids were the ones that affected Nick, but didn't know exactly why.
It didn't really matter why. When Warrick found his best bud sitting alone in the locker room, staring listlessly at the floor, he could guess what had happened.
"Found the girl?" Warrick asked, sitting on the bench beside him.
Nick nodded once.
Warrick waited until it became clear that no elaboration was forthcoming. He was afraid to ask whether they'd found the kid dead or alive. If she was dead, there probably wasn't much holding Nick together and Warrick wasn't about to strip that away in the locker room. If the kid was alive and Nick was still brooding, it must still be pretty bad.
Lightly patting Nick's shoulder, Warrick got up. "Come on, man. Let's go get a beer."
"Yeah. Okay." Nick got up and grabbed his jacket, clearly anxious to be out of there. Warrick followed him out the door and into the early morning.
Getting a beer usually meant either Nick's place or Warrick's and whatever was in the fridge. They went to Nick's house this morning, and Warrick made himself at home. He spent nearly as much time at Nick's as he did at his own place, though not as much time at either as he spent at the lab lately. Nick's living room had the same slightly neglected air that Warrick's had-he didn't spend enough time there to really make it look lived in, but just enough to leave the mail scattered on the coffee table and an empty glass by the chair.
Nick emptied his pockets while Warrick wandered into the kitchen. "Got anything to eat in here?"
"Cereal or burritos," Nick replied.
Cereal would work. Warrick didn't ask, but poured Cheerios into two bowls and added milk. He found spoons and dropped one of the bowls onto the counter in front of Nick. "You don't need beer on an empty stomach."
Nick didn't argue. He also didn't really eat. He jabbed his spoon at the Cheerios and dunked them, then watched them pop back up again. He continued for several minutes, until Warrick had eaten most of his cereal and was chasing down floaters. When Nick finally took a bite, Warrick considered it safe to press a little.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"Kid ran away," Nick replied, making a face. No doubt the cereal was mushy. The few bites that remained in Warrick's bowl were about twice as big as they'd started and roughly the consistency of a saturated sponge. "Left to go live with her dad."
"Did she have a reason for it?" Warrick probed.
"Yeah," Nick said softly. "We found… there were black smudges on some of her… uh… on some of her clothes." Warrick raised an eyebrow and Nick took another bite of soggy cereal. "Dry erase marker. Teacher."
"Ah."
Nick pushed the cereal away. "She hitched a ride, showed up at dad's house on Thursday. Caught dad in bed with a hooker, freaked, hit the road again. Shacked up with… some guy." He was shaking his head. "What? Do girls have a radar for every loser in a ten-mile radius? What was she thinking?"
Warrick shook his head. "Dunno." Surely Nick didn't expect him to have an answer, whether rhetorical or specific to a case he wasn't even working.
"She's pregnant."
Warrick grimaced. "Teacher?"
"Too soon for a paternity test."
"So there's more than one possibility? Nice. How old is this girl?"
"Fourteen," Nick said softly.
Warrick exhaled slowly. "Damn shame."
"No. It's criminal."
"Statutory rape? Yes. That's why it's a crime."
"No, not that. The guy just moved here from Montana. Town chased him out for getting an eighteen-year-old girl pregnant."
"Have we got enough on him to put him away?"
"I hope to God we do. If we don't, I might-"
"You might what?" Warrick interrupted. "Go after him yourself? You can't do that, Nick."
Nick sighed and closed his eyes.
"You know what? Why don't we skip that beer. You look like you could use some sleep. Come on." Warrick half-shoved Nick to his feet and marched him, protesting, to the bedroom. "You want me to tuck you in?" he half-threatened as Nick sank onto the bed.
"Yeah," Nick muttered. "And tell me a bedtime story that will make the night go away."
Warrick smiled a bit. "Seriously, man. You need anything?" Nick shook his head. "I'll lock up. See you later, a'right?"
"See you."
Warrick left.
The next night, they had their beer. It had been a better shift for Nick as he sifted through the evidence and compiled a report for the DA. It had helped that he found evidence of the vic in the teacher's car, and with any luck they were going to go to trial by the end of the month.
Nick was in an altogether better mood as he sat on Warrick's couch, beer in hand, watching a Weather Channel special about tornadoes. True geeks, Nick thought, but he wore his geek badge with pride. Besides, he was at least a geek who knew who was in the Final Four.
During a commercial break, Warrick killed the volume and turned to look at him. "You doing better tonight?"
"Yeah."
"Too bad," Warrick said.
"Why?"
"Well, you were pretty down last night. So I had a surprise for you tonight."
"What kind of surprise?"
"If you're doing better, maybe I should save it for a night when you're taking it hard again."
Nick grinned. "Well, it was actually a rough shift-"
"Oh, yeah, I can tell you're pretty beat up tonight."
"No, seriously, man. I got a paper cut when I walked in and it all went downhill from there."
Warrick's eyes were gleaming. "Aww, poor baby. Want me to kiss it, make it better?"
Nick managed to reign in his grin long enough to effect a pout and held up a finger. Warrick rolled his eyes and turned the volume back up on the TV.
"Aww, come on. You can't tell me you've got a surprise then leave me hanging," Nick protested.
"Sure I can."
"Bastard."
"Redneck."
"Dumbass."
"Dipshit."
"Douchebag."
"Jerkwad."
"Fuckstick."
"Buttsucker."
"I wonder how one goes about sucking a butt."
Warrick snorted his beer. "Thanks, buddy, for putting that image in my head."
"Hey, you're the one who came up with it." The tornado was back on and they watched silently for a few minutes, then Nick said, "So come on. I want my surprise."
"Do you really?"
"Yeah."
Warrick avoided looking at him for a minute, then finally shifted on the couch so he was leaning in the corner. "C'mere then," he said, hitting the mute.
"What?"
"Do you want your surprise or not?"
A little suspicious but much more curious, Nick scooted closer, close enough for Warrick to snag him and pull him into his arms. "So what's this about?" Nick asked.
"A bedtime story," Warrick replied.
Nick leaned against him cautiously. Theirs was a peculiar relationship; from time to time, they'd ended up naked together somehow, panting and sated, but it wasn't something they ever talked about in past, present or future tense. It wasn't a joining marked by excessive cuddling or tender embraces. Dozens were more their speed than sweet nothings.
This intimate display was a little jarring, so Nick was already a little off-kilter when Warrick began a soft, slow narrative.
"Once upon a time, there was this ordinary guy who wanted to be extraordinary, and one day he found a sorcerer who would grant him the power to be a hero, but only under one condition-he could only use his power if he only used it for what was right. At first, the hero thought that would be easy, because he was a good guy. He was smart and friendly and compassionate, and he really, honestly wanted to help people. He wanted to do good.
"One day he heard of a young princess who was trapped on a volcanic island surrounded by fierce sea monsters. The hero thought it would be easy to rescue her, so he fought his way through the monsters. When the last one lay slain, he made it to shore just as the volcano started to rumble. He reached for her hand and shouted for her to come with him, but she wouldn't budge. He tried to pull her along with him, but she refused to go. So finally he picked her up and started to carry her away, running as the lava started to flow past them in fiery rivers. As he was running, he tripped, and he and the princess fell. The princess was knocked unconscious.
"That moment was all it took for the lava to surround them, but before it could swallow them, the sorcerer appeared and asked the hero what had happened that the princess lay limp, nearly engulfed in molten rock.
"'I tried to rescue her,' the hero said. 'I fought the monsters, I found her. She wouldn't come, so I tried to carry her.'
"'And you failed,' the sorcerer said. 'You could not carry her. Do you know why?'
"'No. I thought that I had the power to do good.'
"'You do,' the sorcerer said. 'But you do not always have the power to see what is good. You looked at the island and saw a helpless girl in a dangerous environment surrounded by terrible things, but you never asked how she came to be there in the first place.'
"'How did she come to be there?' the hero asked.
"'She chose her place, and she chose to stay there.'
"'But she's too young to choose,' the hero protested.
"'By whose standards? This girl comes from a long line of princesses who chose to live on an island of lava surrounded by monsters.
"'That's no choice,' the hero said.
"'It's not your choice, either. Your choice is this-you may leave this girl to her volcano and monsters, and you will be free to go; or you may stay and try again to carry her away. If you try to carry her away, you will lose the powers I have given you.'
"'But I'll never be able to rescue her without those powers!'
"'No,' the sorcerer said. 'And you will be trapped here with her. But if you leave now and let her be, you will retain your powers and be able to save another princess on another island.'
"The hero thought hard about it. He knew that there were many more princesses and many more islands, but to sacrifice the one he knew for the ones he had not yet seen would take a strength he wasn’t sure he possessed. He wasn't afraid to die, and he wasn't too proud to die in vain, but he knew that the sorcerer was right-there were battles yet to be fought and if he continued to fight this lost cause, other monsters that might be slain would go uncontested. So, with a heavy heart, he agreed to leave the princess to her fiery island and he walked away with all his powers intact but a jagged scar across his heart."
Nick had long since relaxed in Warrick's arms, and his voice was thick as he asked, "How did he live with himself?"
"Well," Warrick said softly, "he cried sometimes. And sometimes he laughed, and he tried to remember all the people he saved, not the ones he couldn't help. And he found someone who reminded him that just because he couldn't save everyone in the world, that didn't mean he wasn't still a hero."
Nick rested his head against Warrick's shoulder. "Did someone know that he saved the hero?"
"It isn't a story about someone. It's a story about the hero that someone couldn't live without."