Fic: Without Windows or Doors (Gil/Nick)
Title: Without Windows Or Doors: Chapter 1/?
Author: laurelgardner
Rating: PG-13 for now
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Summary: Post Grave Danger. Gil discovers that the real work has just begun
Author's Note/Warnings: SPOILERS if you haven't seen the episode. Don't worry, dear friends abroad, it'll be waiting for you in the archives once you do.
Disclaimer: Unlike Roy Rogers, Jerry Bruckheimer has made no statement to the effect that CSI belongs to the children of America. So I don't own them.
Ten days was a long time for a district attorney to take off from work. And to not only take it, but to do so unannounced, on the spur of the moment, and to use it to fly to a location several states away, was positively unheard of.
But for a mother who'd just seen her youngest son get kidnapped and buried alive, Gil could only imagine what a pitiful allowance these ten days had seemed.
He met Jillian Stokes for dinner in the quietest, most secluded restaurant he knew of, somewhere where he knew they could have some privacy. He knew better than to expect this rendezvous to be a mere social engagement.
Jillian said very little at first. She sipped distractedly at her water, patiently waiting while Gil dealt with their waiter.
Once everything was settled, orders had been placed, once they knew they would have a few minutes peace, she said, softly, "Thank you for meeting with me here." She spoke with such control, face and voice betraying little of the turmoil he knew she had to be feeling.
"Anything I can do," said Gil, "What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"
Jillian laughed humorlessly. "Do you really need to ask, Dr. Grissom?"
"I know you're worried about your son," said Gil.
Jillian curled her fingers around her water glass, gripping without lifting it.
"Dr. Grissom," she said, "I can't speak to my son."
Gil stared blankly at her for a moment. "I'm not sure I understand," he said.
Jillian sighed very deeply. "We can talk, certainly, but..." she bit her lip, holding back a strain of tears, "...he's not letting me near him. He pretends it's all okay, he..." She stopped speaking and swiped furiously at her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"It's all right," said Gil.
Jillian took a couple of deep breaths, calming herself. Gil couldn't help but be impressed with how well she kept her composure.
"He insisted that I leave today," she said, "Just like he insisted with his father on Tuesday. I would stay if he asked, I'd stay as long as he wants, but..."
"It won't do any good," guessed Gil.
Jillian shook her head. "No, it won't," she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice, "with the way he's acting, it hardly matters if I'm here or in Texas." She waved a hand in a quick gesture of futility.
Gil watched her with a pained look. "And how is he acting?"
Jillian shrugged. "Well," she said, "it's not as though nothing's changed about him. He's...nervous. He doesn't sleep or eat so well." She was peering at her lap, now, at the cloth napkin she was wringing in her hands. "And at night..." her voice trailed away.
Gil waited for a moment, then prompted her. "At night..?" he said gently.
There was another moment's pause before Jillian spoke, and when she did, her voice was a whisper. "He screams."
Gil's eyes went wide.
"He doesn't remember it in the mornings," Jillian continued, her voice choked. "But I do. The neighbors do, too, and he just goes around to them in the morning and explains things, nice as you please. I try to talk to him about it...but he insists he can't think of things to say."
Gil sighed but said nothing. None of this surprised him in quite the way it did her, seemingly. He thought of words he could say, but waited; it didn't seem the right moment, yet.
Sure enough, Jillian continued; "I know there's something there. Something heavy on him. Something he won't talk about with me."
Slowly, Gil leaned across the table and placed his hand over one of hers. "Mrs. Stokes," he said, "Sometimes the only thing you can do is give someone time."
Tightly, Jillian nodded. "I know," she said, "I know. I just...don't want to lose him again."
"Again?" said Gil.
Jillian straightened up a little, looking more tense than before and yet, more certain. "Dr. Grissom," she said, fixing Gil with an intense look. "Could I share a confidence with you? Concerning my son?"
Grissom hesitated a moment before answering. The last thing Nick deserved now, he thought, was an invasion of his privacy. And he didn't know Jillian Stokes well enough yet to be sure he could trust her to share only what needed to be shared.
But his reservations were quickly trumped by his concern for Nick. This was no time to let ethics interfere with something that was possibly more important. He returned Jillian's focused gaze.
"Of course," he said.
Jillian swallowed, then reached for her water and took a sip. She smoothed the napkin on her lap over and over, apparently finding some solace in the action.
"When Nick was...oh, nine or ten years old," she began, peering at her hands in her lap, "he was such a bright boy. So cheerful...outgoing. He had more energy than my last three put together...but he was a good boy," she quickly added. "He didn't act out." She paused, and her voice lowered once again. "But then, he...changed."
"How?"
Jillian nodded. "It's hard to explain it. It happened so suddenly. Almost overnight. He became so quiet...he kept to himself. Sometime, he would...come and hold on to me, like he was afraid of something. And every once in a while...he would disappear."
Gil raised an eyebrow. "Disappear?"
"He would hide," Jillian explained, "or run away. Sometimes we'd find him in the closet, or a neighbor's tree house. Once, we were in a panic for hours before we finally found him at the church up the road." She smiled a wry smile. "Bill always lectured him. I know he was sorry, but then time would pass, and it would happen again."
Gil listened in silence, taking it all in.
"At the time, I thought it was just the way he was," said Jillian. "That it was part of growing up for him."
"But you don't think so now?" Gil asked.
Jillian shook her head no. "Something happened, about a year ago."
Gil leaned in closer, listening intently.
"It was one of my cases," Jillian said, "Just another file on my desk. A man and his wife were accused of molesting foster children in their home."
Gil blinked. It was strange to hear the words so frankly spoken by someone who carried herself so properly, and Gil had to remind himself, once more, of who this woman was, what she did.
"As much as I hate to say it, it was nothing I hadn't seen before," she added, "but you'll know all about that."
Gil nodded grimly. He did.
"Only this one was different," she continued. "I thought I recognized the woman. It wasn't until after I'd finished with the case that I realized why; she used to live in our neighborhood and go to our church when she was a teenager. And once..." her eyes lowered to her lap where her napkin, once smooth, was now being twisted around her hands once again. "Once, I remember, I asked her to baby-sit for Nicky."
There was a moment of stillness, then Gil squeezed his eyes shut as the meaning of the words hit him. When he opened them again, he saw the tears forming in Lillian's eyes once more.
"Do you suppose..." she began, but couldn't finish the question.
Gil reached for one of her hands again. He wanted desperately to reassure her, to tell her it couldn't be true, but he knew better.
"In my experience," he said, speaking as gently as possible, "things aren't always what they appear to be...but in cases like this...I'm afraid that they usually are."
Jillian bowed her head, squeezing his hand. "He tried to tell me," she said, "he came downstairs after she left -"
"Mrs. Stokes - " Gil began, but she didn't stop.
" - and I'd had a bad night, I was on the phone, trying to sort out some mess at work, and I got angry with him."
"Mrs. Stokes," said Gil, more firmly, "you can't blame yourself for that."
Jillian whipped her hand away from his. "The hell I can't!" she snapped. Then she deflated. "I'm sorry. You can't understand. I...I shouldn't have expected you to..."
Gil tilted his head to one side. "To what?"
Jillian sighed. "To care for him like family."
She would never know how much the words stung.
"Why did you ask me here today?" Gil asked.
Jillian sank in her chair a little. "I was hoping you could help," she said, "I just...I need to know that someone here is looking after him."
"I can promise you that," said Gil. "We are all."
"Will he trust you?" Jillian pushed. "Will he talk to you?"
"I don't know," Gil replied. "But if he does, I'll listen."
Her face darkened. "Like I didn't. No," she added, raising a hand to stop Gil's protest. "I know that. I lost that chance long ago. I'm sure of it now. I just hope I didn't make it impossible for him to seek out some help when he needs it."
"Mrs. Stokes," said Gil, "Nick's not a child anymore."
She nodded. "I know that."
"And he can take care of himself. There are a lot of people around him right now who care, and he'll turn to them. He will."
"Do you think so?"
Gil nodded. "He has before. Three years ago, after the incident with Nigel Crane, I know he did."
Jillian frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Well," said Gil, "I do know he spent a lot of time with Warrick, and Sara - "
"No, no," interrupted Jillian, "I mean, who on earth is Nigel Crane?"