Without Windows or Doors: Chapter 5/? (Gil/Nick)
Title: Without Windows Or Doors: Chapter 5/?
Author: laurelgardner
Rating: PG-13 for now
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Summary: Comfort fic, 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: Dear CBS: not mine, entertainment only, no money is made, and besides, you don't know where I live anyway.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Gil wondered if some new theory of relativity was needed. Maybe that could account for the way this last day had gone by so much more quickly than the eternal 24 hours before had done. But Nick was safe, and now...time seemed to have no meaning any more. Perhaps it was the fact that he was so lost in his in his thoughts, just trying to process it all.
He hadn't thought he'd be able to sleep, but he had. Two hours after he'd seen Nick wheeled into the ambulance, he'd finally been able to collapse into his own bed as 36 hours worth of exhaustion and released tension hit him all at once. Not that it had been particularly good sleep; within 5 or 6 hours he was wide awake, his mind and body conditioned by the adrenaline response of the last day, ready to start fighting again. Except there was no fight. Not anymore.
He'd sat alone in his bedroom with his thoughts, had considered reading or listening to music, but knew he couldn't do it. There was a point at which diversions were necessary, and a point beyond that at which they were impossible, even for someone of Gil Grissom's mental discipline.
So he'd gone to the lab. The previous night, Ecklie had given them all the plaintive but cryptic directive to return to work, "as soon as possible," but judging by the look he gave Gil, he hadn't expected it to be this soon for any of them.
"You know, Gil, I fully expected Nick's teammates to take at least a few days personal time," he'd said. "No one who was on the front line last night should even be here."
Something like grace prevented Gil from making the quip that, technically, he no longer was one of Nick's teammates.
"You're here," he reminded Conrad simply.
"I have to be," was Ecklie's reply.
Though the events of the previous day had done little to disavow Gil of his long-established wariness with this man, he felt sympathy for Conrad, nonetheless. After all, he had one hell of a mess to clean up; the lab had made sacrifices to find Nick, sacrifices in time, resources, and personnel that none of them regretted, but now they would feel the pinch. And while Ecklie's higher-ups were certainly going to be praising the efforts of the department with one hand, they would be looking for a scapegoat to flay with the other. He doubted Ecklie was prepared for the blow of being punished for doing the right thing.
It had to be tough, Gil decided, to have one's misplaced trust in authority shaken so badly, so far in into one's career.
Poor Conrad, Gil thought, but was unable to suppress a wicked grin as he thought it.
But there had been work, and plenty of it, to carry him through the day. It was the best thing to keep him occupied, and he was able to channel most of what he was feeling into the tasks at hand. Soon, he would have to distance himself from it, and he would, but not just yet.
Because that evening, he received a phone call from Bill Stokes.
"Mr. Grissom," the judge had said, his voice gravelly but virtually emotionless, "my son is awake. He wants to talk to you."
"All right," said Gil, "I'll be right over."
The call had been a follow-up to the words he'd spoken to them the night before, when Nick had been unconscious and they'd demanded to know what, exactly, had happened to their son, and why.
"I think," he'd said, using all the calm he could muster, "that Nick should be the first person to hear the details, as soon as he's ready to."
They'd agreed to that, in spite of their fearful looks, and had promised to call Grissom when the time was right. And that was how he found himself where he was now, waiting outside Nick's hospital room.
Bill and Jillian were on the other side of the closed door. Gil couldn't hear what words of assurance they were giving to their son, and didn't try to.
After a minute or two, they stepped out, moving quietly and cautiously. Jillian touched Gil's arm briefly, and the judge gave him a curt nod. Gil returned the gesture, then stepped past them into the room. He closed the door quietly behind him, eyes focused on Nick.
Nick greeted him with a wave from across the room, brave faced but unsmiling. Gil didn't smile, either; he was relieved to have Nick safe, but happy? That wasn't an emotion for a time like this. He was still far too angry that it had happened in the first place.
There was already a chair at Nick's bedside, and Gil sat down in it, folding his coat over the arm. Then he turned to Nick.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
Nick shrugged. "Could be worse," he said, voice low and rough.
Gil almost smiled at that, but nodded slowly instead. "You know why I'm here."
It was Nick's turn to nod. "Yeah. I wanna hear it."
Gil took a deep breath. "Nick -" he began.
"The first thing I have to know," Nick interrupted. "Did anyone else get hurt?"
Gil stared at him in astonishment. He hadn't expected such a question...but it was so like Nick, wasn't it, to see to the needs of everyone else before he could attend to himself.
Gil shook his head, glad to be able to give Nick this answer. "Only the man who did this to you. He's dead."
"How?"
"I'll tell you, but right now," he added firmly, "I'd like us to start at the beginning."
"Okay," Nick agreed.
Gil waited a moment, wanting to make sure Nick was ready.
"What happened to you was a random act, intended for whichever CSI responded to that call."
There was a sightly dumbfounded look on Nick's face. Gil continued.
"The crime scene was staged using animal entrails. The other clues were placed in order to lure someone into the darkest part of the alley and avoid detection."
Nick had turned his face away. "Why?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
Gil thought for a moment, and decided to change the sequence he was telling this in. Just because they had been in suspense regarding the who and why didn't mean that Nick should be.
"Everything that happened to you was planned and carried out by a man named Walter Gordon. His daughter is serving a prison sentence for accessory to murder. The key evidence at her trial was collected by CSIs. So...Walter decided to target a CSI when he got his revenge."
"Oh, God," said Nick. Slowly, he raised a shaking hand to his forehead. "You're kidding."
Gil shook his head. "No," he said, "he was obsessed." Then he swallowed, because this was going to be the hardest part. "Nick, there's more; what he did to you was only half of it for him."
Nick gave him a fearful, wary look. "What do you mean?"
Gil had to take another deep breath to make himself say it. "He wanted us to be able to see you...but not be able to help." Nick's face was already frozen as Gil continued. "He set up a fiber-optic camera with a live internet feed above you. There was no sound."
Nick went very pale. "Oh god," he said, "Oh god."
"We wouldn't have found you without it," Gil said. Nick hid his face in his hand and didn't respond immediately, so Gil reached out and grasped his other hand where it lay on the bedspread.
"The ants," Nick said softly.
It took Gil a moment to figure out what Nick meant, then he nodded. "Yes," he said, "but that was just one piece of it."
Nick dropped the hand from his face, but he was staring up at the ceiling as he tried to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. "You know," he said, "I remember thinking, 'if Grissom could see this, I bet he'd be able to tell me where the hell I am.'"
Gil found he was able to smile faintly. Nick laughed a little, but the sound quickly turned into a sob and he squeezed Gil's hand. "Oh, god," he said again, "you all saw me?"
"The team did," said Gil, knowing that Nick would know who he meant. "And Archie. No one else."
Tears were falling onto Nick's face in spite of his efforts. His hand still shook as he wiped them away, and Gil began to suspect the shaking wasn't actually a result of their conversation, it was just like that now.
Nick swallowed bravely. "What else? You said the guy is dead."
"Yes," Gil said, "he blew himself up when we found him." Gil didn't mention the ransom or Sam Braun; those were things Nick truly didn't need to know; not in their entirety, anyway, and certainly not yet.
Nick slowly shook his head, his expression the most pained Gil had seen it yet. "Why?"
"I don't know," Gil said. "I think he believed that he'd achieved everything he wanted to."
Nick pulled his hand away from Grissom's and joined it with his other. He pressed his clasped hands to his mouth, knuckles white and squeezing.
"One guy did this," he whispered.
Gil watched Nick for a moment, and decided this would be a good time to make his exit. He didn't think Nick would want him to witness it as he fell apart. He stood silently and backed away. Nick didn't even seem to see him go, staring forward at nothing with wide eyes.
Jillian rushed in as soon as he opened the door, and as Gil closed it behind him, he heard the sound of a muffled sob as she ran and held him.
Bill Stokes remained outside with Grissom, meeting his eyes with an expectant look, both grim and worried. Gil's answering look was apologetic, but he had no words, no explanation to give this man, and no way to supply him with the control he so desperately needed.
The judge's worried expression remained as he walked slowly into the hospital room. Gil watched him through the window for a moment, attention focused briefly away from his own surroundings.
So it wasn't until someone grabbed him by his collar that he realized he wasn't alone.
Gil didn't do very well with being ambushed. The hand that seized him was small, but fierce and wiry-strong, and it managed to pull him roughly to the side and toss him down into a sitting position on one of the chairs Nick's parents had previously occupied before Gil really knew what was going on.
Catherine was staring him in the face, inches away and looming menacingly.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she growled.
Gil was still so shocked at having been accosted in such a way that he couldn't quite comprehend the question, let alone formulate an answer. But Catherine didn't give him a chance, anyway.
"You really think he needs to hear all that now? Jesus Christ, Gil, he can barely talk to us right now, he's so shocked!" The look on her face shifted from rage to anguish as she spoke.
Sighing, Gil straightened his abused collar. He stood up and backed a few steps away from her. He guessed she hadn't slept much lately, and waited for her to deflate. She did, standing back a little and dropping her shoulders. She was still looking expectant, though.
"When a surgeon has made a cut," Gil said, "he tries to get everything done that he can before the patient is sewn back up again."
Catherine appeared to understand the analogy. "You think that applies here?"
Gil nodded. "I think Nick needs the complete picture before he tries to come to terms with this."
Catherine nodded, then took a deep breath. "You're right. I'm sorry," she said.
Gil shrugged a tired shrug. "It happens," he said.
Catherine collapsed into the chair by the door, slouching with her head bowed. Her arms wrapped loosely around her.
She threw her head back, eyes blinking away tears. "Son of a bitch," she muttered. It wasn't directed at anyone or anything, not even Walter Gordon. It was simply a general sort of curse.
Gil took in the sight of her like that. She looked small and vulnerable, now, entirely the opposite of the fiery creature who'd greeted him moments before. It had been years since she'd let him see her like this, he realized, since the days before she had, for whatever reason, become wary of him.
He sat down next to her. Back then, she had sometimes leaned on him at moments like this, or even slipped herself under his arm for a hug. He wanted her to know she could again, if she needed to.
She leaned on him. Slowly, almost cautiously, she tucked herself against his chest as his arms came around her shoulders. They sat that way for several minutes, silent.