Without Windows or Doors: Chapter 10
Title: Without Windows Or Doors: Chapter 10
Author: laurelgardner
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Summary: Comfort fic, post Grave Danger. Gil tries his hand at being there for Nicky, with somewhat an unorthodox approach.
Author's Note/Warnings: SPOILERS. And slowness.
Disclaimer: Fanfic is a tribute. Action figures for grown-ups. No attempt at copyright claims are being made.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
For a moment, Nick couldn't find his voice at all. The boldness of the question stunned him, as did the fact that Grissom seemed to be expecting an answer. No one yet had expected him to just...open up like that, right there. But it shouldn't surprise him, he supposed; the man simply didn't think or react to things the way most people did - and Nick probably owed his life to that very fact.
What surprised him even more than the question was the realization that he actually wanted to answer it. He wanted to talk to Grissom about this, about the other dreams, about...everything. Everything he'd been going through for the last month, but also, everything that had gone through his head in those twenty-some hours he'd spent in that box, knowing he was gonna die, knowing it was over, all over, and he'd never quite done any of it right. He wanted to tell Grissom all of that, all of his life, or at least the pertinent parts, years and years back.
But that didn't mean it was a good idea.
The dream, though...that was just a dream. Nick cleared his throat and began to tell.
"I'm there again," he began. "You know...buried," he managed to force the word out without choking on it, even if he did have to swallow again. "But it's different. You know, how in a dream, you can...like, see what else is going on, or know what other people are thinking or saying about you?" Grissom nodded. "Well, it's like that," Nick said. "Part of me is watching from outside myself, and I can see...all of you guys, looking for me."
Gil nodded grimly.
"But...this time, it's different," Nick continued. "Because it's been, like...a week, and I should be dead, so everyone...gives up." He choked on the last two words. Damn. He pressed a fist against his mouth for a moment, trying to regain control. "But I'm not dead."
So much for control. The words were a high-pitched whimper, and the tears were returning, stinging his eyes as they forced their way out, unbidden. And there was Gil's hand on his again, that warm, reassuring pressure.
After a moment, Gil asked, "Is that all?"
Nick nodded. "Yeah," he said, mopping his face with his free hand only, not wanting to break the contact with Gil. "Pretty much." He sniffed loudly. It was another moment before he could bring himself to look at Gil, and when he did, he was amazed to see a look of deep sorrow on his face.
"Nick," he said, "Never. You know that." There was a plea in his voice, faint but urgent.
"Yeah," said Nick, "I do." He shook his head. "It's just a dream." Nick wiped the last of the moisture from his eyes and sat up a little straighter, feeling somewhat composed at last. He gave Gil's hand a little squeeze and pulled away.
"It's funny," he said. "I guess Catherine was pretty worried about what I'd think of that camera."
Gil nodded. "She was."
Nick laughed humorlessly. "But I think...if I'd known about it at the time, it might have made things a little better." Tears again, but these were manageable ones. He didn't try to stop them anymore, there was no point.
"I was so scared," he said, barely a whisper. He had to look at the ground again in order to say them. "And I don't know why." He met Gil's concerned gaze. "I've had guns in my face before..." This was going further than he'd meant to, but he couldn't stop himself from talking. "Nigel had a really steady hand," he said, "And do you know what he said to me?"
Gil shook his head.
"He asked me if I knew what a nine-millimeter did to a skull at close range. The brain spatter would...would be like...strawberry swirled whipped cream, he said. And he talked about CSIs picking up little pieces of skull bone..." Nick shrugged. "Now, I...I guess he might have been talking about shooting himself, but in that moment, the thought never occurred to me."
Gil listened silently, intent face betraying nothing.
"After that," Nick continued, "I thought, that's it, you know? It doesn't get worse than that, nothing could ever scare me worse than that." His hands were shaking, but he couldn't stop it. "But it was nothing!" he gasped. "Nothing, compared to that. And if I had to choose, if I had to...go back, re-live something...I think I'd take fifty freaks with guns before I'd do ten seconds in that..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. Not because he was afraid, but because there was no right word for that thing that had held him. It wasn't a coffin, coffins were for dead people and he'd been so very much alive. Box. It was a box, but that wasn't right, either. "Boxes" were for shoes, for old magazines, for wrapping up Christmas presents in, not...not that. So he said nothing more.
Grissom lay a hand on his knee. "You don't have to go back, Nick," he said gently.
Nick smiled wryly. "No," he said, "It's worse; I get to go forward." He stood up, then sighed when he saw the troubled expression on Gil's face.
"Look, don't...don't worry about it." Nick said. "I'm gonna try to get some sleep."
Gil nodded silently, and Nick stood watching him for a moment before turning to leave. Once he was back in the tent, he lay in the dark for several minutes before he heard the zip of the tent door opening. He squinted as Gil appeared in the entrance, shining flashlight in hand.
"You awake?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah," Nick said. Wide awake.
Gil crawled inside. "Do you mind if I read for a while? I have a smaller light."
Nick shrugged. "It's fine."
So Gil went to his duffel bag, where he fished out a somewhat dog-eared paperback and a small clip-light. He settled in under the covers and began to read.
Nick lay next to him, and was surprised to find himself getting drowsy, deeply and pleasantly tired in a way he hadn't experienced in weeks. He was comforted by Gil's presence, by the fact that he was awake and would be there until Nick fell asleep. He didn't think Grissom had planned it that way, but still, it was just what he needed.
Nick's last though for he drifted off was that he'd never known anyone who could do so many things right by accident.
* * * * *
Eight breaths per minute at a consistent tempo. Nick was definitely fast asleep. Satisfied, Gil closed the dog-eared copy of The Glass Bead Game he'd been pretending to read and set it aside.
Watching Nick's sleeping form, he wondered about their conversation by the riverside. He felt it was a good first step, but he wasn't going to make the mistake of thinking it was a particularly big one. Nick was different from Gil, after all, and for him, speaking openly wasn't the same as opening up, tears or no tears. Gil couldn't put his finger on what the difference was, what kind of a reaction he was looking for, but he knew that wasn't it, not yet.
What was the real hell for Nick? What was the thing in his mind that weighed so heavily? What realization had he taken with him that made this all so much more than just a bad memory? Any of them might have ended up in that box, had things happened differently that night, but somehow, Gil had a feeling it had been a crueller fate for Nick than it would have been for the others. It wasn't because of any weakness, though; in truth, Gil had his doubts that anyone other than Nick could even have survived it.
A sudden rush of emotion, of tenderness, welled up in him then, swelling his throat and stinging his eyes. He looked at Nick's beautiful face, finally calm in sleep. He didn't even know, did he? He didn't even know what he'd done.
Gil kissed the tips of his fingers and pressed them to Nick's temple. Then, reluctantly, he switched off his light.