Title: "Bite the Bullet"
Author: Kristen999
Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.
Summary: We all have to accept the outcomes to our actions. Intentional, or not.Response to the June challenge.
Set during Season 2.
A plastic tarp laid on the plush carpet, blood pooled into the creases and artificial valleys like oil paint, spilling onto the fibers of the rug. Despite the meticulous care taken to save the cleaning bills the wall dripped with castoff. Brain matter and bone, embedded into the soft plywood as well. Particles, bits all over the ceiling, too. The nearly
decapitated body still stubbornly sat upright in its chair.
"He must have forgotten that a skull blows apart," Warrick said offhandedly at the preparation to make disposal less messy.
Nick didn't put his kit down. He stared, knowing as soon as he heard the street address what they would find.
"He killed another one. Raped and tortured this time. I'm going to inform the family."
Nick stared at the slab; her hair might have been blond. Chart said it was, hard to tell now. Looking up at his boss, the supervisor shared his gaze.
'"You stay at the lab and process her clothes."
He nodded, the LVU student had a nice smile. Vet grad, they had talked about her obsession with llamas. No, he'd never seen one outside the zoo, but she made them sound so endearing. He looked them up on his laptop that night to learn more about them.
He saw Warrick's long shadow near him. He wasn't about to broadcast his feelings. Not glancing at his partner Nick unclipped his metal kit, sliding hands into latex. His brown eyes squinted slightly, nostrils flared at the copper odor inside the tiny office, noticing the lack of windows.
He's got a strong stomach, you have to. Didn't change the fact that the crime was fresh, the smell of gunshot residue mixed with other fluids. It wasn't the repugnant stench that had him flexing rubber-coated hands, but something else.
"You want me to call Sara?"
He knelt, closed one eye behind the lens and the snap of the flash was his answer.
He could tell Warrick wasn't buying it. "Grissom would understand. It was your case."
"And I'm gonna follow through 'til the end, bro," he called over his shoulder, a slip of paper in his viewfinder meticulously left unstained on the desk.
Nick picked it up by the corner; a simple printout, with a few lines of remorse, then ended with goodbye. His molars gnash against each other.
"Suicide note?"
Nick nodded, reading the victim's final thoughts. Warrick scanned it over his shoulder, the paper crinkled between tightening fingers.
Warrick wordlessly pulled it from a grasp that might damage the fragile document. "He made a choice, man."
Nick gave him an 'I don't buy it expression', shaking his head, viewing the whole ugly display from under his baseball cap.
The pictures of the wife and kids adorn the right side, next to books ranging in subject from the top ten tips for sales mangers and spreading your territory among investors. One of the silver framed photos appeared disturbed, and pulled from the lower shelf of the perfectly ordered set.
One last look at what was lost perhaps, Nick thought.
"He's lying," Nick fumed, pacing back and forth in front of the two-way glass.
Grissom doesn't say a word, his young colleague restless like some animal unable to run its legs in weeks. The entomologist glanced at the salesman sitting quietly in his chair, pointer finger tapping a silent beat.
"He may well be telling the truth. No hotel receipts, the mileage of his car checks out, and witnesses place him at the office at the time of the deaths."
Nick glared at him. His boss knew, felt the twist of instinct even if he never voiced it. Would be bad precedent. "Martin is gonna walk if we can't place him at that hotel."
He spun around lost in full-throttle fume mode.
"No husband wants to admit he cheated on his wife with another woman, let alone a man." Grissom tilted his head studying.
"And you're accepting that?" Nick blurted, then regretted the outburst.
Grissom just raised an eyebrow. "Nothing physical places him in the room."
Nick glared at the window. "I don't think he could just sit back and let another of Martin's victims get gutted."
"He's not thinking about the vics," his boss replied.
Nick's throat constricted, whether it was his supervisor's intention or not. His feet carried him away from the despicable excuse for a father...for a spouse.
"Nick!"
His name was tinged with warning. 'Tread carefully'...in his brashness he heeded no such precaution.
Warrick picked up the revolver by the butt, after making his documentation. He slipped it into an evidence bag. "Did he have any registered firearms?"
Nick recalled the wife, all protective at headquarters. She was feisty; long curly red hair, blue eyes like diamonds. She stood in front of her husband as if a barrier, hands clutching by hers sides instinctively. Like he and Grissom were the bad guys.
Where is she now? Nick didn't hear the wail of a distraught wife, no sound of bickering siblings.
"Nick?"
Warrick's talking to him, while he's too busy ignoring his questions. "No, nothing. State of the art alarm system. Never owned a gun in his life...until now."
"Looks like it's only been fired once, fresh from a dealer."
Nick's guts are protesting now, defecation assaulting his senses, vying against images of fierce dark eyes begging him...pleading.
Only one socket was intact, the rest of the skull... a mess.
Nick stepped back into the hallway before he registered retreating from it at all. He's unable to separate, to process the vic like any other DB.
The funeral will be a closed casket.
He stripped off his tools of the trade, the latex smacking in the dead air. Nick banged his head against the wall behind him. Warrick's curls bounce around as he comes over, shoulder rested against the door jamb.
Nick threw his other glove down bitterly, as he looked up at his co-worker. "I killed him."
"You have no idea why Mr. Douglas shot himself." Warrick is all about defending. Doesn't matter how many times they try to one-up the other, he's a good man.
He just doesn't want to hear it now.
Nick's ears make good filters. "I ruined his life," he muttered, the echo of words less than two days ago in his head.
"Please Mr. Stokes. I have a family, I cant...I can't ----"
Nick threw the folder onto the table, grisly crime scene photos of Stacey Gibbons and Anna Wilson's bloodied remains.
"Oh, God," Douglas wailed, shielding his eyes from the vile carnage caught on paper.
"YOU can place the suspect at the last murder. YOU can help bring justice to these innocent girls," Nick growled, shoving the picture of the vet student under the man's nose close enough for him to smell the blood that was only there in image form.
The entrepreneur shoved the photo away, twisting his entire body around, sobbing into his hands.
Nick crouched down next to the man, still pushing, doing whatever it took to give the families closure, to nail the killer. "If you don't make a statement, if you refuse to help put an animal behind bars. You might as well consider yourself a partner in the next murder."
Nate Douglas, wiped at his puffy eyes. "It'll ruin my life. It'll tear apart my family."
Two straight weeks of non-stop cases, the recent slayings robbing Nick of his sleep, the reason for dark circles under his eyes. "I didn't cheat on my wife, sir. You made a choice. Do the right thing by making the correct one now." His voice was softer, trying to connect.
"The dude made a lot of terrible decisions in his life, this was just another one." Warrick's words brought him back to the present. "He couldn't live with them."
"I forced him into a situation---" his tirade cut off by scoff. It made his blood boil.
Nick brushed past the other criminalist; even in his gut he knows deep down inside that everyone had bent over backwards on those killings. He'd been the only one to get through to Douglas, got the last piece of the puzzle.
Prevented another death… just as he eyed the room from the end of the hallway. "You gonna mock me some more?"
Warrick shook his head, trying to diffuse a red hot up-in- arms temper. Good competition among them was one thing, the whole consolingbusiness was new and uncharted territory.
"You buy that gun? Put in his hands?" Common sense questions in a baritone voice.
Nick didn't answer.
Lanky body ambled over, Warrick hammering home all good points. "You have anything to do with his sexual identity issues? The man's inability to stay faithful?"
"Who protected Mr. Douglas' family?" Nick's head was swimming. "What about them?"
His partner sighed. "And the rights of the murdered families. Should they gain closure, to have the killer of their loved ones behind bars?"
"At what cost?" Nick mumbled, casting a final look at the office, at the destruction of one life to protect that of a few others.
Walking outside, breathing in fresh, clean air. Nick noticed his boss' dark SUV for the first time, Grissom speaking with O'Reilly outside. The supervisor finished up the conversation and wandered over.
"Who called you?"
The older man shook his head. "No one, I heard about the address and recognized it. Thought I'd stop by."
Gil Grissom never just pops in and out at a scene, they both know that.
Nick feels every bit the shade of green of a young CSI level three, floundering around, the feeling that he screwed up and waiting for his boss to turn it into a lesson to grow on. Ashamed for not cutting the mustard on both counts.
Differences of opinion with the supervisor wasn't a habit he wanted to make, not when all he wanted to do was show how much he'd learned working with the man.
"Would you have done the same?"
Grissom looked at the entrance of the upper class home, "I allowed you to conduct the interview with Mr. Douglas."
Nick stared at the driveway while the other criminalist took in the scene needlessly. Each not eying the other. "So, you're saying that you knew how hard I was going to lean on him."
"He never opened up to me during the case. You already had a connection and it needed to be used." Grissom finally glanced over. "I hoped it would gain you experience."
Nick wasn't sure what aspect he was supposed to be educated on. "I made him do something knowing full well the fallout would hurt more than just him. It would change the lives of his wife and kids."
"That's not your concern, Nick."
He whirled around a thousand reasons to the contrary fighting for vocal release. Instead he kept his mouth closed, not wanting to press, even if it really is eating him up alive.
"Do you recall Carl Mercer?" Grissom's got that way about him now, the lesson book pulled out from somewhere.
The name puzzled him, and he's not ready to take notes this time. Nick wet his lips, not knowing what was needed to answer this correctly. "The guy who was going to let us take a sample from his failing kidney? The heavy metal poisoning case?"
Grissom enjoyed playing the role of Mr. Miyagi and nodded, giving his student a pearl of wisdom. "Do you remember what you asked me then?"
Nick's eyes seem to have lost the ability to maintain contact. "I said I wanted to retract our request to use it."
He looked over and knew that his supervisor was not going to prod him anymore. Nick swallowed, "The case wasn't worth it. We needed to find another way to find track down an organ that wasn't going to cost a guy his life."
"He was already dying, Nick. He wanted to help someone, wanted to give his last days meaning by aiding the case." Grissom looked thoughtful. "He had free will."
"And you never answered me then either." Nick accused recalling Sara's interruption of the man's usual silence.
"But I have now." The older man waited a beat, seeing that things were sinking in.
"Different circumstances, I..." Nick paused, amending. "We could have found another way."
"Carl Mercer made his choice and so did Nate Douglas. We couldn't have caught our suspect without Mr. Douglas' testimony placing him at that hotel at the same time he cheated on his wife, and our killer would not have confessed. We did find another avenue without using that kidney, but sometimes we have to do what is right for the case."
Nick felt his body tense up again, "We can't ignore the consequences of our actions, putting lives on a scale each time."
"We don't. You do. When you can back away and handle cases without becoming too involved then you'll be able to deal with the difficult ones that won't haunt you in your sleep. Its about the evidence, when we look too hard at the faces, then we loose sight of the objective." Grissom exhaled, looking back at the house. "Go home, Nick. You'll feel better in the morning."
He was going to leave him behind having the final word. Nick patted down his jeans in search of car keys, but he's not going to let it happen again. "Its more than just science. The human element matters; all our actions mean something."
Nick didn't get a response though he knew Grissom heard him. He's never been 'rescued' from a case before and knows he wouldn't like it very much. Stepping towards his vehicle, he understands that there will be more arguments like this one in the years to come. It's not right that a man could not live with his actions, and he had a hand in that inability. Nick knows that he's cut out to be a good criminalist, and can feel it deep down in his gut.
There is a balance and as much as he despises how he feels now, the insanity over truth and consequences playing havoc with his life in and outside of work, Nick believes it's better to go home feeling like this, than to go to bed unaffected by it at all.
The June Challenge was to write a missing scene or post scene to an episode from the person above us in our little group.
Iboneki requested any kind of reaction/interaction/response to Nick and Grissom's conversation over a clash of ideals in "Organ Grinder". Whatever spin I wanted on the conversation:
NICK: I can't even talk Warrick into splitting a sandwich with me and this
guy's willing to give us his kidney?
GRISSOM: You asked for it.
NICK: Yeah, that's my point. Carl Mercer risks dying sooner to help our
investigation but who protects his rights?
GRISSOM: He has free will.
NICK: Well, so do I. I want to retract our request. I don't think any
investigation for the dead is worth hurting the living.
(GRISSOM turns around. He doesn't say anything.)
Hope you enjoyed.