The gathering was slated for late afternoon so that whomever wanted to attend could do so before shift, or during a well-timed break in between duties. There had been some concern over the location chosen, the land behind the Lab, away from the streets. A little bit of rolling lawn, a few trees and the backs of neighboring businesses kept the area intimate. The decision had to be re-thought when the crowd swelled with members of the police department, those off duty or with properly timed lunch breaks.
The front rows of blue were marshaled by Alex Vartann, Jim Brass, and Sam Vega. That triumvirate's flanks were filled in by the beat cops involved in The George's crowd control; Officer Jamal Matthews, the large black man standing tall next to his older, more heavy set partner, Dobransky. People from the Mayor's office groomed and primped for photo opportunities mingled with the press, the Under Sheriff, and some of the City Council who were up for re-election.
Gil's dress shoes had not been broken in and the thin socks he wore provided little protection against the leather digging into his flesh. He shuffled around uncomfortably until Catherine's hand on his shoulder urged him still. He wasn't being antsy; he wanted to tell her, his feet just hurt, but said nothing.
He looked around the ceremony, hastily moved way to the back of the Lab, ironically enough to the same range where they conducted explosives tests. The high powers that be were ecstatic about the shift, but the guest of honor had been less than thrilled.
Of course this was a pageant show for more than one prance around the judges; better to get all the bang for one's buck. Several retirements were announced, promotions, other awards and the like given out, hands shaken all around.
"Sorry I'm late. Tox results came back on my case," Sara whispered in his ear as she looked around. "I don't think I fit in very well."
Gil smiled and nodded his head in the direction of the stage. "Neither does the man there."
Nick's name was announced and Warrick patted his pal's back as he got up from his seat closer to the ceremony and took a stage too grand and bright for the humble criminalist. Gil clapped quietly along with Sara, Greg, and Catherine. He watched in mild amusement as some of the other close knit group of colleagues strained their necks to watch the dog and pony show. Many of the techs had left their white coats back at the lab and some had even popped on a tie, Archie's Spiderman example close to stylish with his black shirt.
Gil didn't pay too much attention to the words of the Under Sheriff; the politician had a staff member on salary to write his speech and it wasn't like he even knew the young man he was handing out a medal to. Nick would probably put it in a box in his closet, or send it home to his insistent parents. No, Gil stood proudly, not at the mechanical words from the microphone, but for the gathered group.
Nick reminded him what it meant to be a real leader and in the man's selfless actions, he had learned a thing or two about fighting for what was right. It was time to do good by his people and that began with his formal letter written to every director and politically connected person of the Lab about reuniting his Team. Some things were worth risking for- there were indeed causes to champion because when it came to the end of the day, closed case files and typed up reports, the only thing left was the fusion within a finely tuned group.
"Nice speech," Catherine muttered unimpressed.
The cacophony of applause drowned out his humph. Gil didn't mingle for very long as Nick would have his hands full with all the politicking around him, much of the crowd had to get back to work and reporters launched themselves at the feeding frenzy as he tried to make his way back towards the lab. With the crowds teeming around him he was surprised to run into the man who had orchestrated the media frenzy.
"Conrad."
"Gil, how nice of you to be here."
He smiled graciously. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Well, you did decline to offer a few words even though Stokes was under you at the time of the explosion."
"Nick knows exactly how I feel about things."
Ecklie waved to someone in the distance as he muttered, "Of course he does, and I'm sure you've told him several times."
Grissom cocked his head. "Was that what this was all about? Break us up and then act like the Good Guy?"
Ecklie's smile faltered. "You know how long it takes to get a person from the Lab a medal? One normally reserved for police officers, I might add."
"No, I don't."
The director looked around a moment. "It has to be recommended by someone to a review board and then approved by the Attorney General, which takes weeks if not months."
Gil raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Ecklie crossed his arms. "There's a huge void for civilian medals. The Citation for Bravery isn't some principal's certificate to hang on the wall."
"No, it's for an act of bravery beyond the call of duty, where the member's physical safety has been perilously exposed to danger in order to save the life of another, or to perform an extraordinary and heroic duty."
Ecklie grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "I jump hoops where you won't."
"But you had to check your back. Dig into Nick's history to make sure you wouldn't be surprised, all the while letting things get stirred up and rumors run rampant. Nice of you to create such an intense environment."
"I couldn't risk having egg on my face."
"No, it would mess up that expensive suit of yours."
"Be thankful that the case wrapped up when it did. There was more than one head on the chopping block if it hadn't." Ecklie adjusted his tie and flattened out a tiny wrinkle.
"If it hadn't, there would have been one less head." Grissom smiled slyly.
"Oh, I dunno, I think everyone on the board would have lined up to have pinned several on his chest if things had gone the other way."
Grissom quirked one signature eyebrow. "Now don't sell yourself short on that one, Conrad, but I would like to thank the guy who submitted the original request to the review board."
Conrad Ecklie grinned. "You already did," then left the grave shift supervisor in silence.
He didn't wear a tie, just a nice button-up white shirt and a dark blazer. Ditched the boots and found a nice set of slacks that would be ruined if worn in the field. Before learning jeans would hold up more, enduring dust, dirt, grime and other foul things day to day, he used to wear nicer threads, with the thought of making a better impression. Oddly enough, this was a day set aside for just that; to influence and inspire. Such haughty words and they were used over and over again, and every second of the circus made it seem like they were talking about someone else.
"Will you stop doin' that."
He looked up at Warrick and smiled. "Doin' what?"
"You're thinking so hard it's making my head hurt."
Nick laughed, "Sorry."
"You don't think you deserve those accolades?"
He opened his mouth, but the words got hung up and his buddy beat him to the punch anyways.
"If you'd just apply that bottomless supply of stubbornness to all that modesty, then maybe they would cancel each other out."
Nick watched Warrick cut with vigor into his food, dicing away at the meatloaf special, extra mashed potatoes slopped with white gravy. He didn't feel like debating things, knowing somehow all his nice neat explanations would be twisted around so badly he'd be left without a compass. Grissom sipped at his water with lemon, pushing around his vegetable medley before taking a bite out of his fried fish.
The waitress popped by, her eyes approving of Nick's clean plate, her wrinkled features drawing together before she chuckled. "You want another helping, sugar?"
He smiled sheepishly as both his companions looked over, their plates still half full. Nick floundered for a moment but their older server had a touch of grandmother syndrome.
"We have fresh apple pie. Could warm it up and throw on a couple of scoops of ice cream."
His eyes must have lit up, because Sandy pulled up her reading glasses that hung down on a chain, added the dessert to the bill, and, with press-on nails clicking on the plate, cleared his dishes and was gone before he could actually answer her.
"You're not stealing any of my biscuits." Warrick moved his bread to the other side of his plate.
Nick plastered on a fake pout. "Didn't eat lunch today."
Warrick snorted, "I'm sure you had a powerhouse breakfast. How many pancakes did you shovel down?"
He wouldn't answer, knowing the number was pretty high. He always stopped by his favorite place when he was out in the mornings.
"I'm sure it's easier to have a strong appetite when you regain the sense of taste," Grissom noted clinically.
His smile broadened at the older man. "You can say that again. Had the best damn barbeque the other night."
"Careful, bro. Might begin to add too many pounds."
Nick patted his stomach. "It'd take a whole hell of a lotta calories before that happens. Besides, I'm finally cleared to spend time at the gym."
"Ya sure that's a good idea... how many times have you cracked one bone or another?"
He glared at his partner while his boss just let them 'argue'. "Ribs are fine, head's fine. Hell, after the past few weeks of taking it easy, even the knee's not bad at all."
Warrick soaked up some of his juice with his biscuit, eyes twinkling, knowing how much Nick loved the homemade bread. "You just want to spend more time with that hottie gym instructor."
"Yeah, man, and her girlfriend." He laughed, "Though with Janet, I can just work on strengthening everything back up. Kill two birds with one stone."
"You talk to Catherine?"
Grissom perked up at the question as well and the younger man nodded. "Yeah. I come back next week. Same as before, lab duty than graduate to field work."
"You pass all your tests?"
Nick knew what Grissom meant: his auditory range of hearing performance after his surgery. "With flying colors."
His boss seemed quite pleased.
"Well, I'm glad you took a whole month off this time. Come back at top speed."
Nick wanted to add that he didn't have a choice in the matter, but would not spoil the mood. He knew that Catherine's orders had Grissom's blessing as well as backing from Ecklie. He shook his head at the mere thought of that man.
"Whatcha thinkin' about now?"
"Ecklie," he blurted out.
Both men were saved a response when Sandy came back with his pie, plated next to a generous helping of ice cream, a little whipped cream on top. "Awww, heaven. Thank you, ma'am."
She just winked at him and scowled at the remaining plates with food still leftover before moving on to the next booth. Nick dug his spoon in greedily and began to devour the sweet combo of cinnamon, tart fruit, and vanilla bean. Grissom was right: food was a thing to savor with new respect, but when it was this damn good, he just enjoyed the sugar rush.
"Conrad is more complex that most people realize."
"Dunno about that. I say he's still a weasel," Warrick retorted. He pushed his plate aside, finished. "Besides, he's the reason me and Nick are on Swing."
"No, I am," then Grissom held up his hands to silence any further argument.
Nick washed things down with his sweet tea. "Maybe he does have a heart after all... deep down inside," he amended.
"The man does what's best for him, and if that means cutting' budgets or pinnin' medals, then it's just a means to an end," Warrick growled.
Nick wiped his mouth with the end of a napkin. "I try to avoid politics, man."
"Yeah? Speaking of, where's your shiny new bling?"
"In the glove box."
Warrick gaped and Nick smiled as he pointed his finger at him. "Gotcha."
"Yeah, I guess with us on different shifts, you can't flirt with your favorite two DNA techs."
Nick rolled his eyes, a tiny bit grateful he wouldn't have to deal with that situation again anytime soon, though he found the attention a little flattering, if not awkward at times.
"The budget increased this quarter, so maybe we all learned a few lessons from Ecklie's choices of late."
Nick quirked an eyebrow much like his boss, but sat back with a full belly. Sandy was back like a whirlwind, cleaning up the table and dropping off the check. Warrick snatched it up, rising to his feet. "This time, it's on me," and walked off to pay.
He was left alone with his boss, this time the silence just between them and not from the entire world.
"All right with you guys if we call it a day? I don't wanna ruin myself for the race tomorrow."
"Benches… up ahead … quarter mile…" Nick gasped, his breath blasting out in silvery explosions of mist in the cool early morning air.
"Yeah, well there's a curb I've got my eye on right here," Janet said as she slowed her run down abruptly, shaking out her sore muscles. She stepped off the path and crossed the crusty brown grass over to where the curb followed the perimeter of the parking lot then bent her perfectly sculpted body in half, grabbing her ankles and bouncing lightly with her stretch.
"Yeah… curb… looks… comfy," he said breathlessly as he staggered over to the curb and dropped himself down wearily. He immediately stretched his left leg out in front of him, hands kneading at his knee.
He looked up as Matt dropped down next to him; the former Marine wasn't even breathing heavily, but his fingers mirrored Nick's as they dug at his knee joint where the prosthetic attached.
"How's that…working' out for ya?" Nick asked as he finally caught his wind, jerking his chin at the fancy new running foot.
"Good, good. Gives me way more stability and it's got better ankle rotation. We'll hafta see how it handles speed-wise tomorrow."
"Man, I can't believe I'm gonna miss the Turkey Trot." Nick sighed and leaned back on his hands, watching his breath plume out. The sky was just turning to salmon pink at the horizon, the air was crisp, and there wasn't a cloud to be seen.
"You could always watch with Michelle," Janet offered as she folded her willowy body easily down to flank Nick on his other side. French-tipped nails tugged at the laces of her running shoes, then she let the bow flop free as she sat back as well. "She keeps up with me in her Prius. And she always has the best snacks!"
"Snacks?" he chuckled.
"Yeah, snacks. You know- marathon fuel. 'Course Michelle is more of the 'wears sweats only to watch TV' kinda gal, and her snacks aren't exactly completely healthy but… long as it has chocolate and salt in some combination, I'm a happy camper."
"Chocolate and salt? For a marathon?" Nick asked dubiously.
"Hell, yeah. Salt combats hyponatremia. Lose too much sodium from sweating or even drinking too much water and you're looking at some serious puking at the least. Tremors, seizures - seen my share of 'em. Chocolate's just a really tasty carb. Keeps the glycogen up. No chocolate and around mile 17 I'm hittin' the Wall like nobody's business."
He glanced over at Matt to see if he was buying it but the sphinx just shrugged.
"Well, hell, Janet. You say chocolate and salt, I believe you. Would never doubt your knowledge of what makes a body tick. Peanut M&Ms do the trick?"
"Now you're talkin'," she said with a laugh. "Chocolate covered pretzels and Reese's cups do in a pinch. C'mon! Ride with Michelle. It'll be fun. The four of us can head out afterwards for the world's biggest brunch. In fact, I say we treat ourselves- check out the brunch buffet at the Wynn or Mandalay Bay."
"Janet," he laughed as he shook his head. "It's a good thing you work out so much, cuz I have never known a girl who could put it away like you can."
"You can burn 100 calories a mile in a marathon," Matt spoke up, sounding weirdly like Grissom when offering a piece of pertinent trivia.
"He's right, Nick. So? Shall I tell Michelle to expect company?"
He considered it a moment. Watching the race from the sidelines was gonna break his heart.
"There's always next year, Nick," Janet said as she read his mind. "In fact, you keep at it like you have been and the Bunny Hop might be yours for the taking next April. It's a half-marathon- it'd be perfect for you to start out on."
He nodded sharply. "Tell Michelle to put on her fanciest sweats, Janet. I'll be there to root you guys on."
He dropped his head back and took in the steadily brightening sky, breathing deeply of the cool fresh air.
"Seems only fair I return the favor."
Authors' notes:
We aren't big on the A/N within the fic, so please humor us as we offer our thanks and thoughts.
Kristen: I'm not sure where to begin. This was an amazing project and I'm really in awe at having such a wonderful writing partner in Beth. The fact that we can read each other's minds tends to help, as, of course, does having the same taste in fic. She's everything you'd want in a co-author: open minded and willing to trade ideas back and forth at any given moment. Thanks, woman. You are the best and I swear we will do this again, when once again the proper plot bunny bites us.
Not everyone is into long recovery fics, but it's our cup of tea and we just held nothing back. As someone said, write what you can't find out there! This was something totally different for us and we're so happy that so many people came along for this ride. It was a most rewarding and sometimes grueling experience. I wouldn't trade a moment of it.
I want to thank our few loyal readers. Writing for enjoyment is a goal, but to receive great feedback is the only reward an author could hope for. It's our tip and motivation sometimes.
Special thanks go to Amy who aided us in so many ways with our medical research. This was a heavy fic to deal with and we had so many prerequisites and many what if scenarios. To have someone so willing to help mold our needs and answer questions in detail and with such happiness is more than anyone could expect. Thank you for your expertise and research.
Beth: Still can't believe it's over. Coming off the high of writing this fic is gonna make for a slow and painful withdrawal. Kristen is absolutely right. My one peeve with so many fics (and canon) is the wonderful buildup, the drama, the pain we put our characters through, only to have the story end, often with a two weeks later he left the hospital. What a great, fertile area to explore! And while, admittedly, the detailed examination of his recovery might not suit all, I for one was definitely writing what I looked for. What I CRAVED.
What can I say, K? In all things Nick, you complete me. I urge you to nurse your li'l plot bunny- feed it lots of cookies and carrots so it can grow strong and happy. I am already chompin' at the bit to bring some more glorious angsty goodness into the life of our favorite CSI. And I truly love writing with you.
I, too, wish to thank Amy for her research and support. What started as the teensiest widdle bunny was fed copious amounts of medical research to make him grow up to become the fic he is today. We couldn't be prouder! And Amy is his honorary godmother! Thank you, again.
And our readers! Ah, I hope you guys know what a joy it brings to see those words of support, encouragement, and advice. They really are the fuel that feeds the bunnies.
I'm sure K and I will write together again, and we hope to see you back here with us! We'll leave a light on fer ya.
Take care and Happy Holidays,
Kristen and Beth