Work Text:
Epilogue to Stalker
by krysalys73
He stood frozen in front of the one-way mirror as the others filed out of the observation room.
Jim Brass nodded to the night shift criminalists as they passed him in the hall, and his brow furrowed when he realized that Nick wasn't with them. He strode over to the door to the observation room and leaned against the jamb. Nick was still standing there, stiff as a board, the perfect picture of a man in pain.
Also a man about to become violently ill, if his expression was any gauge of his physical state.
"Hey, Nicky," Brass spoke softly, so as not to startle the deeply disturbed criminalist.
Nick blinked, slowly, as if coming out of a trance. He couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the insane tableau occurring in the next room. Nigel Crane was firmly pushed down into the chair he'd just vacated, firm hands holding him down when he tried to rise. Still muttering that insipid mantra.
"I am one... who am I?"
"C'mon," Brass urged in his gentlest voice. He almost stepped into the room, but Nick's back stiffened, his eyes widening in reflexive panic. He backed away from the Captain towards the other side of the room. "Hey, hey hey," Jim slowly held his hands out in front of him. "Nicky, it's just me. Brass. You're safe here, kid. Crane can't get to you now."
Nick shook his head, wincing as it set off a round of dizziness. He stumbled a little before grabbing the edge of the table that Sara and Warrick had just recently perched on. His breathing had quickened, and he ducked his head against his chest as a strangled sound seemed to be pulled out from his throat.
Nick mumbled, but Brass couldn't make it out.
"What?"
The younger man looked up from lowered lashes at Brass. "I said, it's not over," Nick murmured. His chestnut eyes were haunted.
"I am one... who am I? I am one who am I? IamonewhoamI?"
"Oh, god, think I'm gonna be sick," Nick growled, his face blanching.
Brass quickly strode over to where the younger man stood wavering, and touched his arm. Nick jerked away, swearing under his breath when his sore body protested such a sudden movement.
"Nick, c'mon. We gotta get you outta here," Jim spoke quietly. He held out his hand, but didn't touch Nick, fearing he'd spook the battered man even more.
"And go where?" Nick's voice was hollow... almost as empty as his eyes had become.
Jim was starting to get really spooked; the younger man that he'd always thought of as the son he never had was scaring him. But hey, considering what he'd just gone through, the kid's justified in being so freaked, he thought.
"Can't go home... can't stay here... can't go to the lab..." Nick continued, his eyes squeezing shut against the vision of Crane rocking back and forth in his chair, still chanting those six freakin' words.
"You're coming home with me," Brass interrupted him.
"Wh-what?" Nick's head shot up, causing another dizzy spell, and Brass was at his side immediately, steadying him.
"Look, I got a nice couch, and the bed's all yours," he said. "I don't think you should be alone right now."
"But Warrick's gonna take me to his place..." Nick almost stuttered.
"He's got work to do at the lab for a few hours yet," Brass stepped in. "And you need to get the hell away from here. Look, I'll call Gil and let him know where you went. We haven't had a chance to book you a hotel room, or get you anything from your place yet. I'll have a uniform run by and pick up your pain meds, okay?"
"O-okay," Nick's whole demeanor deflated, his eyes squeezing shut in weariness. Jim carefully put his arm around the criminalist's shoulders, slowly guiding him out of the room.
Poor kid's gonna have nightmares for months over this, Brass mused darkly. He was gripped with the sudden intense urge to have just 5 minutes alone with Crane... to give the nut job a piece of his mind. Maybe even of his fist while he's at it...
But Brass shook his head. Nick needed to get as far away from that whacko as possible; and, he needed to get some rest. As they slowly made their way down the hallway, Jim's fellow officers shooting concerned looks in Nick's direction, Jim pulled out his cell and hit the speed dial.
"Hey, it's Brass," he spoke softly. "I'm taking Nick back to my place. ... Kid needs a place to crash right now... Yeah, that's what he said... Look, I'm sending a uniform over to his place to pick up his meds and a change of clothes..."
Nick halted dead in his tracks, causing Brass to stumble a little as his arm jostled against the younger man's broad back. "No," the former college jock muttered.
The cell slid down Brass's ear a little as he swiveled around to face the other man. "What? Nick, what's wrong?"
"Don't want my clothes," he ground out angrily. "Bastard stole 'em... from the cleaners. Wore 'em... Is wearin' 'em..." Nick started shaking violently in reaction to his turbulent emotions.
"Gil, have Rick pack some of his stuff for Nick and bring it over to my place ASAP, okay?" Brass practically hissed into the phone. Seeing his colleague so freaked out was really making the Captain's blood boil. Blood pressure, Jimmy, he reminded himself. "Yeah, I'll make sure he gets some sleep, though I dunno how restful it's gonna be. ... Right, call you in a bit. Thanks, cuz."
Jim disconnected and dropped the phone in his coat pocket. "C'mon, I'll take care'a everything. Let's get you outta this popsicle stand," he quipped. The corner of Nick's mouth quirked slightly in response to his lame attempt at humor, but it was a definite improvement over the complete blankness that had swarmed over Nick's face mere moments before.
With their progress monitored closely by no less than 3 uniforms at a time, Jim and Nick made their way out of the building and to Brass's car. One of the officers got into a patrol car and followed the two out of the parking lot and to Jim's place.
Jim knew this was gonna be one hell of a long day. He fervently hoped that he and the others would be able to help Nick get over this whole mess.