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CSI Season 2 Episode 19 --Stalker

CSI Season 2 Episode 19

--Stalker

When we went into work, Nick and I stopped by Gil’s office. We had a discussion last night at his place about doing the right thing – telling the department that we were in a relationship. In my previous place of employment, they would have reprimanded me for seducing a coworker. Then I would have been demoted. Nick reassured me that this wasn’t the case here – that numerous coworker’s had relationships within the department.

Nick had rubbed my back as I tried to calm my breathing. I was worked up just by asking him what if they split us up. Moved us to a different shift, because then we wouldn’t be able to see each other. Nick shook his head, his crooked smile enveloping his face.

“That won’t happen, darlin’,” Nick reassured me, his Texas drawl soothing my frayed nerves at the aspect of telling Grissom that I was involved with one of his best CSI’s. I knew that Nick valued the opinion of Grissom as well, so that was also nerve-wracking.

“But how do you know?” I stressed, looking at him as I bit my lip. Nick laughed, not unkindly, but used his thumb to release my lip from the abuse of my teeth.

“Do you know how many of the lab has been together?” When I shook my head, Nick elaborated on the number of relationships he knew of, as well as how they were treated once it came out.

When we knocked on Gil’s door, he was bent over looking at something through a magnifying glass. He looked intrigued to see us at his door, both requesting an audience at the same time. Gil motioned to the chairs at his desk, wordlessly, and waited to see what we were going to say.

“We’ve been dating,” I blurted out, unable to keep it a secret any longer. Nick gave an awkward chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Is that all?” Grissom asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought someone was confessing to a crime. Needing help with hiding a dead body or something.”

“I didn’t want to be in any type of department violation,” I told Gil who nodded, as Nick was chuckling.

“See, I told you!” Nick pointed out.

“I see no issue with two of my CSI’s dating,” Gil remarked, already losing interest in this conversation and looking down at the bug he was studying. “I will make a note of it for your documents with the Crime Lab.”

“That’s it?” I asked, a little shocked at the handling of a relationship. Nick had validated this point and to see it occurring was honestly a little shocking.

“Yup,” Gil nodded, opening our files and putting something in the documents. “The only issue would be if you two were supervisor and subordinate. Then you wouldn’t be able to do the other’s evaluations.”

“Wow,” I breathed a sigh of relief. “Who knew?”

“I tried to tell you!” Nick smiled at me, as he shook his head, good-naturedly. “You’ve been panicking since our fourth date.”

“Well,” I tried to explain, but finally gave up. Gil gave us both a rare smile.

“Get ready, we have a 419 – it’s going to require all of us to handle the evidence,” Gil said. We both nodded and went to the locker room to get ready.

Once we were finished putting our holsters on, getting the guns loaded, and grabbing our credentials, we both exited the locker room and went to the breakroom where the others were waiting for the assignment of the night. I looked at our coworkers before taking a deep breath.

“Before Ecklie or someone says something – Nick and I are dating,” I told them. They all grinned, Warrick slapping Nick on the back, congratulating him. I rolled my eyes as Gil came into the room.

“We’ve got a 419,” Grissom said. We all got out of our seats and grabbed our gear, along with jackets. Nick had to wear a leather jacket as his clothing wasn’t at the drycleaners the other day. I had laughed at them handing someone else his clothing and told him that was the reason I do my own laundry. I doubled with Nick while Catherine and Gil were in the lead, getting to the scene first. Warrick and Sara were still back at the lab.

“It’s going to be a long night,” I told my boyfriend who nodded his head as we drove to the crime scene. He had grabbed my hand with his, entwined on the console as we listened to music on the way to scene. Once we were on the scene, Catherine and Gil went up to get the preliminary photos. Nick wanted to talk with the detectives on scene.

I grabbed my kit from the trunk and went up to the apartment building. I walked in as Grissom was coming out of the bathroom. I was looking around the apartment and my eyebrows were furrowed.

“So, has anyone seen this dog?” Gil asked, looking around the apartment and listening for any sound of the dog.

“Dog bed, dog bowl, dog food ... no dog,” Catherine remarked as they noticed the dog paraphernalia all over the house.

“Someone killed the dog?” I gasped, staring at the senior members of the team with horror. They both shrugged, not confirming or denying it. “People I get, but a dog?”

“Neighbor lady called 911 because she heard the dog yelping,” Gil stated. I sucked in a breath.

“Are we sure it’s not hiding somewhere? Or that the cops didn’t let the poor animal out when they kicked in the door?” I asked, looking around the apartment. “Here, boy!” I whistled, trying to find the dog.

“Triple locks on all the doors. Every shade drawn. State-of-the-art alarm system,” Catherine looked at the alarm panel on her wall. “As far as we know her place was perfectly hermetically sealed until the cops batter-rammed their way in.”

“Prisoner in her own home?” Gil asked, standing there looking at the aforementioned safety features.

“Maybe she was agoraphobic?” I suggested, standing in her living room.

“So, how did he get in?” Catherine raised an eyebrow as she looked at the locks.

“A better question -- how'd he get out?” Gil questioned.

“Maybe he’s with the dog?” I sneered, looking under the furniture, trying to see if the dog was hiding underneath the couch. The dog bed was small – indicating that this wasn’t a golden retriever. “The dog bed looks sort of small. This dog couldn’t be more than 25-30 pounds. And there is no fur all over the home. I think it’s a hypoallergenic breed. Or this woman keeps vacuuming a hundred times a day.”

Gil walked into the living room behind me. He was still searching for a way that the assailant could have gotten in or out of the home. Gil pushed the gauzy curtains out of the way to reveal that the windows were covered in silver.

“Aluminum foil,” Gil said, shining a light on the silver material covering the windows.

“Keeps the sunlight out,” Catherine murmured also looking at the foil lined windows.

“God knows one needs to in Vegas,” I groused, still checking under the furniture, flashing my light around. “The dog couldn’t have just disappeared!”

“Keeps the eyeballs out, too,” Grissom stated as Catherine announced she was going to process the bedroom. She left the room while I was still poking under the furniture and trying to entice a dog. The door opened and Nick came in. He raised an eyebrow at my wandering around the living room, randomly whistling.

“Did you finally lose your marbles?” Nick drawled. I huffed at my boyfriend.

“I wish!” I called out. “The victims dog totally vanished. No one can seem to account for the dog that prompted the 911 call!”

“You’ll find him, darlin’,” Nick soothed, knowing my soft spot for animals, walking down the hallway. He stopped after a moment, looking at the scene in the bathroom. Gil watched him for a few moments, before turning to point out a random spot to me. After a few moments, Gil left me on my own in the living room.

“Sorry, Nick,” I heard Gil say in the bathroom. “You've been staring at this girl for ten minutes. Do you know her?”

“No,” his voice was faint.

“Why don't you go do the bedroom? I'll get the coroner in here and finish up in the bathroom,” Gil took pity on Nick.

“Sure,” I heard footsteps go down the hall to the bedroom. I left the living room and wandered down the hall to the kitchen. Very few hiding places, but I still checked.

Catherine and Gil came up behind me in the kitchen. There was nothing. This was absurd. A canine doesn’t just disappear into thin air. It had to be here somewhere.

“Find anything?” Catherine asked, unsure why I was pouring all my energy into the missing dog. I turned to look at her, a murderous look on my face.

“Nothing at all,” I sighed. “Absolutely nothing. Why not leave the dog?”

“Why don’t you go back to the lab with Nick when he’s done processing the bedroom,” Catherine suggested. I blinked but nodded.

“Someone will find the dog, right?” I implored, pleading with my bosses. They both nodded, even though they had already guessed that the dog was probably deceased along with the victim. I went back to poking around, but eventually gave up as Nick was finished processing the bedroom.

“You alright?” I asked him as we put the evidence and kits into the back of the Yukon. Nick had been really quiet after he walked into that crime scene.

“Yeah,” Nick said, though his voice didn’t sound sincere.

“If you need to talk, I’m all ears,” I winked at him, pulling my red hair from the tight bun. I massaged my scalp as I got into the passenger seat, a headache forming in my temples.

“You alright?” Nick asked, a little concerned at the pained look on my face. I nodded, reaching into my pouch to pull out some Excedrin.

“Headache,” I muttered.

“Something about that scene,” Nick muttered, and I left him to muse about the scene. For some reason, the body rattled him. He didn’t know the victim, but there was something familiar about it.

By the time that we made it back to the crime lab, my headache had subsided to a lesser roar. It made it so that I could think. Nick grabbed the evidence from the back of the Yukon and then we entered the building. He stopped by the A/V lab to pick up a file and then we walked to find our coworkers – Warrick and Sara so they could help us in our quest to figuring out what had happened to the poor lady.

On our way to the breakroom, where Archie had advised the missing CSI’s were located, Nick noticed the latest issue of the newsletter posted on the bulletin board. We had an internal newsletter called “Crime Stopper”. This month, Nick was featured on the front cover, complete with inaccurate facts. I stifled a laugh as Nick ripped it off the clipboard, irritated at the issue.

“Don’t,” he warned, crumpling up the paper in his hand. I shook my head, holding up my hands in innocence. I had totally read through that paper – which even included Nick’s Alma Mater and the name of the fraternity he belonged. It was cute, but the others were using it as a way to tease their friend.

As we approached the breakroom, Nick and I could hear the laughter and giggling coming from the two CSI’s in the breakroom. They were sitting at the table, reading over the newsletter, laughing. It was totally absurd. Nick smiled, shaking his head at their antics.

“Who wrote this?” Warrick asked. Sara couldn’t contain her laughter.

“You're kidding me, right?” Nick asked, throwing the balled-up newsletter from the bulletin board into the trashcan.

“Nick Stokes, Crime Stopper,” Warrick read from the paper, deepening his voice. I snickered and Nick laughed, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You went Hollywood on me, man.”

“And I quote, "in his off time, he enjoys creating and inventing toys." That's fascinating,” Sara said. “What kind of toys do you make, Nick?”

“I don’t know who got that information, but I can confirm that Nick doesn’t invent or create any type of toys,” I interjected.

“I thought I got my hands on all those departmental newsletters,” Nick reached down and picked up the newsletter. “Where'd you get those?”

“Greg,” Sara and Warrick said in unison.

“Yeah, that figures,” Nick’s jaw twitched in his annoyance. “All right, listen, Grissom wants us to divide and conquer. Blond hair for you, Warrick.”

“I do love a blond,” Warrick stated, holding up the bag of evidence containing the blonde hair inside.

“Sara, you're on phone records,” Nick put a folder full of phone records on the table in front of Sara who pulled a face.

“Yay,” Sara said, her tone dry as she looked down at the records she would have to comb through. Nick turned and left the room, crinkling the newsletter on his way out.

“Hey, I wasn't done reading that!” Warrick protested.

“Yes, you are!” Nick tossed the balled-up newsletter into the trash can as he left the room. I followed after him, waiting a moment, since he hadn’t given me an assignment.

“What about me?” I asked, trotting after him, questioning on how I could be of assistance to this case.

“You, my darlin’,” Nick winked at me, knowing how much his Texas drawl and pet names made me swoon, “are on a mission to see cause of death. Can you check with Doc Robbins to see if he has a COD?”

“Sure,” I smirked, walking around him. “I’ll find you when I get the results!” He nodded, continuing on his way after I pressed a kiss to his cheek.

I hated the coroner’s office. Doc Robbins and David were really nice, but it was extremely cold down there. I grabbed my fleece jacket and went into the autopsy room. Grissom and Catherine were with Robbins.

“Nick sent me down to see if we had a COD?” I asked, shivering inside the fleece jacket. Robbins usually took pity on me, sparing me a lecture, once he had caught my lips turning blue from hypothermia before.

“COD is asphyxiation,” Robbins said. “Petechial hemorrhaging, cyanosis. Oh, and she’s a natural blonde.”

“So someone died her hair?” I asked, reaching up to my own head of red hair. Robbins nodded, pointing at my natural-colored red hair.

“She wasn’t sexually assaulted either,” Catherine stated. I sighed.

“So torture, just to torture someone. Did you guys find the dog?” I asked and both Grissom and Catherine shook their heads.

“Dog?” Robbins asked, but I wasn’t up for chitchatting about the dog.

“UGH!” I groaned, leaving the morgue. I went upstairs, still shivering in my fleece jacket to find Nick fumigating the plastic bag.

“Find out anything?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at my obvious state of frustration.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “No one has found the dog yet!”

“Sunshine, I meant - ” Nick was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the lab door. We both looked up to see Greg.

“Heard you were looking for me?” Greg didn’t look like he wanted to be here. It looked like he wanted to be elsewhere but wanted to get it over with. I figured that Warrick told him that Nick was ticked.

“Greg. Come here. I want to talk to you for a sec,” Nick stated, looking down at the plastic bag. He put his clipboard and the pen down at the side, as he waved Greg into the room. Greg hesitated at the door.

“Come on,” Nick cajoled, waving him over. Greg finally relented, walking over to Nick’s side where he was standing looking down at a glass tank.

“What's up?” Greg asked. Nick reached over with his left hand, slapping him on the back, then gripping at the base of his neck.

“Stop invading my privacy, man, I don't like it,” Nick stated, not mad, but trying to get his point across. “I'm just trying to do my job around here. I don't need the extra attention.”

“Okay. But, I mean, you are the one who's doing the "Forensic Spotlight" in the,” Greg choked up as Nick tightened his grip. I hid my amusement as Greg winced in pain at his comment. “Department newsletter.”

“I didn't do anything, man,” Nick insisted, not letting up on his grip. “Someone from the community wrote a letter of commendation. Public affairs ran it. Cool?”

“Cool,” Greg grimaced, nodding his head. Nick finally let go of Greg’s shoulder, patting him on the back in understanding. Greg raised his eyebrows as Nick walked around the other side of the tank with his clipboard.

“So, uh,” Greg sighed, moving his shoulder subtly in a bit of pain from the neck pinching, “what are you fuming?”

“Plastic bag from the crime scene. I'm trying to get lucky -- see if I can get some prints off it,” Nick told the analyst. He opened the top of the tank and fanned the fumes. Greg was staring at the front of the plastic bag.

“Did she die of suffocation?” Greg asked. I gasped.

“How did you know?” I asked. Nick stared up at Greg, really amazed that was the only answer he was giving. Greg still stared at the plastic bag in the tank. After a moment, Greg looked up at Nick, since he didn’t get a response. Nick finally determined that Greg saw something. He walked around to the side of the tank where Greg was looking. I got off my chair and joined the two men, just to see the outline of Jane Galloway’s face on the plastic bag.

After several deadend leads that the CSI and Brass pursued throughout the day, Grissom finally called it quits with the rest of us. We departed for our homes. Nick pressed a kiss to my lips as he made sure that I was secure in my vehicle. I promised to call him once I got some sleep and then I left the Crime Lab.

I walked in my apartment, dropping the keys in the bowl by the door. I dropped my kit onto the closet floor, before walking into my living room. There were several messages on my answering machine.

“Hey Aria, just wondering how ya were doing? Give me a call sometime – Bobby,” I saved that message, having missed my surrogate uncle. He lived in South Dakota and owned a junkyard. As a kid I used to love tinkering in his yard, whenever my mom would take me to visit. Then when she married my stepfather, he forbid us from seeing Bobby.

The next message was a telemarketer. I deleted that message, before going into the kitchen. I searched high and low for something to eat – finding a few frozen meals. I preheated the oven. As I waited, I turned on the television. I watched a documentary about Egypt until my oven beeped. Then I put my food into the oven, and walked to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Once I had finished the shower, I slipped on a pair of silk pajamas and wandered to check on my food. I figured it had to be done, pulling the meal from the oven. I ate most of it, discarding the rest into the trash can. I sent a quick message to Nick, wishing him a good night, before I threw myself onto my bed, and fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up at a reasonably late time. Once I had managed to drag myself from the comfort of my bed, I went to the bathroom – got a quick shower, before applying my makeup. Once I was finished, I went back into my room and dressed for another day of work. I always loved the height that wearing heels provided, but it wasn’t feasible when we spent sometimes upwards of 24 hours on our feet.

I was wearing a pair of light green dress pants, a darker green long-sleeved top, and I pulled on my brown combat boots. I also decided to wear my brown leather jacket to pull the outfit together. (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/647322146460814169/) I grabbed my phone, seeing that Nick had messaged me, advising he was on his way to pick me up.

I sprayed myself with my perfume, before turning off the lights. I didn’t bother with breakfast, as we had a routine. There was a little bakery on the way to the lab, where we picked up breakfast and our coffee.

“Hey!” I pulled open the door before he could knock. Nick whistled as he saw me in my work attire, my cheeks coloring at his teasing. “Nick!”

“Sorry, baby,” Nick leaned down for a kiss, before I pulled the door shut, locking the deadbolt. “I’ve never seen you in a leather jacket.”

“I’m full of surprises,” I threw back at him and he chuckled, opening up the door of the Yukon. I slid into the passenger seat. Once Nick was on the way to our bakery, I noticed something seemed off. “You okay?”

“What?” Nick seemed startled that I spoke for a second. “Yeah, just something odd.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, careful not to pry too much. He shrugged as we arrived at the bakery.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Nick denied, opening up my door and then we went inside. I accepted his inability to talk about it for the moment.

“If you want to talk, you know where to find me,” I told Nick who nodded. Once we each had our food and drinks, it was time to return to the crime lab. I was in and out of the locker room quickly, while Nick hung around to talk to Warrick. I figured, he was unloading the situation with his best friend. I was happy Nick had someone to confide in, if he didn’t want to talk to me.

I found Catherine and Sara in the breakroom. They were looking over the files and the information that Sara managed to find about Jane Galloway.

“What about Jane’s work history?” Catherine asked, filling up a cup of coffee. She sat down and I joined the two as they discussed the information.

“Secretary at a brokerage firm. About three weeks from the day of her death she took a leave of absence,” Sara advised – my eyebrows furrowed.

“Is that the only one?”

“Yes,” Sara confirmed.

“Medical records?” Catherine asked and Sara looked down at the paperwork in front of her.

“She saw Dr. Slater. Had a prescription for valium and librium.”

“That’s some heavy prescriptions,” I stated. “Anxiety?”

(SARA shows the report to CATHERINE who takes it and looks at it.)

“Severe anxiety due to personal reasons,” Sara handed the report to Catherine who took it to look over the information as well. “One day back from leave, Jane quits her job. No notice. Hotel receipts show she checked into the Monaco for two nights.”

“The hotel?” I questioned, taking the receipts from Sara. Then I handed them to Catherine.

“A week before that she goes on a frightened woman shopping spree,” Sara told us, showing us the receipts to multiple hardware stores. Something was off about this whole situation.

“Hardware shop receipts for locks. Locksmiths. Alarm installations. Phone screeners. The voice on her answering machine—electronic,” Sara read off the information that she could gather about Jane’s whereabouts in the weeks leading up to her death. “She changed her telephone number. She cancels all but one of her credit cards.”

“No paper trail?” I questioned. “No personal way to distinguish herself either.”

“It's as if she's trying to make herself disappear,” Catherine stated, shaking her head as we looked over the evidence.

“Make no mistake. Jane Galloway was being stalked,” Sara stated, voice confident in this answer. All of us could agree – this was textbook stalking behavior. “Emotional terrorism at its finest.”

“And her boyfriend had an alibi?” Catherine asked, disbelieving. It was rare that stalking came from an outside source – like kidnapping.

“Here's the, uh, worst part. Uh, I ran a phone check on all her incoming calls. Guess where they were coming from,” I exchanged looks with Catherine before we took the phone records that Sara was handing over.

DATE / TIME / PLACE & NUMBER CALLED 4/16 / 2:44 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0146 4/16 / 2:56 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0198 4/16 / 5:15 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0287 4/16 / 5:18 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:18 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:18 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:19 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:19 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:19 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:20 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:20 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:20 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:21 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:21 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:21 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/16 / 5:22 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0188 4/17 / 10:48 am / Summerlin, NV 555-0173 4/17 / 04:16 am / Summerlin, NV 555-0189 4/17 / 3:43 pm / Las Vegas, NV 555-0132 4/17 / 12:04 pm / Henderson, NV 555-0173

“Wait – isn’t that her own phone number?” I asked.

“Inside her house.” The realization dawned on Catherine who knew that she had to get this information to Grissom and Brass right away. We overlooked something at the crime scene.

“Good work – Sara keep digging. Aria, you help her.” Catherine gathered the phone records and left the room with her coffee. Sara and I got to work, combing through more information about Jane Galloway. I was in charge of making sure that the prescriptions wouldn’t cause some type of psychosis or hallucinations. Though with the evidence that we had gathered – I was confident that wasn’t the case.

We were working on the situation, when suddenly Sara got a phone call from Catherine. Catherine advised us to get a list of utility companies that Jane had and send all the addresses. We would all be out gathering information.

Catherine ended up with the carpet installation. Warrick and Nick were in charge of the Luna Cable company. Sara was going to talk with the appliance delivery. Grissom was talking to the gas company, and I was to talk with the alarm company.

Unfortunately, the alarm installer didn’t know anything. He couldn’t even remember Jane’s name, just that he remembered putting in the state of the art alarm system for her. He said she was strange, but most single women in Nevada were worried about their safety, so he chalked up her nervousness to that.

I had just thanked him for his assistance and was walking away when I heard my phone ring. I grabbed it out of my pocket, expecting it to be asking if I had found anything. Only for Warrick to tell me that Nick was being transported to Desert Palms Hospital. I dropped the file onto the passenger seat and flipped on the sirens, before peeling out of the parking spot.

My heart was pounding as I raced to the Desert Palms Hospital after Warrick had called to tell me that Nick had been injured. I couldn’t focus on anything other than the loud thumping in my chest as well as my hands shaking on the wheel. I don’t think that I was alright to actually drive to the hospital, but I needed to be there.

Once I had parked the SUV, haphazardly, and not entirely in a space, I rushed into the Emergency Room doors. One of the nurses took pity on me, asking me why I was there.

“My boyfriend – Nick Stokes – was just brought in? He’s part of the police,” I explained, my heart thumping.

“I think your friends are over there,” she pointed out Warrick and Brass who were pacing a length of hallway. I thanked her, ears whooshing with my heartbeat as I tripped over my feet in my haste to get to them.

“Whoa,” Warrick steadied me before I could barrel right into him. “He’s alright,” Warrick soothed.

“Are you sure?” I asked, heart still pounding loudly behind my breastbone. It almost hurt, it was beating so fast and felt like it was hitting against the bone.

“He woke up before the paramedics got there,” Warrick gave me a light smile. Just then the rest of the team rushed into the hospital, reaching our side.

“What happened?” Grissom demanded.

“He was pushed out of a window,” Warrick explained. “I didn’t see anyone leave or enter the apartment.”

“Are you sure he’s alright?” I questioned. Catherine turned her attention to me.

“Honey, you need to sit down,” she urged, forcing me into a seat. “You are as pale as a ghost. Put your head between your knees.”

Catherine forced my head down between my knees, as I attempted to steady my breathing. It took me a while to calm down, the rest of the team offering support and comfort without discussing anything else. Brass had to leave as they were searching for this Nigel that threw Nick out of a window.

Finally, the doctor exited the room that they had Nick sleeping. Sara and Catherine both stood as she came out to give us an update. I didn’t trust my legs to support my weight, depending on the information that we would receive.

“Concussion, two cracked ribs, sprained wrist, five stitches to the forehead,” she explained his injuries to us. “It could have been a lot worse.”

“But he's going to be all right?” Warrick asked the question that was stuck in the back of my throat. When the doctor nodded, I cried.

“He needs rest,” she stated, looking back at the unconscious Texan lying in a hospital bed. “But I don't see why he can't go home relatively soon.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Grissom thanked the doctor who left since she didn’t have anything further to state. Warrick was upset, while Sara sat next to me, rubbing my back.

“Damn it,” Warrick hissed, sounding upset and frustrated. “Grissom, this guy was right there. I could have had him.”

“You helped out Nick. That was the right thing to do,” Grissom reassured Warrick who didn’t look convinced.

“Doesn't feel like the right thing,” Warrick grumbled.

“If you hadn’t helped out Nick, I would have shot you Warrick,” I warned the man, who looked chagrined to have even stated that. I wiped the tears from my eyes. It had been too long since I had to sit beside someone that I loved, that I cared for, and had so much uncertainty about their injuries. The last person was my brother.

“You know, Nick was alone,” Catherine mentioned, making the blood in my veins run cold. “The Stalker could have killed him and didn't.”

“Yeah, I wonder why. Let's go back over there,” Grissom stated. Catherine stood up, walking down the hallway. Warrick started to follow the two CSI’s.

“I'm going with you.” Grissom shook his head, putting a restraining hand on Warrick’s shoulder as he turned to leave.

“No, no. You need to calm down a little,” Grissom ordered. “Talk to Nick when he wakes up.”

Sara and I remained in the hallway beside Warrick who didn’t look pleased at the orders from Grissom. I was relieved that they didn’t want me to go with them – but I think Catherine knew it would take me kicking and screaming. Just then, my phone started to ring.

“I’ve got to take this,” I stated, looking down at the unfamiliar number on my screen. I sighed, walking down the hallway away from prying eyes and ears.

“Hello?” I answered the phone to be met with the familiar rough voice of my brother.

“Aria,” he sounded relieved to have my attention.

“Why are you calling me?” I asked him. He sighed, letting out a burst of air.

“Dad’s missing,” my brother stated. I rolled my eyes. Apparently, that was the reason that my brother wanted to call me, have a reunion. All over our father.

“Uh huh,” I wandered back down the hallway when Sara appeared at the end of the deserted and secluded space, waving me on. “Dad’s missing?”

“Yes!” My brother insisted as I entered the hospital room where Nick was awake – groggy and confused but awake.

“It’s Dad,” I rolled my eyes. “You know what he’s like. He’s found himself some Jim, Jack, and Jose along with some blondes. Dad will stumble home like he’s always done at some point. No need to send out any sirens.”

“Aria, I know you and Dad didn’t get along - ”

“Didn’t get along?” I echoed, a bitter laughter forcing its way out of my lungs. “You mean the same man that told me if I wanted to go to college, I better not grace his doorstep any longer? That same father?”

“Alright, so he said some things,” my brother attempted once more.

“No, he’s said a lot of things. Namely how I was dead to him for choosing a different career. I’m sorry, but I can’t argue about this right now. My boyfriend was injured, and I need to take care of him. I’m not helping you track down Dad, when he’s not even missing,” I said firmly into the phone, taking my coworkers off guard. They weren’t used to this side of me. I was usually the nice one – bending over backwards to help out anyone with their situation.

“Aria,” my brother pleaded.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “But find someone else, Dean.” I hung up on my brother, turning to the other members of my team and my boyfriend. “Sorry about that. How are you feeling, Nicky?”

“Sore,” Nick groaned. “What’s wrong with your dad?”

“Nothing,” I waved him off. “He’s off on a bender.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to go?” Nick groaned, but I shook my head, a smile on my lips.

“How could I leave you all alone?” I countered, not wanting to go into my family dynamic. The reason why I was left with my stepfather for years, barely seeing my father after my mother found out the truth of the matter.

“Thanks,” Nick smiled, as the guys started to talk between each other for a while. Sara gave me a concerned look, but I shook it off, content to sit in the uncomfortable hospital chair and watch Nick grow more aware of his surroundings.

The doctor came in while Nick was awake – she explained all of his injuries. I think Nick was a little overwhelmed by the information coming his way. He just nodded his head in response, which is when I knew that he wasn’t comprehending most of what the doctor had just thrown Nick’s way.

“When can I go home?” Nick asked.

“I can release you now that you are awake,” the doctor promised. “Will someone be staying with him?”

“I will,” I raised my hand. “Nick’s my boyfriend. Warrick and Sara will have to return to the lab.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “I’ll explain what needs to happen. Follow me?”

I followed the doctor into the hallway where she explained his injuries in full, along with the instructions to follow once he was home. I accepted all the paperwork for his injuries along with the responsibility of taking care of Nick. Once she was done, she left to get the discharge papers. I went back into the room, smiling at the scene of the CSI’s talking and laughing together. Finally, the doctor came back with a wheelchair.

“Now, these painkillers are the real deal, okay?” The doctor stated, handing over a prescription of opioid painkillers. “Don't overdo it. Plenty of rest. No work for at least a week.”

I nodded, understanding the situation. I took the medication, tucking it under my armpit. I would be monitoring Nick – ensuring that he ate with the meds, and that he only took them when absolutely necessary. We didn’t need Nick spending time in rehab over an opioid prescription. Nick was sitting in the wheelchair. He had wanted to walk out, but with his ribs, he could barely walk around to get dressed.

“Will do, thank you, doctor,” Sara stated, while I was still a little emotional. The Doctor finally turned and left. I grabbed the wheelchair handles as we started down the hallway towards the parking lot.

“The gloves, you find them?” Nick asked, disregarding what the doctor had just said about his work restrictions. I shot a glare at Warrick who actually humored him.

“Catherine thinks he might have got away with them,” Warrick avoided looking at me and my murderous glare. “But, uh, Grissom did find some wacky video collection.”

“Of what?” Nick demanded, interest the case well known. I sighed, but thankfully, Sara stepped in, knowing that I was going to snap at him.

“Now, did you not just hear the doctor?” Sara told Nick and I nodded my head, though he couldn’t see me as I was pushing his wheelchair. “You're supposed to rest. We're on it, okay?”

“Yeah, relax, Ironside,” Warrick joked, finally, stopping the information dump that he was providing to the workaholic in the wheelchair.

We had gotten home, Sara helped me get Nick into the car. When she was done, I gave her a smile as I handed Nick the prescription that the hospital had filled. Nick took it, letting me shut the passenger side door. I knew that it killed him that I was doting on him – since Nick was the perfect gentleman. He insisted on always shutting my door, everything that a gentleman would do.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you guys?” Sara asked, genuinely concerned with Nick’s inability to move. I shook my head.

“We’ll be fine. Grissom needs all the help he can get on this case,” Sara nodded, understanding that Grissom and Catherine needed help. Plus Sara was a known workaholic. “Especially now that he’s down two people.”

“Alright,” Sara smiled. “But call me if you need anything.”

“Sounds good,” I gave her a hug. “Thanks for being there.”

“No problem,” Sara waved and walked off to her own car. I got into my car and looked over at Nick who looked terrible. He seemed to be in a lot of pain and was trying to hold off on how terrible he felt.

“When I get you home, I’ll make something to eat. You shouldn’t take pain killers on an empty stomach,” Nick nodded, groaning as the car jostled his ribs. I sighed, pulling out of the parking space and then out of the hospital. Thankfully, the ride from the hospital to Nick’s house was relatively short, especially since it was really late.

Nick was leaning against me as I helped him up the walkway to his house. Then he handed me the keys, which I dropped onto the counter along with his prescription. Nick motioned for the bottle which I handed over, going into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water.

“You’re the best,” Nick sighed, taking two pills and setting it down on the counter. I lifted it up and read the instructions.

DESERT PALMS HOSPITAL (NAME) STOKES, NICK (FILL DATE) 4/17/02 PHONE NO. 555-0190 TAKE ON TO TWO TABLETS ... EVERY FOUR HOURS. VICODIN (EXPIRES) 04/17/03 (REFILL) 0 (BY) 11/17/02

Nick shuffled along to the sofa holding his ribs with his arm, where he settled down with a groan. I clucked my tongue in sympathy. I knew how painful broken ribs could be. Especially with the rest of his injuries; though he was no stranger to injuries. A former football player, but it had been several years since his playing days.

“Do you want something like a sandwich or do you think you want a meal?” I called out to Nick. He just groaned. “Nicky.”

“Can we wait for dinner?” Nick asked, more or less pleaded. “Just until the pills kick in and I can actually focus?” I nodded my head, exiting the kitchen.

“Sure. I’m going to wash my face and change my clothes, okay?” Nick nodded as I walked down the hall of his house. I had some clothes in one of his drawers, but I was definitely going to steal one of his shirts. Some nights, it was too exhausting to drive us both home – therefore, Nick would just let me crash at his place. He was too much of a gentleman not to trust; plus the two of us were usually exhausted from working doubles.

I giggled, grabbing one of his extra-soft LVPD shirts. He had discarded it a couple of days ago; which meant that it still smelled like him. I also grabbed a pair of my bike shorts. I went into the bathroom, peeling off my work shirt. I grabbed a washcloth and then washed my face and down my arms. As I was trying to get some of the day dirt off of my body, I heard knocking at the front door.

“I’ve got it!” Nick said. I quickly toweled off, opening the door. I didn’t bother with the LVPD shirt, as I was wearing a sports bra. It covered more than most bikini’s. I walked into the living room where a man I recognized from this case was standing in the middle of the room.

“I saw this house. I saw this house; I saw the number I saw the street name. Something is wrong here. Something terrible is going to happen here,” Morris Pearson stated. The hair on my arms stood up as I stood in the living room.

“Sir,” Nick tried to get his attention, but the psychic was just standing there, looking around. He had been right about everything else in this case – including the breakthrough of the stalker watching Jane from her attic.

“I can feel it,” he murmured, the hair on my arms rising at his words.

“Sir. Sir ... You're going to have to leave,” Nick was standing at the door.

“Please, please, listen to me!”

“Get out of here!” Nick yelled, having enough.

“Nicky! Listen to the man!” I finally interjected, believing that this man knew something. He knew too much about details that were never released to the public. This man knew about the dog.

“Listen to me!” Pearson turned to look at Nick. They stopped screaming at each other.

“I saw the address. I saw this address!” Pearson implored. Nick took a step away from the door.

“You saw my address?” Nick asked, sounding unsettled. Morris Pearson continued to walk further into the living room. I wrapped my arms around my bare stomach, wanting to run back to the bathroom for the shirt.

“Yeah, but that's not it, that's not it. I saw, I saw ... I saw crashing,” he was desperate, trying to state what he had seen in a manner that would make sense. Morris was trying to interpret what he was seeing. “I saw ... falling and crashing-- I saw somebody seeing through the back of his head. I don't know, I don't know ...”

Morris continued to mumble as he walked around. But suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to look at Nick.

“Green tea! Green tea! Does that mean anything to you? Green tea?” Nick and I both shared a look. It didn’t mean anything to either of us. Neither of us were very big tea drinkers, though I enjoyed a cup every now and again.

“I don't know,” Nick shook his head. Not only did he have to deal with this, but he had to deal with a concussion. His phone rang.

“Just ...” Nick stopped whatever he was about to say and answered his phone. I moved around Pearson to Nick’s side. “Hello?”

“Who?” Nick asked, looking over at me.

“Yeah, well, I'm not alone,” Nick responded.

“Your psychic's here,” Nick told who I assumed was Grissom on the other end. Then Nick hung up the phone. He looked over at me, grabbing our weapons out of the hidden compartment by the front door. Our service weapons were back at the station, but these were our personal handguns.

“Mr. Pearson,” Nick cocked his Glock 19, handing me my steel Colt M1911A1. I took the gun in hand, feeling the familiar weight, before cocking it as well. Pearson was out of our sight. Nick motioned to the hallway. “Mr. Pearson. Mr. Pearson ...”

Nick and I walked down the hallway. Nick took the lead, even though he was injured. At this point, I assumed the Vicodin was kicking in, as most of his pain seemed to take second burner. He checked the first door, nothing. Then he looked at the backdoor, but it was still locked and chained. I waited; gun drawn as Nick looked outside.

“Mr. Pearson, you back here?” Nick called, checking the other rooms. We heard the floor creak before a thud was heard.

I pointed up at the ceiling and Nick nodded. We pointed the guns at the ceiling and walked towards the living room. My heart sank as I realized it wasn’t green tea as in the drink, but rather the floor. A green T in the center of his rug. I touched Nick’s sleeve and pointed. He let out a breath at the sight, now realizing that whatever Pearson had seen was about to occur right here.

We both stood still in the living room, listening. The sounds were still coming from the ceiling. We both had our guns trained on the ceiling and all of a sudden, the ceiling caved in. A body hit the floor in front of us as debris sprayed everywhere. Nick dropped his gun while I had plaster dust in my eyes. I heard another thump but couldn’t see well due to the tears welling in my eyes. I still had my Colt in hand.

“Oh, man. You got to ... you got to watch who you let in here,” a male said. I blindly pointed my gun at the location of where the voice was heard. “Guy was snooping around all over the place. You know, smart move. Spare gun.” The male sighed, as I just blinked the dust out of my eyes, getting a clear look at the intruder.

“Put your gun down or I shoot Nick in the face,” I sighed, and set the gun down on the floor. My eyes were finally clearing up. “Ah. Keep it right by the phone, right? Right next to your address book and, and take out menus.”

Nigel Crane, the suspect in our Jane murder, gathered up my gun and then went to the front door. He secured the front door, drawing the chain and locking the door.

“Cops are on their way,” Nick said as I stood in the living room beside him. I took in a deep breath, knowing that I would have to fight this man. I squared my shoulders, planted my feet. He went to the window and pulled the blinds down.

“You wearing my clothes?” Nick sounded sickened. I did as well – knowing that I stole Nick’s clothes for comfort. What was this guy doing? Apparently, he was assuming the identify of his victims. And that explained where all of Nick’s clothing had gone.

“Oh, yeah. I'm ...” Nigel Crane seemed proud of his deviance. “You know, I-I-I picked these up at the dry cleaners and I ... I hope you don't mind. It's just that ... I'm sorry I, I just get a little confused about what's yours and what's mine.”

“You know what? I'm a little confused here myself,” Nick and I were both confused as to who this guy was and why he was trying to assume Nick’s identity. “Uh, why don't you refresh my memory. When did we meet?”

“Sports package,” Nigel Crane sounded incredulous as he snorted. “Hundred fifty channels. I-I-I even threw in a few movie channels. Free. We-we-we talked, like, forever. I mean, it's like I knew you my entire life.”

“You installed my cable.” Nick stated, brain working on overtime. I kept myself partially hidden behind Nick’s muscular body. I didn’t like the way this man was watching me, in my partial state of undress.

“Yeah. The ... the minute I met you I knew we connected. Because you told me what you did and I knew exactly what you were talking about, because ... that's what I do. I do it, too. You know, I observe people. I-I-I notice everything about them. I watch them. All the time.”

“Like you watched Jane Galloway?”

“Jane was cool. But, um, it would have never worked out between us, you know. Never. I mean, she had a boyfriend, and she was kind of stuck up. And you know what, she would have totally, totally gotten between us. So, you know, consider that a gift,” Nigel stated. “Though you have a girlfriend.” I swallowed deeply. This man was seriously unhinged and this might end badly for us.

“A gift?” Nick spat.

“Yeah. Prom night. Your date. Melissa.” Nigel smiled, looking proud of himself. “Bent over the toilet puking her guts out. Is that ringing any bells, huh?”

“Yeah,” Nick sounded freaked out.

“You know, I mean, Jane's hair was the wrong color but, you know obviously, I fixed that. Because I know how much you love redheads,” he pointed out. I felt my face flush as he motioned for me to come out. “Like this lovely specimen. You know, you ... you mentioned her name in your sleep.”

“You watch me sleep?” I felt sickened. I had slept over a couple of times at Nick’s house, used his shower since he installed the cable. He looked down at the dead psychic on Nick’s floor.

“You, um ... you want to open him up?” Nigel sounded eager, crouching down over the body. “Hmm?”

“No, no, it's, uh ... it's not our job,” Nick shook his head as he crouched down to be on eye level with Nigel. “You should know that. It's the coroner's gig.”

“Are you humoring me, Nick?” Nigel asked, sounding outraged.

“No,” Nick shook his head, voice soft.

“You know ... we made friends that day and every time since you just blew me off,” Nigel was definitely unhinged. I wondered how much longer it would take for Brass and the uniforms to come here. “Do you know that? You just completely blanked me. You are so self-absorbed.”

“Nick is not self-absorbed!” I interjected. Nigel sneered at me.

“I was right in front of your face,” he laughed. He stood up, getting more upset. “Manners, Nick! Manners!”

“ey, now, Nigel, now we got a D.B. here, huh?” Nick was trying to placate the man, buy us both some time. “You're going to help me with the crime scene, right?”z\

“No, no, I'm going to ... I'm going to ...” Nigel pointed Nick’s gun at my face. “Give you a brand-new one. I'm going to do better than that. I'm going to give you the best you ever had. Stand up, Nick, Aria. Stand up.”

Nick and I both rose to our feet. Nigel grabbed a hold of me, pulling me into his side. I shuddered at the feeling of his unoccupied hand trailing over my flesh. I really wished I had put on that T-shirt right now, as Nigel’s hand pet my abdomen.

“Nick, you know what a nine-millimeter slug does to a skull at close range? You know?” Nigel Crane held the gun in front of Nick’s face. My eyes filled with tears.

“Yeah,” Nick swallowed hard.

“Blow it right apart, right? Brains like strawberry swirled whipped cream, everywhere. And you,” Nigel pointed the loaded weapon back at Nick. “You'd have to scoop that stuff up, right? Yeah, little pieces of skull and bone and brains. All in individual baggies with the victim's name on the label.”

“ You know I don't want to disappoint you, Nigel, but this isn't the first time I've had a gun in my face,” Nick took a determined step towards Nigel.

“How do you want this to end, Nigel?” Nick asked.

“How do I want this to end?” Nigel echoed Nick’s question. “I want you to be able to remember my name.” He jammed the gun into the side of my head. Nick lunged for the gun, the two of them struggling for the gun. Shots were fired into the ceiling.

Just then, the door burst open, battering ram through the front door. The door crashed open and Brass along with several officers rushed into the house. Their guns were drawn.

“Get down! Get down!” It was a chaotic scene. Nigel kicked me hard in the face, while struggling with Nick. I let out a grunt, feeling my cheek split open, hot blood spilling down my face. Nick managed to get possession of the gun, holding it up to the ceiling. He took a step back, pulling me back with him. We watched as they handcuffed Nigel Crane.

“Hey,” Brass said to the both of us, he put a hand on the side of Nick’s neck. The two of us were emotional at the fact that some strange man was able to violate the house. We were breathing heavy, both of us shaking with anxiety. “It's, it's done. All right?”

“Yeah,” Nick said, looking for all the world like this wasn’t done, struggling not to cry. Nick pulled me into his arms, running his hand down my back as he looked at Brass who called for some paramedics to attend to my cheek.

We were taken to the police station, where Nigel Crane sat at the interrogation room table. He was just muttering the same line over and over again ‘I am one, and who am I?’. It was honestly pretty eerie to stand in the observation room, seeing him mutter to himself.

Nick had his arm around me, reassuring himself that Nigel Crane hadn’t actually shot me as he had threatened. Catherine, Grissom, Warrick, and Sara were with us, watching this bizarre man have a complete meltdown.

“Why me?” Nick murmured. “Why us?”

“I don't think it was about you, Nick. Or Jane Galloway, for that matter. I think it was more about Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. His premise is that social beings strive to belong. In Nigel's mind, Jane Galloway was someone he could control which was okay for a while but you ... you were someone he could actually become. See, Maslow's Fifth Tier of the Hierarchy is Self-Actualization.

“The problem for Nigel is that you would have to die in order for that to happen. Or else he would,” Grissom stated, making the hair on my arms stand on end. “He would have shot Aria and then himself.”

“Twenty-five years to life, Nick. It's over,” Sara stated, I turned to look at her as she sat on top of another table.

“It's not over for me or Aria,” Nick murmured. “It's over for Jane Galloway.”

“Well, we should get back to the lab,” Catherine stood, putting a hand on Nick’s shoulder and one on my back in comfort.

“Yeah,” Grissom agreed, standing up. Warrick and Sara also stood, moving towards the door. They all left the room, leaving Nick and I standing in the middle, watching the madman that tried to kill me and might have killed Nick in his own home. As it was – Nick’s house was now stained with the death of Mr. Pearson.

#csi vegas #csi cbs #sara sidle #warrick brown #nick stokes #nick stokes x reader #original character #gil grissom #catherine willows #jim brass #stalker #fanfiction

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