NOTE: I just decided, after the episode that had been on Spike TV tonight, to finally post this somewhere. It was written last year around this time, and I thought it was fitting. So you all know, this fic does contain spoilers for Who Are You. If you haven't seen this episode and know nothing about it, i would recomend you don't read this, it will ruin the ending for you. I hope you all like this! Thanks! ~ Ari

Wait

by Ari

(Nick's POV)


Wait

"You ok, Nick?"

I can't even look up. Everything is just such a jumble. First, I'm staying behind, checking over the scene one last time with an unsettling feeling that the case isn't quite closed, the next, I'm facing the barrel of a gun. I've never seen one from that view before, never thought I would… the thought hadn't even crossed my mind, even when I was a cop. To be perfectly honest, I can't believe I'm still standing. My knees feel like they're gonna give way any second, and they just might. My hands are shaking like I've had too much sugar. The adrenalin, that shit'll mess you up. Of course, so will a near-death experience.

I shudder, clenching and unclenching my jaw as I pull off my gloves, my eyes fixed to a point on the floor that I can't see as a puff of powder comes from my gloves. "Yeah, yeah." I mutter, not really thinking, but knowing Grissom expects an answer to his question. I think he asked me if I was ok, or something like that. I heard my name, I remember that, but… I hate this. I can't even think straight. All I can think of is that gun. The way it looked pointed at me. The way her finger flexed around the trigger. She was gonna do it, I know it. I was gonna die. Had Gil been one second later…

I shake my head and finally look up, tears in my eyes as I realize I'm the one thing I really don't want to be right now. Alone. Griss went out with the wife, probably talking to the other officers outside and figuring out how to un-arrest the wrong person. I don't want to be alone in here. I was nearly the second person to die in this house. That thought nearly causes a panic attack as I really start to realize what almost happened. I can feel my throat trying to close up as my mind races to 100 miles per hour. Died. I. Nearly. Died. And what's the first thing I think of when I realize this?

Gil.

Just one name. No regrets, no `I shoulda done's', just one name. Gil. Funny how a serious shock to the system can make you realize what you need and what you don't need. I don't need money, I don't need a state of the art stereo system, I don't need a super computer or a super-model girlfriend. I need Gil. No question about it. I need him.

Shit, what do you do with that? I mean… we tried it once. We dated for a while, off and on exclusively for about two years. It was nice, but then he called it quits. It was hard, at first, but I got over it. I moved on. So did he, I guess, I didn't really keep track… didn't really want to know, to be honest. He had his spiders and bugs and I had my girls. It balanced on some odd level.

But now? Now where do I stand? I want to scream. I want to put my fist through a wall. I want to strangle that bitch of a woman who nearly killed me. I want to murder the man who invented guns. I want to crawl into a little ball and cry. I want to run outside and collapse in Gil's arms and never leave them again. I want to be safe… but I'm not. I'm not safe, and I can't do any of that. I can only finish up here, pack up the rest of the equipment and make sure we didn't miss anything, load the kits into my SUV, and go back to CSI. I can't do any of that other stuff no matter how much I want to.

Furiously, I throw down my gloves and finish packing up, wiping my eyes roughly. I can't stop crying, but I want to. I can't even do that. I wipe my arm over my eyes before I pick up the bags and sling them over my shoulder, heading out of the house at the quickest pace I can manage. I just want to get out of the place that was nearly my final resting place.

Wait.

That would have been my last word. Wait. I barely make it to my car before I drop the bags. I think the LS might have hit the ground a bit too hard, but I don't know. Some part of me actually hopes it's not broken, but the rest of me just collapses against the SUV, my hands resting on the bumper. I never thought my last word would be something like that. Wait. That's it. Nothing intelligent, nothing clever, nothing even remotely poetic. Just one word. One word from the lips of a man begging for his life. I can't take this. I can't think. I can't fucking move. More tears fall. Damn, I thought I had those under control. I don't even look around as I finally load everything into my car. Just moving on automatic, my mind still back in that house somewhere next to the fish tank facing down a gun barrel.

I shudder again and nearly whimper, closing my eyes tightly as I clench and unclench my jaw over and over, doing the same thing with my fists. It's a good thing no one comes up behind me, cause I think I might have tried to kill them. I just can't stop being scared. That's all I want. I want to stop shaking. I want to stop hyperventilating. I want to stop crying. God, I want Gil to hold me until this all stops… and after.

I take a shaky breath, trying not to think about the fact that I almost took my last breath, and get behind the wheel of my SUV, starting the engine and driving off to CSI. I'm probably not even
breaking 20 miles an hour, but I don't care. Right now, I just want to get there without killing myself or anyone else. And through the haze of tears, it's kind of hard to see much. I never realized how pretty this city can be at night.

end