Of Nightmares and Pinkie-Swears, a CSI: Nick-Centric Fic

Wow, I just happened across this story in a spare moment and have just read it from beginning to end - which took longer than I had and involved me hopping from computer to cooker trying to cook dinner while reading:lol:!! It is so cool - I love the way you have written it Jacqui it is so natural, great story too.

I want to go and live in the big house with the pool and a Nick that wanders round with no shirt on too:drool:!! Can I please, can I, can I???!!

Looking forward to the next installment!

PS I hope Grissom is Sara's date too!

 

Ok, Jacqui, where's our update? Huh? Where is it? :shifty:

Come on, you're killin' us here. :guffaw:

We want to see how the date goes.

 

Good story Jacqui..you certainly write a much more happier tale than I do.

Well written too. Keep it up.

 

Hello

I apologize for the long delay - I hope you enjoy the following section. You know by now that your comments are what keep me going - I truly appreciate each and every one of them and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your time and love.

This section is too long ( :scream: ) to post all at once, so if someone wouldn't mind leaving a post, just to say go, I would really appreciate it

Now . . . :shifty: . . . without further ado . . . . :shifty: Enjoy!

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While Nick was chatting with Sara, Elizabeth had walked down the hallway to claim the table Nick had reserved for them. She was sitting in a quiet corner of the dimly-lit waiting area when he caught up with her. Sitting next to her, he took her hand in his and dropped an impromptu kiss on the back of it. “You look stunning,” he said, smiling at her.

She blushed. “Thank you,” she replied, chuckling. “You look nice, too. I like that tie on you.”

He smoothed his tie against his chest. “I think I got this one from Audra.”

“Makes your eyes stand out,” she said. “You really have nice eyes.”

Now it was Nick’s turn to blush. “Thanks,” he said, looking down at their hands. The sight made him think of Cassie’s remarks earlier in the afternoon, and he chuckled.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Is that funny?”

“No,” he said, waving his free hand. “I’m sorry; I was just thinking of something Cassie said today.”

“How is she?” asked Elizabeth, leaning in closer. “I bet she welcomed the good news.”

He nodded, his face turning a bit more serious. “Yeah, she’s all right now. She didn’t sleep last night . . . she still has nightmares about what happened, and I think whenever she gets nervous or insecure they flare up.”

“That makes sense,” replied Elizabeth somberly. “It was the night her whole life changed; of course she thinks of that night, even subconsciously, when she’s unsure of what’s going to happen to her. I was well into my teens before mine stopped.”

Nick knitted his brow, tilting his head. “Why did you have nightmares?”

She paused a moment. “Well . . . you know, my own parents were murdered.”

He nodded, thinking back to the day she’d met Cassie and how the angry little girl had been soothed by the fact that Elizabeth could relate on some level to what she was going through. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I was . . . there. I saw my dad . . . .” She trailed off, not wanting her past to be a topic of conversation during what she hoped would be a very romantic evening. “Anyway – I was five, and as I said, it was a good ten years before my nightmares stopped.”

He looked horrified. “You think she’ll have them for that long?”

“Oh – probably not. I mean, back then, they didn’t put kids in therapy much. They didn’t bother with me. I never slept and was very short-tempered because of it, but I just got labeled as mean. I didn’t know how it felt to be well-rested until I was in my twenties. But Cassie’s had some level of psychotherapy, hasn’t she?”

Nick shook his head ruefully. “I don’t think she has,” he replied. “It probably would’ve been best when she was first released from the hospital, but I don’t know if Brackett ever did anything. I know she’s not in any kind of therapy now – Emily says she was evaluated by a DFS psychologist, but they didn’t seem to think she needed any help.”

She squeezed his hand. “But you feel differently.”

“I know differently,” he said gently. “But listen – tonight, we’re celebrating, so no more of this serious stuff. Besides, you promised me a kiss, and I plan to hold you to your word at least once.”

Smiling, her eyes started to twinkle. “Just once?”

“Once an hour.”

Elizabeth looked at her watch. “I’m behind schedule, then,” she replied. Placing her right hand on his left cheek, she leaned toward him, stretching up, to leave a sweet but chaste kiss on his lips.

The connection was brief but took his breath away. His head followed hers when she sat back again. He slowly opened his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “How ‘bout once every ten minutes?”

She chuckled. “Sure.” Absently, she traced his lower lip with her thumb. “Although, technically, the promise I made was to let you kiss me.”

“My apologies,” he said, and without a moment’s hesitation pressed his lips against hers. She tilted her head, an invitation for him to move closer, and he took her left hand in his right as he placed his free hand on the small of her back. Like a flash he remembered how much he missed this business of kissing and he was discovering that kissing Elizabeth was pure bliss. His movements were gentle, as unrushed as hers had been, and he kissed her several times before he pulled back enough to touch the tip of their noses together. “Elizabeth . . . .”

“Mr. Stokes?”

His name coming from the host’s lips as he smiled obliviously at the cuddling couple was like a splash of cold water, and he sucked in a breath as he turned toward it. “Yeah . . . yeah, that’s me.”

Jeffrey, the host, smiled. “Right this way, please.” He gestured toward the dining room. Nick reluctantly stood, helping Elizabeth to her feet, and tightened his grip on her hand as they followed.

Both Nick and Elizabeth were quiet until they had been seated. Jeffrey pulled out Elizabeth’s chair for her; Nick sat to her right and took the wine list from him, which he offered to Elizabeth. “Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked.

“Do you prefer whites or reds?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow quizzically.

“Oh – none for me,” he replied, shaking his head. “I have to work tonight.”

Elizabeth handed the wine list back to the patiently waiting Jeffrey. “We’ll skip the wine tonight,” she said with a smile.

Nick smiled apologetically at Elizabeth when the host had walked away. “I’m sorry about that – you should’ve gotten a glass of wine for yourself.”

“Nonsense,” she replied brightly, waving a hand and smiling at him. “That would’ve been rude. I’ll have my chance to get you drunk, but for tonight . . . I understand.”

And the thing about Elizabeth that was different from many of the women Nick had dated was that she did understand. “I know you do.”

She placed her right hand on the table, palm up, inviting. He looked at it, thinking again of Cassie’s remarks about holding hands. He placed his hand on top of hers, smiling as their fingers intertwined. “Cassie asked me if you were my girlfriend.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “What did you say?”

“I said it was complicated,” he answered, looking at their hands.

“It doesn’t have to be, Nick,” she said quietly.

He smiled, still looking at their hands. “That’s kind of what she said.” He swallowed, looking slowly up at her. “She said you were my girlfriend if you held my hand and we kissed.”

She cleared her throat and admired his crinkled eyes. “We’ve done both,” she replied. “I guess that makes me your girlfriend.”

He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Is that what you want to be?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “It is, Nick. It has been, for a while.” She looked at her lap a moment, where her free hand was fidgeting with the creases in the skirt of her dress, and then back at Nick. “The day Luke Daniels was sentenced . . . the day you brought Cassie to the courthouse cafeteria to talk to me, I saw something in you I’d never seen before. You’re an excellent criminalist and I’ve always respected you professionally, but I’d never seen you as anything else. That day . . . the way you comforted Cassie, the way you wanted to protect her . . . I realized what a good man you must be, and in the last couple of months I’ve witnessed it. I really admire the man that you are, and . . . I want-”

He hated it, but he was blushing and didn’t know what to say. He squeezed her hand again to encourage her.

She chuckled and looked away, feeling silly. “Sorry . . . I didn’t mean to go on like that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he replied, his voice low. She turned to look back at him and found his eyes smiling at her. “Tell me what you want.”

With a flick of her eyes she was looking at her skirt again. “I just want to know you.” She cleared her throat gently and then looked back up at him. “What about you?” she asked, her voice quiet and, to her own ears, insecure. “I mean . . . do you . . . are you . . . where do you see this going?”

“Is ‘back home to my bedroom’ an acceptable answer?” he asked, his glittering brown eyes and smirking lips partially hidden by her hand, which he was still holding, her knuckles pressed against his cheek.

She grinned. “It’s a very forward answer,” she replied.

Once more he kissed her knuckles, and set her hand back on the table. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he admitted, “but for me, the moment that I realized that you were more than the DA was when you introduced Cassie to Ginger.”

Her smile deepened. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he replied simply. “I don’t know what it was. I just remember watching you reassure her and thinking that I never noticed how gentle you really are.”

She laughed. “That’s because I’m not gentle, Nick – not at work. Not by a long shot.”

His eyes twinkling, he thought of her that morning, how her placid face had turned almost demonic once Judge Parker had left the room. Her cheeks had turned pink, her brow creased, and her pupils dilated. “Where else are you not gentle, Elizabeth?” he asked.

“Oh, Nicholas,” she admonished teasingly, “you don’t really expect me to give away all my secrets on the first date, do you?”

He smiled. “No, I guess not,” he replied quietly, but not truly disappointed. “But hey, it’s been ten minutes.”

“Actually, it’s been more than ten minutes,” she replied, “and I charge interest.”

The look on her face – the impertinent grin, the lift of her brow – made his eyes darken. It had been a long time – longer than he cared to admit – since he had shared a bed with a woman. Although this wasn’t the first time he thought of Elizabeth in that way, sitting in the dimly-lit restaurant, the soft music floating over them, the flick of the candle on their table, and that look on her beautiful face, he thought of intimacy with her for the first time as a real possibility, as something they both wanted.

He turned her hand over in his and lifted her palm to his lips. Once he had kissed it, he pulled her closer and kissed her wrist, allowing the alluring scent of her perfume to draw him nearer.

Their foreheads, their noses, and then their lips met, and although Nick had wanted to wait for a more intimate setting for a more intimate kiss, he couldn’t resist drawing her bottom lip between his and running his tongue over it. Her sharp intake of breath reminded him that now was not the place or time to devour her, and though he relinquished her lip, he kissed it gently several times and did not move his forehead from hers. “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“No you’re not.” She raised her lips to his forehead and left a peck there. “Yes you did.”

“Guilty as charged,” he replied, swallowing, and met her glittering emerald eyes. “For the record, I’d really like it if you were my girlfriend.”

Elizabeth smiled, chuckling a little. “Excellent. Now all we need is a piece of notebook paper with ‘yes’ and ‘no’ checkboxes.”

“Is that kind of thing legally binding?” asked Nick teasingly.

“I’m not sure. It’s not my field of expertise.”

The waiter interrupted them then with an offer to take their order. Since neither one of them had cracked the cover of their menus, they sheepishly asked for another moment, made their decisions, and sent the waiter on his way.

Sitting rather closer than most couples in the dining room, Elizabeth and Nick held hands through their dinner. Their conversation covered a range of topics, from Nick’s very large family to Elizabeth’s experiences as a very young lawyer. When they walked out of the Bellagio, both of them feeling relaxed and cozy with each other despite the lack of alcohol, it was to realize that they had driven there separately.

“I’ll make you coffee,” offered Elizabeth, her disappointment masked by the bright smile on her face. She handed her claim ticket to the valet, and he did the same, turning to her.

He curled his fingers around hers and pulled her close. “I’d like that. I’ll be right on your heels.”

“Good.” She was smiling, enjoying her proximity to him. “Bring that drawl with you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, laughing at her. “It kinda goes with me everywhere I go.”

She laughed back, blushing. “It’s sexy.”

He lowered his mouth to her ear. “So are you.” He felt her hands on his chest, running up underneath his jacket, and he took her earlobe between his lips and sucked gently.

“Nick . . .”

He let go and nuzzled her ear with his lips. “Lizabeth?” he drawled.

“You have to work tonight.”

He sighed, his warm breath caressing her ear. “I know.” He feathered light kisses across her cheek until he reached her lips, which he kissed softly. “I don’t want to.”

She smiled up at him. “Coffee,” she whispered. “I’ll make you coffee . . . and maybe . . . tomorrow, when you wake up, you can bring that housewarming wine over.”

“That would be perfect,” he replied, caressing her cheek with his fingertips. He was painfully aware of the valet walking toward them. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” His eyes floated over her lips; he wanted to kiss them again, but resisted and instead led her gallantly to her car, kissing her fingertips as she got inside.

_________________________
(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson

 

Your wish is my command!

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Nick parked his truck in her driveway and slid out, taking the roses from the passenger’s seat with him. Affixed to her front door was a sticky note: “The door’s open – Ginger’s sleeping, so shhh…”

He slipped in quietly, closing the door behind him. He followed the scent of brewing coffee to the kitchen, where she was just filling the pot of a brightly colored coffee set. “Where’d you go?” she asked, her eyes fixed on her task.

Smiling, he waited until she was finished pouring coffee and then wordlessly handed her the tissue-wrapped roses.

She chuckled, setting down the coffee decanter. “Oh, you are smooth, Stokes,” she said as she took the roses. “I guess you think you’re going to get a kiss now.”

“I was hopin’,” he replied.

She left a peck on his cheek as she crossed the kitchen to retrieve a vase from underneath the sink. “Thanks,” she tossed over her shoulder, smirking cheekily.

“Hey, you know, I had to go all the way back into the hotel for those,” he said, leaning against the counter.

“Poor baby.” She unwrapped the roses, examining their stems as she filled the vase. As she arranged the flowers to her liking, Nick stood behind her, admiring the backs of her legs, the curve of her hips, the way her head dipped to tend to her work.

Once she was satisfied with the roses, she picked up the vase and walked into the living room to set it on her coffee table. Then she was back, smirking, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, kissing his chin. “Thank you for the roses,” she said sincerely. “That was really sweet of you.”

“My pleasure,” he replied, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Coffee?”

“Yes.”

She moved to pick up the tray; he felt cold as soon as she did and followed her to the living room. He sat down and watched as she poured him a cup of coffee. When she sat back, she held out the cup, balanced on its saucer. “Cream or sugar?” she asked solicitously.

Yours, he thought, but simply shook his head. “No, thanks.” He accepted the cup, sipping as he smiled at her. “You look sleepy.”

“I am,” she admitted. “It was a long day, and a beautiful evening, and I’m still stuffed.”

“So will you sleep well tonight?” He sipped again, and then set his cup down on the coffee table.

“Yes,” she replied, “I will.” His hands now free, his left hand reached for hers. She gladly bestowed them, and he moved closer, using his right hand to brush her hair off her shoulders and caress her left ear.

“I like these.”

She smiled. “You have an ear fetish?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head and flitting his thumb over the outside of her ear. “I like your ears. I also like your chin . . . and your nose . . . and this spot between your . . . beautiful eyes.” As he spoke he kissed each part of her face.

She set her palm against his cheek and moved closer. “Nick . . . you’ve been teasing me all night. Kiss me like you mean it.”

He needed no further invitation. Grabbing her under the arms, he pulled her onto his lap, moving her legs so that she straddled him, and wound his fingers into her hair as he pulled her down to crush her lips with his. His tongue slid between her willingly parted lips and as her own tongue moved to meet his, he let out a low groan, almost a growl. “Lizabeth . . .”

“Call me Lizzy,” she said breathlessly as their kisses continued, deepening.

“Lizzy,” he whispered, almost in relief, as he moved his mouth to her ear again. He suckled the earlobe, making her gasp in surprise and pleasure, and then ran his tongue up the outside of her ear, and left a kiss at the top. “Lizzy,” he breathed again, searing a path with his lips down her neck to her collarbone as his hands released her hair and slid down her back. “I mean it.”

Her skirt had hiked up when he pulled her across his lap and he teased the hem that rested on her thighs as she cupped his face in her hands and pressed warm, full-lipped kisses onto his cheeks, his chin, his forehead, and his eyelids. “Then kiss me again,” she entreated.

The next thing she knew she was on her back and he was laying between her legs, using his left arm to hold himself up and splaying the fingers of his right hand across her left thigh. She quivered as he began to move his fingertips up and down her leg lightly, making gooseflesh. He kissed each of her lips once gently before diving in again, exploring the tastes and textures of her mouth with his own as she feathered her fingers in his clipped hair and very enthusiastically answered every caress of his lips and tongue.

With every fiber of his being just then all he wanted to do was pull her dress over her head and go find her bedroom. He was seriously considering calling in sick – something he didn’t do even if he was actually sick – when he heard his name whispered between his kisses.

“Nicky,” she finally stressed breathlessly, her voice stern yet gentle. He stopped kissing, but didn’t move away. “You have to work,” she murmured, her eyes closed, “and when we do this – when, Nicky – I want you to stay.”

“Stay?” He opened his eyes and kissed her chin. “Stay here.”

“Yes,” she replied, laughing a little. “Sleep next to me.”

“Sleep next to you,” he repeated, kissing her lips again. He sat up, pulling her with him. She nuzzled his neck, and when he laid his head back against the couch cushions, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and ran her index finger in a line down from his chin to his Adam’s apple. “Lizzy . . .”

“Yes?” she whispered, ignoring the warning in his tone as she pressed a fat wet kiss to the hollow of his throat. “Say it again, Nicky.”

“Say what?” His hands found her hips and started slowly pulling her dress over them.

“My name,” she whispered as she traced the column of his throat with her lips.

“Lizzy . . .”

The soft, slow buzzing of his throat as he pronounced the ‘z’ sound made her smile. “Mmm . . .” She opened her mouth and pressed it against his Adam’s apple, suckling gently.

His hands were under her dress, exploring. “I have an hour before I’m technically late,” he said, his voice low.

“No, Nicky,” she replied, sitting back on his lap. “It’s not enough time. I want you to sleep next to me.”

“But your skin is so soft and warm,” he said, his eyes lingering on her décolletage, “and I haven’t even met the girls yet.”

She laughed, placing her hands on both of his cheeks. “You’ll meet them, I promise.”

“You’re stuck on this sleeping thing, huh?”

“Yeah. Old war wound.”

He had a pretty good idea of what she referred to, and he smiled gently. “I see,” he replied. “I, uh . . . I have some war wounds myself.” It wasn’t the same war, but the nightmares were wounds nonetheless, and if he wanted an intimate relationship with her, he was going to have to tell her about them.

She smiled back at him. “We can talk about them over that wine,” she said.

Nodding, he smiled at her. “Okay,” he whispered, because it really was – because this was Elizabeth, who understood what he did and why it was so important; this was Elizabeth, who adored Cassie; this was Elizabeth, who knew about Kristy and didn’t think less of him. Relinquishing her soft and warm skin, he straightened her skirt and moved his hands to her face to pull her toward him much more gently than the first time to kiss her soundly.

Her eyes were dark when he pulled away to look into them. “You’re a hell of a kisser, Stokes,” she said breathlessly, using his surname to attempt to cool things off a little. He smiled up at her, and she reluctantly found her feet. “Are you going to want to go home and change?”

“No, he whispered, standing at her cue. “I’ll just take off my jacket and tie.”

“Let me put this coffee in a travel mug for you,” she said. “I won’t drink it – it’s too late, and it’d be a shame if it went to waste.”

He agreed, and lifted the tray himself to carry it into her kitchen. Once she had poured the coffee into the one mug she could find that didn’t obviously belong to a woman, she handed it to him with a smile.

“Thank you,” he replied. She led him to her door by the hand, opening it and stepping out into the clear, warm evening. Holding her hand, he let her walk in front of him so he could admire her backside.

“Your dress is wrinkled.”

She opened the door of his truck. “You wrinkled it,” she deadpanned.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it wrinkled,” he said, the twinkle in his eye again. He kissed her forehead when she blushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow . . . Lizzy.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Bring that drawl again, would you?”

He winked. “You got it.” He climbed into the truck, and as he started it, rolled down the window. He beckoned her forward with a crooked finger.

She was expecting the kiss that she got and made it last as long as possible, but the unfortunate and nagging need to breathe ultimately won out and they parted. She said nothing, but stepped back again and waved. “Sleep well,” he said before turning around to back the truck out of the driveway.

Elizabeth knew it would be another cold shower and cold bed for her that night, but reasoned that at the very least, she had thoughts of wine and her roses to keep her company.

_____________________
(c) J. H. Thompson

 

Delightful! Quite delightful!

 

lol yes you are a tease :devil:

 

AMEN!!!!

Wow, that was a great update. I liked that she wanted to wait, though. To spend the night with him. Hmmm, I don't know if I'd have that kind of control :devil:, but, oh, I'd so want him sleeping next to me too.

GNRF, you're right, how doesn't like that Texas drawl? *thud*

Beautifully written and looking forward to the next update.

*goes to take that cold shower*

 

Mornin', y'all . . . (borrowed that drawl from Nick; I usually sport more rounded Os, myself).

I'm glad you enjoyed Nick and Elizabeth's date and hope you also enjoy the following, which does not feature Elizabeth, but does feature the effenhiemer (used as an adjective, not a verb) so you're duly warned.

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“What I don’t understand is this,” said Nick, pointing to a white cake of soap which had been left at a crime scene without any trace evidence of the crime on it. “Soap’s soft, if you drop it it’s gonna dent. This had to have been placed in the blood spatter, but why?”

“I don’t know – a message, maybe? Clean up your act, clean up your mess . . . I don’t know.”

Nick walked around the table in the evidence room, standing next to Catherine to examine what they had collected from a scene a few days prior, of which they couldn’t make heads or tails at the time. They’d decided to review it again that evening without much luck. He reached for the bar of soap and picked it up, turning it over in his gloved hands to examine the bottom.

Catherine leaned closer to him and inhaled deeply. “I believe that’s Chanel,” she commented with a smirk.

Nick gave her a confused look. “The soap? It’s just a bar of Ivory, Catherine.”

“Her perfume,” corrected Catherine pointedly. “Or is that yours?”

He moved his eyes to the table. “It’s not mine.”

“Whose is it?”

He grinned. “Not tellin’.”

“Aw, c’mon, Nick. You can’t even tell me?”

“You act like you don’t have any idea,” he said, and as soon as the words came out of his mouth his smile melted. Catherine still didn’t have any idea about Cassie, and he needed to fill her in. “Hey, Cath . . . there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. Could we go to your office or something?”

“Sure,” she said with a nod. “We’re not getting anywhere here anyway – we don’t even have a body. Won’t know whose blood this is until we hear from Wendy.”

Once they had cleaned up the room, Nick followed her to her office and sat down in the chair she gestured to. “What’s up, Nicky?”

“You remember . . . the case we worked in Pioche, the McBride murder?”

Catherine nodded, smiling. “Yeah. You got to be a hero.”

He looked away. “Yeah, I guess I did. Listen, Catherine . . . I uh, I should’ve told you this sooner, but I have some news for you.”

She waited until he met her eyes again. “Bad news?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “Good news.”

“Well, out with it, Nick.”

He nodded, and then cleared his throat. “I’m in the process of adopting their daughter.”

Catherine was stunned. “Adopting?”

Nodding again, he continued. “This is why I bought a house. It’s why my sister came to see me, why my parents came to visit . . . I’m adopting Cassie.”

“Nick, she’s a victim of a crime you handled – you shouldn’t be having lunch with her.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s all right – litigation’s all wrapped up. Case closed – I’ve talked it out with a few people.”

“Who?” she demanded.

“Well, Grissom,” he replied, trying to ignore her confrontational tone. “The DA.”

“I see.” Catherine nodded, and he could tell she was trying to come up with something to say. “So . . . you’re going to be a dad?”

Smiling, he nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Instead of smiling back, she sighed. “Nicky . . . are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He wished she had not, but she said it in the condescending tone he knew and hated.

“Yes,” he replied, his patience fizzling. He glared at Catherine. “I know what I’m doing. I know what I’m committing to. Catherine, I’m not-”

“Did you ever consider talking this out with anyone who’s actually a parent?”

“Don’t judge me,” he spat. “Just because I don’t pretend to have all the answers like you do doesn’t mean that I’m not capable.”

“I don’t pretend to have all the answers, Nick. I’ve just been there.”

He sighed and felt his shoulders ache with tension. “Your lack of respect and confidence have been noted, OK?” He rose to leave her office.

“Nick, it’s not that I don’t respect you,” she said.

“Coulda fooled me, Cath!” He didn’t like the sharpness of his own tone, but being questioned and second-guessed was really getting old.

“You don’t have any idea what it’s like being a parent at all, and now you’re going to single-handedly raise a pre-teen? Working the graveyard shift? Are you sure you’re not just trying to be a hero again? I mean, I know you’re an over-grown Boy Scout, but actually adopting a victim is a little over the top, don’t you think?”

“An overgrown Boy Scout?” he snapped, as forcefully as he dared to, with the mean, angry look he knew he sported a little too much. “What the hell, Catherine?”

“Nick-”

But Catherine’s insult had pushed Nick over the edge, and his voice hitched up another notch as his Texan drawl came out in full force. “No, this is bullshit, and I’m tired of fuckin’ fightin’ over this – y’all can kiss my ass if you don’t have my back.” He turned to leave, but wasn’t finished. He turned back and got as close to Catherine as he had ever gotten – had she been a man, he would have been right up against her, poking an angry finger into her chest. “If I’d gotten some random woman pregnant you’d be over the God damn moon, Catherine, but I wanna save one little girl from an over-crowded and corrupt foster care system and I got DFS tellin’ me I’m a creep, and you tellin’ me I can’t do it. I don’t need this fuckin’ bullshit.”

His anger surprised her, and she retorted, “And when you figure out that being a parent isn’t what you expected it to be, what are you going to do? Give her back?”

Nick silently fumed for a moment. “You know what, Catherine? To hell with you.” He slammed the door as he left her office, storming down the corridor.

A while later he was back in the evidence room working with Sara on a different case when Warrick walked in. “Hey, Nick – can we talk?”

“’Bout what?” he asked, his eyes on his task.

Warrick’s eyes flicked to Sara, who rumpled her brow. “About your conversation with Catherine?”

Nick looked up at Warrick. “What do you know about that?”

“I know you should’ve told her about Cassie a long damn time ago.”

He held up a finger. “I don’t need this from you, too, Warrick.”

“What’d she say, Nick?” asked Sara. Having been on the receiving end of Catherine’s anger in the past, she could easily identify with how easy it would’ve been to bite back if she’d taken a chunk out of him.

“She called me an overgrown Boy Scout and told me I didn’t know what I was doin’. Maybe I shoulda told her about Cassie sooner, but I didn’t deserve that.”

Warrick held up his hands in surrender. “All right . . . I don’t want to get in the middle, Nick. I just know she’s all in a fuss.”

“And that’s my fault? I’m the one who got abused by a woman I’ve been working with for ten years!”

Sara put a hand on his arm. “She’s probably upset, Nick,” she said, trying a soothing tone.

“So that excuses her? I’m upset, too, but I didn’t insult her.”

“No, but you swore at her,” Warrick pointed out.

“You’re not helpin’,” said Nick.

“I didn’t say she shouldn’t have said what she said,” replied Sara, moving between Nick and Warrick. “But she probably feels like you kept it from her on purpose. I mean . . . I know it’s easy to believe she doesn’t have any feelings sometimes – trust me, I know – but when people are hurt they get irrational. Just give her some time to cool off, and then maybe apologize for the swears.”

His eyebrows knit in frustration, he moved the mean, angry look from Sara to Warrick. “I don’t see either of you havin’ this conversation with Catherine,” he spat. “Y’all know as well as I do that if I march back down to her office all she’s gonna do is take another chunk outta my ass; doesn’t matter what I say.”

“That’s why you give her time to cool off, Nick,” said Warrick.

“She doesn’t cool off, Warrick,” said Nick, not bothering to keep his voice down. “And why’re you so hot to defend her?”

“Look, I’m sorry . . . I don’t want to defend anyone. Like I said, she’s just upset. Sara’s right; she’s hurt. Maybe if you go explain why you didn’t tell her when you told the rest of us it’ll do some good.”

Sara put her hand on his arm again. “I don’t think Warrick’s saying you should back down.”

“I’ll go talk to Catherine,” offered Warrick. “This morning before you leave go talk to her. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can.”

Nick nodded. “All right. But I’m not makin’ any promises either.” Sara smiled and rubbed his arm, patting it warmly.

Warrick nodded. “All right . . . I’ll see you guys later.”

“Hey, Warrick – wait a minute.”

It was Sara’s voice; he turned around. “Yeah?”

“Did you know that the DA wears Chanel?” She turned her nose into the thoroughly embarrassed Nick’s shoulder and sniffed pointedly. “Number Five, if I’m not mistaken.”

Warrick’s eyes lit up, and he laughed at Nick.

“She’s just jealous because you can’t smell her date’s cologne on her,” replied Nick pointedly.

“Maybe I had enough time and blood in my brain to think about changing my clothes,” teased Sara.

“Aw, she got you!” laughed Warrick.

Beet red, Nick turned back to the evidence table. “I hate you both.”

Warrick thumped his back. “You love us, Nicky,” he said, and then left the room.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~* ​

That morning, Nick knocked on Catherine’s office door, which had been left wide open. When she looked up, she smiled slightly. “What can I do for you, Nick?”

“You got a minute?” he asked.

“Depends. Are you going to swear at me?” she asked as he sat down.

“No.” He had the good grace to look sheepish. “Actually . . . I wanted to apologize for that.”

She nodded. “Okay. Apology accepted.”

“I’m sorry for blowing up at you . . . you didn’t deserve that. But Catherine, I don’t deserve your doubt. This is good for me, and it’s good for Cassie, and I’m not saying I can do it by myself, but I can do it.”

She was quiet for a moment, meeting his gaze with a gentle smile. “I know you can, Nicky,” she replied softly. “I’m sorry. I don’t doubt you, Nick; I just know how hard it is.”

Nick returned her smile and sighed gently in relief as the tension left his shoulders. “You know, this whole process has been . . . crazy. I had every intention of talking to you a long time ago, but it was never the right time . . . either we were working a scene, or Ecklie was around . . . I didn’t not tell you because I didn’t want you to know. I did want you to know.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me? Something big like this happens in your life and apparently the whole lab needs to know, except me?”

“I really didn’t mean for it to happen that way. There were some complications, and getting through those was tough enough. I’ve been more or less fighting with DFS for two months – you know, a single guy who wants to adopt a little girl is guilty of being a creep until he’s proven innocent.”

“I would happily have been a reference for you, Nick.” When she said this, he could see that she really was hurt.

“I know I could have come to you,” replied Nick. “In my defense, I listed you as a reference when I sat down with my lawyer to fill out the documents – it’s him that crossed your name off the list.”

“And who is this genius?”

“David Martin,” replied Nick.

Catherine smiled. “Oh, Nicky,” she said. “No wonder you had trouble. That guy’s as dense as they come.”

Nick raised an eyebrow at her in surprise. “You know this guy?”

“Yeah. My first divorce attorney. He decided to become buddies with Eddie instead.”

“Well Jesus, Catherine, if I’d known that-”

“You would’ve if you’d talked to me,” she pointed out.

Nick shook his head. “Unbelievable. I went to my dad to ask for a referral, he went to my brother, and I wound up with a hack who I could’ve gotten from down the hall.”

“Give me some credit. I would’ve given you a good referral – and a glowing reference.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Catherine. To be honest, though, I’m not sure it would’ve made a difference. When I initially filed, my . . .” he cleared his throat as he searched for the right words, “my involvement with Kristy Hopkins raised some eyebrows. Martin dropped my case.”

“Rumor has it that Elizabeth Halles picked it up.”

Nick blushed. “Yeah, she did.”

“Does she wear Chanel?” asked Catherine, a sly smile on her face.

He rubbed his eyes in fatigue, chuckling. “Whatever she wears, it smells good.” He looked up at her then, glad for what he’d always considered her sisterly friendship.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Nick?” she asked, a hopeful tone to her voice.

He thought for a moment and was about to shake his head, until he remembered the furniture that was still sitting in the middle of Cassie’s still unpainted room. “Yeah . . . there is,” he replied. “I need help with her room.”

“Her room?”

“Yeah. I mean, I got her furniture and whatnot, but I don’t know how to decorate a girl’s room. Maybe you and Lindsey can help me out.”

She smiled gleefully. “Go shopping with your credit card? I’m all over that, Nicky.”

“I figured you wouldn’t mind,” he said with a grin. “Just be gentle, all right?”

“We’ll see. What does she like?”

He cleared his throat. “Pink,” he admitted, slightly disappointed. “She likes pink. She likes to read . . . she plays catch with me, but I don’t think she’s really into sports.”

“You got a girly girl,” smiled Catherine. “Lucky you.”

He nodded, smiling. “Yeah . . . I am lucky.” And for the first time in a very long while, he felt lucky.

_______________________
(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson