Title: Fallout

Author: Kristen999

Category: Angst/Drama

Spoilers: "Grave Danger"

Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.

Summary: Dealing with the events after the kidnapping is tough for everyone. Even for Jim Brass. (Post Grave Danger)

Notes: Set in the same time line as "A Late Night Talk". However, you don't have to read that. This one shot can stand alone. Thanks to Kris for her wonderful beta work.

Captain Jim Brass slammed the top desk drawer violently back into place as he gripped the bottom one and nearly pulled it off of its track. He shoved around objects as he searched inside, then disregarded them as well when he came up empty. His desk was in complete disorder: files, magazines, papers strewn about half-hazard. His office looked like a bomb had exploded, as cardboard boxes littered the once clean carpet and objects filled the chairs where normally people would sit.

Jim's suit jacket had been shed, his tie loosened, and what little hair left on his head was sticking up in places. He swore several times and kicked at the desk leg in sheer frustration.

The door to his office opened a moment later, and a concerned Vega stood in the entrance, eyeing his superior's movements with trepidation.

"Brass," he called out.

The usually stoic Captain eyed his intruder wearily, and didn't invite him in.

Detective Vega entered anyway and closed the door behind him. "Jim."

The older man watched him for a moment before his expression brightened slightly when it seemed an idea struck his flustered mind. He headed right for one of his file cabinets and started rifling thought its contents.

Vega stared at the room, taking in its clutter and destruction. "What are you looking for?"

Brass scoured the bottom of one of the drawers and pulled out a DVD. He held onto it, enjoying his small victory. He glanced over at his colleague and finally addressed him. "Dallas Cowboys Super Bowl Victories."

Jim strode over to his desk, slid some papers around that had hidden his briefcase and stuffed the disc in. He didn't elaborate on the significance to the other man. Detective Vega didn't ask about it. Then again, he really didn't need to.

"How long did the Chief say you had leave for?"

Jim grunted somewhat sarcastically. "I'll be taking 'off', three to five days." The Captain gestured with the first two fingers of each hand.

Vega shuffled his feet slightly from side to side. "He's not putting anything in your jacket for the threat, considering the circumstances."

Jim closed the distance between the two men in three shot steps. He held out his hand and curled his fingers around till he closed them into a fist. "He was lucky I didn't clean his clock."

The Latino man wasn't easily intimated by how much of his private space was being violated by his boss. "Look, D.A.'ll be lucky if he handles a cross walk in the next five years. He won't be assigned to secure a scene for a long time...if ever."

Brass didn't feel an ounce of sympathy. "I wouldn't trust him with looking after children. His attention span isn't very reliable."

"I'm not going to get in a debate with you, Jim. But, trying to deck the guy in the middle of HQ isn't going to get you another set of stripes."

Jim Brass ran his hand over his balding head as he tried to smooth out some of his hair. "The guy had a lot of nerve to ask how he was doing after everything that happened."

Vega shook his head. "I'm sure he was genuinely concerned.D.A. feels beyond guilty for turning away to puke his guts out over something so little as entrails."

Now Brass tried every calming technique under the sun to keep from blowing another gasket. Instead he just bit his lip and grit his teeth. "He doesn't deserve to know. And If I ever see him try to visit... I swear to God..." The Captain cut short his own tirade and breathed hard through his nostrils. His chest heaved and he looked down at his watch. "I've got to go."

Vega nodded mutely. "Have you been there yet?"

Jim went back to his desk to fuss with his briefcase again. "No. His parents were driven over. The Team's been with him, and someone had to come back here to fill out paperwork."

"So you haven't slept either?"

The Captain grabbed his coat and put it on. "What the Hell is sleep?"

With those final words, Captain Jim Brass brushed by his coworker and headed to the parking lot to his next destination for the night.

Jim Brass made his way through the crowded lobby of the hospital. A few reporters still lurked around; the story was hot news, full of sensational twists that the twerps of the media loved to feed upon. It had been almost a day, for Chrissakes, since the poor guy had been brought here for care. He'd kept tabs with Grissom over his cell phone about how the young criminalist was doing. He knew his parents had left a little while earlier to get so sleep at thier hotel.

Jim wasn't part of the family... either one. Well, not really. They were two different types of tight circles. No, he was a peg that fit somewhere outside the cool circumference of those units. He had spent hours at the scene despite being exhausted, however. Someone had to over see the cleanup over at the nursery. Made sure between the rescue teams, cops, volunteers and the rest of the lab, that evidence was secured. He wasn't a criminalist any more, but he felt he could contribute by making sure nothing else got screwed up. So he remained, while oddly enough, the day shift came in to gather the remains of the Plexiglas pieces and remnants of the bomb.

Then he had gone back to the bullpen to type up his report. It was out in one of the corridors that he'd had his blow out with the idiot officer who could have prevented this whole mess.

Jim's stride towards his destination was filled with purpose as he continued to curse that man.

One simple job. Keep your eye on the CSI's.

Damn, his bottom lip was going to bleed if he kept on chewing on it like he was. He wished had had some gum.

As Jim approached the hallway he was seeking, he saw Sara Sidle sitting in a chair, her attention focused on the tile floor. He carefully approached her, and when she didn't look up, he cleared his throat.

"Hey, Jim," she greeted him hollowly.

"Hey yourself," he replied, his voice gravely all of a sudden.

"Wondered when you were coming by."

Jim leaned against the wall as he tried to create an image of calmness. "I knew he'd be flooded with visitors. Figured I'd give him a little time."

Sara stared at him blankly. Her complexion was pale, her eyes were red, her cheeks pink from irritation. She was more frazzled-looking than he could ever remember seeing her in a long time.

She let her eyes follow the hallway wall towards the room. "Catherine left a little while ago. She needed to get home. Lindsey is staying home from school... she's really upset."

Jim didn't know if Sara was referring to Catherine or her daughter. Of course the sentiment could pertain to everyone involved.

Sara continued on, almost in a dazed ramble. "Grissom went home for a little while. There was... well..." Sara absently ran her fingers through her tangled hair. "He had to help Warrick deal with this rather... odd situation."

Jim wondered what could possibly make this nightmare even more weird.

The criminalist gazed at him worriedly. "Maybe you should come back later. I mean... Nick might react strangely."

Now the Captain was more than a bit confused. "I'd suspect Nicky isn't really all together with it right now, Sara. I don't expect to have an in depth discussion with him right now."

Sara's haunted eyes continued to drift around. "Doc Robbins and David dropped by just a little while ago... Nick... Nick..." Sara had a difficult time looking Brass in the face. "His screams... they were so terrifying... when he saw them."

Sara hastily brushed away one of the tears that escaped. "Warrick might not let anyone else go in." She rubbed at her face, and shook her head.

"I... I'm...gonna go over to Grissom's."

The rattled criminalist stood and wandered away, probably trying to escape the reality of the room just a few feet away. Jim eyed the door as if it were a gateway to Hell itself.

Maybe it really was.

He entered the darkened room. The overhead fluorescent lights were turned off, a dim light plugged into a wall and set on a cart near Nick's bed. Jim had barely entered the room and scouted out where everything was when Warrick Brown blocked his way.

"Hey Brass," he whispered.

"Rick," The Captain replied.

Warrick looked like he'd been hit by a truck. He had dark circles under his eyes. He was extremely tense. His body nearly twitched from the sheer amount of stress he was buzzing with.

"Let me find out if Nick's cool with another visitor."

Then the tall CSI turned his back to the Captain, his lanky form effectively blocking his ability to enter further into the room. Jim could hear Warrick ask if it was all right for him to be there. There was a low muffled reply, however Jim couldn't decipher the words.

Warrick came back and nodded towards the wary older man.

"It's okay." Warrick didn't even offer an apology; he was defiantly in full blown guardian mode at the moment.

Jim's mouth twitched; he didn't blame the guy one bit for being overly protective.

Despite how small the private room was, the tall CSI took the Captain aside before he could even make it over to the side of the bed.

"Nick got... pretty upset earlier. The nurse should be by soon to give him some stuff to help him sleep."

Jim soaked in the information. "Thought he'd be knocked out for a while," he said, keeping his voice low.

Warrick shook his head. "He only sleeps when it's been drug induced. Now he's got a low grade fever, and he's even more uncomfortable. We're waiting to see if someone can make it colder in here. He's all freaked over being hot."

The Captain glanced around the low lit room. "Don't see any climate control in here. Everything run by a main system?"

Warrick nodded wearily. He looked like he might collapse any moment. It was obvious that the criminalist was dead tired.

"What about a fan?" the Captain suggested.

Warrick's face blanched. "No," he said hoarsely. "No, no fan. He vehemently shot down that idea when I offered."

Jim grimaced after thinking about it. "I guess that wouldn't be too prudent."

Warrick sighed while he ran a hand over his face. Jim sympathized with the CSI, but it wouldn't do Nick any good if he became ill from not enough rest.

"Rick, go home for a little while. I've got the next few days off. I'll stay here, till someone else comes by."

The criminalist was already shaking his head in disapproval. "No, I'm not goin' to leave him."

Jim started gnawing at his lip again, he was going to regret taking his stress out on it like that very soon. "You can't live here, Warrick. Go home, get some sleep in a real bed. Cause frankly, you look like crap. And he won't be alone."

The CSI stood silently by. "After his last set of visitors, I don't what's going to set him off, Jim. Someone's got to..."

The Captain held his hand out. "Warrick. Things are going to upset Nick for a long time. There's not going to be any neat predictions. You can't be here 24-7." Jim looked over at his coworker with sympathetic eyes. "Nicky's going to be pretty messed up for a while... no matter how much we hope or pretend he's not going to be."

Warrick looked like he might argue some more, but it was obvious he was too beaten down to put any energy behind it.

"Okay," he replied, reluctantly.

Warrick went over and spoke to Nick quietly. Jim couldn't hear any of the soft spoken conversation, and felt maybe it wasn't really any of his business. After several moments, Warrick finished and with heavy steps left his friend under the watchful eyes of the Captain.

Jim settled into the hard upholstered chair, and gave the young criminalist a wan smile. Nick's head was turned to face him, his eyes clouded over and barely focused.

"Hey," was his strained greeting.

"Hey Nicky," Jim replied. Damn, his voice had been stronger before he got a good look at the CSI. 'Keep it together for the guy,' the older man berated himself.

Nick was pale looking under all the numerous red patches of irritated skin. Bite marks covered his face and neck. His arms were even worse looking with all the welts that covered his flesh. He clutched his sheets together with his hands, playing with the ends with misplaced anxiety.

"Y-your turn right now?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Jim snorted. "Naw, I lost a bet with Warrick, so I'm paying up."

Nick actually smiled a little. His hands continued to fidget, and it was an oddly uncomfortable sight. Nick took a shaky breath. "Why can't they just make it cooler in here, ya know." The CSI mumbled a little more under his breath as he turned his head again and stared straight at the ceiling. The criminalist kept shaking his head to himself as if he was having some private argument.

Jim pursed his lips. 'How many drugs do they got you on, Nicky?' he wondered to himself.

The Detective eyed a pitcher of water and a plastic cup on the little table with the lamp. "You thirsty?"

Nick looked over at the cup somewhat longingly. "Yeah. Thanks."

Jim felt good to have something to do and filled the glass a third of the way full before getting up to lean over the bed rail.

Nick took the offered cup. When his fingers clasped around it, the glass wobbled as Nick's hand trembled. The criminalist scooted up in his bed as he grabbed the glass of water with both hands to keep it from spilling all over him. His arms shook as he brought it to his lips, some of the water spilling along his chin anyway.

The Captain took the plastic cup in his own hand, and helped the CSI keep it steady. "Here, let me help." Jim looked over at his friend and murmured soft apologies. "It's okay, it's okay," as Nick's shaky hands dropped back to his sides in defeat and allowed the other man to hold the plastic to his lips.

Jim let him have his fill and returned the glass back to the little bedside table. The Captain twiddled his fingers nervously on his lap. Nick didn't seem to be up for a talk, but Jim was going to keep him company somehow. He sighed; he wasn't the biggest conversationalist, and he grew frustrated at not knowing what to do.

Nick had started playing with his sheets again, and it finally dawned on Brass that it was his way to keep them occupied so they wouldn't shake so much. This got his blood boiling again.

"D.A's going to be a crossing guard for the next several years. You won't have to worry about that idiot's next assignment." It felt good sharing this information with the CSI.

"Nah... i-it's not his fault, Brass." Nick shook his head. "I told him it was all right to walk away... he-he needed some fresh air." Nick's voice was hard to hear clearly in his suddenly thick accent.

Brass leaned his hand on the railing, and brought his face closer to the ill man so he wouldn't have to raise his voice. The older man's tone was tight, if not barely controlled. "I told you once, Nicky. It's our job to watch over you guys." He held out one finger. "One freaking job. A cop shouldnever leave a criminalist alone on a fresh scene. Not for any reason."

The Captain felt flustered; he knew his anger wasn't needed right now, but he just couldn't help it. He just shook his head and muttered under his breath. "Never supposed to take his eyes off ya..."

Nick continued to deny the argument. He pressed his fingers into his eyes as he began to lose whatever fragile control he had over his emotions.

Now Jim was all riled up; he was supposed to be here to help his coworker, and all he did was contribute to this nightmare. He placed his hand on Nick's shoulder and patted it gently. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry Nick... I-I just..."

The older cop felt useless as his colleague unleashed a choked sound from deep in his chest. Jim squeezed his shoulder, slid his fingers down to grab Nick's hand, and held it tight. "I'm sorry, kid."

Jim Brass remained stooped over the bed rail, and gripped his friend's hand as Nick slowly quieted down. A nurse arrived, and sadly must have been accustomed to this scene in this particular room. Without batting an eyelash, she gathered two different syringes and injected new medication into Nick's IV.

She leaned over to whisper in Jim's ear. "Some meds to help with the infection and something on top to help him sleep. Should hit him pretty hard soon."

Jim nodded, even though he didn't take his eyes off the patient, and the nurse was out as quickly as she had entered. The Captain's back started to feel a slight hitch from bending over so awkwardly, but he ignored it for the time being. Nick started to talk a bit incoherently between muffled sobs.

Slowly the CSI succumbed to the sedative, and fell into a drug induced sleep. Jim hooked one of the chair legs from behind him and pulled it forward. He slid his body into the seat without letting go of the young criminalist's hand. He put both elbows on the edge of the mattress and watched Nick's chest rise and fall. He hadn't even had a chance to show him the DVD he'd spent so much time looking for earlier.

When Catherine Willows came by several hours later, she found Jim Brass fast asleep, his head resting on the mattress next to Nick's arm. Quietly she draped a blanket over the exhausted Captain and took a chair on the opposite side of the bed. She noticed that the older man's fingers were still curled around Nick's. She took out a book to read and tried not disturb the peaceful scene.

Fini-

The storm clouds of one shots are over. Well, except for a private challenge issued to me at TalkCSI, but really, long stories later on. Thanks to all of you who have commented from this last bit of writing flurry, its been lovely to see some of your insights. I just had a ball writing some of these little scenarios and glad you enjoyed them.