AN: And here marks the start of my second fanfic. Ooo I'm so excited. Maybe I'll write this one slower, like I'll only update 2 or 3 times a week. Yeah right we'll see how long that lasts. God I have no life. But that's okay, it means I can write more, and I'm sure there are people who love that. For people who haven't read the little summary thingy, this is defiantly a Warrick/Catherine fic. It also might be a Sara/Greg fic, I haven't really decided. Oh and I would like to dedicate this first chapter to D.J. MacHale and the entire Pendragon which is an awesome series of books that I highly recommend and the new one just came out. YAY! Alright enough of my insane rambling and stuff, on with the story.
The entire incident with Nick getting kidnapped and buried, it affected people different ways. But it had affected everybody in the lab. IT hit the swing and night shift the hardest because they were all, with the possible exception of Sophia, family in a way. They were still family despite the fact the original team had been broken up, so it hit them the hardest.
It was hard to tell who dealt with it the best, because they all coped in different ways. All of them had been advised to see a shrink. Grissom didn't, but he was sort of his own shrink. Greg went for two sessions, and then stopped. Catherine only made it to own. Both Sara and Warrick flat out refused.
Sara turned back into the complete workaholic he hadn't been in quite a while. She got to work early and left late. When she wasn't at work, she was eating as little as she could and pretending to sleep. It wasn't healthy, physically or psychologically.
Greg kept going as if nothing had happened. He kept coming to work with a smile on, and jokes throughout the day. He managed to get in a few laughs, and actually started to sort of revert back into the old Greg.
Grissom also went back to work as though nothing had happened. He buried all his feelings under layers of barriers, as was normal for him. He did have a meeting with Ecklie, trying to get the original night shift back together. But the staff remained where they were.
Catherine put a whole lot more into her work. She didn't work longer hours, on the contrary. She was always out on time, exactly on time, every day. But she made her hours count for more. She fueled all her extra energy into Lindsey. Lindsey herself was affected. She had met Nick before and knew what had happened. It made her a little more scared of the outside world. Made her a little more cautious.
It was Warrick who was hit the hardest of all. Though the others did have their guilt, Warrick had tons more. He knew, that in some abstract way, it was his fault that Nick was buried alive, and not himself. Sleep became his enemy, because when he slept he had dreams. Well nightmares would be a more appropriate word. They were always of Nick, of that night they found him in the clear, Plexiglas coffin. Usually it would play out the same way it did in reality. Sometime they wouldn't get Nick out alive, the ground would explode. Sometimes he was already dead when they got there. Sometimes Nick wasn't even in the box. And once or twice, Warrick himself was in the box in Nick's place.
Warrick threw himself into his work and became a workaholic comparable to Sara. Catherine had tried to get Warrick to take some time off, at least a day, but Warrick always refused. He needed something to keep him occupied, to keep him focused, to keep all the bad thoughts in the back of his mind. He pulled doubles, and even triples whenever he could.
When he wasn't working he went home. He could've gone to a bar or somewhere where he could have drowned his troubles, and the evil little voices in his head, but he didn't do that. He knew it would do him more harm then good. So he went home where those horrid voices in the back of his mind got louder. Reminded him that he should have been the one in that box.
Warrick still had that coin. It would've been so easy to throw it away. Chuck it into the desert where the ground would swallow it up. But he kept it. He had handled it so many times, the face of it was actually starting to rub smooth.
Warrick stayed in his apartment whenever he wasn't working. He didn't go out at all. He preferred to stay locked up with his own thought then among other people, who didn't understand, never would understand. His girlfriend called him, several times actually. She left messages on his answering machine. Messages that he didn't answer, and sometimes didn't even listen to.
Maybe somewhere, deep down, Warrick knew he was self-destructing. But he ignored it, disregarded it. He wouldn't have minded exploding, wouldn't have minded dieing. He wouldn't have to worry anymore, wouldn't have to live with the guilt. But he knew it wouldn't come to that. He knew he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.
Warrick was sitting on his couch in his apartment. He wasn't really doing anything, just sitting. He was drinking a glass of water and trying to keep his thought as far away as possible. He was startled when he heard a knock on the door. It had been almost a month since the incident with Nick, and nobody had come to visit him. But that was okay. Warrick preferred the solitude. So the knock at his door came as a surprise. He didn't even bother looking through the peephole, making sure it wasn't a psychopath out to kill him. Truth be told he really did care if it was some psychopath out to kill him. But of course that wasn't who was knocking at his door. It was Catherine.
People, meaning Catherine, Sara, Grissom and Nick had all asked if he was okay, Warrick had done the same for them. They had all said yes they were fine. It was a flat out lie and everyone knew it. But it was a formality, a tradition of sorts that was to be carried out whenever something traumatic happened.
Warrick was shocked to see Catherine standing outside his apartment. It wasn't something he had expected. They were friends, absolutely, and sometimes Warrick wished they were more. Catherine's promotion had put this hope into perspective however. But they, along with everyone else, started to, well drift apart a bit. Not enough to cease being the odd family they were. But enough that their contact outside of work became less. For Warrick the contact had completely stopped.
But here Catherine was, standing outside his apartment with a determined and sort of concerned look on her face. And after he got over the shock, Warrick was very glad to see her there.