Changed
Warrick watched Nick very carefully over the following weeks. Being buried in a tiny little glass box couldn’t be good for a person, especially not when they got covered by fire ants and had only a gun to keep them company.
A gun.
What kind of a sick bastard came up with that, then blew themselves up? Honestly?
So Warrick watched Nick very carefully.
Nick seemed... skittish, for lack of a better word. He remembered that one case, the Downs Syndrome boy found in the truck box, and he remembered the easy way Nick had handled himself around horses. He was a horse man, that Texan boy, and Warrick could remember that one moment when they’d been walking through the barn, curious, while Grissom had been talking to the boss with Brass. A horse in one of the stalls had backed away at their approach, whickering in panic, and Nick had soothed it with soft words and a gentle hand to the nose. He’d been like the horse whisperer, only with a gun and a badge.
Now Nick was like that skittish horse, backing away from strangers, side-stepping away from anything he didn’t know, being above all else, cautious.
And scared.
Warren didn’t like scared Nick. He’d seen his friend go through hell and back again, more than once. Nearly shot in the face - twice, stalked and thrown from a window, people killed so that they matched his prom pictures. Nick had not had the best of luck. Ever. But this was different. Warrick knew what everyone else wasn’t saying - that Nick Stokes had almost died, and they had nearly lost him.
His first decision was a rash one - marrying Tina. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Life was short, and boy, did he ever realize that after Nick almost died. Life was too short, and he had to seize every moment he could manage.
After that, he just watched Nick, warily, trying to decide what he could do - if he could do anything, to help him. Nick laughed like he used to, but it was often forced, and it never reached his eyes anymore. He tried changing his style a million times, from clothes to that hideous mustache to his hair. He started losing weight. Warrick was really worried about him, and started skipping out on other things, other commitments, to hang out with his old friend, trying hard to bring that old Nick back.
He should have realized that all his time spent with Nick was going to affect things, especially things at home. He realized it most when his wife met him at the door one early morning, after Warrick had been out drinking since shift was over with Nick, reminiscing about the good times and avoiding talk of the bad times. Arms crossed, dressed in her bathrobe, she said, “You’ve changed.”
Warrick tried to tell her that he hadn’t really. He was still the same guy she’d married a few months ago. Still the guy she dated. When that didn’t work, he tried to explain that he was trying to save his friend from himself. When even that didn’t satisfy her, he reminded her that they’d gotten married at a drive through chapel, and how long are those types of marriages supposed to last, anyways?
A week later, he’d been an unmarried man.
He devoted more time to Nick, working hard at helping him. He stopped playing cards all together, even though he hadn’t really gambled in years anyways. He stopped playing basketball, stopped spending so much time with the victim’s families, and started hanging out in the lab, or at the crime scenes, hanging over Nick’s shoulders as much as he could. He was worried, he told himself. It was worth it, he thought, when he opted to skip meals just so he could stay with Nick in the layout room, in silence.
Nick finally pulled him aside one day, and with a furrowed brow, whispered Warrick’s name, then: “You’ve changed.”
Warrick tried to defend himself, tried to explain, but he fell silent at Nick’s concerned gaze.
Nick was worried about Warrick’s mental health. His emotional health. His physical health, even. He wasn’t eating right, avoiding everyone but himself, tailing him like a stalker, only one slightly less scary because he knew him well.
Nick was worried about him.
Warrick had broken down, sliding down the wall to sit there, face towards the ceiling, shoulders shaking, eyes turning red as he cried. He crushed Nick to his chest, and whispered that he had been worried about him, worried that Nick was the one in trouble. He’d been trying to save Nick, and now Nick was trying to save him. Their roles were reversed.
Laughing a little, hiccuping as his tears subsided, Warrick had nuzzled his nose into Nick’s soft brown hair, and whispered, awed, “You’ve changed.”
And it was a good thing.
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