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ilkkawhat · 11 months

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[Nick Stokes/Reader | 1,723 words | also on ao3 here | I have some of the best inspiring dreams ever, and a couple days ago I had one about a whumped Nick, though there's actually only a few things I took out of it to write this.]

You’ve been in this store before, although you really haven’t been.

“Attention shoppers.”

And you’ve never been in any store past closing, let alone, with all the lights off.

“Attention shoppers.”

You feel like there’s too much space between the aisles, and though the parking lot was scarce you can’t help but feel like someone will emerge from the shadows.

Or come up behind you, as goosebumps tickle your neck.

“Attention shoppers.”

You know better though, having been called here as back-up to investigate a live crime scene, that the owners of those lone cars will never drive them again.

There’s one shopper left in the store however, and you and Grissom are heading straight towards the fast paced rickety cart wheels swimming through the darkness.

“Attention…shooooooppppppppers.”

The automated intercom call warbles out, having been looped likely not on purpose but rather a side effect of the supposed employee that was butchered and fell on top of the controls, according to the account given over the dispatch call.

You also know that Nick Stokes was in this store when it happened. He was assigned to this case first, when it was just a petty burglary before it became a massacre.

Desperately, you want to call out to him. You already tried texting him, and got no response. From a tactical standpoint, the element of surprise is more apropos in this situation but your heart doesn’t give a damn. You just want to see Nick.

And you do see him, when your flashlight passes over the aisle of canned goods.

He’s there, on the floor. Face down. His face striped with blood. Cans are littered around him and one is broken near his head.

“Nick!” you gasp, and run over. His body rises and falls ever so slightly, and he softly wheezes as you kneel next to him, wiping strands of hair out of the way of fluttering eyes and your shaking fingers are becoming sticky with the blood pouring out of the pulsing wound on his forehead.

“Help….her…” he whispers to you in a strangled voice. His eyes roll behind their lids, falling victim to a void of consciousness.

Grissom, who was standing nearby during this time, transfers a bit of the radiation of his concern with a hand to your shoulder, in agreement to Nick’s request.

“We need to move,” Grissom tells you. “I think he’s close.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod shakily, and become Grissom’s heel, after quickly taking your gun out because Grissom doesn’t have his; just a flashlight and a white knuckled fist.

The chase continues down another long, dark aisle but the sound of squeaky wheels carrying weak-wired mesh grows louder. Your heart pounds harder, and faster.

You turn back to look at Nick, and in those few seconds you somehow lose sight of Grissom.

Swearing under your breath, you pick up the pace and quickly shake your head between the rows, finding nothing but fallen items and shadows of fellow officers, but you nearly run into the sliding door that leads out into the garden section of the store.

“So…what are you making?” Grissom’s voice, a disguised disgust with equal intrigue, per his norm of course but you wince as you worry he’s getting too close to the killer—

“Soup,” a strange voice answers simply. “You see my ingredients in the cart here…”

Speak of the devil, the killer is still shopping and throwing items into his cart…

That’s carrying a hopefully unconscious and not dead woman, her arms and legs hanging outside of the cart with various vegetables and meats and packets of flavoring and for some odd reason, large sacks of soil on top. She has a similar wound to Nick’s on her head, though you have no time to wonder what a Nick-flavored soup would have tasted like, as the conversation that you stopped paying attention to goes south, and both the killer and Grissom are suddenly gone—

You whip your head and hear splashes of water, your flashlight locates the source of the struggle below, in a large display of filled ponds and pools for backyard enjoyment, Grissom wrestles the killer and your instinct should tell you to either jump in and help, or draw your weapon and fire but—

BANG-BANG!

Grissom stops and you see the shock on his face in the handheld spotlight that traces the trajectory of the bullets that pinned the killer into the water, and also punctured the walls of the pool that drains away.

Catherine stands breathless, a wordless exchange with Grissom and a side glance to you, freeing you from obligation as they begin to talk out loud—

“I’m going to check on Nicky,” you tell them, and run back towards the love of your life.

The main aisle seems longer than ever, the lights are flickering on and the eerie silence is replaced with chatter, radio chirps, and distant sirens that give you and odd sense of relief—you’re near the end of the story, the day is saved and more importantly—Nick is safe, for the second time in a far too short of time and this time it’s not dirt you’re sliding on to comfort him, but harsh, unforgiving lamination that you know you’ll feel in your knees later.

“Nicky, I’m back, she’s safe…” you half-lie because shit, you forgot to check on that victim and instead chose this one, but you do hear calls for an ambulance to take her.

You tap his cheeks, clammy and pale and still sticky. He’s not responding, and your heart stops beating. You look around the aisle, a halted shopping cart happens to have a case of water that you cut into, and pour onto Nick as if it’ll bring him to life—fortunately, it works; he sputters and rolls over onto his side, propping himself up and you sigh in relief.

“What happened?” a new voice asks, feminine and Sofia’s behind you, ready to relay anything you tell her to the rest of the team.

“We found the perp, and the victim. Cath got him after he tussled with Grissom. Nick here, well…I don’t…” you start bumbling your words, Nick scrunches his face and wipes blood out of his eyes.

“I tried to stop him,” he says in a strained voice, one arm cradles his stomach. “Asshole rammed me with that damn cart and a stupid can fell on my head…”

Nervously, you mutter, “Guess you really got cantripped, huh?” in attempt to lighten the mood. You’re not sure if Nick actually heard it.

“Heard you were the one who caught him in the act, that true?” Sofia asks. Nick nods and your heart pangs. As if the both of you don’t see enough dead horrors as it is, it’s harder to witness live ones.

“Found him cause he was the only guy who didn’t run out of the store when I triggered the alarm.”

“Alarm? There’s nothing ringing…”

“Yeah, cause I used that intercom to tell everyone to evacuate,” Nick clears his throat and adds a bit of deep authority to his voice, “‘Attention shoppers, please get the hell out of the store if you want to stay alive.’”

You can’t help but laugh, “You did not!”

“Course I did. How else would you get the shoppers out?” Nick almost smiles himself, before he reigns himself in. “That’s when the bullet hit the poor John that fell onto the panel, and I took off towards it.”

You stare daggers into Nick’s avoiding gaze, both admiring his bravery but admonishing his stupidity for running towards danger. But he’ll get that earful later. Or sooner, as Sofia puts away her notepad.

“Thanks, Nick. I’m gonna check in with Gil and Catherine. Make sure you get checked out, okay?” Sofia raises her eyebrows and points at Nick’s forehead.

“I’m fine,” Nick waves off.

“You’re not!” you harshly whisper as Sofia walks away. “The hell were you thinking, running towards the gunfire?”

“It’s our job, baby,” Nick tells you.

“Nuh-uh, their job,” you point to the uniformed officers. “We’re supposed to come after.”

“But, they can’t always—”

“Neither can you!” you interrupt. You stand up and Nick takes the opportunity to pull your arm and lift himself up with you.

“Alright, alright, I get it…”

“I don’t think you do, but before we lay this to rest…what if a bullet hits you?”

“Then I’ll just walk it off, like I’m walking this cantripped bullshit off.”

“You’re not invincible.”

“I know that,” Nick tone become sour and frustrated and you feel his muscles tense up. “And you know that I’m damn well aware of that, too.”

You sigh, but notice that he isn’t shrugging you off just yet. You can see a shimmer in his eyes and feel a wave of guilt wash over you.

He’s hurt more than he’s willing to admit.

I wasn’t strong enough, you remember the broken words amidst tears that fell onto your chest, soaking into your clothes.

You know it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a small head wound for him to get to that point again, but feel the need to comfort and lighten the mood nonetheless.

"You know…it’s a good thing you shaved that stache," you say, once again stroking loose strands of hair out of his reddened, dampened eyes. "Make you look like you're a redhead, at least in facial hair."

"Well, I am attracted to redheads..." Nick smiles coyly and you playfully swat his chest, before he reels you in for a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispers.

“It’s okay. I know you don’t give up that easily,” you tell him with a soft kiss to the side of his face.

“And neither do you,” he reminds you with a kiss of his own.

You both stand there for a solid minute of silence, and you lean further in, but the slight movement of your body seems to scare him, and he somehow grips you tighter.

“Don’t let go,” he asks of you. “Don’t let go, please…”

“I made that promise to you a long time ago, Nick. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he tells you, and he takes you out of the almost nightmarish, liminal dreamscape into the best fantasy you could ever dream of.

#nick stokes #nick stokes x reader #reader fic #sorry i like to see you suffer nick #mk.op #mk.fic #i don't often do reader fic but i figured this dream specifically would work for it #though again only like 2% of this came from the dream #i'm also still working on that ghost!nick/greg fic but it's nice to do something short and sweet i guess

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