Previous part of story - Change Is Never Easy

1:00 A.M.

Jim Brass turned aside for what felt like the hundredth time that night and smothered a laugh. When Nick had called, Brass had rolled his eyes a bit, but given in readily, willing to do just about anything Greg might ask of him. It had turned out to be the most fun he'd had since his young friend had been attacked.

As he led the pair around the lab, pointing out different features and answering their always-insightful questions, he kept being ambushed by how much the younger half of the team reminded him of Greg. Seemingly endless energy radiated from the lithe young man, even at that late hour, and it appeared to renew the flagging get-up-and-go of anyone who passed close to the trio as they made their way, slowly but surely, around the lab. Blair's bottomless hoard of words and bounce also appeared to irritate his taller, older partner no end, but Brass saw straight through the façade to the deep affection Ellison obviously held for his partner.

"So... that's about it. I could take you over and show you our cop shop, but you've seen those a thousand times, probably."

"You'd be surprised. I mean, I've seen plenty of other stations besides ours, but they're all different. Every city has its own... style. I'm sure Vegas does something to distinguish itself. It may be subtle, but it'll be there if you look."

Brass stared, clearly in shock.

"That's the most I've heard you say all night."

Ellison grinned.

"Blair. FAQ number one."

" ' Does he ever talk? ' Also commonly phrased as ' Is your partner a mute?'. FAQ number two, Jim?"

" ' Why isn't the little guy on ADD meds? ' Oh, and there's the ever popular ' Is he on speed and where can I get some? '. That usually happens before they know we're cops."

All three men laughed.

"Yeah, it's funny. I just wish he'd cut out the "little" crack. I'm compact and aerodynamic, like a really good racing bike. I'm built to move fast."

"Yeah, maybe, but if you don't quit eating every time I do and eating the stuff I do, pretty soon you won't be able to outrun a three-legged cat."

"Hey, I burn it off, just like you!"

Brass let them see his enjoyment this time.

"You know, that's what Sanders says... but he can back it up. He scuba-dives, surfs and plays basketball and softball for the PD team."

Reminded of the reason they were there, Ellison sobered and subtly lowered his head. Brass frowned slightly in confusion. "What?"

"You know why Greg really arranged for this tour, don't you?"

"He thought you'd like seeing the lab, I guess... "

"And?"

"I can't be positive."

"Speak your mind anyway."

"A member of the grav... the overnight crew is MIA. She took off while Greg was still in the hospital. We can't find a trace of her... and man, we have tried."

"Any clue why she vanished?"

"Yeah... what happened to Greg got everybody focused on their pasts."

"Something about hers came up and she couldn't deal." Blair guessed. Brass studied him carefully before answering.

"We think so. She knew stuff... ways of coping you only teach yourself if somebody messed with you... deeply and more than once."

All three were silent for several seconds before Ellison spoke up, quietly.

"I wondered. Look, thanks for the tour. I'd love to get a look at your station before we leave, but right now we need to get back to the hotel and get some sleep."

"He sleeps?" Brass joked, attempting to lighten the mood. Blair responded with a grin.

"After saving his butt all day? If I didn't sleep, I'd croak in a week's time."

"My butt? You save my butt?"

"Who threw you to the ground so you wouldn't get flattened by a garbage truck?"

"As if you'd ever let me forget..."

"You want more examples? I've got a whole scrap-book full at home..."

As the pair walked away, Brass chuckled once more then moved off as well, certain there was work currently piling up that someone thought he needed to get to urgently.

GREG'S APARTMENT: 9:30 A.M.

While he waited for his turn in the shower, Nick finished the breakfast dishes and let his thoughts wander. He briefly pondered what his housemate was up to arranging a tour of the lab for Sandburg and Ellison, but Blair's surname echoing in his mind led his thoughts in another direction. A few minutes later he was still following that mental pathway when Greg touched him gently on the shoulder, startling him.

"Sorry."

"No... no, it's okay. My brain was just off roamin' somewhere, I guess. Did you need somethin'?"

"Not really. Just wondering if I... could help."

"Thanks for the thought, Greggo, but I'm about done. Why don't you go watch some TV for a while. That program you like about the ASPCA cops should be just about to start..."

Nick broke off when a knock sounded. Sadly, he watched Greg move past him and into his protected space in the corner of the kitchen then laid down his dish-cloth and strode to the door.

"Rick? Hey, lemme help you with that, man... It's heavy. What the hell've you got in here..."

"You'll see in a minute. Greg? Where is he?"

"I gotta get the door closed and locked before he feels safe." Nick explained quietly. Once that was done, Greg emerged, staring curiously at the broad, oblong, leather cased object in Nick's arms and the folded metal stand that remained with Warrick.

"What's going on?"

"I'll tell you... if you swear you won't get ticked at Nicky." Warrick said cautiously, leaning the stand against the wall.

"Why would I?" Greg replied, looking from one to the other and back.

"He told me about your hands... how they got bruised an' all."

Greg looked surprised for a moment, but no anger surfaced.

"It's okay I guess. You guys know a lot more... nasty details than that, so it's... not that big a deal."

"Yeah, well, when I heard I went and dug in my closet. I've had this in there for a while, but since I had the bread to buy a little piano of my own, I haven't used it..." he told them, taking the case from Nick and releasing the Velcro straps holding it closed. He pulled out a small electric keyboard. Greg's eyes widened and he slowly moved close enough to lightly run his fingers over the keys.

"I don't understand."

"It's for you. I'm gonna teach you how to play."

"You are?"

"Best physical therapy for the hands I know of. Plus, it's fun. Least with me as a teacher it will be."

"Warrick... man, I don't know what to say. Are you sure you wanna... do this?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Now... where's the nearest outlet?"

Nick showed him and within fifteen minutes, and with the assistance of an extension cord, the instrument was on the coffee table, Greg and Warrick were settled on the couch and Nick had gone back to his dishes. He didn't stay away long however. The music and the joy in Greg's voice, even when he fumbled over notes, drew Nick back in to claim the recliner and watch.

The gentleness Warrick showed the younger man made Nick smile as well. He had always sensed it was in there somewhere, but it took extraordinary circumstances to get the stoic man to allow it to surface. Apparently, Greg qualified as extraordinary.

"Is it okay if I move your fingers a little? Just so you get what I'm tryin' to show you..."

"Yeah... yeah, it's okay."

"I'll be easy, I promise." Warrick vowed, tenderly nudging Greg's fingers from flat to curved. "There. See the difference?"

"Uh-huh. I feel it too. It... feels right, now. It didn't before."

"Good. Now try the C scale one more time. Slow, remember. Don't think about it too much... just let it flow."

First up the scale, then back down, each note came out clear and strong this time and Greg grinned.

"I did it!"

"Sure you did. Now do it again." Warrick instructed, smiling to soften the admonishment.

For the next half hour, the two men hunched over the keyboard, gradually building up Greg's speed. When he caught the young man suppressing a wince of pain, Warrick declared the lesson at an end.

"But... I'm doing good."

"You're doin' great, but you're hurtin' too. That's enough for now."

"Haven't you ever heard of... playing through the pain?" Greg rationalized. Both Warrick and Nick laughed.

"That's the NFL, not music lessons, bud." Stokes reminded him.

"I'll be back in a few days, okay? 'Till then you do those stretching exercises I showed you, but not more than five minutes at a time. And no more than fifteen minutes practice a day, at least 'till those hands are really healed. Got me?" Warrick instructed, adding a mock glare to his commands. Greg returned the pseudo-serious expression and saluted.

"Understood, sir."

As Greg and Nick got the keyboard unplugged and back in its case, Warrick grabbed the stand and placed it by the couch. As he slipped his jacket back on, a weight in the pocket reminded him of another delivery he'd been asked to make.

"Nick. Brass asked me to drop these off for you." he said, handing two CD cases to his friend.

"Josh Groban. Cool. I thought he'd just let me borrow the originals, but he actually burned me copies. Awesome."

"I didn't think you were into that genre. Aren't you a faithful C and W fan?"

"I still am, but hearin' that one song Brass put on Greggo's CD... I couldn't get over how powerful Groban's voice is. He hooked me. I had to hear more."

"That's cool. Hey. Lemme know if the rest of his stuff is as amazing as ' You Raise Me Up '. That's the only one I've heard."

"No problem. I'll call once I've had a chance to give 'em a listen."

"Okay. Greg. You remember what I said and keep to it. I'll be checking on you an' I'll know if you've been overdoin' it. Bye, Nicky."

"Bye."

"Wait." Greg said as Warrick turned to leave. "Aren't you taking the keyboard?"

"I said it's yours an' I meant that. It's a gift, man."

"Mine? Really?"

"How else are you supposed to practice?" Warrick reminded him with a slight grin.

"Oh... oh yeah. Right. Thanks... for everything."

Don't be thankin' me yet. I expect dedication an' hard work outta you, especially after those hands are back in shape. You learn fast, you got good bone structure an' you might have some natural talent."

"When can we start learning classical?"

"Like what?"

"Beethoven."

"Slow down. You only had one lesson. Beethoven is some of the hardest music there is. You can get there in a year, maybe ten months if you've got the potential I think you do. Why the interest in him anyway?"

"I read his life story not too... long ago and there's a lot in there... that reminded me of Grissom. I started wondering what more Beethoven... could have done if they'd... been able to offer him the surgery... that bossman got."

Warrick stood staring at Greg, rapidly going over in his head what little he knew of Beethoven's life and he began to see the same correlations.

"My God... he may be right."

Nick chuckled.

"Chalk another one up to the highly underestimated Greg Sanders. You better get to your safe place, bro, so I can let Rick out."

Greg rose and moved off as Nick escorted a still stunned Warrick to the door.

THE APARTMENT: MID-AFTERNOON

"Cyn, we got company comin' over..."

"You know how important this is. He's already waited too long. I still don't know how he talked them out of in-patient therapy after he was released..."

"He didn't. Catherine did."

"What?"

"Hey, the kid was raped, damn it! There he is, in pain an' everybody tellin' him what to do... Then the doc comes out with a week in the psych ward like it's a done deal. Greg went ballistic. He was so mad an' scared Cath wasn't sure she was gonna be able to calm him down."

"Ah. The ultimate loss of control, leading to a hospital where you surrender even more power over what happens to you."

"Yeah. Glad you understand. The last thing he needs now is to go there again."

"I do understand, Nick. It doesn't change anything. Unless he talks through his fears and starts dealing he may never leave that apartment and hermit and criminalist don't go together."

"I know that. Damn... tomorrow morning?"

"I'll clear the whole day so he can have as much time as he needs. Then there's you..."

"Cynthia..."

"Last time we talked I believe you mentioned a deal the two of you made..."

Nick sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"We'll see, okay?"

"We'll see. Your favorite procrastination tactic rears its ugly head."

"Cyn..."

"He trusts you, Nicholas. Don't start breaking promises to him or that trust will evaporate."

"God, I hate it when you use my whole first name... all of a sudden I'm five years old again an' I have this urge to just drop my chin to my chest an' say 'Yes, ma'mm.' "

"Go with that feeling, Nicholas."

"Okay, okay! Enough! Lordy... I'll try. Let's see how it goes tomorrow, alright?"

"Around ten?"

"Fine. See ya."

Cynthia's response was quieter and more gentle than the teasing, mothering voice she had been using.

"You'll be alright, Nicky. Remember the affirmation you came up with?"

A muscle along Nick's jaw tightened for a moment, but he gritted out a response.

"I'm stronger than I know, smarter than I think an' more loved than I realize."

"Good. Hold onto that. Take care."

"Bye, Cyn."

Hanging up, Nick moved toward the couch, where Greg was starting to stir. The focus needed for his music lesson with Warrick had drained Greg and after the other man had left, his student had, within ten minutes, curled up on the sofa and fallen deeply asleep. Wanting to avoid scaring his house-mate, Nick waited until Greg's eyes were fully open before crouching down to his level.

"Hey. Sorry if the phone woke you."

"it didn't. My stomach got there first. Who was it?"

"Ummm... that was my friend... the psychologist."

"Oh. I forgot about that." Greg replied warily as he sat up. Nick moved to sit beside him.

"Yeah... she's, ummm... she's gonna be here tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock."

"I didn't agree to that."

"I know... but we need her. Both of us need help."

'I don't. I can handle what's... going on in my own head."

"Maybe you can... and maybe I can, too, but don't you ever want you and I... to turn into us?"

"How can you ask me that? I thought... you understood how I feel."

"I do. Listen... before you got off the vent, when you were still out cold, Cath an' I were arguin' about therapy. She asked me... she asked when the last date I had was... or when was the last time just thinkin' about hittin' the sheets with somebody didn't tie my stomach in knots. For a split second, I hated her so bad... 'cause I knew she was right."

"Nick..."

"No. If we can't get beyond what happened, what we feel won't matter a damn, Greggo. I'll never be able to touch you... not like I want to, an' there's a real good chance I'm gonna puke if you try to get near me with... that on your mind. If Cynthia doesn't help us... there might never be an 'us'."

Greg roughly swiped tears from his face.

"You trust her?"

"With my soul... and my secrets."

"That's the important part... Okay. I'll give it a shot."

"Thanks man. We're doin' the right thing... I think."

Greg laughed.

"Well, as long as you're sure."

Nick pushed Greg's head sideways gently and chuckled too.

"What're you in the mood for, hmm? We got egg salad, ham salad, tuna..."

"A burger with everything. And fries."

Nick looked at him sternly. "Ham salad." Greg decided, his desperation to return to a normal routine expanding a notch or two.

DOCTOR'S OFFICE: HALF AN HOUR LATER

"You can relax, Mr. Grissom. There's no bad news, I promise you that. Please, have a seat."

Gil claimed the chair across from the doctor's desk, but his tension refused to leave him despite the man's reassurances.

"So... everything's fine."

"For your age group, you're in wonderful shape. We'll have to wait a few days for the results of one or two tests, but I saw no signs of infection or STD's and your function tests were encouraging."

"Encouraging..."

"You're not twenty-one anymore. Most of us will reach a point where medication is either an option or a necessity, but you're not there yet."

"No little blue pills, then?"

"Not for several more years. According to your records and what you told me you maintain a fairly healthy diet and an exercise regimen and you don't smoke or drink to excess. As long as you keep that up, I see no major obstacles to your... getting back in the game, so to speak. I can't measure the emotional factors that can affect sexual performance, of course. My recommendation would be to set up a counseling session or two with someone you trust, just to work through the questions and fears I can't cover."

"That's... a good idea."

"But?"

"Excuse me?"

"I heard an unspoken 'but' on the end of that sentence."

"There was a reason I didn't speak it."

"Understood. Officially backing off."

"I appreciate that."

"A friendly ear really couldn't hurt, though. Becoming sexually active again after a long hiatus carries a lot of issues with it."

"Trust me... I know."

"Okay. So the bottom line is, you're healthy and I didn't see any signs of ED. You're clear to re-join the pursuit of happiness, as it were."

"Thank you, doctor." Gil replied, rising to his feet.

"No problem. Glad I could help." The other man said, standing as well and quickly shaking Gil's outstretched hand. "Those test results should be ready in a couple days, but if you have any more questions or there's anything else I can help with..."

"I'll call. Good-bye."

"And good luck, Mr. Grissom."

Once out of the building and in his truck, Gil stared out the windshield for several minutes, thinking deeply and pondering the single question running over and over through his head; one the doctor couldn't help him answer. Finally, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Hey, Warrick. I... it's Grissom. When you get this... what I mean is I need to... I'd really appreciate your input on... Yeah. Hell, never mind. I'll see you at work tonight. Don't make plans for breakfast after shift."

LATE AFTERNOON: THE APARTMENT

Greg was helping make dinner when Jim and Blair finally arrived, so he only had a few steps to go to reach his safe place and he hurried there the minute they knocked. Once they were inside, he emerged and greeted them while Nick continued preparing their evening meal.

"Hi."

"Sorry we're so late. With all that's been going on, we both felt like we needed some extra quiet time alone..."

"It's okay. I understand. Come sit down. So how did you guys... like the lab?"

"It was cool." Blair responded enthusiastically as he and Jim sat on the couch. "Way more extensive than anything we have back home."

"Vegas is like Texas. Everything's bigger, better... and shinier that it looks on TV."

"Hey, watch yourself there, surfer-boy. Ain't nothin like Texas." Nick called in a teasing tone from the kitchen.

"Silly me, I forgot the rule; make fun... of any state in the union except Texas.

"Damn right. Texas is sacred ground, bud."

Greg chuckled and turned back to their visitors to find Jim looking at him solemnly.

"What is it?"

"Captain Brass told us why he thought you really set up that tour."

"Sara... yeah. I wasn't trying to hide anything... from you guys. I just thought you might say no."

"No to what? As if I can't guess." Jim said, smiling lightly

"You may be the only one who can... find her, Jim. The longer she's gone... the more scared I get. What else did... he tell you?"

"That she may have been abused as a child and that she's running from those memories."

Greg lowered his head, breathing deeply as he gathered his courage.

"I don't know you, Jim. Not really. I only know... what Blair's told me in his letters... and e-mails. He made you sound like Superman and... Casanova all wrapped up in one great guy. He also said you have a huge heart. I know you... didn't come down here for this, but I... we all need your help. Sara's in deep trouble."

Nick came strolling in just then wiping his hands on a paper towel.

"I don't know why Greggo thinks you'll have any more luck than the rest of the PD has... but if he trusts you, so do I. I'm gonna throw my two cents in with his."

"I can't guarantee anything..."

"Not askin' for one. Why don't you both stay for supper an' we'll talk about it?"

Both Blair and Jim agreed readily. Once the food was ready, two more places were set and all four men settled around Greg's small dining table, tucked in the back of the living room. Over homemade Tex-Mex and good beer, the group talked about everything and anything that came to their minds, but eventually, more serious and touchy subjects became the focus of conversation.

"You never have to meet her if you don't want to, Greg. I just think she should have to deal with what she's done face to face. Justice for her, closure for you." Jim stated resolutely. Blair shot him an irate glance that he caught, but pretended not to.

"I still don't know how I feel. It's all really confusing "

"I know. We're still sorting things out too. I should warn you that if she finds out you know the truth, she might just show up on her own, even if you don't want her to. No matter how or when the two of you meet, though, you need to be ready for her... unique viewpoint on things."

"What are you saying?"

"Don't expect her to understand if you get angry. She never thinks she has to justify anything she does. Even... or maybe especially when she hurts the people she claims to care about. I see her as a tornado. She touches down without much warning, disperses maximum destruction and devastation and then moves on and leaves the clean up and recovery for her victims to deal with."

Blair was now openly glaring at his lover, but Ellison was still being purposefully oblivious. "She won't really mean to hurt you with what she says or how she says it. It's just... Naomi. I can't live without Blair... so I batten down the hatches when she breezes in and I'm there with the broom and dustpan to pick up the pieces when she breezes out again."

Blair abruptly drew back and punched Jim in the shoulder as hard as he could. He then shoved his chair back, stood up and stalked toward the door. Realizing he wouldn't have time to make it to his safe place, Greg swiftly buried his face in Nick's chest. Nick's arms went around him instinctively and held on until Blair slammed the door shut and Greg slowly pulled away.

"You okay?" Nick asked Jim cautiously.

"Yeah. He packs one hell of a punch for someone his size, though..."

When Nick and Greg both looked at him as if he were insane, Jim shrugged, wincing at the brief pain the movement caused, and gave them the best explanation he could. "I knew he was gettin' mad. Didn't take away my responsibility. She's his mother. Even after all she's done to him, he loves her and he'll defend her no matter what. I figured that left me to tell you guys the truth. I'm gonna... go catch up with him."

Nick walked Greg to his kitchen corner, one arm still securely around his back, while Jim exited. After a few minutes, Greg stepped out of Nick's embrace, but they stayed there, talking quietly in that dark nook, long after the sound of the door being softly closed had faded.

7:30 THE FOLLOWING MORNING: A LOCAL DINER

"Okay, so we're at breakfast. You gonna tell me what that weird message was all about?"

"Yeah... I'm really sorry about that. I was a little... nervous."

"That's what I thought at first, but I told myself I knew better. Guess I was wrong. Damn, you still look wound up."

"I am. It's... the cause is the subject I wanted to discuss with you."

"Which is?"

"Embarrassing... and difficult to talk about."

"Okay, I can pull teeth as good as anybody. Why is it embarrassing and difficult? Wait... are we talkin' about sex?"

Gil grimaced and nodded slightly.

"I need advice and you... seem to be experienced. Flirting, dating..."

"The whole fantastic, frustratin' journey that leads to the bedroom." Warrick added, grinning.

"In a word... yes."

"Huh. Can I ask... why me?"

"Nick has charm and compassion, Greg has sweetness and humor. You just hang back and you still get offers. So the answer to why you... is because you make it look easy."

Warrick smiled and dropped his eyes briefly.

"Easy... yeah right."

"Fine, maybe it isn't that simple for you, but for me it's damn near impossible."

"No it's not. You just need to get out and practice, that's all."

Gil made another unpleasant face and looked out the window. A few moments later the waitress approached to pour coffee and take their orders. Both men spoke only as necessary, resuming their conversation once she'd stepped away. "You were about to say..." Warrick prompted.

"Right. No bars, no clubs. They just aren't my style. You know I don't do well in crowds..."

"Uh-huh." Warrick replied knowingly. "You've already got someone in mind, don't you?"

"How can you be so sure about that?"

"I wasn't, but the surprise in your voice just then confirmed it for me."

Gil sipped carefully at his mug then stared intently at the dark liquid as if it was a scrying bowl that might somehow provide all the answers he needed.

"I haven't dated seriously since I was twenty-five. I last had sex in 1996 and that was with a virtual stranger. It was..."

"Unfulfilling?"

"Unfortunately."

"Yeah, well a faceless fuck ain't supposed to be fulfilling, Gris. It's about meetin' needs an' movin' on."

"Faceless... is that what they're calling a one-night stand these days?"

"Hell of a lot more honest, don't you think?"

"But not nearly as polite or easy to discuss in mixed company."

Warrick chuckled.

"I suppose. So. You feel like tellin' me who it is we're talkin' about? You don't have to. I'm just curious."

Gil was silent and obviously uncomfortable, so his companion backed off. "Hey, no dead cats on my conscience."

"It's... not easy to say. I think I'm afraid of how you'll react."

"I've seen it all in this job, man. Almost nothin' fazes me anymore. Besides, I was raised open-minded. Go on."

Gil drew and expelled a deep slow breath, gathering his courage, before he responded.

"I've been finding myself more and more attracted... to Jim."

"Brass?" Warrick replied his tone betraying his mild surprise. Grissom felt as if were hanging suspended above a pit full of sharpened stakes while his friend and colleague pondered the revelation. When Warrick finally spoke, Gil realized he'd been holding his breath and released it in a quiet rush. "Yeah... not a big age difference, you're already good friends and I'd guess his last hook-up wasn't much more recent than yours and probably just as... faceless. I can see you two workin' out a lot better than if either of you tried to find somebody younger."

"Why's that?"

"I'm not knockin' your age, now. I just think that the couples that last are the ones that've been down the same road... the ones that share a frame of reference. 'Course passion should be in there somewhere, too. The attraction's gotta be mutual."

"How do I find out?"

"Very, very carefully..." Warrick advised, falling silent as the waitress brought their meals. When she left, he started again, talking while he fixed his breakfast the way he preferred. "Like I said, you have to take it slow and careful. Next time he stops to talk, stand a little closer than you normally would. Before you split up, brush his hand or touch his shoulder. Not very long though, just a few seconds. Watch how he reacts, if he does at all. If you think what you see is positive, make the touch or the proximity last a little longer the next time and keep payin' attention. Eventually, he'll catch on and say somethin'. Take the opening and ask him straight up how he feels. No matter what he says, you'll at least know where you stand."

Gil smiled broadly.

"See? I knew you were the right one to talk to. This is exactly what I needed; a walking talking instruction manual for the socially challenged."

This time it was Warrick's turn to grimace.

"Nice way to phrase a self put-down."

"I acknowledge who and what I am, Warrick. I don't try to be anything else."

"So maybe you're not James Bond. You just haven't had a good enough reason to make an effort, that's all. Maybe Brass is your reason."

"Maybe. You know... there's more I need to learn, here. Even if Jim does respond favorably, I wouldn't have any idea where to start or what to do..."

"Ah. Can't help there, but I know who can."

"You do?"

"Trust me."

"So? I need a name."

"After I get some food in me. It was a rough, tough shift, man."

"C'mon..."

"Gris... we're both hungry and you need time to think over what you've heard so far."

"Yeah..."

"So dig in before it gets cold." Warrick told him with a wicked grin. Gil surrendered, picked up his fork and began to eat.

9:55 A.M.: THE APARTMENT

"Greg. C'mon. Time's gettin' short, now. Greggo?"

Nick leaned one hand on the closed bedroom door and sighed. Greg had woken up early that morning, immediately showered and dressed and then disappeared into the seclusion of his room. He had yet to show his face, even refusing breakfast when Nick offered. "Greg, don't do this, damn it. You said you'd try..."

"I'm allowed to change my mind."

"She's not gonna just go away."

"I can't, Nick. I'm sorry..."

Nick opened his mouth to continue the argument, but the expected knock on the door interrupted him.

"That's Cynthia. We're not done with this, Greg. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Don't hurry."

Frustrated, Nick strode to the door and opened it, admitting the petite, older brunette who had seen him through after his confrontation with his stalker and whom he trusted more than anyone except his family and closest friends. Despite this trust, however, he knew what he was in for when she saw his cast, so he embraced her only with his good arm, tucking the injured limb behind his back. The ruse didn't keep him out of trouble for long.

"Hey, Cyn. Thanks for comin'."

"How could I deny you anything? It's good to see you, Nick, but... what's with the one-armed hug?"

"Huh? Nothin'." He lied, moving back a step

"Nicholas. Show me."

Nick grumbled under his breath and produced his injured arm. Cynthia gasped and instantly moved in to examine it.

"You devious... You never said a word! When did you do this?"

"The hospital ER that first night. When I found out they drugged him with GHB, I... punched the wall a couple times."

"How bad is it?"

"Bad enough to get me a month's leave, but that's only 'cause I got stupid and then heroic after the first time they put the cast on."

"I heard about the second part on the news. Explain stupid."

"Some creep at work was bad-mouthin' Greg. I kinda... beat the guy down so he'd shut up."

"Nick! Was he seriously hurt?"

Nick mumbled and half-turned away. "Excuse me. Try that one more time."

"I busted up his jaw... a little."

"I see we have some remedial work to do concerning your anger issues."

"I don't have any issues with my anger. It works for me. You're the one who kept tryin' to tell me I had to find a positive way to release it an' the firin' range didn't count..."

"Okay, halt. You and I will pick this up later on, but old battles can wait. I'm here to help Greg today. Where is he? I thought you said..."

"He's holed up in his room. Won't come out, no matter what I do or say. Yesterday, he was on board, I swear. I don't know what happened."

"He's scared. Perfectly normal response to a stranger invading what he considers a haven from the outside world."

"Hang on, lemme try once more. I just got an idea that'll get him to come runnin', guaranteed. Greg! C'mon out here an' meet Cynthia! Greg, you either get your butt in this livin' room now, or I throw your entire stash of miniature peanut butter cups down the disposal!"

The bedroom door flew open and Greg appeared at last, scowling fiercely at his housemate.

"You wouldn't dare. You don't even... know where they are."

"Second cabinet left of the sink, behind the Tupperware."

Greg paled. Nick grinned and moved to stand in front of him, holding out his hands palm up. Greg completed the circuit, gazing up at Nick with terror shining in his eyes. "I know you're scared. So am I, but I'm not givin' up on you... or on us." He stated quietly. "I've only told four people what happened to me. My own folks don't even know, Greg..."

"You're willing to do this for me?"

"For you an' the future we could have someday... yeah, I'm willin'."

Greg shot a quick peek at Cynthia then looked back to Nick.

"I don't know her. I just... I realized that and I lost it. Anybody I didn't know really well before this happened... feels like a huge threat. I'm sorry..."

"No, I'm sorry I yelled an' I'm sorry I threatened your chocolate fix. I swore I wouldn't push you... I was wrong to get so gung-ho about the whole thing. You don't have to do this."

Greg stole a slightly longer glance at the woman waiting by the door.

"How did you meet her?"

"After the Nigel Crane thing went down, a friend recommended her. I was seein' her regular for a good long while."

"That was a rough time for you. She... she helped?"

"Got me sleepin' without pills, worked through the worst of my fear with me... yeah, she really helped."

"Okay. Just tell her not to sit too close... and not to touch me, at first anyway. Maybe later..."

"I can do that. You go find a comfortable place. I'll tell her the rules an' we'll be right with you."

Greg glanced longingly toward his safe corner in the kitchen. Nick laughed softly. "Anywhere but there, bud. I don't know how long Cyn can stand to sit on the tile."

Greg moved off to sit on the couch and Nick re-joined Cynthia. "Two things. First; wherever you sit make sure there's plenty of space between you an' second; hands off."

She arched an eyebrow at him and grinned.

"Those sound like protective boyfriend guidelines."

"They were his rules! We're not like that, Cyn."

"Once more with feeling."

"Okay... we're not like that yet."

"So this is about healing for both of you, with the hopes of building a relationship."

"Yeah."

"But you're also doing this for yourselves, right? If you're only starting counseling because the other one wants you to..."

"No. No way. There's stuff in my past... I didn't tell you the last time around."

"Something nasty, I take it."

"Somethin' I never got help for when it happened. An' Greg... he wants his life back; to be able to go to work again and get out in the sun. He loves the water. He misses it, I know he does, but... he's too scared to even watch when somebody comes in the house. He hides in a dark corner in the kitchen 'till I tell him the door is closed an' locked..."

Cynthia reached out and gently squeezed Nick's hand.

"Easy, Nicky. I believe you. You feel like going first or second?"

"I'm not even on the schedule today. Give Greg your full attention. He deserves that."

"Agreed. You are not off the hook, though. Understood?"

Nick gave her a playful smile, dropped his chin and intentionally powered up his normally distant drawl.

"Yes, ma'mm."

Cynthia laughed and pinched his cheek. "Good boy. Now get out of here for a while. I noticed a couple laundry bags piled up over by the door. Take some change, go find the complex laundry room and clean some clothes."

"What? I can't. I promised him I wouldn't leave. I can't go."

"You've been his caretaker for how long... almost three weeks?"

"Not by myself. The rest of the team watched over him too."

"But not like you have. I still talk to Grissom occasionally you know. Just to keep tabs on you. He told me how devoted you were while Greg was in the hospital. If you don't take a few hours off, and pretty damn soon, you won't be any good to him or yourself. You need a break, Nick."

"You don't understand... I'm perfectly fine and I swore to him I wouldn't leave his side. He trusts me. He'll think... he'll think I lied,"

"When you first came to me for therapy, what did I tell you?"

Nick's heart twisted as he realized where she was going with the question.

"I wanted to have somebody with me... just for support. You said that for the process to work... you and I had to develop a bond. I was less likely to open up to you if anybody was holdin' my hand, so, at least for the first few sessions, you had to say no. But yesterday you said not to break my promises..."

"You aren't. You and I will explain it to him."

"He won't understand. Damn it, no. I can't do it. I won't let him think I'd walk away so easy..."

"Your whole face says that even thinking about it is killing you. All he has to do is look in your eyes and he'll know the truth. I'm not doing this to be cruel, Nick. It's wonderful that he has you to lean on and turn to, but that dependence will undermine my even getting to know him, never mind any real recovery work. If he turned those big eyes on you and begged you not to make him keep going with the therapy..."

"... I'd give in. I'd let him quit just to stop him feelin' any more pain."

"Exactly. So find the detergent, take the clothes... and go."

Nick's lips tightened and he started at the floor, shaking his head, but eventually he moved off, heading for the bathroom, where he thought he remembered seeing the detergent under the sink. Cynthia walked to where Greg sat waiting and took Nick's usual place in the recliner.

"Cynthia Brodsky. It's good to finally meet you, Greg, though I wish it could be for a happier reason. The way Nick talks about you, I have to admit I've been curious." She said lightly, her smile emphasizing the humor in her voice. ""

"What'd he say?"

"Nothing negative. He and I still talk on the phone, just to keep in touch. We chat about work, about his life and his friends... I can't say for sure, but I think your name probably comes up more than any other."

Greg grinned shyly.

"Yeah?"

"What, you don't think that's true?"

"I'm not his best friend. Warrick is."

"It sounds like grade school philosophy, I know, but it is possible to have more than one best friend."

Greg looked away, blushing a little and mumbled a response.

"That's not the job I'm shooting for..."

Nick returned just then with the plastic jug of laundry soap in his hand. Already looking in that direction, Greg saw him before Cynthia did and he sat bolt upright. "Nick?"

"I... I'm really sorry, Greggo. Cyn wants to talk to you alone this first time... maybe the next couple too, I don't know. I'm gonna go get the clothes done... let you guys get acquainted."

"No!" Greg protested, rising and grabbing Nick's hand in panic, pulling him over to the sofa and into a seat beside him. "No way I can do this without you. You can't go."

"Hey, I went through this too, bud. Warrick fought tooth an' nail to be with me when I started therapy, but Cyn wouldn't let him do it any more than she'll let me."

"Why? I don't understand..."

"You gotta learn to trust her an' open up to her. That'll be easier if... if it's just the two of you."

"Nothing's gonna be easier with you gone!"

Nick pulled away from Greg's grip and brought both hands up to hold the other man's head in place. Greg's first instinct was to fight for his life, but he valiantly shoved it down, frantically clutching the deeper knowledge that Nick would never hurt him.

"Look at me... look at me real good, Greg. I'm not leavin' you. As long as I can draw breath, you'll never be alone. I'm gonna be gone a couple hours at most... then I'm comin' back to you. You hold on to this..." he said quietly, disengaging to press the key to his apartment into Greg's hand. "... an' make a solid start with Cyn, okay?"

Rising, Nick retrieved the soap, backed away and then forced himself to turn and stride to the door. He grasped the straps of both laundry bags at once and hefted them onto his left shoulder.

"Nick!"

"You better get in your safe place, my man. I gotta go."

Nick listened until he was sure Greg was secure in the kitchen then he opened the door and stepped over the threshold, pulling the door closed behind him and leaning on it. He instantly recognized the sudden release of pressure in his chest as a sense of relief, and just as instantly hated himself for the feeling. Scrubbing tears of pain and confusion from his face, he walked off to find the laundry room.

Cynthia stood at the entrance to the kitchen, waiting for Greg to make the decision to come out and face her. Her verbal prods were gentle, but designed to get his emotions stirred up. She wasn't particular about what emotion she engendered; she just wanted to get him talking and responding.

"Greg? It wasn't his idea to leave, you know. I convinced him."

When Greg finally whipped around and glared at her, Cynthia knew she'd pushed the right button at last.

"You what! Why! Why would you do that?" he shouted as he advanced on her, though the sound came out as more of a croak than a screaming demand.

"Because I could see how much you trust him and depend on him. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but if you and I are going to make any progress, you'll need to develop that trust in me too... so you feel okay opening up the really difficult doors. When it comes to joining in on therapy sessions, it's been my experience that sometimes loved ones can do more harm than good."

Greg's anger slowly transformed into understanding.

"He doesn't wanna see me in pain. He wouldn't mean to, but he... might get in the way or try and... stop the session."

"Exactly. I think you strained your voice a little. I'm sorry. Do you need water?"

"Tea."

"I think I can handle that..."

"No, it's okay. I know how I like it. Go sit."

Surreptitiously, Cynthia watched while Greg made his tea, struggling slightly with the task as he refused to put Nick's key in his pocket and free up the hand it was clutched in. When the young man returned to the couch, he hesitated, trying to decide how much distance to put between himself and the stranger, and eventually chose the middle of the sofa instead of the far end. Cynthia was impressed by his courage and adaptability to new situations, but she kept her delight to herself for the moment.

"So, I'm glad to hear your voice is healing well."

"When I don't try to scream."

"Of course. I read about the attack in the paper. You must have been really frightened."

"At first... yeah, I was. Then..."

"Then what?"

"It doesn't make any sense... but I remember feeling peaceful." Greg replied quietly, looking down and away from Cynthia as if he were conjuring up the scene in his memory.

"That happens to a lot of people in that situation. They can't change what's happening and they feel a sense of relief that at least the pain won't last much longer."

"Yeah... I guess."

Greg frowned briefly and, sensing his retreat, Cynthia fell silent and waited on him, perfectly willing to let the young man dictate the ebb and flow this first time. "Yeah, everything's healing okay. I just wish my hands would do it a little faster."

"Your hands were injured? I hadn't heard about that."

"Ste... the guy who attacked me the second time... put his knees on 'em so I couldn't fight back."

Cynthia paused for a moment, well aware that she had to proceed cautiously. Once she'd gotten more familiar with Greg she'd know when and how hard to push, but for the moment she stepped lightly.

"Do you feel like telling me what that was about?"

"Not saying his name? Only humans and animals deserve names. He's further down the evolutionary chart than either one."

"But you did say he, not it."

"Is 'it' the right pronoun to use for primordial sludge?" Greg asked with a touch of anger. Cynthia snorted out a brief laugh, causing Greg to look up at her in surprise.

"What? It was funny. It's also a good sign. You're not suppressing or denying your emotions and that's positive."

"Trust me, if I wasn't suppressing... my emotions and a lot of other stuff... would be all over the walls."

"We'll get there eventually. We have a lot more work to do together before you're ready to release the worst of your anger and sadness. Even when you are, there's a place I'll take you where it can happen in a relatively controlled environment where you can't get hurt or hurt anyone else."

"Really?"

"If Nick agrees I'll bring his tape over next time and run it for you. I should warn you, though... it's really heart-wrenching. I still have a hard time watching him break down."

"Break down... I... Sorry. You can forget it. I won't do that."

"You won't break down."

"No way. I'm too strong to fall apart. Besides, I've lost... enough control already. Why would I give up more?"

"I understand Greg, believe me I do. Being raped steals a lot of precious things from you, but..."

"Don't! Don't say that word. I don't wanna hear it."

"It's okay, Greg. I swear, in time you'll be able to talk about what happened to you and say it without being afraid..."

"I'm not! It's just... it's a disgusting word and I won't say it! Not ever..."

"Why not?"

"I won't give it power over me."

"What about the power it already has?"

"Like?"

"The power to keep you here, trapped in your apartment because you're afraid that if you go out in the world you'll be hurt again. The power to keep you scared and suspicious. The power to prevent you from healing, moving forward and taking back your life."

"I'm getting better, I told you that."

"Physically, yes, but your emotions and your spirit don't work that way. Those men wounded your soul as deeply as they did your body, Greg, but souls can't be fixed with stitches and antibiotics. I know you're strong. I can see that in your eyes and in the way you can still make jokes... but it won't be enough. I know first hand."

Greg sat up straight, eyes widening.

"You were... it happened to you?"

"A long time ago."

"Is that why you became a therapist?"

"Partially. I was already leaning that way career-wise, but the rape pushed me toward a specialty."

Greg flinched back and withdrew into the cushions of the couch again, staring at her reproachfully. "Hey, I've done the work." She responded, smiling gently. "I came to terms with what happened and recovered. Now I help other people make the same journey."

One side of Greg's mouth quirked up for a second and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back into the sofa.

" 'What a long strange trip it's been'..." he recited softly.

"Oooh, a fan of good music. Now I know we'll get along."

"No borrowing my CD's 'till I can... ask Nick about your history of... returning them in good shape. Look... do we have to just talk about me being... hurt? I mean, can we talk about somethin' else too?"

"Such as?"

"My family. More specifically... my birth mom."

"You're adopted."

"Yeah. I just found out she lied to me... about something really big. On top of the other stuff..."

"... you don't know which way is up. Sure, we can talk about your mom. As long as I don't think you're using that as an easy way out of answering a really tough question."

"No guarantees."

"So. Are you ready to really get started?"

"Okay. Shoot."

"Let's see... why don't we start with outside versus in here? Why does this place feel safer to you?"

"I have control here. The only people around me are ones I... know and trust or ones that my friends say are okay. Outside... scares me."

"The whole world... or just the human beings in it?"

"I don't know. I thought I understood people... thought I was a good judge of character. I don't know anything anymore."

"That's really scary isn't it; to have that faith and certainty ripped away. It's almost more of a loss of innocence than the rape itself."

Greg unconsciously recoiled again at the hated word, but he'd begun to minimally accept that she wasn't going to stop saying it, so he shook off his revulsion and responded.

"I'll never get that back, will I?"

"The faith? Maybe, maybe not. It's different for everybody. Since the drug devastated your memory of that night, and you may not ever have to relive the act itself, trusting strangers again could be the hardest part of recovery for you."

"Nick said... it's like you carry around this... tension with you all the time. You're always looking over your... shoulder, waiting for someone to come after you again."

"I remember. You cry if someone asks you what time it is, you shake all over... Your nerves are shredded and raw pretty much 24/7. It's not easy to get past, but it definitely can be done. I know you can do it."

"Right now, my chances aren't looking too good."

"You're only at square one, Greg. Give yourself a break, huh? You're willing to try. That's major."

Greg smiled and gave her his best Yoda impression.

" ' No! Do, or do not. There is no try! ' "

"Cute. Now let's get to work."

"Yeah... I don't know what we're gonna have to talk about."

"You mean because of your memory loss?"

"Nothing there, nothing to work through, right?"

"Not necessarily. GHB is a very powerful drug. It robs you of control and will as well as memory. For some people... couldn't fight back turns into 'didn't' fight back which leads to 'this is my fault somehow'. Even if they don't have a single memory of being violated, the guilt and self-blame start piling on. You're very lucky to have someone who cares about you as much as Nick. He did the right thing in convincing you to get help early, before your mind and your emotions turned on you and you turned on your friends."

"I told you that won't happen."

"Greg. This is my specialty, remember? I've seen it too many times and I know better."

"You don't know me. I'm strong... and I have the best people in the... world around me to hold me up." Greg countered, sitting forward and clearly becoming agitated.

"I've counseled guys who look like Rambo and sound like James Earl Jones who fell into my arms and cried like babies. Strength isn't the deciding factor, Greg, and friends... they're essential to recovery, but they can't do it for you and they can't be at your side 24/7 for the rest of your life."

"They won't have to. I'll get past this in time."

"On the surface, maybe. But inside things will get worse and worse. Sexual assault twists emotions, Greg. You walk around like one big, endless ball of knotted up rubber bands, waiting for an excuse to snap and lash out at someone, to make them feel your pain. The only thing that'll straighten it all out is talking through what happened."

Greg suddenly exploded up off the couch, his face radiating fury.

"There's nothing to talk about! How many times can I say that!"

"We can discuss how angry you are right now." Cynthia replied quietly. The black balloon of rage building inside Greg deflated and he slowly sank back down to the sofa, his head in his hands.

"It's not anger... not really. It's frustration that... nobody listens." He explained, his voice rough and harsh from the stress he'd put on it.

"I'm all ears."

Greg sighed heavily and lay down on his side, pulling his knees up protectively and curling a pillow into his chest.

"I'll have to say it in court, won't I?"

"Possibly. From what Nick's told me, they might not need you to testify, though."

"What if... what if I want to?"

"I'm sure if it's something you need to do to heal, a meeting with one or both men can be arranged."

"I was supposed to be there to... see their interrogations. It was all set up, but..."

"You were attacked the second time."

"Yeah. That... I wish I could forget."

"Are you having nightmares about it?"

"I thought I would. I had a bad one the... first day I was home. I was napping in my room... Nick was out here on the couch. I woke up thrashing around and... so scared I couldn't breathe. I came out here and slept... in the recliner. No more nightmares."

"Do you think it was Nick's presence or would anyone being close by have made it better?"

"Nick. Definitely Nick. He loves me. That makes me feel safe."

"That's important right now."

"Almost more than anything."

"Almost?"

"Most important... is that he makes me brave. I look in his eyes and I can... see how strongly he believes in me. He won't let me give up, no matter what. He understands sometimes I need... to back off, but he never lets me... run too far."

"Wow. That's a powerful statement. You love him too, don't you?"

"I have for a while. It took this to... make us both say it. I wish the... attack had never happened, but it... got us to be honest with each other, so... "

"Yes, that's what counts. Intimacy won't be easy for either of you."

"We know. We talked about it a little."

"I might be able to help, if the both of you are willing to give it a shot."

Greg sat up slowly and studied Cynthia intently.

"Together? Nick and me?"

"That's the idea. I've put my own twists on touch therapy. It might be just the thing to help the two of you."

"Touch therapy? I think I've heard of that."

"Tell me what you know about it."

"It's supposed to be for couples where... one partner or the other has issues with sex... or just being touched in general. I think you start with the hands... or the face, I can't remember. You keep working until you get to... sexual touches."

"Excellent. You're right on all counts. I add a lot of talk in between the touching, though."

"While they're reconnecting you get them... to open up about what made them afraid... in the first place."

Cynthia's eyebrows arched up slightly and she smiled.

"Very insightful. I'm impressed."

"If I didn't have insight Grissom would've..."

Greg let the sentence trail off, his face going pale.

"Your job is still there, Greg. Nick told me that Gil and Catherine both assured you of that. All we have to do is get you back on your emotional feet so you can go reclaim it."

Cynthia paused for a few moments, watching Greg carefully, then she reached down into the large satchel at her side and brought out a sketch pad and a large box of colored pencils and laid them on the table. "I tell you what. Let's give both our voices a rest, okay? You draw, I'll go make you some more tea."

Greg gave the pad a singularly skeptical glance then favored Cynthia with the same look.

"I suck at drawing."

"That's okay. Doodle if that's what you feel like. It's just something to keep you occupied during the break." She assured him, rising and heading for the kitchen. "Milk in your tea?"

"No. Lots of honey. Warm, not hot."

"Protect the healing throat. I understand."

As Cynthia started the tea, Greg picked up the pad and stared at the cover for a long moment. Flipping back the cardboard cover, he gave the first blank page the same treatment, but eventually his gaze shifted to the open pencil case. His fingers hovered momentarily over one color after another, but eventually he chose a deep blue and began to apply it hesitantly to the top inch or two of the sheet of paper. As Cynthia returned with his mug, she watched his efforts briefly then moved back to the recliner and began to take notes on the session so far.

For a while, Cynthia kept her attention strictly on her notebook, allowing Greg to be in his own quiet world. When she did finally sneak a glance she caught him frowning at his drawing and holding it out at arm's length, tilting his head slightly to the left and then to the right. She broke the silence at last with soft chuckle and a wry comment.

"My Lord... now I see why Nick fell for you. One glimpse of you in an unguarded moment and he'd have been helpless."

"Are you trying to say I'm cute?" Greg asked, mock-sarcastically.

"Very. Am I allowed to see what you drew?"

"You sure about that?"

"Of course."

Greg handed the pad over reluctantly, but Cynthia's first glimpse of his work brought a gasp and wide eyes. Under the midnight blue strip at the top, Greg had layered crimson, violet, orange and yellow overlapping and side by side, cascading down the page. At the bottom, black sections blended randomly into a light gray shade and occasional white highlights dotted the darkness. "This... is your definition of "I suck at drawing" ?" she asked incredulously.

"It's just color."

"It's wonderful, that's what it is. Sunset on the ocean has never looked so beautiful."

"Is that what it is?" Greg asked, genuinely surprised.

"You weren't really trying for anything specific, then."

"No."

"That's often when our subconscious takes over. Nick said you used to spend a lot of time on the water."

"Back home in Cali, yeah. I surfed and... scuba-dived whenever I could."

"You miss it."

"Lake Mead is okay... but it's not the same. Can I..."

When he gestured, Cynthia handed his drawing back. He gazed at it longingly and she was gratified to see his tense expression soften and relax as the drawing conjured up good memories to displace the bad. "You know, this is pretty much right on. My favorite part of surfing was being... out in the water as the sun went down. Straddling a board, the waves rocking me... it was just completely peaceful. The sky goes up forever and... the water goes dark and you forget it's there... so it's like you're floating in space watching the... most incredible colors shift and change and darken. And then the... stars start coming out and it's like fireworks."

Cynthia released a long, quiet breath.

"Wow. Quite a way with words you have there. You want that back very badly. It's in your voice and your eyes. I can help you get there, Greg."

"How long?"

"No way of telling. After a severe trauma, everyone heals at their own pace. It won't be easy, but you've got the will and the courage. The first step will be getting you past the denial phase."

"Denial? Of what? I answered your questions, did what you asked..."

"But you can't put a real name on what happened to you. It's okay for now. It's only been a week or two since you were raped. It'll take some time and work, but you'll get there."

"I'm giving it power by not calling it what it is."

"Right. Very good."

Abruptly, determination and anger resurfaced in Greg's face, but Cynthia sensed a different source for the emotions this time. When he responded, she wanted to cheer and praise him but she held off. The time for celebration would be coming, but he wasn't ready yet.

"I want it back. I want my power back, damn it! They had no right to do... what they did. They stole everything... my dignity, my right to... say no... the best parts of... my life! I want it... all back!" he stated emphatically, his breathing sliding closer and closer to hyperventilation.

"Easy, Greg. I understand. You need to relax right now, though, okay? Slow your breathing down."

"I... I can't. Can't catch... my breath."

"Close your eyes for me, Greg. Go back to that sunset you were describing. Remember how peaceful you said it was? Try and feel that... picture yourself on your board, gently moving with the waves. It's quiet... and dark. You're safe there. Relaxed... laid-back... and safe. Good. Breathe slow... better."

Gradually, Greg began to calm and the terrifying tightness in his chest eased.

"Yeah... better. I'm sorry..."

"No, don't apologize for your feelings. Not ever. Anger betrayal, sadness... you're entitled to all of those and more. Like I said, the fact that you're showing your emotions instead of suppressing them is a really positive sign."

Fatigue showing in his face, Greg shivered, clutched Nick's key tighter and dropped onto his side again, retrieving the throw pillow and hugging it against him.

"Do you think Nick's coming back soon?"

Accepting the non-response as a clear sign that Greg was ready to stop, Cynthia smiled and gathered up the drawing materials, tearing off Greg's drawing and leaving it on the table.

"He should be. I can stay until he gets here."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

JIM AND BLAIR'S HOTEL:

"No. Because Jim and I took this trip to be alone... your approval isn't high on my list of priorities right now. Your name? I haven't said your name because I don't feel like it. You think I'm angry? Gee, what an insight, good for you. Sarcastic. Yeah, I guess I'm that too. I'm not interested. Look I have to go... Excuse me? If I'm too pissed to call you by your given name, acknowledging that you gave birth to me is out of the question! Yeah, peace and love to you too." Blair growled, slamming his cell phone shut. Jim's hand around his wrist was the only thing that saved the smaller man's cell phone from violent contact with the far wall of the hotel room. Ellison stripped the device out of Blair's hand, tossed it on the bed behind him and drew his lover into his embrace, refusing to let go until Blair's breathing and heart-rate had slowed and the tension had drained out of Sandburg's back and shoulders.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No. I wanna get back down to the crime lab and get started on the search."

"We need to call Captain Brass first. He won't be awake 'till tonight."

"I need to do something to get my mind off... her."

"What don't we get dressed an' go find the gym? You can try and sweat her out of your system."

"Yeah. That could work. But just so you know, I'm still not exactly happy with you. You had no right to say that stuff about her around Greg and Nick."

"There goes 'Paradox Sandburg' again. I'm allowed to commiserate with how mad you are at Naomi, but if I say the slightest negative thing to anybody else, I get the cold shoulder. Why is that?"

"She confuses the living hell out of me, Jim. Why shouldn't I share the fun and laughter?"

"Oh. You haven't got a clue either, huh?"

"Not at the moment. Gym, Jim?" Blair asked, pulling away and moving to the dresser to find his work-out clothes.

"That's not fair. I can't do that with your name."

"Get over it and get dressed. If I don't find something big and heavy to hit pretty soon, I'm likely to start using you as a convenient substitute."

A little action at last, even if it is from our only EC in the story. Jim, Blair, an empty hotel gym and a weight bench... mmm, mmm good!

Slumped and hunched into himself, Nick leaned his head back against the cinderblock wall of the laundry room and closed his eyes. When he'd arrived he'd been deeply grateful that noone else's clothes seemed to be occupying the two sets of machines that sat opposite him. He had swiftly taken full advantage of his good fortune by doing both of his loads at once. The time saving measure had worked fine with the washers, but now the dryers felt like they were taking forever to finish and Nick was getting frustrated.

He caught his left hand rising toward his mouth for the tenth time in an hour and he growled under his breath as he forced it back down to rest on his thigh. He had purged himself of biting his nails when he entered high school and he was determined not to let the minor annoyance of doing laundry make him start again. He knew, of course, that it wasn't only the mundane chore that had him ready to gnaw through not just his nails but his fingers as well; he wanted to get back to Greg. Finally, the grating, repetitive noises from the dryers ceased, one after the other, and Nick huffed out a grateful breath and a few terse words as he pushed away from the wall.

"About damn time..."

Moving the bags off the small table, he turned to the dryer, opened it and began pulling out and piling up clothes. For the briefest moment he considered folding them immediately, the way his mother's well-ingrained lessons said to, but he simply couldn't bear to wait that long. Instead, he stuffed that load into the first bag, did the same with the second and threw them easily over his shoulder. Grinning, silently promising his mother that he would fold everything the minute he got back, Nick strode out of the tiny room and headed back to the apartment.

Approaching, he knocked quietly and waited, fingers drumming on the wooden frame until Cynthia opened the door and ushered him inside. He laid the bags and the bottle of soap down gently when he realized Greg was dozing fitfully on the sofa.

"Hey, I didn't say you could wear him out completely." He joked, keeping his voice low.

"That's how it happens most of the time. Remember your first session?"

"Oh... yeah. Damn, I'm just glad to be back here. Is he okay?"

"He did fine. I'm proud of you, by the way, for not rushing back early."

"Yeah, well... it wasn't easy, I'll tell you that right now."

"I know, but it was necessary. What did you give him before you left, anyway? He wouldn't let go of it for anything, not even to make a mug of tea."

Nick flushed and demurred. Cynthia grinned and pressed. "Nick... c'mon. Out with it."

"I... I gave him the key to my place."

"To your apartment? My God. You swore you'd never..."

"I know what I said. I was havin' trouble believin' there was anybody out there who wouldn't break under all my baggage. I also told you I'd know when it was different... when it was right. Greg... he's not like anybody else. I swear I don't know how or when it happened, but somehow he found a way through the minefield and made himself a place in my heart. He's part of me. I couldn't let him go or give up on him now, even if I wanted to... which I don't."

Cynthia's smile broadened and she dropped a quick peck on Nick's cheek.

"That, my dear, is what we psychological experts... call love. Congratulations."

"Yeah. Love in the middle of World War Three."

"I didn't say it'd be easy, but you can do it. Not a question in my mind. If anybody can make it, you two can."

"Thanks. I really needed to hear that."

"I only speak the truth. C'mon. Looks like's he's waking up."

Cynthia led the way back toward the couch. Greg sat up slowly as Nick dropped down beside him. The joy suffusing Greg's face pushed a huge burden off Nick's shoulders and allowed him to return the younger man's smile.

"Hey, Greggo."

"Hey. I'm sorry I yelled..."

"No way, man. You had a perfect right to get upset. I said I wouldn't leave an' I broke that promise."

"It wasn't your fault. She explained that... she made you go."

"So we're good?" Nick asked hesitantly, holding out his hands. Greg completed the connection readily.

"We're good."

"Do you want to tell Nick about my idea, Greg, or do you want me to?" Cynthia asked, gazing fondly at the pair.

Greg grinned shyly at Cynthia, responded then turned back to Nick.

"I will, but if I mess up the explanation... jump in. Cynthia wants to try something with... both of us, outside of what we'll be... doing on our own."

"Yeah. Like what?"

"Touch therapy. You start with easy stuff like... hands and faces and then move on to the... intimate parts. It'll take time, but if... I can let you hold me and be close to you... without having a panic attack, it'll be so worth it."

Nick studied Greg warily then looked to Cynthia.

"I told you about this once I think." She explained. "I call my version TATTLE."

"I kinda remember... Touch And Talk To Liberate Emotions, right?"

"Exactly. When I offered it to you before, you didn't have anyone special in your life to work the program with. Now that circumstances have changed..."

"I don't know. Maybe. We'll see... after you an' me get talkin' again."

"Oh yes. The secret you wanted to share. Do you feel like doing that today?"

"Nah. "Nick responded tiredly. "No energy. I know I did the right thing lettin' you guys have time to yourselves, but leavin' like that... it stressed me out. I just wanna relax, have some lunch... be quiet an' peaceful for a while."

Suddenly remembering the object he held tightly clutched in his hand, Greg looked down at the key and then back to Nick.

"You didn't tell me what this goes to."

Nick's lips tightened a little and he gazed down. "What? Is it embarrassing? You have a fortune stuffed... in a bus station locker?" Greg joked gently. Finally, Nick met his housemate's eyes.

"I wish. It's none a'that. I just... I don't want you to think I'm pushin' or anything. This don't mean I'm askin' you for anything you can't give right now..."

"I know. Just tell me."

"It's my front door key."

"To your apartment." Greg replied slowly, studying the tiny metal object as though it had suddenly attained great value in his eyes.

"Nobody's ever had my key before, not since I first got my own place after college. When I left earlier, I... hell, I just couldn't do that without findin' a way to prove I'm committed to you and to us, no matter what. Everything I have... everything I am is open to you now, and even if it takes years before we're ready for anything physical... or even if we never are, I need you to believe I've always got your back."

Greg lifted his gaze and when he found Nick's eyes again, the older man let out a quiet gasp, utterly amazed at the conviction and trust he saw in Greg's expression and the calm assurance in his simple reply.

"I know that."

Watching the exchange, Cynthia had to draw a deep breath or two in order to maintain her composure. Swiping a tear from her face, she gathered her things and rose to her feet.

"See? I was right. I know love when I see it. I'll see you at the same time next week, Greg. You too, Nick."

"I may not be ready by then. You gotta let me decide..."

"Ah-ah, Nicholas. Rule number three."

"Reasons are acceptable, excuses are lame. Cynthia decides which I'm handing out. Ma'mm."

"Very good. Have your journal ready to show me."

"I didn't bring it with me."

"I'll bring a new one so you can start fresh. I expect to see the old one eventually, though."

Greg looked interested.

"Journal?"

"That's right, I'll need one for you too. Remind me to give it to you next session. Don't forget to show Nick your drawing. Have a good lunch you two." She said as she left, stopping by the door to allow Greg to make it into his corner. Once she'd gone, the pair sat down on the couch again and Nick lifted the sheet from the drawing pad and his eyebrows lifted. He looked at Greg and was confused when he found the other man was grimacing.

"I can't draw, not really. It's okay... I guess, but..."

"Can't draw? You've gotta be kidding. This is gorgeous, Greggo. The sunset an' the highlights in the water... it's great!"

Greg grinned shyly and, with prompting from Nick, began talking about his longing for the water and for surfing much as he had with Cynthia. By the time either of them realized they were hungry, lunchtime had long passed them by.

THE GYM: BLAIR AND JIM'S HOTEL:

Legs spread for balance and stability as he stood behind the bench press station, Jim's hands hovered over Blair's as his young lover pushed the weighted bar up and slowly lowered it. He trusted the other man at the level of weight he had chosen, but spotting was all about being there just in case, and Jim took his job seriously, so his hands never shifted more than an inch or two away from Blair's.

Despite his increasingly shaky muscles and the sweat dripping down into his ears and hair, Blair was grinning, half because of his accomplishment, half because of the pleased, proud smile Jim was beaming down at him. Knowing he was on his last rep, Blair closed his eyes, gathering all his remaining energy. Focused and intent, he barely touched the bar to his chest before raising it again. At the last second, he wasn't sure he would be able to straighten his arms and complete the workout, but Jim's voice urging him on gave the smaller man the strength he needed.

"That's nineteen. Good, really good, love. One more... c'mon, Blair, you can get it. Push. Leave it all on the field, babe, don't you hold anything back, now... that's it. Yeah! Alright! I've got the weight, go ahead and relax." Jim praised as he relieved Blair of the barbell and settled it into its brackets. Smiling ear to ear, Jim moved around the bench and crouched down beside Blair, mopping his exhausted lover's face gently with a towel. "Twenty reps at 155. You should be so proud of yourself, Blair. That was great."

"Yeah... I'll... take that... under advisement... right now... I think... I'll pass out..."

"You could, but didn't I promise you a special present if you met my challenge? You don't wanna miss that, do you?"

"Present? Love presents..."

"I know you do."

"So? Tell me..."

Jim rolled the damp towel in his hands into a long snake and draped it over Blair's eyes.

"Remember last month we were talking about fantasies we'd never have the courage to try? Remember the one you wouldn't tell me until I tickle-tortured you?"

"God, Jim... you can't be thinking..."

"You said that me getting you off in public... where we could get caught any second... was number one on your list." Jim continued, slowly unbuttoning Blair's denim cut-offs and slipping one hand inside to draw out Blair's already rising cock.

"Oh, yeah. Hell with the weights... this is what gets my heart pumping."

"Jim! Not fair! My arms are dead... I can barely move."

"That's okay. Like I said, this is your reward for doing so well at a new weight. After you've had time to rest up, then you can return the favor. For now, just lay there... and enjoy."

When Jim's agile tongue wrapped around the head of his cock, Blair pulled in a sudden breath, accompanied by a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a moan. Knowing that both their time and privacy might really be limited, Jim worked Blair mercilessly, teasing and licking for only a few seconds before deep-throating his lover. His control diminished by his fatigue, Blair's orgasm struck only a few minutes later. Somehow, he managed to lift one hand up, dragging the towel down and into his mouth so that his screams of joy wouldn't be heard beyond the gym and misinterpreted, bringing security rushing to the rescue.

As Jim raised his head, licking his lips like a big cat after a good meal, he chuckled.

"Your mind all clear of worries and problems now?" he asked as he cleaned Blair with the towel and tucked him back into his shorts.

"Mind? What mind? You just erased it."

"Good. Mission accomplished then. Shower?"

"You'll have to carry me."

Jim laughed, tossed Blair over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and strode off toward the shower enclosure at the back of the room.

"Great." Blair mumbled as he hung, unresisting, upside down. "Show me the magnificent Ellison ass when I don't have enough energy to even plan what I wanna do with it..."

ONE HOUR BEFORE SHIFT: THE MORGUE

Hearing the sound of someone approaching, Al Robbins looked up and smiled lightly when he realized that the visitor was one he'd been expecting. At the same time, he took a deep breath and steeled himself, concerned that the revelations he was about to make would prove overwhelming to the man about to hear them. The idea, after all, was not to frighten and shock, but to advise and prove that they stood on common ground. He only hoped he possessed enough patience and tact to do the job right.

"You wanted to see me?"

"C'mon in, Gil. Actually... I was told you needed to talk to me."

"You were? By who?"

Robbins paused, gathering his nerve, then spoke the name that could change everything and lose him a cherished friendship, though he prayed it would do neither.

"Warrick."

Grissom's eyebrows arched significantly and he stared, momentarily stunned by the unexpected development.

"So you're the... consultant he told me about?"

"It's as good a word as any."

"Well... don't take this as an insult, but I'm really surprised."

"Tell me how you mean that and I'll tell you how I'm taking it."

"I'm not referring to your legs or your age. It's just... I thought I knew you pretty well. We've spent a lot of time together, we're good friends... how did you slip being gay past me?"

"I'm not. I don't consider myself homosexual. I developed very strong feelings for one particular man and decided that expressing them physically was a perfectly natural step to take."

"Can I ask who?"

Robbins' expression darkened and he turned away, making a show of doing some last minute cleaning, even though he knew Gil would instantly realize it was a pretense.

"I suppose it doesn't matter now. While we were together, we kept our mouths shut to protect ourselves and each other, but now... I don't think he'd mind you knowing."

Gil's astute mind jumped ahead of Robbins' confession and took him back to a long-ago hallway conversation that had faded from his memory almost as soon as it had concluded. Now, he recalled the brief encounter vividly and a name popped into his head.

"My God... Cyrus Lockwood?"

Robbins spun back around to face his friend, mild wonder on his face.

"You remember that comment? I wasn't sure you would."

"You brought over the bullet. When I said you didn't have to... you told me you'd gotten to know him and felt you owed it to him. Al, I'm sorry. I should have dug a little deeper, but at the time..."

"I know. Solving his murder came first. Trust me, I appreciated your dedication. Most of the time I admire your single-minded nature. It gets things done around here and solves cases that would make other labs and police departments run and hide. I also understand that you don't think you have the time for emotion and introspection. The thing is, if you want Jim Brass... that'll have to change."

"You sound like you know him pretty well too." Gil replied, the barest touch of resentment slipping into his tone. Robbins gave him a sharp look.

"Not in the biblical sense. People tend not to see me unless we're talking over a dead body, Gil. Otherwise I'm pretty much invisible. I'm not complaining, mind you. It gives me a lot of opportunity to observe. Oftentimes I notice what goes right over everyone else's head."

"Like the real Brass?"

"Exactly."

"You're saying I don't really know him."

"I hate clichés, but 'still waters run deep' is a hundred percent accurate when it comes to Brass. People think he's bitter and angry, but they don't get it. He holds so much inside that sometimes it just... blows up and unfortunately fury is the one emotion he isn't afraid to show the world."

Gil frowned, swiftly going over old scenes and confrontations in his mind. Gradually, he began to see how right Robbins was. Slowly closing the gap between them, Gil braced himself on the edge of a metal autopsy table and leaned forward, suddenly aware of how big a change he was contemplating. Robbins placed a gentle hand in the center of the other man's back and spoke softly.

"Think about this very carefully, Gil. You could be good for each other, but it's going to require a huge effort from both of you. Do you really think you're prepared for the challenge?"

"I have no idea. Isolating myself has become comfortable... too much, maybe. I used to cherish the security... keeping everyone at a distance just felt safer."

"Shielding our hearts almost never works the way we want it to. People still find a way in."

"I know. Did I ever tell you Catherine was at the hospital before my surgery?"

"No, I don't think you ever did."

"I was sitting on an exam table in one of those flimsy little gowns they give you. When I realized she was there I grabbed my "I'm fine, really" mask, slapped it on and clutched it for all I was worth. When she hugged me... that was the only time it slipped. I'm so grateful she couldn't see my face. I was totally lost as to what to do or say. She pulled back, I got myself together and I just... walked away, down the hall toward the OR. I know she didn't understand..."

"The point is, do you?"

"Not completely. I just know that comfortable and secure aren't enough anymore. I need to take a risk and reach out now, or I may never do it. God, I've wasted so much time already..."

"So you're just doing this for the sake of turning your life around? It could be anybody, as long as they're within range? If that's the case, then leave Jim alone. He's a good man and he deserves far better than to be convenient."

Gil straightened and pulled away from the coroner's comforting touch.

"No! How can you even think that?"

"I care about both of you, Gil. I just had to be sure. Neither of you deserves to be hurt again."

"I'd never hurt him. The attraction and the feelings are there... on my side at least. Warrick gave me some tips for finding out what Brass thinks about it."

"Sorry, but you can't blame me for wanting to protect my friends." Robbins said, moving off to a small filing cabinet and unlocking a drawer. He pulled out two books, closed and re-locked the cabinet and moved back to join Gil. "Here."

Gil looked at the titles and blushed furiously.

" 'The Joy of Gay Sex' and 'The Gay Kama Sutra' ?"

"Warrick said you were worried about not knowing what to do if Brass said yes. While you're figuring out if he reciprocates your feelings, you might as well do some research."

"But..."

"Oh, and if you plan on experimenting with the Kama Sutra, I'd suggest starting a yoga class."

"Yoga."

"For the advanced positions. Some of them require a lot of flexibility, but trust me, you'll never regret it."

Just then, a body was wheeled in. Gil quickly stuffed the books under his waistband at the back of his slacks, pulled his shirt out to cover them and headed for his office, moving as fast as he could without actually breaking into a jog.

LOCKER ROOM: TWO HOURS LATER

"Thanks for this chance, Captain Brass. I don't know if we can help or not, but at least we can try." Blair said, standing back from the other two men, hands stuffed deeply in his pockets.

"Everybody else has, why not you guys? You still haven't explained what exactly it is you plan on doing, though. What's so different?"

"Jim has... talents not everyone can draw on. If anybody can find your missing CSI, he can."

"Otherwise she can't be found?" Brass responded, turning from Sara's locker.

"I didn't say that."

"It was implied. Don't worry about it, kid." He said, returning to his task. "We've all been thinking it, we just don't say it. None of her friends wanna give up hope just yet. The ones above me an' Gil... that's another story. I think they only agreed to this 'cause they have given up an' they don't care anymore."

When the locker door finally swung back, Brass stepped out of the way and tossed a thin, skeptical smile at Ellison. "So? What now?"

"This could take a while. It's better if you just give us some space. You'll know when he's finished." Blair explained. Brass reluctantly retreated to the bench in the center of the room and sat down. He watched with growing curiosity as the smaller man stepped up close to Ellison and began talking to him softly. The tall detective responded with curt nods instead of words, but Sandburg seemed fine with that.

Even though Brass hadn't been given much in-depth detail about the pair, the bond he sensed was something he'd only seen in teams of officers who'd been together several years, so he assumed this was the case with Blair and Jim. Doubts arose, however, when he tried to estimate Blair's age.

The kid can't even be thirty yet. Twenty-seven at the most. Maybe he got into the academy young. Hang on, though. I swear Ellison said somethin' about the kid being in college. Yeah, he's a student teacher. So that's four years undergrad... a couple post-grad to get to where they'll let him teach... hell, when did this kid have time to become a cop?

Brass was startled out of his intense thought process by the sound and presence of someone sitting down next to him. Turning to see, he was pleased to find he'd been joined by Gil.

"Hey. Good to see you." Brass told him with a genuine smile. "What's up?"

"Someone said they saw you come in here and I wanted to get your thoughts on this case." Grissom replied, opening the file and shifting it toward Brass so they both could examine it.

"Oh yeah. This. Suitable for dumpster diving, that's all this is..."

For a few minutes they quietly went over the case, while Gil struggled madly to appease his conscience. He hadn't really needed a second opinion on this particular file, but he'd been impatient to try Warrick's advice and see what would happen, so he'd chosen a likely candidate for review and gone in search of his friend. So far, Brass seemed to be reacting just as Gil had prayed he would. When he leaned in to seek out a certain paragraph or pointed out something on the page closer to Brass' side than his, the other man didn't retreat or shy away. He didn't initiate closeness or contact, either, but a first step was a first step and Gil was happy to take what he could get.

Finally, Gil chose to end his first attempt and looked up from the file, frowning in confusion at Jim and Blair.

"What are they doing? Isn't that Sara's locker?"

"It's okay. They've got a seal of approval to try and find her."

"Who are they?"

"Greg's cousin Blair Sandburg and his partner Jim Ellison. They're cops up in Washington State. According to the kid, Ellison's a bit of a magic man. Says if he can't rescue Sara... there's not much more can be done."

"At this point I don't care if he pulls scarves out of his boxers or makes me pick a card. I'm ready to try anything if it gets her home safe."

"Yeah, I second that, but, uh... he's sniffing her shoes."

"It's not exactly the scientific method, but whatever works."

TWO HOURS LATER:

Jim Ellison placed his head close to the fully open car window and slowly drew in air through his nose until his lungs would hold no more. He held onto the accompanying scents long enough to process them then released the breath in a frustrated sigh. What he was seeking wasn't there.

After driving randomly around the fiercely lit, casino-laden streets and through a few of the accessible residential communities, Jim was fighting off a migraine, but wasn't yet ready to tell Blair. He knew the younger man would make him stop and rest for the night, no matter how important this impromptu mission might be. Despite Jim's reticence, however, Blair's finely attuned empathy was picking up faint warning bells.

"Jim?"

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. We should head back to the hotel."

"I'm not ready to quit yet. She's out here somewhere..."

"That certainty's not coming from your senses, though, is it?"

"Not the normal five, anyway."

"If you're getting nudges from the spirit plane that's an even better reason to go back. We could sit down together in private and start a deep meditation..."

"Later. Not yet, okay? Just a little while longer. Talk to me. Keep me from drifting off."

"Talk? About what?"

"The bombshell about Greg, maybe? You haven't said a whole lot about how you feel now that you've had time to think."

"The only feeling I'm clear on so far is pissed off. I shouldn't talk about the situation at all until I get past that."

"Talking might help you to get past it." Jim countered, grinning briefly at his partner before returning his attention to the road ahead.

"Forget it. Whatever I say in the heat of anger you'll use against Naomi later. You put her down enough as it is. I won't give you more ammunition."

Jim grunted and shook his head, waiting to speak again until he'd safely completed a left hand turn.

"For a super-brain, you just don't make sense sometimes, Chief."

"I love her, Jim. I always will, no matter what. I can't help that. She took me around the world, showed me things no kid that age ever gets to experience..."

"Left you with strangers for weeks and months at a time."

"She led me to anthropology. If it weren't for Naomi, I'd never have known what I'm supposed to be."

"And if you weren't studying at Rainier we might never have met. I get that, I really do, and I'll accept that the best thing to ever happen to me might've been providence or fate or whatever, but not that she had anything to do with you and me. You picked the school, right?"

"You know I did."

"And it was your mind that got you in and your hard work that's kept you there."

"Traveling with her gave me the passion and the thirst for knowledge..."

"No, Chief. You had that in you all along. You were born with it."

"You don't know that, Jim..."

Lips pressed tightly together and his eyebrows lowered, Jim pulled over to the side of the road and turned to face Blair.

"The hell I don't, Sandburg! I know you ten times better and a hundred miles deeper than she ever will!"

"How can you say that?"

"I love you, that's how."

Blair's face went white and he drew back slightly, leaning into the passenger door.

"I can't believe you just... you think she doesn't love me?"

Jim held his breath momentarily, closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face.

"Blair..."

"No, how long have you been holding this in, huh, Jim? Months? Years, maybe? When did you decide my own mother doesn't really love me?"

"It's not her feelings I question, Chief. It's her definition of ' love'."

"She does the best she can." Blair retorted, fiercely swiping at the tears now tracing down his cheeks.

"I understand that, Blair. Some people just... shouldn't be allowed to raise a child. You remember that parenting seminar Simon sent the whole of Major Crimes through? So we'd know what we were looking at when a case involved abused kids?"

"How could I forget it? The pictures..."

"Yeah, well, every time I saw or talked to Naomi after that, the things that speaker said kept comin' back to me. ' The most important thing a parent can do is the simplest: just be there and be involved.' ' A parent who instinctively places the child's welfare and needs above their own is doing the job right.' "

"She gave me everything, Jim... she gave me the world."

"Maybe, but she was also selfish. She didn't want roots or stability, so she decided you didn't need them either. Now that I think about it, I'm relieved she had a moment of clarity that lasted long enough to realize what was best for Greg. The fact that he grew up in a solid home with good, caring people... that's one point in Naomi's favor, but it doesn't cancel out the lying and the pain she's caused both of you."

"So you just choose not to forgive her... just like that."

"Not just like that. Unfortunately, I had to get to know her before I realized she was somebody I wished I'd never met. I think you were right earlier, Chief. Time to pack it in for tonight. Let's head back to the hotel and get some sleep."

Turned toward the window, Blair didn't respond. Jim sighed, flicked on his blinker and pulled back onto the road.

FOLLOWING MORNING:

As he was putting the finishing touches on breakfast and turning to plop a tea-bag in Greg's cup of warm water, the phone rang, causing Nick to scowl briefly at it. He dropped the bag into place, set the mug in front of his housemate's spot at the table and ran to grab the call, yelling as he moved to be sure Greg knew he didn't have to rush getting dressed to run and answer the phone.

"I got it, Greggo! Take your time! Yeah, hello?"

"Mr. Stokes?"

"Speaking. Who's this?"

"Scott Denson."

"Oh. Hey. Look, it's like I told you, Greg can't go out and he may not be able to for a while..."

"Of course. I'm sorry. I hadn't heard from you, so I wanted to call and make sure everything's going well."

"As well as it can. He's seein' a therapist, his voice sounds better every day... it's all pretty good right now."

"That's wonderful. Just for my own peace of mind though, I really need to see him one more time."

"I told you..."

"I know, and I understand, but Mohammed is more than willing to go to the mountain."

"You mean... come here? I don't think so."

"He needs to be checked over, Mr. Stokes. The surgical sites, his throat... I need to be sure. And before you ask, this isn't about liability, mine or the hospital's. I deeply admire the strength and courage it took for Greg to come through this ordeal as whole as he is. If an infection or any major problem is developing, I can stop it and make sure he doesn't have to endure any more suffering."

"Sorry, but I can't let it happen. I wasn't there the last time an' I sure as hell don't wanna be there for the re-run."

"He was upset and frightened, I grant you that, but that young woman handled it admirably. She calmed him down completely."

"She did a hell of a lot more than that. Sara told him how to zone out, you know, send his mind somewhere else, while you did what ever it is you had to do. Problem is, after you left she almost couldn't get him to come back. This time... who knows what could happen? I'm not gonna take the risk. The answer's gotta be no."

"Mr. Stokes..."

"Forget it. Bye, doc." Nick told him firmly, hanging up and moving back to the table. A few minutes later, Greg emerged from his room and took his place at the table. As he bit into a piece of toast, he looked over at Nick curiously. Swallowing carefully, he hesitated, then quietly questioned his friend.

"You look really upset. Who was that?"

Nick paused also, but eventually told the truth, knowing Greg could handle it and deserved better than to be treated like a fragile china doll.

"Denson. He was just checkin' up on you."

"He still want me to come to the hospital?"

"Not anymore. He... wanted to make a house call."

Greg paled.

"What... what'd you tell him?"

"I said no way. Not after..."

Nick's jaw tightened briefly and he dug into his food.

"After what happened with Sara, you mean?"

Nick looked up quickly, surprised at Greg's response.

"You remember that?"

"Not all of it. I know I freaked and wouldn't let... Dr. Denson or the nurses near me. Then Sara showed up. That's where it gets a little blurry. She told me... I didn't have to be there. I should close my eyes and blank out... my mind or think about music I liked. I don't really remember much... until I came around again. Just that I felt safe... and peaceful and I wanted to stay there." Greg answered, finishing off his toast and starting on his eggs.

"God, Greggo... I'm glad you didn't. We need you out here with us."

"You need me. Right? You mean you need me?" The younger man replied, his expression uncharacteristically solemn and seeking. Nick swallowed forcefully and shoved aside his fears and questions about their future together, providing the calm assurance Greg was silently pleading for.

"Yeah, I need you, Greg. Never doubt that. Always and forever, man."

Greg chuckled and looked down. "What? Did I say it wrong?"

"No, it was perfect, Nick. I've just never had... somebody be romantic with me who meant it. It's really... cool."

Nick grinned, flushed slightly and dove back into his meal, despite the fact that his eggs had gone cold. In fact he didn't really notice.

Forty-five minutes later, both men were talking over empty, stained plates. The food had run out long before, but the conversation, as usual, had not. Picking up his dish and silverware, Greg stood and moved into the kitchen, responding over his shoulder to a question Nick had asked. The other was only a few steps behind, but turned back when someone knocked at the door. Greg moved into his safe place, flinching internally when he heard the door open, even though his eyes were well shielded from any possible view of the outdoors. His heart began to pound furiously, however, when he heard Nick's displeased greeting toward their latest visitor.

"Doc."

"Mister Stokes. Can I..."

"No. I told you not to show up."

"You need to understand..."

"You need to get your ass gone before you cause any more trouble." Nick told him fiercely, turning his head a little in response to the faint whimpering and mumbling he could hear coming from Greg's corner in the kitchen. Nick's narrowed eyes never left the man standing in the doorway, however.

"My conscience won't let me do that."

"I don't give a damn about your conscience! Do you hear him? Do you hear what just your voice did to Greg? If he sees you God knows what's gonna happen!"

"If he has an infection, or there's something wrong I could have fixed... God knows how I'll live with myself if I just walk away."

As had happened with Ellison, the doctor's stubbornness came off to Nick as a red-alert, causing him to shift into 'pissed-off-mama-bear' mode. He smiled grimly and advanced a step on Denson, who stumbled backwards.

"You... are not my problem. All I care about is that you're upsettin' him. Leave, before I have to make a choice we'll both regret."

To his credit, Denson didn't back off completely, even in the face of a man who could clearly back up any threat he made.

"I'll tell you what. You do the checking. If the danger signs aren't there, I'll go without a fight and I won't come back."

Nick huffed a short, terse breath out through his nose and his gaze grew even more intense.

"Open your ears, damn it. No. Not a snowball's chance in hell."

"Mister Stokes... I understand you being protective of your friend. He's lucky to have someone so determined standing up for him, but this is very important..."

"What's important is Greg. This is the only place he feels safe right now an' you're messin' with that. Get the hell outta here!" Nick hissed, more worried that the sounds from the kitchen had stopped than he'd been by being able to hear the other man's distress.

Denson released a resigned sigh and backed away from the front step a little.

"Fine. Your point is valid, I know that. I just... will you keep in touch? Please? Let me know if the slightest thing seems off, if he seems to be ill or..."

"Yeah. I can do that."

"Thank you."

Nick grunted a response as he shut and locked the door. Knowing his work wasn't done, he strode back to where Greg huddled in his corner, shivering.

"It's all over, Greg. He's long gone, door's secure. You can come outta there now. Greg? Greggo! Damn... God, no..."

Rising, Nick rushed to the phone and dialed rapidly, forcing his anxiety deep down where it wouldn't interfere and make his tongue or his fingers stumble.

"Cyn. It's Nick. We need help. He's blanked out... won't even look at me. Yeah, I know what happened... Not now. Just get a move on, willya? I'll explain when you get here. Thanks."

"Hey, Cyn. Thanks for coming on such short notice." Nick said quietly, hugging Cynthia as he admitted her to the apartment. She let him hold on as long as he needed to, questioning him only when he pulled back.

"What's going on?"

"The doc who treated Greg in the hospital... he's been buggin' us about a follow up exam. I told him it wasn't gonna happen 'till the kid can stand to go out again."

"So the idiot decided to come here instead."

"You got it. The minute Greggo heard the doc's voice..."

"Say no more. I understand."

"Not everything. I think... I think this is my fault."

"Of course it isn't!"

"You don't know what I did... I was so stupid..."

"I'll resolve your guilt complex later, alright? For the moment, let's focus on Greg."

Nick led Cynthia toward the kitchen, but stayed at the edge of the carpet, allowing her to approach Greg alone. After a minute or two of gently talking to the young man and getting no response, she turned back to Nick, her expression sober. "He's catatonic. You'll have to pick him up and carry him over to the couch."

Nick shook his head.

"I can't. He wouldn't want me to..."

"He won't know. I can't help him like this, Nick and I'm not strong enough to move him."

Cynthia backed out, heading for the sofa, and Nick hesitantly took her place. As he carefully lifted Greg's motionless form off the floor, supporting the young man's legs in the crook of his elbow instead of on his injured hand, the older man froze for a moment, stunned into immobility.

"Nick? What is it?"

"He... he barely weighs anything." Nick replied, his voice suddenly tight and hoarse.

"He hasn't been eating his normal diet for almost three weeks, now. I'd be shocked if he hadn't lost a few pounds."

"I guess that makes sense. I just... I wasn't ready to be smacked in the face with it."

As Nick turned and transported Greg into the living room, he thought about trying to wipe away the tears tracking down his cheeks, but he decided to ignore them. Cynthia had seen him cry many, many times and, consequently, was one of a very small group of people he wasn't embarrassed to weep in front of. When he had settled Greg onto the couch and taken a seat himself, Cynthia silently held out a tissue. Nick took it gratefully, giving her a shaky smile.

"You never say anything when I turn on the water works. How come?"

"No need. I usually know what it's about. Besides, talking it to death would only make you more uncomfortable and less likely to open up. I'd never want to lose that easy honesty between us."

"Me either. I talked to you like nobody else in my life."

"Talked? Past tense?" she teased lightly.

"I haven't changed my mind about gettin' back into therapy. We'll work out the details later. Right now... Greg needs you."

"Don't think you're going anywhere this time. He'll need you too."

"Not after what I did..."

"Pardon?"

"Forget it. Go on. Get workin' on him."

He received a critical, cynical look, but Cynthia dropped the question and turned to assess Greg.

"Has this happened before?"

"Not here. It did in the hospital, though."

"Doctor Denson was involved that time too, I'm assuming."

"It wasn't the doc's fault. He was doin' his job. Greg just freaked when Denson had to examine him... in a sensitive place."

"The initial surgery. Of course. Did he come around on his own?"

"No. Didn't get there that way either."

"Long story?"

"Longer than we've got time for."

"True. The longer he stays like this the harder it may be to convince him he's better off out here instead of locked in his own mind." She agreed, reaching out to grasp Greg's hand. "Greg. It's Cynthia. It's alright. You're safe now. It's just Nick and me here with you. Talk to me, Greg. C'mon kiddo, if you can hear me, give me something."

As Cynthia continued to quietly urge Greg to return from his protected internal world, Nick's thoughts were following their own path. After a few more seconds of intense mental debate, he spoke to Cynthia.

"Cyn?"

"You have an idea?"

"I think so. There's a CD I got a few days ago... it's got a song on it I've been wantin' to play for him, but... I haven't had the guts."

"You think he'll respond?"

"The lyrics... yeah, I think he might."

"Music has been known to reach some people when nothing else will. Do it."

Rising Nick strode to the stereo, powered it up and popped in one of the two Josh Groban disks that Brass had burned for him. Advancing it to the third track he raised the volume and moved quickly back to the couch.

"This song is for you, Greggo. You already know how I feel, but... he says it a lot better than I can. Please... listen to the music. Let it bring you back to me..."

Through the darkness

I can see your light

And you will always shine

And I can feel your heart in mine

Your face I've memorized

I idolize just you

I look up to

Everything you are

In my eyes you do no wrong

I've loved you for so long

And after all is said and done, you're still you.

After all, you're still you...

As the song progressed, both of the others kept a close watch on Greg, but saw no improvement. It wasn't until the second verse began that Cynthia felt Greg's grip on her hand slowly tighten.

You walk past me

I can feel your pain

Time changes everything

One truth always stays the same

You're still you

After all, you're still you...

"That's it, Greg. That's it... that's right. You're safe. Come back." Cynthia soothed him, transferring Greg's hand to Nick. The Texan looked at her, confused.

"He doesn't trust me to touch him yet, remember?" she reminded Nick softly. He nodded and watched, a smile blossoming, as Greg blinked, looked around and finally turned bewildered eyes to Nick. Never breaking that connection, they silently listened to the end of the song together.

... And I believe in you

Although you never asked me to

I will remember you

And what life put you through

And in this cruel and lonely world

I found one love

You're still you

After all, you're still you...

"Nick?"

"It's okay, bud. You got scared... but it's over now. No big thing." Nick assured him, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"I went away again. That's a major thing."

"Greg, no, man..."

"Don't do that, Nick. Don't treat me like I can't... handle bad news or deal with what just happened. I can. I know you love me, but... I put myself in enough of a cocoon, okay? If you do it too I'll suffocate."

"Greggo... I didn't mean..."

"I know. It's okay. Just tell me the... truth. I went away again, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

"Was Denson actually here or was that... in my head?"

"He was here. I kicked his ass back out."

Greg smiled weakly.

"Thanks."

"What, you actually think I'd do anything else? Matter of fact, I only threw him off the front step. He never got past the door."

"Greg?"

Slightly surprised, the younger man turned and looked at Cynthia.

"Hi. Wait... why did he call you? Was I that far gone?"

"No, not really. Nick was scared, that's all. He'd never seen you like that. Greg, do you want to tell me what happened?"

"You saw me. I went away."

"Where?"

"I don't know. I can't describe it. I just... I know it's what I need. If I'm scared or... in danger I can be safe there."

"And today?"

"It was warm and quiet like last time... then I heard that song." He replied, returning his gaze to Nick. "You played that for me?"

"Yeah."

"You... that's how you feel. Those words..."

"I wasn't sure... I've been trying to say those things by doin' for you, protectin' you. The song... it wasn't like it was comin' straight from me, ya know... no pressure, just like I promised."

"It was from your heart and it worked. That's what counts." Cynthia softly injected.

"I'm sorry, Nick... I'm so sorry." Greg said, holding out his hands and inviting their special connection. Nick readily accepted. A single tear tracked down Greg's face and he swiftly banished it by turning his head and wiping it off on his shirt before looking up at Nick again.

"Sorry? For what? You didn't make the mistake, here, bud, Denson did."

"I should have trusted you... I mean, I do trust you, always. I just should've... known you'd never let him near me. I don't need another safe place... when you're here. I'm sorry I forgot that..."

"No... no way. You did what you needed to. There's nothin' to forgive about that."

"Do you feel like talking about the first time this happened, Greg; about who taught you to find that safe place inside?"

"Can Nick stay this time?"

"Absolutely."

"Her name's Sara Sidle. She's missing, but I know we'll find her. When we do you... might have another new patient."

Next part of story - Change Is Never Easy

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