Previous part of story - Change Is Never Easy

THAT NIGHT: END OF SHIFT

Striding down the corridor toward his boss' office, Warrick did his best to be polite and professional to those who waylaid him with questions and case details, but he was becoming more and more frustrated and his manners were deteriorating. Finally, he gave one last answer, sent the person on their way and slipped into Grissom's inner sanctum, closing the door behind him with a sigh. For several minutes he watched, suppressing an urge to laugh, as Gil earnestly contemplated the book he was reading with expressions of consternation and confusion, turning his head this way, that way and, at one point, nearly upside down. Though Warrick tried, he couldn't come up with what in the world would make the older man do that.

"Gris?"

Surprised, Grissom looked up, dropping the book onto the desk, closing it and covering it with his hand, all within a few seconds. He relaxed only when he realized who had spoken.

"Warrick."

"Yeah. Sorry to scare you like that. I just had to come find out how the conversation went." Warrick explained eagerly, sliding into the visitor's chair in front of Gil's desk.

"Conversation?"

"With Doc Robbins. You know, you asked me for advice an' I sent you in his direction?"

"Oh. Right... it went well. I learned a few things I never even guessed at."

"Then what's got you lookin' like the world don't make sense?"

"He gave me homework... and I can't make heads or tails of some of it, never mind imagine how anyone could manage it and still enjoy the experience." Gris admitted, handing Warrick the book.

"The Gay Kama-Sutra. Yeah, I can see how you could get a little intimidated." He responded with a grin, leafing casually through a few random pages. "Hell... I work out specifically to stay limber an' flexible... an' even I wouldn't try this one."

Warrick looked up and had to chuckle at the face his boss was making. "Hey, you know you aren't expected to do any of this your first time, right?"

"Of course."

"Oh. You're freaked about what will be expected. Lemme ease your mind on that score. Nothin'."

"Nothing? How can you say that? If nothing happens... it won't be much of a first time."

"Did I say you two wouldn't be gettin' it on? I said nothin' was gonna be expected. He's as new to the idea of this as you are, at least I'm pretty sure he is. I'm tellin' you, do all the readin' you think you need to, man, it won't help a damn bit. You're not gonna have the slightest idea what you want when the moment arrives. Except that you want him. All the plans you make are gonna go right out the window an' all you'll have left is the thought that he has to get his hands on you... somehow get skin to skin. Best thing you can do is not plan it at all. Let whatever happens happen, the way it wants to. Long as you keep that in your mind goin' in... your first time'll be amazing, no matter what."

Gil stared curiously at the other man, wondering if he should voice the single-word question burning in his head. Eventually, he gave in to his hyper-inquisitive nature, as he always did.

"Who?" he asked quietly.

Warrick rose gracefully to his feet, grinned wickedly and returned the book.

"Let's just say a certain ballistics tech is carryin' a concealed weapon. Take it easy, boss."

"Yeah... yeah, you too, Warrick." Grissom replied feebly, struggling against the barrage of erotic fantasy images now racing through his head. As Warrick walked out, Grissom turned his gaze to the book in his hand. Slowly he slid it back into the drawer where he'd had it hidden with the other that Robbins had loaned him. Rising, he grabbed his jacket, locked his door and closed it behind him as he left for home.

LOCKER ROOM:

Grinning down at the envelope she held in her hand, Catherine barely noticed when another person entered the room. She was only pulled out of her reverie when he sat down on the bench beside her.

"Hey, Cath."

"Bobby. Hi. What's up?"

"Nothin' much. It's just really good to see somebody happy. Been a little gloom-and-doom around here since..."

"Yeah, I guess it has."

"So what is it that's got you puttin' out that full wattage smile again?"

"This... is what we got with the first half of the money we collected for Greg." She replied, showing him the envelope. He read the name of the store and his eyes widened slightly.

"The way he loves his music, he'll flip, guaranteed. Can I ask how much?"

"Eighty-five."

"Oh, yeah, he'll definitely love that. That means you raised about one-sixty? I'm proud a'everybody. We did good for him. What about the other half?"

"Gil and I are still racking our brains over that."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"Make it a certificate to a book store."

"Books. Really?"

"Oh, yeah. Greg, he puts out this kinda... vibe. You know, rocker, slacker... but he reads, like, ten books a month, mostly non-fiction. He's really into history and biographies, actually."

"Wow. Okay, how the hell do you know this?" Cath asked gently, laughing.

"He found out how deep I was into art and architecture... suddenly I started findin' a couple books every few months just sittin' on my table in the ballistics lab. He never would admit it was him... but I never told anybody else. We talk... talked about what he gave me... those conversations were amazing."

"Bobby, he's not gone for all eternity. He'll be back. You can go see him too, you know."

"Yeah? He's okay with visitors?"

"More than okay. He needs the connection. I'd call Nick and make sure it's a good time first, but..."

"Right. I'll do that. Thanks, Cath."

"No problem. Thank you for letting me know about the books."

"Yeah... don't ever tell him I let the cat outta the bag, okay? He likes his rep an' he'd kill me if he knew I shredded it." Bobby pleaded as he rose again and walked backwards toward his locker.

"Okay. Night."

Smiling, Catherine stood and left the locker room, headed for her car and home. Humming a vaguely familiar tune, she casually tapped the envelope against her hip as she walked, her thoughts deeply engaged with all the new things she'd learned about Greg and the personal, individual revelations his ordeal had brought about for all of them. She was unsure just yet what changes those discoveries would bring for Greg or the friends who cared for him, but she now had renewed faith that, whatever happened, she and the others would all walk out the other side of a very dark tunnel stronger and wiser for having made the journey.

FOLLOWING MORNING: JIM AND BLAIR'S HOTEL

"Chief! Breakfast!" Jim yelled for the third time in half an hour. He'd tried hard to keep Blair's food warm, but his efforts were quickly failing and the younger man had yet to even poke his head out of the bathroom. When he did finally emerge a few minutes later, he was dressed and his hair was minus any tangles. The sight and it's implications caused Jim's heart to drop several feet.

Blair had mastered many skills during his short life, so many that it sometimes amazed Jim to contemplate the list, but combing his own hair was not one of them. Whenever possible, Blair let Jim care for his mass of curls and the fact that he had chosen to do the job himself, knowing it would be painful, let Jim know just how angry his lover still was. "Blair... baby."

"I'm fine. Let's just eat, okay?"

"You're not fine, you're pissed at me and we need to talk about it. We both know that keeping our mouths shut and pretending problems don't exist only makes things worse."

"I'm not going to get into this, now, Jim. I'll say something hurtful and thoughtless... and then we'll both be mad, so just quit pushing." Blair shot back, digging into his lukewarm meal.

"Blair, please... You know I'd never deliberately do anything to make you feel this way. What I said... I'm really sorry for."

"But you can't look me in the face and honestly tell me you didn't mean every word."

Jim hesitated, but he eventually told the truth.

"I did, but that doesn't mean I should've run my mouth like that. I was frustrated and tired... everything I was thinking and feeling just... fell out."

Blair carefully laid down his fork and responded without looking up.

"Naomi loves me. She loves me more than anything."

"I never said she didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I said she doesn't understand that love for herself and loving her child are two completely different things. Loving a child means doing what's best for them, not dragging them halfway around the planet, just to leave them with strangers for weeks and months at a time. Loving your child means not having one at all if you know you can't handle being stable and responsible."

Now Blair's head came up and his eyes locked onto Jim's, but fury and hurt blazed in his dark blue orbs. When he spoke, Jim was shocked at the darkness in his voice.

"So you're saying I should have been aborted? That I never should've been born?"

"God, Chief, no! Why would I... I love you! You're the other half of me, for God's sake! I wouldn't be alive right now if you weren't here!" Jim cried out, reaching for Blair's hand. The other pulled away violently and stood, backing toward the door into the hall.

"I thought so, too..."

"Blair, stop, please. Don't go running off when you're feeling like this, baby. I'm sorry... I'll shut up, okay? I promise to never talk about this again. I'll never even say her name and when she shows up at the loft I'll either be completely polite and respectful or I'll stay away. Just don't walk out... stay and let me make it up to you."

"Too late, Jim... way too late." Blair replied tightly, though Jim could easily hear that the young man was fighting not to cry as he backed farther away. Jim rose as well, moving to stop him physically, but Blair threw up a hand. "No... don't you dare follow me. I need to not be around you right now."

"Chief, you don't know Vegas... you could get hurt or lost... I'd die without you, you know that. You're my heart and soul. I love you..."

Blair's only response was to shake his head, turn and run. Jim started to go after him, but stopped himself with a massive effort of will. Instead he pulled out his cell and the paper with Greg's number and dialed.

THE APARTMENT:

Towel around his neck to ensure drips from his hair didn't find their way down his neck, Greg rushed to the phone. He'd been so restless that morning that Nick had threatened to sit on him if he didn't stay still for at least a few minutes, but the older man's attention had momentarily wavered and Greg had escaped confinement on the sofa.

"Hello? Uh-oh. What happened?" Greg asked, stepping away and frowning at Nick, who was standing at his shoulder and gesturing to be given the phone. "And it boiled over this morning, huh? I'm really sorry. If he shows we'll call you first thing, I promise. No problem. Okay... Okay, bye."

The moment Greg hung up, the phone rang again. He reached for it, but Nick's glare and pointing finger made him retreat into the living room, pouting with every step. Nick sighed wearily and lifted the receiver to his ear.

"House of Insanity. May I take your order?"

"That you, Nicky?"

"Hey, Bobby. Yeah... sorry. What's up?"

"I was gonna ask if I could come over, but it sounds like bad timin'."

"No, actually, it's great. Greg... he had a bad few hours yesterday an' now..."

"He's drivin' you bananas?"

"A little. It's like he's got ADD all of a sudden. I can't get him to stay in one spot. This apartment ain't huge, D, an' he's already walked the perimeter about thirty times..."

Bobby laughed sympathetically.

"I'll be there, Nicky."

"You sure, now? You don't know what you're lettin' yourself in for."

"Yeah, I do. Hang in there, okay? I'll try to make it as quick as I can. Fifteen minutes at the outside."

"Okay. Thanks..."

"You got it, bud. Hey, I got an idea. Tell him I'm bringin' a present for him an' if he doesn't let you catch your breath it stays in my car. That oughta settle him until I get there."

"I hope so. See ya soon."

"ASAP."

Nick hung up, breathed deeply once or twice and went after a rambling Greg one more time, herding him back to sit in the recliner.

"That was Bobby D. He's gonna come visit in a while. He says he's bringin' a surprise with him."

Greg lit up.

"Really? Cool."

"Yeah, but you don't get it unless your butt stays planted 'till he shows up."

"I can't help it. I'm wound up. I don't know why."

"I think I do, but you keep changin' the subject every time I try to talk about it."

"It has nothing to do with yesterday."

"So you keep sayin', but I get the feelin' you're trying to convince yourself more than you are me." Nick countered, dropping to sit beside Greg, who tensed for a long moment then slumped against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

"Maybe..."

"Nobody said you'd get past this overnight, Greggo. Matter of fact, I did some research on the computer last night... and people who're drugged and then assaulted can take twice as long to recover."

"Because they don't remember. All they can do is imagine what... happened, and their minds just make it worse than it was."

"That's right."

Greg squirmed uncomfortably and twisted his head to look behind him, so Nick abandoned the difficult subject for the moment and switched to one of Greg's favorites: music. The new topic took them right up to Bobby's knock. Greg didn't immediately head for his safe zone and Nick frowned. "What, G?"

"If it isn't him..."

"Damn it... right. Hang on." Nick rose, beckoning to Greg. Both men moved toward the door, Greg getting as close as he could manage, and Nick called through to whoever was on the other side.

"That you, Bobby?"

"Why, you expectin' a pizza or somethin'?" the ballistics tech replied. Nick grinned at Greg, who moved off to his corner. Once Bobby had been admitted, Greg emerged and greeted him warmly.

"Hey... how you doin', Greggo?" Bobby asked, grinning broadly.

"I'm good. Better every day."

"Glad to hear it. You look great. I got this for you. Knew you'd go nuts over it..." the other man responded, handing over a large hardcover book. Greg took the heavy item carefully, as his hands were still a little tender.

"A rock and roll encyclopedia! I've been dying for one of these! Thanks, Bobby!"

"No problem. Why don't you go crash on the couch and look at it for a few minutes while I talk to Nicky. I'll be right with you, I promise."

Greg nodded and thumped down on the sofa, curling up with his present. Bobby led Nick into the kitchen.

"What's up, D?"

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. Why?"

"Cause you look like hell."

"I'm a little worn down, maybe, but he needs me. Any sacrifice is way more than worth it."

"But you're not takin' care of yourself."

"Of course I am..."

"No you're not. Listen, I've been a long term caretaker, Nick. I spent a year watching over my aunt while she fought ovarian cancer, so I know how deep you can get sunk in someone else's hurt and need."

Nick reached out and squeezed his friend's shoulder.

"D... man, I'm sorry. I know how private you are so I'm not surprised you never spoke up about it."

"Yeah, well, I'm tellin' you now to save you from gettin' to the low point I did."

"The situation's nowhere near the same, Bobby..."

"It is. You chose to be here, 24/7, for someone who needs everything you've got in you, emotionally. If you don't have a way to recover your energy, it'll make you sick, too."

"I'm sleeping, eating..."

"Nicky, that's great, but you're not gettin' it. You willin' to try something for me? Just an experiment."

Arms crossed over his chest, Nick snorted, grinned and surrendered.

"Fine. Whatever. What do you want me to do?"

"Drop your hands down to your sides... yeah, good. Now lift them straight up. Look at your hands, Nick."

The other man complied and found both hands clenched into tight fists.

"Okay. I see it. I told you he's been drivin' me a little stir-crazy today."

"Shake 'em out... yeah, relax the muscles. Take a slow, deep breath in... hold it... and let it go the same way; slow and easy. One more breath... nice. Now drop the hands again... and bring 'em back up."

Once again, both Nick's hands were tight lumps. Bobby smiled, captured Nick's gaze and gently tapped him on the side of the head. "Am I gettin' through that ten-inch thick skull, Nicky? Huh?"

"Okay, I hear you, D., but..."

"No buts, no excuses. I'm gonna talk to the gang and let 'em know you need us as much as Greg does. From now on, we're comin' over as much for you as for him."

"I won't leave him. I only did that once for, like, a couple hours while he had therapy. It nearly killed both of us..."

"Did I say you had to leave? We're just gonna start payin' you some attention all your own... make sure you stay healthy so you can keep takin' good care of Greg. Alright?'

"Yeah... yeah, maybe."

"Good. Let's go see how he's doin', hmmm?"

Silent, new worries swirling frantically through his mind, Nick followed Bobby back into the living room.

Nick moved to follow Bobby back toward the living room but first grabbed the stereo remote off the kitchen counter, wondering idly how and why he'd left it there. As he passed into the larger space, he used the device to start the stereo, flip to his favorite soft-rock station and lower the volume until it was just audible. Joining Greg, who had moved to the sofa, but otherwise had followed the command to try and stay still, Nick smiled at his roommate and spoke gently to him.

"So. Cool present, hmm, Greggo?"

"Cool? This is amazing! I don't think there's a piece of rock... trivia in existence that isn't in here! I can't believe I actually have one! I've been saving up, but it... was gonna be another three or four months at least!"

Nick chuckled slightly, admonished Greg then turned to Bobby.

"Okay, okay. Easy, bud. Your voice ain't completely healed yet, remember. D, how expensive was this monstrosity, anyway? If you want I'll pay you back half. Anything that makes him this happy is more than worth it..."

"Nah, don't give it a second thought, Nicky. I've, uh... I've got a close friend who manages a music store. He's been lettin' me pay on it a bit at a time, whenever I can. I had it paid off... I was gonna leave it for Greg in his lab so he'd find it when he showed up for shift that night, but... well, you know."

"Bobby..." Greg exclaimed softly.

"Now... you've been doin' it for me for most of a year, Greg. I just felt like... givin' back a little."

"He has?" Nick asked, his eyebrows arched and his expression curious.

"Yeah. You've been livin' here, Nicky, you musta seen his shelves. Plus you know him way better than most of the rest a'the lab does. You know what a book-hound he is. He found out what I liked to read... an' he started leavin' me books on the sly every once in a while. I wanted to really say thank you with the encyclopedia. Didn't work out like I planned..."

Bobby breathed deeply, pushing a threatening emotional storm back where it belonged. The other two judiciously ignored his moment of recovery. Nick was about to speak and introduce an unrelated subject to rescue his friend, but when he looked at Greg, he stopped. The young man had his ear cocked toward the stereo and, after a moment, he took the remote and turned the music up enough so that they could all hear it. Bobby opened his mouth to question what was going on, but Nick threw him a somber look and the inquiry died before it could be voiced.

Whenever I'm weary

From the battles that rage in my head

You make sense of madness

When my sanity hangs by a thread

I lose my way, but still you seem to understand

Now & forever,

I will be your man...

When Greg held out his hands, Nick hesitated only a moment before responding. Some small part of his mind was unsure about what Bobby would think, but Greg's needs were much more important than anyone else's opinion, even one he valued the way he did Bobby Dawson's.

Sometimes I just hold you

Too caught up in me to see

I'm holding a fortune

That heaven has given to me

I'll try to show you each and every way I can

Now & forever,

I will be your man

Now I can rest my worries and always be sure,

That I won't be alone anymore.

If I'd only known you were there

All the time,

All this time...

Greg grinned from ear to ear and bent forward so that he could lay his forehead on their layered hands. When Nick leaned in to drop a brief kiss in Greg's hair, he realized his love was mumbling under his breath and the words sent sudden tears cascading down the Texan's cheeks.

"My song... it's what I keep wanting to say... but I'm so afraid the words won't come out right... or I'll sound stupid. You gave me a song... this is mine for you. I am yours, beyond forever, even if I can't show it..."

"Hell, you show me, baby... you do. Your eyes, your smile... I kick myself every day for not seein' it before all this... this shit avalanched us. If I'd only looked past my own nose for one damned minute... God, I wasted so much time. I love you, Greggo..."

"Love you, Nick."

Nick abruptly remembered that they weren't alone and lifted his head, gazing in Bobby's direction. Greg hissed ruefully and tugged his hands away, hiding his face.

"Bobby, I..."

"No. Don't you dare."

"What?"

"You were about to apologize an' I said don't you dare. We find love where we find it, Nicky. If it's real an' strong, who gives a damn what shape it comes in? What counts is you finally pulled your head outta your ass an' spoke your heart before he got away." He finished, laughing a little as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped at his face.

"Yeah... yeah, I guess so. Tell you what; I'll get us some breakfast an' you help Greg start lookin' through his present, okay?"

"Yeah. That's a plan."

For the next hour or two, the three men ate, laughed and talked easily. A trivia game suggested by the encyclopedia saw Greg far outpacing the other two when it came to all forms of rock music. Nick vowed that he would find a similar volume dedicated to country music and then they'd see who looked like the trivia genius. Bobby claimed jazz and blues.

"Is there a book for that?" Nick asked.

"There must be. If there is, I'll find it. Gotta be able to compete with you two somehow, don't I? Damn... I gotta get home to bed."

"It is pretty late for you. Sorry to keep you up, m'man."

"Hey, I got fed an' I was privileged to see how deep you both feel for each other. I wouldn't have missed that for anything." Bobby countered, rising to his feet. Greg followed suit immediately, moving off to his safe corner. Bobby watched him go then turned back to Nick and questioned him softly.

"Agoraphobia?"

Nick nodded.

"The world's not a safe place anymore. For now... he wants to try and forget it's out there. I can't blame him."

"Who could? God, this whole thing makes me wanna puke sometimes..."

"I try not to, but when I see him really scared or hurtin'... once in a while I do let go. He doesn't know. He'd just feel worse..."

"Yeah, I get that. I'll be checkin' in regular an' I'll get the message to the rest a'the gang about givin' you some Nicky time, alright?"

"Thanks. Seriously..."

"Family stands by family. Talk to you soon." Bobby promised, hugging Nick fiercely. The two men separated silently a few moments later and Bobby stepped outside, finding and dialing his cell.

"Cath? It's Bobby. Don't pick up, I just wanted to leave you a message. I just came from seein' Greg... he's gettin' better, but Nicky's not in such great shape. The caretaker needs some care an' we need to get the group together for a talk..."

GRISSOM'S TOWNHOUSE:

Striding through his home, Gil checked everything one more time, making absolutely sure all his weeks-neglected chores and small tasks had been completed. His personality being what it was, work and his hobbies and studies often took precedence over upkeep of his personal environment, so when he had come home and sneezed twice at the dust that puffed up from every surface, he had launched into the housework, despite the serious delay to his sleep. Now he was finally done, the place was clean to his satisfaction and he was ready to go to bed. Of course, that was the optimum time for the phone to ring.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Grissom? This is the receptionist at Dr. Harlan's office. If you have a moment the doctor would like to speak to you?"

Simply hearing the name of the urologist sent a shiver up Grissom's spine. He had consciously pushed the imminent test results to the back of his mind, all too aware that despite the doctor's positive assessment, something could still be wrong. Dropping to sit on his sofa, he clutched the receiver a little more tightly, swallowed and responded.

"Of course."

"Thank you. Hold on one moment."

What felt like hours of bland music later, Harlan finally spoke.

"Dr. Grissom. I have your test results. They're all clear."

"That's good... that's wonderful in fact. But there has to be a reason you called personally, right?"

"Yes. It's rather delicate and I don't like to leave things like this to anyone else."

"What is it?"

"It involves your sperm count."

"Oh. As you said, I'm not twenty-one anymore. I expected some decline..."

"No, it's just the opposite. Your count is ideal and the motility is excellent. I wanted to warn you and be sure you were up-to-date on the latest birth control and disease prevention methods..."

Grissom breathed deeply and fought down the urge to laugh until he vomited on the floor.

"Well... thank you, doctor, but that won't be necessary."

"But it is. Things in this realm have changed so much over just the last five years..."

"Doctor... you'll just have to trust me that, uh... that birth control won't be an issue... and I know all about condoms."

"Oh. Oh!"

"You won't be writing this down in any chart? And you won't reveal it to anyone?"

"Absolutely not. Complete discretion."

"Thank you. Good morning, doctor Harlan."

Dropping the receiver back into its cradle, Gil fell backwards onto the cushions, finally giving in to a bout of laughter so intense he ended up clutching his stomach with one hand and wiping tears from his face with the other.

10 MINUTES LATER: BRASS' OFFICE

"Jim? Can I have a minute before you head home?"

Brass looked up to find the sheriff standing in his doorway with a rueful expression on his face. The older man tensed inwardly, but plastered a smile on his face. This was bound to be the last thing he wanted to deal with, but if this man was delivering the news, it also wasn't something he could afford to ignore.

"Sure, come on in. What's up?"

"I, uh... I just got a rather disturbing call from the doctor who treated Sanders. He's claiming Stokes physically threatened him and prevented him from reaching his patient."

Brass sighed and briefly closed his eyes.

"Nicky..."

"Is something going on I should know about?"

"No sir... not really. We were trying to keep this as low-profile as possible. You how the media turns into leeches when they smell a human interest story..."

"I'm aware. I'm not the media."

Brass bit back the instant reply having to do with publicity for the department and took a deep breath.

"Nick... he hurt his hand saving Greg in the hospital. They were both gonna be out for a while, the kid really couldn't be by himself an' he trusts Stokes... so Nick moved into Greg's apartment for the duration."

"That doesn't explain why Stokes would be threatening Sanders' doctor."

"Denson... he knows damn well that if anybody besides Nicky tries touching Greg right now it's gonna seriously screw with the kid's head. He still won't leave it alone. My guess is that Nicky just got... protective."

"How protective?"

"Think lion and fresh kill."

Now it was the sheriff's turn to sigh and scrub a hand over his face.

"I understand what happened to Sanders..." he replied quietly. "... and I can imagine how terribly difficult it will be for him to recover..."

"No. You can't. Nobody can who hasn't been through it. He was sexually assaulted, for God's sake. A few days off isn't gonna see him tap-dancing up the strip singing "Don't Worry, Be Happy"!"

"Jim..."

"I know. Sorry."

"I need to know what really happened, damn it... and to be sure Sanders is really alright. This doctor is speculating that he wasn't allowed in because Greg is being further abused by Stokes. He claims he actually heard him begging for help."

"Go talk to Gil or Catherine or Warrick. They've all been there, they've seen the kid face to face."

"They're also close friends with both Stokes and Sanders. I trust their judgment and honesty, but nobody outside your group will, including the media, and I'm assuming this Denson will go that route if he doesn't get satisfaction from us."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Find a patrol officer who doesn't know Grissom's crew from a hole in the ground, take him over there and check things out. I'll expect a report by the end of the day. If I even get a whiff of your influence on anything I read..."

"No. I'll do it, but no strangers."

"I just told you why that's unacceptable."

Brass drew and held a quick breath, struggling between his responsibility to Greg and Nick and his duty to the man in front of him. Releasing the air slowly, he clenched and unclenched one hand and finally responded.

"Okay. I understand. Just for the record, though... I don't like it."

"You don't have to. If it gets this Denson off my back and theirs... things will be better for all of us. I appreciate the effort, Jim, I really do. Sanders will get over this intrusion. From what I've seen, he's a strong kid."

"Strong... yeah, he is. But he's no kid anymore. This kind of thing happens to somebody his age... you're an instant adult. Sometimes you can't even find that carefree POV anymore, never mind..."

His thought fell apart and his voice fell silent, as if he realized that he'd been about to reveal something intimate to someone he would ordinarily not read his grocery list to.

"Jim, you're not saying..."

"No! Hell, no... I've just been a cop too long... seen too much innocence wiped out by stupidity and evil. You'll have your report by the end of the day... but I'm taking tonight off to compensate for the sleep I'm about to give up."

"Done. Thanks again, Jim. I won't forget this." The sheriff intoned solemnly as he turned and left. Brass waited until he was out of earshot before he dared speak his bitter reply.

"Yeah, well, I won't forget this day for a long time, I know that for damn sure. You may end up repaying me for more than one day's lost sleep..."

ONE HOUR LATER: THE APARTMENT

With Greg listening to music in his room, Nick was taking advantage of the free time to lug the toolbox around to various spots and do what repair work his injury would allow him. He even completed some that was awkward and difficult to manage, leaving him with a real sense of accomplishment for the small discomfort he'd suffered. He had just dropped the kit by the kitchen sink, ready to climb underneath and inspect the pipes for a leak he swore he could hear but had seen little evidence of, when a knock on the door drew him there instead. Checking the peephole, he frowned deeply and hesitated before opening up.

"Brass. What is this? He's given the PD all the info he has, man..."

"I know that, Nicky. Can we come in?"

Nick intently studied the sober young officer standing just behind the captain before he stood aside to let them step inside.

"You look like crap."

"Feel like it, but not as much as I'm gonna in a minute. Scott Denson called the PD... made it all the way to the sheriff somehow. Denson says you're abusing Greggo and that's why you wouldn't let him in. I've missed some stories, I guess."

"Yeah... yeah, you surely have. I'll fill you in after you finish pissing me off with yours."

"It's gonna do that, alright. The sheriff brought his problem over and dropped it on my head. Said I had to find an objective cop, one who didn't know you or anybody on graveyard shift... and get him to check Greg over and make sure he's clear of bruises, cuts... that kinda thing."

"What the hell..."

"Hey, I know, but the sheriff's afraid Denson'll go the press with his story and if it gets to them..."

"... they'll all be trippin' over each other to get to us an' heat the story back up again. The hospital protected him before but now... hell, Greg wouldn't be the only one goin' crazy if they swarmed us."

"Then we only have the one option. I'm really sorry, Nick..."

"Not your fault, man. I get that."

"Where is Greg, anyway?"

"In his room with headphones on. Music helps... and he gets to be by himself, but not alone, you know? He can retreat for a while but still know I'm here if... well, if he needs anything."

"Sounds like this arrangement is workin' pretty well."

"It's perfect. I never should've forced Denson to leave the way I did, I know that, but you didn't see or hear Greg. Cry, whimper... he was so scared, Jim. And then he stopped doin' anything... he wouldn't talk or look at me..."

"I'm on your side, Nicky, I swear I am. Personally, I would've done a lot worse to that jackass doctor than threaten him... but the situation is what it is, now. Nobody has any choice in this anymore. If you want, I'll go in and talk to Greg... try and make him see that."

Nick snorted, cast another hard glare at the young officer and addressed him in a dark, commanding tone.

"You can look, but not touch. You get as close as Greg says you can and no closer. Follow those rules and you won't have a problem with me. Got it?"

The cop raised one eyebrow slightly, but tilted his head in what seemed to be assent.

"Good." Nick said, nodding decisively and turning back to Brass. "Knock hard and stay in his line of sight until he sees you. Then you can go in."

"It's me, Nicky. I won't hurt Greg. That's the last thing I'd ever let happen. The rest of us wanna protect him as much as you do, you know. We just can't be here all the time. I'm damn glad to see you being this fierce... you're doin' it for all of us, but you have to pull in the fangs, okay? This cop is gonna be reporting to the sheriff an' right now you're making Denson's stupid theory look feasible. I'm begging you, tone it down, just 'till he's gone."

Nick huffed out another frustrated breath and shook his head.

"He's just so peaceful right now. Bobby Dawson came by this morning an' the three of us had a great time..."

"And he'll get back to that place after this is over." Brass assured him, grimacing momentarily at hearing a version of the sheriff's platitudes coming from his mouth. " Long as you're here to make sure he's happy, defended an' loved... everything'll be okay in time. You gotta believe that, Nicky. Hope is the one thing you can't let go of, no matter what."

Nick now turned wide eyes on his friend and responded, in a hiss, to just one word instead of the entire speech.

"Loved... shit, everybody does know how we were feelin', don't they?"

Brass patted Nick's cheek and chuckled a response before moving off to Greg's room.

"Not like you were keepin' it a secret. If you'd never had to be in the same room, maybe none of us would've picked up on it, but the minute he looked at you and you smiled back... how could we not know what was goin' on?"

Stepping up to Greg's door, Brass knocked loudly and raised a hand, waiting patiently, as he'd been ordered, for the young man to take notice. It took a few moments, but Greg eventually did look up, grinning, whipping off his head-phones and stopping the small CD player he'd been listening to.

"Hi! About time you got here. C'mon in."

"Yeah... I wish this was just a friendly visit. I was planning on doing that, I swear, it'll just... have to wait."

"What's wrong?"

"I need a favor. It's gonna be hard on you, I know that. I wish there was another way..."

"Favor? I don't understand. It's not about the case, is it?"

"No. Not directly, anyway. There's an officer out in the living room... I need you to come out for a minute and let him look you over. He won't touch you or even get close enough to. He just needs to see for himself that you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"I know that. That damn doctor of yours doesn't."

Greg paled and shifted backwards on the bed a little, away from the door.

"He's not out there, right? Nick promised he'd never let him in..."

"He didn't. The idiot called the PD, though. He thinks he was sent packing so Nick could hide that he's abusin' you."

"What? No! Nick wouldn't! He l... he'll always care about me." Greg abruptly corrected, unsure how Brass would react to the sentiment Bobby had accepted so easily earlier. "That's stupid. God, how could anybody think..."

"Anybody who knows the both of you never would, which makes it even more obvious how clueless this Denson has to be. If I had any leeway, I'd let you slide on this, Greg... but I can't. You need to come out and prove to this cop that everything's kosher with you and Nicky."

Greg looked down at his palms, his expression fearful, then slid one hand up to tentatively touch his throat.

"I do have bruises. They're not so obvious anymore... matter of fact they're almost gone, but..."

"I'll make sure he gets to see the reports and pictures from the hospital. You don't have to tell him anything. You don't have to even talk to him. Just let him look. That's all I ask."

Eventually Greg nodded and rose from the bed. As he drew close to the door, Brass stepped backwards into the living room to give the younger man the space he needed to feel comfortable. He couldn't resist a gentle, and almost inaudible, bit of reassurance as Greg passed, however.

"By the way? You're a good friend, Greg, but people who don't say what they mean tend to tick me off a little."

"You know? I mean..."

"Later. Let's get this through this first, alright?"

"Yeah." Greg responded with a small smile. Brass returned it and followed the younger man into the larger space at a respectful distance.

Language gets quite nasty right at the end. It's not something I do very often, I swear, but this character... it felt right. Prepare thyself...

Stepping cautiously out into the living room, Greg's eyes found the stranger immediately. Struggling to keep his heart rate and breathing under control, he halted several feet away and studied the officer warily.

"Captain Brass... he told me what you want. You know the rules, right?"

"I've been informed and I understand. No touching, no getting in your face. I'm really sorry about this. It's an assignment..."

"I know. It's not your fault. Can we just..."

"Of course." The young man replied, pulling out his note pad and jotting things down as he began his distance examination. Only when he was finished did he ask any questions. "The bruising on your throat?"

"I was... attacked a second time while I was still in the hospital. He said he'd show you the file... it's got pictures."

"Forget it. You've got no reason to lie. I won't invade your privacy any more than I have to."

Greg visibly relaxed, drawing a smile out of the cop. "Okay. Anything not so obvious that you want me to see?"

Greg turned his hands palm out.

"You can't really tell anymore, but there were bruises here too. My attacker... he..."

"No, it's okay. I get it. I'm sure re-telling the story over and over is sheer hell for you, so don't stress yourself out. I don't have a right to hear it anyway. I've got everything I need, Cap. We can go."

"Yeah, I'm gonna stick around a while longer and visit. You go ahead. Make sure that report gets to the Sheriff by the end of shift, okay?"

"Will do. Gentlemen, thank for you for letting me do this. I appreciate your cooperation. If it's okay, Greg... can I pass the word through the PD that you're doing well? I must get asked about you ten times a day. If I get the truth out now, hopefully I can stop the rumor mill before it even starts."

"Yeah. That'd be great. Thanks."

"No problem."

As the man turned to go, he stopped, silently watching Nick follow Greg into the kitchen and talk quietly to his roommate as the smaller man settled into his corner, face to the wall. The cop looked to Brass, but the older man just nodded toward the door and the pair moved outside. "What was that about? If I'd just be lying, I won't say anything to the other guys at all..."

"It won't be a lie. That routine... it's part of what keeps Greg movin' forward. It's just too soon for him to face the world again, in any way, shape or form, so he worked out how to feel safe. He won't need that corner forever, but right now... having a spot to hide when the door opens is good for him. Lets him have some control back."

"I get that. I wasn't... I just wondered. It's so hard to see him like that. Especially after what he used to be like..."

"You said you didn't know anybody on the graveyard."

"Not personally, but they're so good at the job... even better than swing shift. Miles better than day shift. A cop would have to be living under a rock not to at least know about Doctor Grissom and his people."

Brass chuckled.

"An' Grissom still wonders why Ecklie loves to piss him off..."

The officer grinned and replied quietly, turning his face away a little, as if the subject under discussion was actually within earshot.

"We all know about that too... but it doesn't get discussed."

"Better keep it that way."

"Right, Cap. I'll see you at work."

"Yeah. See you."

Brass watched the black and white pull away then started to go back in, but was pulled up short when his cell phone rang. "Brass. Dawson? Yeah, well... he what? Oh... I hear that. Makes sense, but... okay. Half hour early. I'll be there. No, no big deal. I'm there now. No, but it wasn't just to say hi, either. I'll explain when we're all together. Okay. I'll keep my eyes open. Alright. Bye."

Brass studied the door to the apartment critically, pondering what Bobby had just revealed about Nick, then shook his head and moved back inside.

30 MINUTES BEFORE SHIFT START:

Gathered loosely into a group in the parking lot, the people who had responded to Bobby's summons all gazed around at each other silently, wishing they didn't feel so awkward. Finally, Warrick broke the tension.

"So what's up, D? Is Nicky alright?"

"Kinda. He's heading for a crash if we don't step in, though."

Catherine sighed and looked down at the asphalt.

"Caretaker's breakdown."

" 'Fraid so." Bobby confirmed.

"It hasn't been that long... Nick's stronger than that. At least I always thought so."

Cath turned her gaze to the speaker, absently brushed her hair out of her eyes and responded gently.

"Strength isn't the issue, David, it's stress tolerance and endurance. If he was a hundred percent, I agree Nick wouldn't have a problem, but he's dealing with his own injury, on top of being Greg's rock 24/7 and wondering when Hodges will decide to slither around Grissom and tell the world that Nick smacked him out of the blue for no reason."

"But he didn't! Everybody and their mother knows Hodges was trash-talkin' Greg..."

"No, we know that, but Gil and Ecklie are trying their damndest to keep anyone higher out of the loop for as long as possible." She corrected. Bobby's eyes got wide.

"Ecklie? The same guy who didn't want anybody on day shift to pony up for the gift fund?"

"Also the guy who's allergic to bad publicity. A CSI beating up a tech, no matter how obnoxious said tech might be..."

"... is the worst publicity possible." Bobby finished. "Crap."

Archie, who had been unusually quiet during the back and forth dialogue between his friends and colleagues, now spoke up, though it was barely audible.

"That's not all Nick has weighing on him."

Brass looked at him curiously and asked the inevitable question, even though he had a feeling he knew what the young man was about to say.

"Yeah? So what've we missed?"

"The stress and the frustration... they wear you down fast, but they're not the worst thing. Not by a long shot. It's the guilt... and thinking you can't admit how bad you feel or the real reason why. The guilt... that's the killer."

Bobby, sitting on the bumper of a car close to where Archie stood, touched Archie's arm and started to speak, but his friend cut him off.

"Arch..."

"No. No questions, okay? Not right now. Just trust that I know what I'm saying. If we all wanna help Nick we need to get him talking about his guilt... and make him see that it wasn't in his hands to prevent what happened to Greg."

"How do we do that?" Robbins asked softly

"Admitting how guilty we all feel deep down... is a great first step."

"Yeah... not so easy." Cath grumbled.

"I didn't say it would be, but helping Greg and Nick get stronger and making sure they know how much I care... that's more than worth a few uncomfortable moments for me."

Warrick breathed deeply for a minute or two then threw out a powerful note of approval.

"Damn right it is."

Archie grinned and swiftly glanced from one member of the group to another.

"Okay. So however we choose to do it, do we all agree we'll fit in at least one visit sometime in the next week or so and make an effort to really open up to Nick?"

Nods or soft words of assent came from everyone. "Good. I swear, it'll make a huge difference guys."

As the small group broke up and, except for Brass, started to drift toward the building and work, Bobby grabbed Archie's shoulder lightly and held him back.

"Hey..."

"Yes, I'll tell you the story later. Not without an oil tanker full of beer available to help me cough it up, though."

"I can manage that. Just gimme the details of where an' when."

"Soon. It's not... I haven't told anyone in a very, very long time. I need to... work up the courage."

"I get that. I really do. Take as long as you have to. Just promise me you'll come to me if you're thinkin' about backin' out. It sounded like this is somethin' that's been eatin' you up for way too many years."

"You could say that. Man, we need to get inside, or we'll be late."

Grinning, the two friends turned and jogged toward the lab.

ONE HOUR LATER: INSIDE COUNTY JAIL

The slightly balding man gazed nervously around the cell and fiddled with the handle of his briefcase, wishing the guard had the option of leaving the door open. Finally settling his eyes on his client once more, he tried one last time to explain, but the other man wasn't ready to hear about anything other than his deepest desire being fulfilled.

"You have to understand, Mr. Cimino..."

Slowly straightening from the spot where he was leaning against the wall, Greg's rapist took one step forward, his blood singing with satisfaction as the shorter man in front of him visibly winced and backed away the same distance.

"No. You're the lawyer. You do what I want. That's what I understand."

"I'm a public defender..."

"Lawyer. It's your job to get me out. Get off your scrawny ass and go do it."

"The charges against you... the fact that you attacked a police officer... I'm afraid it just isn't that simple."

"I... was the one who was attacked."

"Yes... I know that, but only in the course of..."

"Stop... talking. I want out of this place... and I want it yesterday. You work for me, you belong to me. Get out of my face and fucking get it done."

Shivering now, the PD simply nodded and knocked a trembling hand against the bars at his back, signaling that his meeting with his client was over. Only when he was completely out of the building did he begin to breathe more easily and feel his pulse begin to slow. Rushing to his car, he vowed that his planned departure from the lower levels of the legal system had just been moved up several months.

THE LAB: 1:30 A.M.

From a distance, Brass watched Grissom talk with one of the techs, carefully studying a sheaf of papers as they held a fairly intense conversation. Though normally bold and unafraid of expressing his opinion on anything and everything, when he wished to, Jim Brass could be utterly invisible to those around him no matter how big the crowd. He was currently practicing this skill while he tried to finish processing what had happened in the locker room a few nights before. Even at the time, he'd been perfectly aware that Gil had no legitimate reason for wanting him to look at the old case, except perhaps as an excuse to be physically close. This point, and the screaming telegrams from his brain telling him Gil would never, in a million years, do something like that, were what the detective was currently hung up on and what were keeping his normally razor sharp mind from figuring the problem out. Finally, seeing Grissom about to move off to parts unknown, Jim realized he had to make a move. The game would never see a winner if he refused to leave the dugout; he had to at least set foot on the field.

"Gris, hold up..."

"Jim. What is it?"

"That cold case... anything new come from what were talkin' about?"

"Hmmm? Oh, no... afraid not. I appreciated your insight, but... no, there are no new leads. If it breaks, you'll be the first to know, I promise."

Brass tilted his head slightly, grinned and studied Gil more intently.

"You okay, Gil?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"I don't know... you probably speak a dozen languages. Could be more, I never thought to ask. I do know babble isn't one of 'em."

"Jim..."

"Forget it. I was just curious, not tryin' to weird you out. You feel like a drink after work?"

"Drink?"

"Yeah, drink. Beer, whiskey, Boone's Farm... all the stuff that makes you wish you never woke up the next morning. Well not you... but the rest of us poor slobs."

"I have gotten drunk before, Jim." Grissom replied, his tone colored with the faintest touch of indignance.

"Sure. So you joinin' me after work or not?"

Grissom was silent for a moment, suddenly unsure if his carefully crafted plan was still in play, or if Jim had caught on and was dragging it in a direction of his own making. Eventually, however, Gil realized he had yet to respond and chose a path that was utterly unlike him: going with the flow.

"Of course. I'll find you."

"Okay." Jim's smile broadened as he turned and strolled away. Leaving a supremely confused CSI supervisor behind him.

2:15: THE APARTMENT

"Greg! Greggo, take it easy... touch my hands... there... that's it. It's just me... it's Nick. Close your eyes... breathe slow. Just a nightmare, babe... just a bad dream. You're safe with me..."

"God... oh God..."

"Shhh. Relax... it's okay. I'm here. You wanna tell me about it? Might make it easier if you talk."

"Everybody was looking at me... I kept yelling at them to go away... but they all knew what I was, they could see it... they looked so sick and scared, like just being near me they'd catch my disease and get attacked too... I kept screaming... trying to make them understand I didn't want this, I never wanted this... they wouldn't listen. Then they all just disappeared... and I was alone."

"That's really good, Greg. I'm so proud of you. Now finish it. Tell me the rest."

"That's all there is."

"I've been there, baby. That's never all. C'mon... you can do it. Get the poison out and be done with it for tonight. It's the only way you'll sleep."

"No..."

"Greg, love... I know. I've kept this shit to myself for so many years. The times I wake up screamin an' sweatin' so bad I have to change the sheets... days I can barely get through 'cause I didn't sleep but five or ten minutes at a stretch the night before. I couldn't tell a soul the worst stuff... can't. They don't get it. You got somebody here who does, Greg. I know what it is to feel like you're hollowed out 'cause your pain an' anger ate up everything inside you. I know. Please, babe, talk to me. Finish the dream."

"I... I was alone." Greg finally continued, his voice low and strained. "Then I was back there... in the hospital room... and he was on top of me... only this time he was telling me he killed you and the nurses and locked the door... so nobody was coming to save me. It felt just like that night... I couldn't breathe and it hurt so much... then he did what he promised... I wanted it all to just go black, fade away... but it wouldn't. I was there for all of it... no drugs, no lost memory to protect me. Then he let me die... then you woke me up."

Tears streaming down his cheeks, Nick wrapped his hands tightly around Greg's.

"Greg... hell... I shoulda known, shoulda sensed somehow you were in trouble... stopped him ever gettin' in your room...

"No! Nick, no! This isn't your fault, damn it!"

His hands trembling and his own tears starting to spill over, Greg reached up and cradled Nick's face tenderly. "Don't ever make me do this again, okay? It makes it worse to see you break your heart trying to help me feel better. From now on lots of soothing and comfort... but no specifics."

"But you need to..."

"What I need is you here. That's all. Please, Nicky. It'll kill both of us and the love we're building if we don't stop. Please..."

"Okay. On one condition. You tell Cyn if she asks."

"You don't push her to ask. Not in any way, shape or form."

"Deal. You think you can sleep?"

"No way."

"Alright. Tea, cookies an' old movies?"

"That I can handle. No Hitchcock, though."

"Romance an' comedy only. Gotcha."

AN ALLEY OFF THE STRIP: THREE A.M.

Pulling his light jacket closer around him, Blair fought off the shivers wracking his thin frame and cursed his temper and his emotional nature for the hundredth time that night. Squinting at his watch in the dim light, he laughed darkly and made the correction silently, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

Morning, idiot... it's morning. Man. who would've thought it could get this cold down here? It's a desert, yeah... but all the bodies and activity... and the buildings should hold some heat down near street level shouldn't they? Of course, if you hadn't been so stupid and run off with barely anything on...

"Sometimes I can be just as stubborn and blind as Jim." He finally muttered out loud, though it was still almost inaudible. "I was the one who said I was done with her... not willing to put up with her manipulative crap anymore. Then the minute he starts to feel a little more free expressing his opinion about her, I defend her, blow my stack and run away like a cranky toddler who got oatmeal raisin cookies instead of Oreos for his snack."

Leaning a little closer to the limited warmth of the building on his left, Blair miserably reminded himself that the cold wasn't his only problem. His wallet was in his pocket, but very little cash resided in it and he possessed no credit card. What money he had wasn't even enough for a decent meal, never mind a cab back to his hotel. It would've been more than sufficient for a pay-phone call, but he had also taken off without snatching up any slips of paper with helpful numbers written on them. Greg, their own hotel... he had no way to contact anyone who could get him back where he desperately wanted to be. His only hope was a phone booth with an intact book, but when he peered out cautiously, there wasn't one in sight.

He'd just decided, finally, to risk his safety on the street and try to find a business that would allow him phone privileges, but a tiny sound behind him changed that plan before he could take a step out onto the sidewalk. Years of working beside a Sentinel cop had not only sensitized Blair's own hearing, it had taught him to instantly recognize the sound of human suffering. Cursing under his breath, he turned back and moved deeper into the alley.

"Hello? It's okay, I swear. I won't hurt you. Do you need help? Just talk to me... please? Gimme some idea where you are..."

A moment later his question was answered as he moved past the end of a dumpster and discovered a huddled lump in the shadow of the huge metal bin. Slowly, he knelt on the ground near the figure and continued to talk gently and quietly, hoping to encourage the person to trust him. "Hey... I heard you from way out by the street. Sounded like you're in trouble... or hurt maybe? I can help, I really can. Just let me see you? Hmmm? So I can see if you need first aid or anything..." he cajoled, reaching out with one hand. When the other flinched away and scrambled back, clearly trying to avoid being touched, her face was revealed and Blair gasped softly. "Oh my God... Sara? You name is Sara Sidle, isn't it? Everybody's been looking for you. All your friends are majorly worried. Look... I'm kinda lost myself. I was just gonna go find a phone... see if I can get some help. If you won't come with me, will you at least promise me you'll still be here when I come back? It's not safe out there... and you look like you've already been beat up a little. Okay? Stay here?"

Sara studied Blair's face for a long time before she finally gave a jerky nod. "Good. I won't be long." He said, stripping off his jacket and laying it on the ground in front of her as he rose to his feet. "Take it. It'll keep you warm."

"You... you need..." she croaked, frowning.

"I'm good. Go on, take it. I won't go unless I know you'll be alright while I'm away."

With a grunt, Sara grabbed the coat and draped it over herself as best she could. Blair grinned and walked backwards toward the street, only turning at the last minute. "I will be back, I promise... and I'll bring help. Try not to be scared, okay? I won't let anyone hurt you. They'd have to get through me, first..."

Shivering violently, in spite of the blanket wrapped securely around him, Blair kept his head down and his eyes shut. Brass, Warrick and Grissom had all praised and thanked him, to varying emotional degrees, but all Blair could see was the state Sara had devolved into when the EMT's had shown up and tried to help her. Screaming, thrashing and sobbing, she'd fought off the medics for several minutes until they'd finally decided sedation was needed. Watching her terrified struggle had driven her volatile emotions deep into an empathically vulnerable Blair and he was now huddled on the rear bumper of a police cruiser, lost in misery and determined to ignore the world. This attitude lasted only until a familiar presence swaddled him in warmth no blanket could ever provide. Tears flowing freely, Blair moaned and threw himself into Jim's arms.

"Jim... I'm so sorry... you were right, I did get lost... I'm sorry, Jim..."

"Shhhh... easy, Chief... easy. I found you... I found you, love. It's okay now..."

"God, it so sucked, Jim... she was so scared... never felt anything like that. It just poured in and over me like polluted water... couldn't make it stop..."

"Damn it, baby, you know enough to back off when it gets like that." Jim admonished gently. "Open as your heart and soul are, you soak up negative shit like a ten-mile wide sponge."

"I had to help, had to..."

"Hey, I know... I know. Go through your process, Blair... put it away for now."

"Don't think I can..."

"It won't be easy, but you're strong enough. You have to separate yourself, love... you have to or you'll get sick. Last time was just too close..."

"I remember... okay, I'll try."

Slowing his breathing, Blair slid into the meditation he used when his gift of empathy was overwhelmed. As he relaxed, inch by painful inch, he was able to bring up an image of himself smothered in a dark fog, unable to find the clarity and peace beyond it. Softly, Jim began to murmur encouragement in his ear, more than willing to trade roles and become the Guide for however long it took Blair to find his way out.

"C'mon... that's it... come back to me... let me lead you... you can do it, baby... c'mon out... that's the way... follow me, Chief... listen to me... you're doin' so good... yeah... come home, Blair... focus on my voice... I can feel it... you're almost home... I love you so much..."

Gradually, the younger man slumped within Jim's embrace, all tension draining from him. "Chief?"

"All done... it's put away, door's locked." Blair responded hoarsely.

"Alright."

"I was stupid, Jim, I know that... I never should've run off. It's just... sometimes I don't know how to feel about her..."

"Naomi's confusing that way, no doubt about it. By the way, you call yourself that nasty word again, I'm gonna crack you in the head and you'll clean the bathroom for a month."

Blair chuckled brokenly and clutched Jim tighter.

"I was wrong, okay? I meant to say I was wrong..."

"Better."

Falling silent, the pair spent several minutes enjoying peace, quiet and each other's comfort, but it was broken when a young officer approached to harangue Jim about having to move his rental car. Slowly looking up, Jim focused a glare on the man that had him stepping back and sliding his hand toward his weapon. Luckily, Brass strolled up just then and calmed the situation.

"Hey, Mullins, chill wouldya? He's a cop. Let it go."

"Cap..."

"I said he's okay. Get back to your post, kid. Last thing we need is looky-loos gettin' past the tape."

The cop reluctantly obeyed, shooting suspicious glances over his shoulder at Ellison. Brass watched him go then turned an apologetic look on Jim and Blair. "Sorry about that. Damn cops get younger and younger. We'll be settin' up diaper change stations in the P.D. men's room pretty soon..."

"No problem. Can I take him back to the hotel?"

"I just got a couple questions first. You up to it, Sandburg?"

Blair nodded slowly.

"Tell me how you found her."

"I... I was lost... hiding near this end of the alley. I was about to step out... try and find a phone and call the police for help. Sara made this tiny noise... all the time I've worked with Jim, I know what someone in trouble sounds like. I walked back that way..." he said, pointing vaguely toward the dumpster. "... and I saw someone curled up in the shadows. I just wanted to help... didn't know it was her until she looked up at me."

"She say anything?"

"I was freezing so I knew she had to be ten times as bad. I... I, uh, gave her my jacket. She tried to refuse... said I needed it, but I told her I wouldn't leave to find help unless she took it."

"You'll get that back before you go."

"No, let her keep it. It made her feel better... she shouldn't have to lose it."

"No, Chief. That's your favorite jacket, not to mention the only one you brought with you."

"Jim..."

"Trust me, you don't have a choice." Brass countered. "Once Sidle's back to herself, she'll insist on givin' it back. She don't take a hand up or a hand-out from anybody."

"Stubborn or proud?" Jim asked.

"Both." The captain responded with a half smile. "Go on, both of ya. If I need anything more, I know where to find you."

"Thanks." Jim told him gratefully, lifting Blair onto his feet and tucking him in against his side, blanket and all. "Make sure to call Greg and let him know she's okay, huh? I know I should do it, but we're gonna be..."

Jim trailed off, one hand sliding around the back of Blair's head and drawing it down to his shoulder.

"Understood. I'll take care of it personally."

"Appreciate it." Ellison added quietly as he led Blair away. A few moments later, Grissom walked up beside Brass and spoke quietly.

"It's past four a.m. Make it breakfast and a Bloody Mary? My treat."

"Sounds good. Perfect way to fill in the time between now and a decent hour to give Sanders the good news." Brass responded, running a shaky hand over his brow.

"You're exhausted. If you feel like begging off..."

"Nah. We need to celebrate... send God a few thank you's an' woo-hoos that Sidle's gonna be okay."

"We don't know that yet. The way she reacted..."

"Hey, she's got the same bunch behind her that Sanders has. Just as easy to bear up two as it is one."

"I hope so."

"I know so. We're a strong family, Gil... strong enough to weather more than one storm at a time."

"Mmmm. I have to agree. If this has proven anything to me, it's how much of a bond we all have."

"Damn right. C'mon. We both need somethin' in our bellies before we hit the sack."

"Okay..."

Twenty minutes later the pair were seated across from each other in a booth at a local restaurant. Gil was staring at a menu, Jim was periodically staring at Gil and trying not to get caught. This strategy would work only to a point, he knew that, so he made himself stop. Through the drinks and food, he deliberately kept the conversation light and casual, staying absolutely away from what he was really thinking, but over coffee, both of them fell silent, and the calm, quiet atmosphere gave Jim's mind far too much leeway. Eventually he found himself staring again and this time Gil noticed.

"Jim?"

"Sorry. You know me. My brain gets its teeth into somethin'... it don't like lettin' go."

Gil felt himself tense slightly and forced his muscles to relax before he looked up and responded.

"Our earlier conversation."

"Yeah. I'm not pressin'. I wasn't gonna say anything..."

"It's alright. Go on."

"Okay... what's up with you lately?"

"Me? Nothing. What makes you think there is?"

"I don't know..." Jim began cautiously, turning his paper napkin around and around in his hands, systematically shredding the corners. "My gut says there's something you really wanna say or a question you're dyin' to ask... but for some reason, you decided not to."

"I don't... no. If there was, you'd know."

"You trust me?"

"Of course. With my life."

"Then spit it out."

"Jim... it's not..."

"Right. Shoulda kept my big mouth shut." Brass conceded, laying cash for his portion of the bill on the table between them and sliding out so that he could get to his feet. Just before he turned to go, Gil reached out and grasped his wrist. Jim looked from that hand back up into Grissom's face, burning to speak, but praying that if he could just be patient a little longer, he might hear something that would let him justify holding on to his most cherished, and most private, dream, instead of surrendering it, calling himself an old fool and walking away.

"Jim. I..."

"You what? C'mon, we both need shut-eye, Gil, so speak up."

"I can't."

"Then let go." Brass replied gently. His usual 'We don't need no stinking emotions' mask dropping firmly into place, Gil pulled his hand back, laying it on the table. Brass smiled sadly and spoke once more before he left. His brain told him the gesture was useless and stupid, but his heart pleaded for him to leave the door open, just a crack, and he had always believed his heart knew best. "When you're ready to shoot straight, buddy... you know where to look for me."

He then turned and strode out, leaving Gil behind, his face still just as impassive, despite the agonizing Phil Collins melody suddenly playing in his head.

how can you just walk away from me when all I can do is watch you leave...

8:15 A.M.:

"She is... yeah, okay. I am happy, but I'm still in shock, too. She did? It's impossible, you know that... Yeah, I want to, more than anything... Of course I care, how can you even... She'll just have to understand. Yeah, well, maybe you don't, but Sara will. I never said I was... Know? I know because of what she and I... Do not go there, Warrick... hey, that was really low! Good, 'cause I don't feel like seeing you today. You can come back when you realize what a jerk you're being and apologize... fine."

Greg slammed the receiver back into its cradle, stalked away from the phone and began pacing the apartment again. Alerted by the younger man's raised voice, Nick stepped out of the bathroom a moment later, wiping grease and dirt from his hands.

"Greggo?"

"What?" he responded vaguely, halting and turning to face his house-mate.

"How come you were yellin' at Warrick?" Nick prodded gently.

"They found Sara... well, Blair did."

"Oh my God, G! That's great!" Nick enthused, tossing the rag aside and striding forward. "So what's Rick's issue?"

"She wants to see me... won't talk except to ask where I am and if I'm okay. Warrick's scared for her. It turned him into kind of... an idiot, that's all."

Nick smiled tenderly and used one finger to tilt Greg's face back up so their eyes met.

"That ain't all. Tell me. Please?"

"Promise you'll cool off before you call him?"

Nick grimaced, but he nodded his assent.

"That bad?"

"He said Sara doesn't understand... and that I could go to her if I really wanted to. He... he called me selfish... said it's time for me to give back. He didn't mean it, Nicky, he was just so stressed..." Greg added quickly when Nick's expression darkened.

"Probably, but that's no excuse. Rick's not one to just drop his troubles on somebody else's head. Damn fool's lost his mind..."

"You promised. Cool off, then call."

"I know... I know. Won't be easy." He admitted with a rueful smile that drew a faint echo out of Greg. After a slight hesitation, the younger man held out his hands and Nick instantly completed their now familiar circuit.

"They found her, Nick. She's gonna be okay...

"You both will, G. You both will. I promise you that, too."

Greg beamed up at the man who had become so essential to his survival, who was his strongest lifeline in a world that sometimes seemed too chaotic and confusing to bear, then leaned in and lightly kissed Nick's hands one at a time. Reveling in the shock the Texan was displaying, Greg disconnected and moved into the kitchen to start the breakfast dishes. After he'd had a few moments to recover, Nick followed, grabbing the phone and taking it into the bathroom again.

"Cyn? Yeah, we're okay. I got some news, though... and a huge, wicked important question."

1:00: JIM AND BLAIR'S HOTEL

Once more the lovers were curled up together, this time in a chair by the window, one drawing strength and comfort, the other content to be the source. Murmuring peace and love to the man huddled in his lap, Jim stroked Blair's head over and over and did everything he could to reassure him that any issues or problems were long forgotten.

"Shhh... easy, Chief. You're okay now... you're okay and it's just the two of us."

"I wish." Blair mumbled, due to his face being buried in Jim's shoulder. "She'll call... nothing we can do."

"I'll keep my promise you know. I meant it when I said I never wanna fight about that again. Sometimes I forget she was all you had for most of your life. What I feel doesn't mean shit. I don't want you to ever stop loving Naomi."

"Just be more careful and see her for who she is instead of who I wish she'd been, right?"

"My lips are sealed. I'll do it with duct tape, staples or a nail gun if it'll keep you here, by me... where I know you're safe. I was so scared, baby... I almost lost you."

"No way, Blessed Protector." Blair countered softly, stretching his head up to kiss Ellison's jaw. "I wasn't actually out in the desert, love. I would've found a phone or gotten help somehow."

"Maybe, but not before..."

Jim trailed off, his lips thinning as he clamped down on what he was going to say. Blair pushed away and sat up a little so he could see straight into his Sentinel's eyes.

"Before what? C'mon, Jim, talk to me. It sounds like this is something I really need to hear."

Ellison paused and hesitated, searching for a way to avoid the truth, but he eventually gave in, knowing Blair was right.

"There's another one... here in Vegas. I felt it the minute we landed."

"Another... you mean a Sentinel? But you haven't shown a single sign..."

"It's so faint it isn't enough to trigger any big reaction. Whoever it is... I don't think they're aware... and I'm positive they aren't on-line."

"Jim... you don't think..."

"I don't know. Too tired and hungry to wonder about it right now. What say we get room service then take a long nap?"

Blair's stomach rumbled, saving him the trouble of answering and making Jim laugh. "I'll take that as a yes."

9:00 THAT NIGHT:

Staring out the driver's side window of his car at the one place he had given up on ever seeing the inside of again, Grissom shifted his cell phone to his other ear, fiercely wrenching his eyes and his attention away from the danger and uncertainty surrounding what he was about to do. Scowling lightly, he tuned back in to the conversation, providing more reassurance for the only woman, other than his actual parent, that he'd ever tolerated mothering from.

"I'll be alright in a day or two, Catherine. It's nothing serious. A mild stomach virus. The doctor says I just need fluids and rest."

"You're sure? I can come check on you at lunch break."

"Not necessary. You know how I am when I get like this..."

"All too well. You'd try the patience of Mother Theresa. Okay. If I don't hear from you in forty-eight hours, though..."

"You will. I appreciate the concern. I'm never quite sure what to do with it, but I appreciate it. You know that, too."

His words sent images swirling through Catherine's mind: Grissom valiantly fighting the chill and his vulnerability in a thin hospital gown. His equally as flimsy mask of casual attitude, both sitting on the table and as he'd walked away clutching fabric together behind him. The abrupt tenseness when she'd impulsively hugged him and the relief she'd sensed when she let him go him a moment later.

"I do... I know that. Gris..."

"Don't. I'll be okay, Cath. I'll see you in a couple days."

"Right. I'll be waiting for that call."

"Night, Catherine."

"Night, Gil."

For a few minutes, Gil simply gazed at the now silent phone, faintly ashamed of the story he'd just concocted. He knew it was absolutely necessary, however. If any of the others caught even the tiniest hint of the plan he had swiftly pulled together that morning, there would be no end of interference from his well-meaning second family and the knowledge he so desperately needed might end up forever beyond his grasp.

Sighing quietly, he leaned over and slid the phone and his gun into the glove compartment then closed and locked the small hinged door. Drawing and releasing slow, deep breaths, he exited his truck and secured that as well, but for a long time couldn't get his feet to move him forward. Finally, he shook his head and forced himself to walk, mumbling under his breath all the way.

"Damn it... this may be your only hope. Besides, the only reason you've put this off so long is out of sheer stubbornness. You might want to believe it wasn't your fault, but you know damn well it was. Pride and ego be damned... you will grovel, bow, scrape or do whatever else you have to because nobody else can straighten you out. You won't get what you need any other way, so just accept your fate like a man!" he concluded, stepping up and knocking firmly on the door. As he waited for a response, he took one pace back and studied the enormous home he'd once cherished as a haven of peace, civility and honesty in a world that was slowly killing his belief in those concepts.

A few moments later, the door swung open, bathing him in soft, warm light. The expression on the face of the woman standing silhouetted in front of him was everything he'd been dreading, but he pushed aside his fears and doubts and took the step he'd been avoiding for so many months: he dropped to his knees on the asphalt, tucked his chin into his chest and temporarily clamped down on his needs and desires, knowing she had to speak first.

"Dr. Grissom."

"Mistress Heather."

"Interesting... and not at all what I'd expect from you. Why are you here?"

"I need help, the kind only you can give me. To get it, I knew I had to come to you and finally admit how foolish I was... and that you had every right to push me away. I deeply regret my actions and I'm asking to be allowed back into your life... into your world."

"You've made a good start. What kind of help are we talking about?"

Grissom tried, but his mouth suddenly went dry and the words stuck in his throat. "You may look at me. Good. Now answer the question."

"I've discovered something... no, someone amazing... and I think they love me. This morning I was given a chance... asked to open up, but I couldn't say what they needed to hear. I tried, I wanted to, but..."

"Understood. This will be a major commitment and it won't be easy, by any means. Are you ready and willing to put in the time and energy required?"

"I am."

"I see. Alright. On your feet." She commanded, moving aside to allow him to enter. "You can go wait in the tea room. I have a few things to juggle on my schedule and then I'll rejoin you... and we can discuss just how determined you are."

THIRTY MINUTES LATER:

Heather glided back into the room to find Grissom soberly contemplating a china cup filled with dark liquid. He looked up when she entered, set the cup carefully on the table and focused intently on her. She stopped a foot or so from where he sat, tilting her head slightly to one side.

"You don't look comfortable."

"Anxious. You're my best hope... I don't know what I'll do if you refuse me."

"I'd have reason."

"I know. Whatever it takes, whatever you ask..."

"A dangerous promise to make if you don't intend to follow through."

"I do. I need this. Please, Mistress..."

Strolling over to Gil, she laid a hand on his brow and tipped his head back just a bit.

"Rules."

"Speak and seek truth, embrace willingness and abandon shame." He recited, gazing up expectantly into her eyes. After a long pause, she favored him with a smile then moved around the table and took the seat closest to him. He swiveled to face her, his expression betraying the barest hint of the need burning inside his heart. She made him wait while she poured her own tea before she released him from the tenterhooks she was fully aware he was dangling from.

"I was able to free up three days. You'll have my undivided attention."

Grissom swallowed harshly. He knew what that meant; he was in for a ride no roller-coaster could ever supply. He only prayed that at the end of the journey, he'd have the answers and the peace no coaster had ever led him to.

"I understand... and I accept. Thank you, Mistress."

"You might want to reserve your gratitude. I haven't planned your curriculum yet. More tea?"

Uncharacteristically at a loss for words, Grissom merely shook his head. Heather smiled at him again and took a slow sip from her own cup. "Just as well. You'll need all the rest you can get tonight and caffeine would only interfere. Go on. Finish what you have... then I'll show you to your room."

Even deliberately stretching out the process, it took only a few more minutes for Gil to drain the last drops of tea. Heather smirked lightly as she watched him reluctantly set the cup down. "You're supposed to be scared. It encourages compliance." She joked, rising and holding out a hand. Grissom hesitated only a moment before standing and enfolding her hand in his. As she led him down the dim halls, he kept his gaze on his own feet, desperate not to give his doubts any reason to become more intense than they already seemed to be. When they stopped in front of an ornate door, he actually closed his eyes. Turning to study him, she lifted his chin with one finger and spoke gently to him. "Grissom... look at me."

When he did, she stroked his jaw and continued. "You did the right thing. I can help you, give you what you're longing for... and I won't leave you broken, I promise you that. You already know that place, that feeling. This... this is about the road not traveled."

In spite of himself, Gil nodded slowly, sensing his normal reticence, the shields and walls he maintained to protect himself, fading faster than he could reach out to reinforce them. Heather responded by sliding her whole hand up to cradle his cheek. "That's good. Let it go. You don't need it here... not with me. Not that I've ever had any trouble seeing through your defenses..." she teased subtly "... but the release will be meaningful to you, and that's what's important."

"I remember. The first time we had tea... you just stripped it all away... without even trying. Scared the living hell out of me."

Heather laughed softly.

"Mmm... I thought you were a typical male, that you'd bristle and walk out the minute your armor was breached. Instead you took a few seconds to regroup and came right back with such an intelligent response that I instantly regretted what I'd said... and I knew I wanted you for a friend."

Gil turned his head, kissed the palm she held against his skin, momentarily let his eyes slip closed again and whispered to her, his breath warming the inner surface of her wrist.

"I'm sorry... and I've missed you. I want to be your friend again."

"I missed you too. Welcome home, Gil."

The words were spoken so tenderly that Grissom abruptly found himself fighting back tears and sought to hide his face any way he could. Dropping her hand to his shoulder, Heather solved his dilemma by rotating him so that he faced the door. "Go. Get some sleep. Classes start early around here. Breakfast at six, we begin at seven."

"Yes, Mistress." He agreed quietly then slipped inside and shut the door. Smiling and swiping at a tear of her own, Heather moved off to her office to plan the next three days.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING:

Soon after his meal was finished, the same one who'd delivered the food and tea earlier now arrived to collect his dishes and led him out of the room, handing him off to a second woman. She guided him through the maze once again and down a short flight of stairs into an area he'd never explored. He was left outside a pair of dark paneled doors, his only instructions being to remove and fold his clothes, pile them neatly on the floor and step inside. Repeating the rules over and over to himself, specifically the admonition to abandon shame, he quickly did as he'd been asked.

Moving into the room, he found himself in a lushly decorated space, lit minimally by several small candles and one or two dimmed lamps around the perimeter. Heather awaited him in the center of the room, seated on a large cushion with her legs tucked under. Another pillow had been placed a foot or two away and he knew that was meant for him. Tentatively, he moved forward and dropped onto it, resisting the need to cross his hands in his lap, shielding the intimate parts of himself from her sight.

When he'd settled, Heather reached out and gently placed a hand on top of his head. Instantly, Gil's neck curved downward and his eyes closed.

"Why have you come?" She intoned softly, beginning a ritual she'd taught him not long after they first met.

"I am here to seek guidance."

"Will you open yourself fully to what I offer?"

"I will gratefully accept all wisdom, all honesty, all insight that is laid before me."

"Will you walk the path I reveal to you, no matter where it might lead?"

"I will yield and follow, trusting that I will come to no harm."

Smiling, she slid the same hand under his chin and nudged his head back up. When he returned the grin, she stroked his neck and slowly pulled back.

"Well done. I wasn't sure you'd remember all of that. We begin now. Tell me again why you need guidance."

"I... someone loves me, and I don't think it would take a very hard push for me to fall, either. This person gave me a chance to say how I feel. I could see that all they wanted was a simple response. Yes or no, sit back down and talk to me... or keep your mouth shut and walk away. I... I stammered and kept saying their name... but the words my heart was screaming just wouldn't come out."

Heather studied him for a long, intense moment before replying.

"I didn't know that many euphemisms could fit in such a brief statement."

Grissom flushed.

"Seek and speak truth... right. The truth... is a big part of this issue. I'm confused."

"Not a normal state for you. The confusion makes you angry?"

"Furious."

"Understandable. Tell me the truth you're hiding from."

"I'm... attracted to a man. More than attracted..."

"But love is a concept you're not sure you understand."

"Exactly."

"Well, I already see a problem. Love is an emotion, not a concept."

"My feelings and I don't get along, you know that. I have to come at things from a place of logic and analysis, or nothing makes any sense and I get frustrated... and I run away. My mind is safe for me. I know the territory, know where I am and how to make things work. My heart... looking into my heart is just frightening and bewildering. It would be like trying to do my job if all the CSI's, the techs and the witnesses were speaking and writing Mandarin Chinese."

"Do you want this man?"

"More than I ever imagined was possible."

"I don't impress easily, you know that. The next three days will be intense and draining. In order to become what you desire... you'll need to put everything you are in my hands." She warned him, carefully watching his expression. He had sworn to her that he would submit and surrender, but she had to be absolutely positive. His eyes would reveal the truth. To her at least, they always did, whether he wanted them to or not. When he replied, she breathed more lightly, having seen what she was hoping for.

"I'm ready. I can't go on like I have been all these years. It doesn't work anymore... if it ever did. The scientist in me knows what to do when a process or experiment fails. You try another theory... another hypothesis. The man... when it came to relationships, the man tried, got hurt and let that convince him it just wasn't worth it to keep looking for another solution. Things changed when... when this man showed up. The possibility of having him makes trying again worth it... worth anything."

"Who?"

Gil paled and clenched his hands momentarily into fists, but harshly reminded himself that Heather would be the last one to reveal his secrets.

"Jim Brass." He finally replied, his voice low and stressed. Much as Warrick had done, Heather considered the revelation for a few moments, then broke out into a smile.

"Excellent choice. In spite of the facade he hides behind, I believe your captain is a very sensitive, caring man. Strong-hearted, no lack of courage or a sense of humor. Extremely intelligent, too. You'll make a good match."

" If you can get me to the point where I'm able to open my mouth and actually tell him what I'm feeling."

"Oh, I have no doubt I can manage." Heather responded, rising gracefully to her feet and holding out a hand to help him up. Once he was also standing, she led him silently back out the doors, moving past the clothes he'd piled up there earlier. He paused, looking back at them, then frowned mildly at her. She merely gazed at him enigmatically and waited. Eventually, he admitted defeat.

"Abandon shame."

Heather tapped him on the cheek, nodded her approval and moved off again. Though he was anticipating giggles and eye-rolls, perhaps even gasps of horror, if they met any of her employees along the way to their destination, Gil once again restrained himself from covering up and followed meekly.

"Sit." Heather commanded, once they reached the new location and the door had been shut behind both of them. Gil paused, staring around at the walls covered with items he'd only heard about and the multiple small chests likely holding things he couldn't even imagine. "Gil?"

Grissom swiftly met her gaze.

"I'm sorry for questioning you, Mistress. Please don't ever doubt that I trust you."

"I don't. You've surrendered more of yourself to me than I ever hoped you might. Before the unpleasantness, we were working on helping you take the next step. Now it seems the next step has taken you instead."

"Not yet he hasn't." Gil responded in a quiet growl that drew a laugh and a touch on the shoulder from Heather.

"Slow down, Gil. You'll get to that point, but we have a lot to do before that can happen." She reminded him, gesturing to another set of cushions, this time waiting until he'd found a comfortable position before she did so herself. "How long has it been?"

"Since I helped myself, about eight months. Since anything more involved... a couple of years."

Heather's single raised eyebrow was the only indicator of the pain and regret she was too kind-hearted to express verbally. "I know. You and I have discussed the reasons ad nauseum..."

"And we'll go over them again... just not right now. The last time you masturbated, were there any problems or issues you think I might be able to help with?"

"Uh... no. Not physically. And yes, I've been to a specialist and he seems to believe I can perform as well as I ever did. As a matter of fact, he, uh... he felt the need to call afterward and warn me that I'm... extremely fertile and make sure I'm up on the latest in contraception. It was nice to hear that I haven't lost much in that department, but it won't be a concern and I told him so. He's been sworn to secrecy."

"There are such things as surrogates, Gil."

"And pass on the struggle and agony I went through a few years back? No. Not a chance in hell."

"There's a twenty percent chance the condition won't be inherited. You quoted me that figure yourself. That's significant enough to give it a try. The way you've talked about Catherine's daughter tells me you regret the missed opportunity."

"Once... maybe. Now it's just a complication I can't deal with. Besides, Jim already has a grown daughter that gives him more grief than he can handle. Learning to love and support each other will be more than enough for two guys our age. A new child... doesn't even show up on the radar."

"Mmmm. Ellie. I remember. Quite a challenge, but by no means irredeemable. All she needs is time. A firm hand wouldn't hurt either."

Gil started to question how Heather knew, but thought better of it and shifted to a more on-topic inquiry.

"I'm sure you're right. Mistress, you've never... we've never done anything like this..." he said, gesturing to the contents of the room, "... so I don't really understand why we're here."

"I assume the doctor performed function tests. I have a few of my own in mind and this is the best place for them."

Gil swallowed hard once again, but he forced his fears down and responded the way he knew Heather expected him to.

"Understood. I'm ready."

Smiling softly, she stroked his shoulder then his face.

"There will be no pain, not in any form... but you walked into this with your eyes open, Gil. You knew full well that we weren't going to spend the next three days just talking."

"I did... I knew. No one's touched me in so long..."

"We start slowly, going back a few lessons from where we left off. You can handle that."

"Yes."

"Good. Let's get on with the work, then."

THE APARTMENT: 3 HOURS LATER

Rubbing his temples subtly, Nick marveled at the change in attitude between himself and Greg. The Texan was now the one who was wandering, unable to settle or completely calm down, and Greg was sitting peacefully on the couch working through scale after scale on the portable keyboard Warrick had gifted him with. When he'd dragged it out and set it up, Greg had claimed he only wanted a reminder that Warrick wasn't really the angry, hurtful person he'd become on the phone earlier and, in deference to his almost healed, but not quite there, hands, promised he would play for just a few minutes. It had now been an hour and Nick was at the edge of his endurance.

Despite the headphones Greg had plugged into the port on the back of the instrument, Nick felt as if he could hear every note with excruciating clarity and the headache ramping up in his skull was getting closer and closer to critical mass with every passing second. Finally, he moved to the couch, grasped Greg's wrists gently and lifted them up and away from the keys. The younger man turned to look at his housemate in surprise, sliding off the headset once he was released.

"Nick? What's up?"

"I don't know, G. I just... I've got a rotten headache, okay? I don't wanna push you, ya know, but..."

Hey, no, it's no problem. I did say it'd just be a little while, huh? Sorry. I didn't think it'd bother you if I used the phones..."

"Me either. I don't know how to explain..." he murmured, turning his gaze away. Greg twisted and moved until their eyes met again.

"Try?"

Nick flushed lightly and frowned, but he made a hesitant, halting attempt.

"I... I could hear it like... like you had no headphones on... and the volume maxed out."

Greg looked down at the device he held then back up to the other man.

"Yeah? Maybe they weren't working right..." He responded, laying them on the table. "Hang on, I'll get some water and ibuprofen."

When Greg returned, he stayed quiet until Nick had swallowed the pills. "It'll get better soon. Hang in there."

Nick chuckled hoarsely.

"Ain't that my line? You must be gettin' stronger, bud, if you can comfort me."

"Could be. You can go lay down in my room, if you think it'll help."

"Not a bad idea. Lemme call somebody to come by and stay with you..."

"Hey," Greg protested playfully, "didn't you just say I was better?"

Nick sighed and rubbed his head again.

"An' if that ass Denson shows up again, maybe with somebody official this time, you're gonna be in your corner tryin' to protect yourself and I'll be asleep. The door never gets opened, he gets all the reason he needs to send the cops crashin' in here. That could shove you into your own head forever, Greggo. No. Okay? Just no."

"Nick... if I'd had a spinal injury you wouldn't push me not to try and walk again just 'cause I might take a few falls in the process."

"I would if it was only a couple weeks since you were hurt."

"Nick."

"Yeah... I hear what you're sayin', G. It doesn't change how I feel..."

"I'm not saying it has to. I just want you to see where I'm coming from."

"I do... I really do. I know callin' you baby don't make you one an' I know I'll have to give up my job here eventually... that I can't protect you from the world forever."

"The job, yes. Your place in my life... no way." Greg told him, grinning softly. "Yeah, at some point I won't need you the same way I do now, but it's okay for things to change. Between us... it can only get better and stronger. It doesn't matter that neither one of us is ready to be physical yet. We will be, and when that happens... it'll be even more amazing for the time and work we had to put in to get there."

"There you go with the comfort again." Nick laughed, even as he dropped his head into one cupped hand. "You're gettin' too good at that, man..."

"I learned from the best."

"You do understand, right? I need you to understand... you can't be left alone yet. If what I was talkin' about should happen..."

"I get that, Nick, but there's nobody to call. It's almost noon, the whole team's asleep by now."

Nick grimaced as the stress of that reminder only worsened the throbbing in his head.

"Damn it... wait, Jim an' Blair'll be awake. You mind havin' one or both a'them as watchdogs while I sleep this off?"

"I guess that'd be okay. It'll give me a chance to thank Blair for what he did for Sara... maybe pick his brain for ideas on how I can help her without actually being there in person."

"Okay... good..."

"You want me to call?"

"Please."

Next part of Change Is Never Easy

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• Other pairings & threesomes
• Gen CSI stories
• C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation: The Complete Ninth Season