Title: Dark Days
Author: Kristen999
Category: Angst/ Drama/ Case file
Spoilers: General for seasons 1-4. Set in Season 5, but no specific spoilers for it.
Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.
Summary: Detachment from a case is a necessity. Obsession, however, can be an unavoidable evil. Nick battles his demons during a case of a murdered child.
Notes: This story deals with dark and sensitive subject matter. The story takes place during Season 5, but the Team is not split up.
Thanks: To Tinkerbell for all of her wonderful editing. To Kris, I miss you.

Gil Grissom stared at his calendar in confused silence. He dug through files, expense reports, and pursed his lips. Catherine had just left his office in a hurry after yet another conversation where they'd gotten their wires crossed. The same date, how could he have forgotten... again? He rubbed at his chin, scratching around his beard. He'd already made the decision; it was a fairly easy one after all. His thoughts were interrupted when his Big Mouth Billy Bass began singing.

The supervisor peered though his reading spectacles. He acknowledged the entrance with a nod and invited the person to enter his office. Nick Stokes walked in, not a single amount of hesitancy in his demeanor. Gil raised an eyebrow in admiration; the other criminalist always seemed to be slightly uncomfortable when his presence had been requested in the past. Nick strolled in, cool as a cucumber, and took a seat without asking. Gil chuckled on the inside. The young criminalist seemed so relaxed, Nick the Man in Black. Grissom wondered if he should lightly suggest that the other man try wearing something other than a black T-shirt and jeans.

His amusement quickly dissipated when he thumbed through the file folder in front of him. His CSI was certainly up to the challenge. But it wasn't doubt that tickled at his brain- he just hated to hand over this much responsibility on one plate. This was a three course meal, indeed.

Nick sat patiently in his chair as the older man slid the files over to him.

"Dead boy found in the alley of Tenth and Saint Andrews. I want you to run it."

The younger criminalist picked up the assignment, the location and notes neatly printed on the page. Nick nodded as he gave it a cursory exam. "I'm on it." He looked over at his boss. "Any reason I just didn't pick this off the board or something?"

Gil shrugged almost innocently. "I'm leaving in an hour for that conference... it's mandatory."

Nick leaned back in his chair, still not quite convinced this was the reason for being summoned. "Something special about this case? Body hasn't been identified."

Grissom tapped his fingers on his desk absently. "Catherine has to go with me. It's a prerequisite if she ever wants to get the next shift supervisory position." Gil looked over at Nick, keeping his expression casual. "I'm leaving you in charge of the shift for the next several days while we're both out of town. You'll be lead on this case, as well as overseeing all other regular lab duties."

Nick Stokes beamed with pride as his smile reached from ear to ear. "Yeah?"

His boss allowed a very tiny grin, but it disappeared rather quickly.

"You're lucky it's a slow night. When Sara's done with the Willborne case, she can lend a hand. Till then, you got Warrick and Greg."

The wheel in Nick's head was already shifting gears, and his face grew serious. "Greg's never worked on a murdered child case before."

The supervisor studied the man in front of him. He simply adjusted his weight in the chair.

"You want me to mentor him on this?" Nick asked, even though he knew the answer.

"I think you can juggle it all. He'll need a steady guide on a case like this."

The younger criminalist sat straighter in his chair even if he didn't realize it. "The first one's pretty tough. I'll make sure he learns, and handles it alright."

Grissom slowly stood up from his chair. "I know." The supervisor knew Nick had the empathic skills to help a green criminalist on cases like this. The first dead child case was always the hardest. There were many firsts in this field, all of them were never very pleasant. But it was the job.

Nick got out of his chair. "Looks like I need to get busy, then. I'll let the rest of the team know." Nick was all business as he carefully started planning all the things he would need to set in motion.

The younger man turned to leave, but stopped right outside the door.

"Thanks, Grissom."

The supervisor gave a slight nod. "None needed."

Nick left his office and Gil started to pack away things in his briefcase for his trip. Four days was a very long time to leave someone who was inexperienced in running the unit. Perhaps he should have sought help from another team, but Gil knew he made the right choice. He only hoped that whatever unexpected things that occurred would be a learning experience for Nick.

There were always surprises. They were what made the position so grueling sometimes.

---

Warrick Brown was polishing off the last bit of his coffee, and glanced at his watch. Grissom was slightly overdue, which was so unlike his boss. He hadn't noticed any bustle about the lab, no hot cases could be tying everyone up. Warrick's police scanner was on the fritz, so he felt like he was in the dark. He was about to search out some change for the snack machine when he heard hurried footsteps enter the breakroom.

"What's up, Nick?" he greeted his partner.

"Not much."

Warrick cocked his head to one side. Nick Stokes was practically vibrating with intense energy. There was a brightness to his eyes, an almost-bounce in his step as he walked over to him. That silly grin of his always gave him away.

Warrick smiled, playing the coy one. "I take it we got another dull night ahead of us?"

Nick's smile disappeared. A mask of seriousness slipped on, and Warrick knew that his partner was all riled up by something. The case in the file folder was not going to be a good one.

"We've got an unidentified child in an alleyway. I'm supposed to grab you and Greg to handle it."

The taller CSI took a deep breath and prepared his mind for the death of another young victim. "I'll drive. Greggo can get in the back seat."

Nick tucked the files under his arm and signaled for his partner to follow him. Both criminalists went down the hall and headed for the parking lot. Bobby Dawson came bounding down the hall, breathless.

He cut into their path. "Good, glad I stopped you before you headed to that scene."

Nick looked at the other man. He placed his hand along the hallway wall and leaned on it. "What'cha need?"

"That slug from the Anderson case came from an antique colt .45, a very rare gun. Must date back to before World War II."

Warrick was intrigued but impatient with this distraction. He glanced over at Nick, who was focused on the weapons expert. Warrick cleared his throat in an attempt to hurry the other CSI, but Nick didn't pay any attention to him. Bobby was still rattling on about the need to find another gun for analysis. Warrick noted wearily that this wasn't really their problem to contend with.

Nick fixed the ballistics expert with an exasperated look. "All right, I get it. You need another Colt...ahhh..." Nick stopped trying to recall the exact model. "You need another gun," he amended.

"Yeah, the gun's worth like close to five grand. I need your signature for authorization to borrow one from the Vegas Weapons' society to run a comparison." The frantic man shoved a form in Nick's hands.

The criminalist looked at it perplexed, but exuded calmness. "Yeah, ah ... sure." Nick scribbled his name to the form and handed it back, arching an eyebrow. "We borrow stuff from them all the time...right?"

Bobby snatched up the slip. "Oh, yeah sure. I mean there's nothing to worry except maybe some insurance issues. But, yeah no problems that should arise." Then the tech was off like a shot down the hallway.

Warrick now stared at his partner, his face furrowed in confusion. "Nick. Why did you just sign off on that?"

The Texan tried to hide his pleasure of leading his partner on for a while. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I'm shift supervisor, while Griss and Cath are gone. So, that's bossman to you, Rick."

Nick winked at his bewildered coworker. Warrick snorted loudly. "Oh, hell no."

Nick just smiled. "Come on, let's grab Greggo and get to the scene."

The two rounded a corner when Jacqui grabbed Nick's shoulder and led him into her lab. Warrick watched in amusement as she rattled off another round of complications from some case. Nick seemed like he got a handle on the situation before being allowed to leave.

The partners were stopped two more times before they finally found Greg Sanders. The trio slipped out of the building before Nick could be hounded again with another set of problems.

Warrick slipped his keys into the ignition and looked over at the other man, who was on his cell phone trying to track down Sara Sidle to update her about something that Trace had found on her case.

'Nick Stokes is about to learn the wonders of middle management.' Warrick hid a secret smile as he drove over to the scene.

---

Nick turned around in his seat to speak face to face with Greg Sanders. The newest CSI had passed his first proficiency test only a month previously. He was still learning the ropes for field work, and needed to be as mentally prepared as possible for what to expect.

Greg looked up at his colleague studying him with a wistful expression. Greg adjusted his tie, something he wasn't quite comfortable with. He wore one of his newly purchased suits, a jacket that was too big, and solid colored button up shirt that felt a bit too normal for his taste.

"So, how old is the victim?" he asked in a hushed tone.

Nick kept his body twisted somewhat uncomfortably, to keep the younger man in his line of sight. "We don't know his age." Nick clicked his teeth together. "First thing you need to do is to keep yourself detached. Don't concentrate on his face, or imagine what he might have been like, alive."

Greg stared ahead as his colleague's voice drifted into softer tones.

"It's just a smaller body, another victim who needs us to concentrate on the assignment."

Greg nodded, his voice not quite working. He'd been on cases involving dead children when he was in the lab. He'd been on the other side of things, technical breakdowns of blood, chemicals, and DNA. However, he'd never been closely involved with the body, to the smells and sights of young innocence lost. Greg fiddled with his hands.

Nick twisted his neck to one side, loosening stiff muscles. "Take deep,steady breaths. If you need some fresh air, just step away and refocus your thoughts."

"All right." No snappy comments. Greg could almost hear the inner thoughts of his coworkers. Pure mental preparation. Distraction and concentration. He hoped he could assimilate that same kind of deep focus, without the horror of the crime overshadowing his duty.

Warrick pulled onto a side street. The bouncing red and blue lights of patrol cars flashed in different time intervals from each other. The trio pulled out their kits, and walked stoically towards the yellow tape that flapped in the chilly air.

Jim Brass, his face as unreadable as granite, simply waited for them to approach. He glanced behind his back, his eyes cold and still, a pure reflection of the climate of the evening. "Victim was found in the alley by a store owner. Annie Wilke, age 65, found him when she was taking out the trash. She dialed 911 immediately."

Nick saw David crouched over a small, lifeless form several feet away. "No, eyewitnesses? No one saw a thing?"

The Captain shook his head in the negative. "No reports of a disturbance. This scene... it's... it's strange."

Warrick rubbed the fingers of his left hand together. "What about it?"

Jim shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Take a look for yourself."

Nick and Warrick approached the body first, each placing their kits to the side so they could take in the area. David stepped away, his face drawn tight and expressionless in the low lighting.

"My preliminary COD is exsanguination. His throat's been cut. I'd say he's been dead less than an hour." David kept his head down, his words floated out quietly in the air.

Nick crouched down, slipping on his gloves. The smacking sound of latex from two other sets of hands echoed behind him. A young boy lay on his side, his eyes open, the dull blue iris glazed over. The blood from a large wound across his throat stained the beige blanket beneath him. The crimson pool spread past the fabric and into the street.

The child's hair lay in his own blood, his mouth partially open as if suddenly surprised. His right arm was straight out in front of him, his left curled protectively around a small purple stuffed donkey. Even the precious toy had not been spared from being soiled.

The smell of copper perpetuated the air, meaning that the crime was fresh. The blood seemed moist around the pajama top, but the child's legs were still dry. Warrick's feet crunched along the loose asphalt as he walked behind the body, his eyes searching for any disturbances or clues.

Greg remained still; he never took his eyes off the child's face, whose complexion continued to ashen right in front of him.

"Body's clear for you guys." David explained, breaking the silence.

Nick stayed on his haunches, his eyes darting around the shadows. "All right. Warrick, see if you can find any trace of how he got here. Tire tracks, shoe prints, anything to indicate who was here."

Warrick glanced around, noting the debris that littered outside the narrow area behind the store lots. His lips twitched. "Lot of trash around here, but I'll see what I can do."

Nick turned and looked over his shoulder. "Greg, I want you to take photos of the body. Document from several angles. Then we'll move him, see if there's anything we can find."

"What about identifying him?" Greg asked tentatively.

Nick motioned his head in the direction of the small DB. "He's in his PJ's. I doubt he has any school identification on him. We'll have to wait till we can take his prints and run them past the school systems'. Then we'll scour any missing person's reports from the last twenty-four hours."

The younger man shuddered while keeping his breathing even. He looked over at his coworker, who nodded for him to continue. The camera shutter's clicking was the only sound in the silent alley.

Nick shined his flashlight around the blanket and the surrounding ground searching for trace. Each man worked in silence for a long while.

"What are your instincts telling you about the position of the body?" Nick questioned. He wanted to get Greg used to asking things, trying to investigate every avenue while the body was still present.

Greg moved around in a circle, taking in the dark blue cotton, clothes. The blanket was spread out carefully. "He was killed here. There's a large amount of blood."

"Castoff?" Nick asked.

Greg looked at the wall, and noted the splatter of blood drops. He took several photos. Then he knelt down to inspect the wound closer. "Is it okay to move him now?"

Nick tentatively placed his gloved hand on the boys' face, and closed the eyelids. His fingers lingered on the child's cheek, the skin was still warm. Nick removed his hand. "Yeah," he said softly.

David came over with a stretcher, ready to transport the boy back to the lab for an autopsy. The Assistant Coroner carefully placed his hands under the body, and lifted the child carefully, the little boy's arms falling to his sides. Nick shined his flashlight around the now empty blanket, not noticing anything besides the blood pool.

Nick stood up, and Greg slowly made his way next to his coworker. The other criminalist pointed down. "Someone took great care on spreading the blanket around, every inch of it is flat."

"The-the stuffed animal. The killer had to bring it with him," the young criminalist observed.

"The little boy might have not gone anywhere without it. Go ahead and bag it. Might be some initials somewhere on it." Nick moved aside as Greg gathered the toy up.

He inspected the tag and noticed two letters scribbled on it. "JT" He said out loud.

Nick looked at the ex-tech. "It's a start. Let's finish up our collection."

The three criminalists worked in literal silence and gathered what little solid evidence they could find. It was as if the poor child had appeared from nowhere and was dumped without a single thing left behind from the murderer. Nick would occasionally ask Greg several things to get the younger CSI's mind focused on the case. They gathered up the blanket, and canvassed the surrounding area, then moved around in an expanding circumference in their search.

Warrick wandered over towards the temporary supervisor. "I didn't find anything other than trash from one of the cans. I did find a partial set of large prints and I doubt they match the older lady who discovered the body."

Nick processed the information. "Where were they?"

"Several feet from the fence that leads to the side of the store. Gate was unlocked, and it leads to another side street. Easy access in and out. Print was near the fence door. There's a lot of crushed up rock over there, puddles around. Someone stepped in water, then in some of the rock. Made a partial impression in the dust."

Nick wandered over towards the fence and then poked his head around. He noticed the small side street that was cast in shadows. There were no street lights around. He walked down till he reached the main street, and studied the surrounding buildings. Warrick came up behind him, his eyes matching his partner's in a search of the area.

"I came down here when I was looking for tire tracks. Didn't see any buildings that might hide any kind of surveillance cameras. No banks, gas stations, or traffic units around."

Nick imagined a dark car absently cruising around the main strip, then pulling into the alley way. Some shadowy figure walked down, went past the gate and killed the little boy. No one the wiser, no eyes to witness the crime.

Nick shook his head. "Our suspect must know this area. How else did he know that it was hidden back here?" Nick looked at the other criminalist.

Warrick agreed. "Familiarity with this location. Maybe our killer works or lives near by. Might want to get someone banging on doors in the morning. See if anyone has noticed anyone suspicious in the area lately, sneaking around out back."

Nick stripped off his gloves, bagged them and put them in the pocket of his vest. The CSI stretched and bent at the waist. "Let's head back to the lab. Greg and I'll process the blanket and the toy. See if you can get something off those shoe prints."

Warrick looked doubtful. "It's a shot in the dark, man."

Nick shrugged and looked over at Greg who now stood next to him.

The younger man was obviously shaken by the scene. "I guess we'll get the autopsy in a few hours?"

"Depends on how backed up the Doc is." Warrick responded.

"I'll have Brass check those missing children's reports. When the body arrives, let's get his prints and start running them against all the local school systems that participate in the community ID program." Nick gathered up his kit and started towards the SUV.

Greg remained behind alongside Warrick. "How do you guys...I mean, how do you get used to this?"

Warrick turned to look at him, his face passive. "You don't. You deal with it, keep your wits about ya. Then you channel everything into the case."

Greg looked down at his feet and then back up. "You and Nick just seem so collected."

"It's called detachment, Greg. Something you'll learn."

Nick was far enough ahead of his coworkers that he got to the trunk of the vehicle. He put his kit away, and stole a moment to gather his racing thoughts. He tried pushing aside the images of those hollow, glassy eyes. There was a sense of absolute horror reflected in those dead orbs. Nick bit his lip and pushed aside the anger roaring throughout him.

He took a few seep calming breaths, his hands tightening into fists. Then he opened the passenger door as the rest of his coworkers put away their own collections and supplies. Nick slid into his seat and stole a glance in the passenger mirror as his colleagues got into the vehicle. His own brown eyes were darker; they glistened with a hot, fierce intensity.

Nick squeezed the armrest tightly, but then relaxed his body somewhat.

"Good job out there, Greg." His voice was calm and steady without any indication of his easily hidden feelings.

"Thanks."

The car drive back to the lab was done in relative silence.

Nick had barely been back at the Lab when Mia had tracked him down, as he dropped off film from the scene. He told Greg to start his analysis of the stuffed toy, while Warrick took the shoe prints to work on, without a word. The two partners really didn't need any spoken communication. After working side by side for over six years, they knew each other's routines and dividing up the case was second nature.

It was obvious that Mia was fuming over something, so the temporary shift leader took her a side. "Something on your mind?" he asked.

"Oh, you can say that." The fiery lab tech huffed and tapped her pristine finger nails on the glass of one of the windows of the cubicle.

Nick lifted his eyebrows, waiting for her to get her emotions under control. He really wanted to get back to his current case, but Mia was one of "his" employees.

"It's Hodges." She seethed.

Nick lifted his head in expectation.

"I can put up with his comments since I just ignore him. His lab side manner is competent, but I swear, Nick. That man needs to give me some space. I try to keep an organized, tidy area- MY area," she emphasized.

Nick nodded, trying to follow her train of thought.

"He's contaminating everything with all of his projects. Samples, paper

work, chemicals everywhere. The man's even encroaching on my shelves and my work counter." Mia tapped her foot constantly as she fumed to Nick.

Nick held out his hands. He really didn't have time for this. "Mia... Mia," he said trying to get her to quiet enough to listen. "I'll talk to Hodges. Tell him to respect your space."

Nick knew how compulsive the female tech could be. Just by agreeing to hold the snarky man accountable for whatever she deemed offensive would allow him to cut the conversation short.

"It's more about respect, Nick." Mia fixed him with her brilliant eyes.

"He's insatiable sometimes. What am I saying? All the time. I really think he does it to push my buttons."

"Then don't let him," Nick stated. "Don't give him that power over you. Ignore the guy, we all do."

It was obvious that she wasn't pleased with his solution. Nick placed his hand on her shoulder trying to lull her. "I'll make sure he gets the message, all right?"

Mia seemed to think about it. "Fine. Just talk to him. Tonight."

Nick grinned. "I will."

The tech, walked away briskly without another word, and Nick shook his head. Personal problems. He had work to do and he had to play referee. He'd consult the playground bully in a little while. The CSI searched out Greg Sanders. The ex-tech should have had time to start processing the stuffed donkey.

---

Nick found the younger CSI focused over a microscope. The small stuffed animal lay on a tray; several samples of fibers were tagged and neatly organized. Nick studied the little toy for a moment; his eyes focused on how much of a small child's affections were bestowed on such an item. Maybe the animal had been a favorite, something the boy couldn't go to bed without. Or perhaps it was a gift from his parents, a couple now frantic and worried about the safety of a son.

Nick's jaw tightened. He was going to have to destroy someone's life tonight, watch it shatter into a million pieces. Sometimes he felt like the Grim Reaper, carrying the message of death onto others.

"Come up with anything on the toy?"

Greg peered up, and placed his hands along the edge of the counter. "It's definably old. It wasn't bought recently. The hair is worn away in spots, the color slightly faded."

"Means the suspect didn't buy the toy to calm down the boy," Nick reasoned.

Greg nodded. "I swabbed a dozen areas, and found a small hair sample. It's blonde so it might be the kid's. I'll wait to get a comparison from Doc Robbins, when he's done."

Greg scrunched his face while he contemplated his next question. "Why do you think the killer brought the toy to a dump site?" Greg tried not to look sheepish.

Nick picked up on the hesitation. "It's all right to ask the 'why?' questions, Greg. But I don't know. When we find the parents maybe they can help us figure out if there was any significance. There was care taken in how the boy was presented." Nick gritted his teeth. "However, let's focus on the 'how', all right?"

The ex-tech nodded silently.

Nick turned to exit the room, when Sara Side almost bumped into him.

"Hey, Nick." There was no hostility in her tone. If she didn't accept the fact that Nick was in charge without any competitive issues, then she wasn't showing it.

"I just came back from the morgue with my case. Doc wanted me to give you the clothes from your DB." Sara handed the other criminalist the plastic baggie that contained the small pajamas.

Nick took the items from her hands. "How's your case coming along? I thought you and O'Reilly had a suspect in custody?"

Sara's body stiffened, transforming into a defensive posture. Nick didn't want to appear as if he was breathing down her neck and changed his question. "I mean, you were down at the morgue." He raised an eyebrow in question.

Sara relaxed, slightly. "We had Botts in for questioning, but the poison we found in his secretary's food, and the chemicals he had access to his lab, don't jibe. I went down to talk to Robbins to see if there was perhaps a combination we might be missing."

Nick listened while he squeezed the evidence bag in his hands. He tried to ignore a small voice in his head, telling him that something wasn't right. "Good. Just keep me informed on any changes. Botts is a chemist, he might have used a compound that broke down into components that can't be identified as a normal poison."

Sara was agreeing with him. "Already on it. See you later," she waved as she went back down the corridor of the lab.

Nick held himself rigidly, as his fingers clasped the smooth plastic, the clothes rubbing on the inside. He caught Greg staring at him from the corner of his eye and Nick turned and headed for a work area that wasn't already occupied.

He found a small examination room, and donned one of the light blue lab coats. He strolled over to a box of latex gloves, slapped a pair on and then proceeded to take the pajama top and bottoms out of the plastic. He read the evidence label, listing out the articles collected before the autopsy took place. Doc Robbins' handwriting was clear and legible. One shirt top with dinosaurs on the front and a solid pair of footed blue bottoms. Nick laid each item on the table. He adjusted one of the lamps, by pulling the bright bulb closer.

Nick knew that addling more brightness to the clothes wasn't going to make the situation any more correct. He fingered the PJ's, his mind wrestling with the fact that the little boy's underwear was missing. Nick rolled his shoulders as the bile burned the back of his throat. His brain was sending all sorts of danger signals, but right now he needed to see if he could find any trace off these nightclothes.

Jim Brass was hitting the computers for any missing child reports, so he would concentrate on something that was in front of him. Nick began the process of searching for any trace of the killer. He started with the ALS to search for any fluids, and then made swabs in hopes of finding any epithelials. Then he would begin the task of lifting any fibers.

Nick spent the next hour with the clothes. All the while the nagging in his head was starting to get louder, and harder to ignore.

---

Nick was taking notes from his lack of findings from the pajamas. He had already put the clothes in a cardboard box that housed all the evidence in the case so far. The container was virtually empty; never a good sign in an investigation, but the night was still young. He flipped through the pages when Warrick knocked to signal his presence and entered.

Nick adjusted his weight on the stool and looked up at him. "Get anywhere with the shoe prints?"

Warrick threw down some photos and forms, then shrugged his shoulders.

"Prints were a size 11 Adidas. Very popular brand. It's the third best selling walking shoe for the company. Other than that, I got nothin'."

Warrick stood over the other CSI and stole a look at his notes. "What about you? Anything?"

Nick grunted. "Not much. No trace of anything on the clothes. I'm still waiting for Greg's analysis of the toy. He found a hair on it, but my gut tells me it'll belong to the kid."

Nick put the pictures of the clothes and laid it out for his coworker to view. "I'm guessing the John Doe is about 8." Nick looked up at the other man. "His underwear is missing."

Warrick followed his partner's train of thought. "He might not wear any. Kids take that stuff off all the time, but yeah. The implications aren't very good."

"Yeah. I've got someone running his prints with the school system. But so far, nothing." Nick didn't feel any closer to finding out the child's name.

"He might not attend any of the schools that are involved in that program. It's not mandatory in all districts." Warrick offered, feeling like the local administrations didn't do enough to help keep track of their own school children.

Nick got up and stretched his back. He looked at his watch. "I think Doc should be done with the preliminary autopsy by now. Our kid was the next on his table." Nick regretted the casualness of his voice.

"I'm going to take Greg with me. He needs to experience the whole case from beginning to end."

Warrick gathered his findings. "I'm meeting Brass over at the station; give him a hand on those missing kids' reports. I'll take your photos with me. See if we can track down a lead."

Both men set off in different directions, each with the same common goal.

---

Nick stood outside the morgue, watching Greg Sanders walk slowly down the hall. The young man played with the buttons of his lab coat, as he approached the other criminalist.

Greg folded his arms across his chest, and stared at the door. "We, ah, waiting for something?"

Nick cleared his throat. "I just thought you might one to take a few seconds to prepare yourself."

Greg tried to look indifferent. "I've handled autopsies before. No problem." He said, his voice as normal as possible. His eyes spoke differently, there was uncertainly there.

Nick put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "This will be different and you wouldn't be human if it wasn't. Ask questions, pay attention. But most of all, let me know if you are handling it alright."

Greg looked pensive, but nodded. Nick knew that the youngest of the team was really trying, but he was still a rookie. As much as Greg needed to learn, he needed to take these steps seriously and be straightforward with him.

Nick pushed open the heavy, metallic door, and stepped into a room that filled his nostrils with smells of chemicals, blood, and the decay of death. He wandered into the chilly, dark room, his feet taking him towards the middle of it. A light hung down over a lifeless little body.

Doc Robbins seemed like he was in his own world, staring down at the boy. The image of the kid's face was projected onto a computer screen next to the doctor's left. A sheet covered the child all the way to his waist. The sickly white flesh tone made Nick's skin crawl.

Both men gave the older man in the room a few moments and then Nick made his way over. His footfalls alerted the coroner that he was no longer alone.

"Nick." The older man focused his attention on the other CSI. "Greg."

Nick knew there was no room for small talk. He looked down at the John Doe; the boy barely took up half the table.

"Do you have any preliminary findings?" Nick asked, his voice soft and low.

The coroner pointed at the large cut that went from right below his jaw line, all the way across the boy's throat. "COD from exsanguination, single large blade across the jugular. Death was within minutes."

Greg studied the slit in the kid's throat. He tried to keep his now queasy stomach at bay from the violence and cold-bloodedness of such an evil act. Other than that terrible mark, the boy's face was void of any signs of bruises, or other cuts. The simple expression of innocence. He tried to keep his feet still and keep from moving around too much.

The coroner continued with his summary. "Rigor and liver temp indicates the boy has been dead less than four hours. David put time of death under an hour from when you arrived at the scene."

Nick nodded. "Any designative marks?"

Greg darted his eyes from his coworker to the doctor. The coroner, fixed both men was an even stare. "No. I searched for any signs of physical trauma. No bruising on his arms or legs. Nothing on his chest." Dr. Robbins adjusted his glasses, the pause alerting both CSIs of bad news.

"My initial exam went forward and I discovered bruising around his groin area." The coroner maintained a detached voice.

Nick stiffened; he held his breath to try to resist the urge to lose his cool. He had to remain professional at all times. "Anything else?"

Doc Robbins nodded. "Signs of sodomy, tearing around the anus, and a lot of deep bruising. I'll perform a SART examine in a little while."

Nick looked over at Greg, who stared straight in front of him, the young man's body tense. Nick waited to see if the other CSI would ask any questions of his own, but the other man remained mute. Nick turned to face the older man. "How fresh is the trauma?" His accent was heavy as he tried to keep his voice calm.

"Less than twenty-four hours. I'll be searching for signs of repeated abuse."

Nick took in the added information and turned to his colleague. "Compare the hair off the toy with a sample of the boy's. I want to know if it belongs to him, or perhaps our suspect."

Greg blew out a breath and headed out of the morgue. Nick could tell from how quickly the younger man dashed towards the door that he could not get out there fast enough. Nick glanced back at the coroner.

Doc Robbins looked at the young criminalist before him. "Do you want to process the body?"

When the doctor was greeted by silence, he looked down at the little boy. "Don't worry, I'll handle it."

"Let me know when you get the rape kit results back." Solemnly the CSI exited the lab and stood in the hallway.

This particular corridor was the quietest part of the building; very little traffic came though this area. Nick leaned against the wall, the smooth stone a solid reinforcement for his back. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself to mourn another dead kid. He was glad Doc Robbins had offered to do the evidence collection. Nick really didn't want to search for defensive wounds, or do any hair and fiber collection from the boy's fingernails and body.

He collected himself and walked with a flourish back to the lab. He wasn't going to let the trail get cold for this child. He would find out who he was, and what monster was behind the tragedy.

Nick found himself holed up an office going over expense reports. Grissom had not finished up last week's documentation for overtime pay. The paperwork and red tape behind the tedious regulations were driving him up a wall. Ecklie had cornered him in the hallway, explaining that if he wanted anyone on Graveyard to actually get those extra hours on their next paycheck, he better file all the right reports in triplicate.

"He did this on purpose." Nick muttered under his breath. It would be like Grissom to stick him with this last minute details, just so he could "experience it."

Everything had to have three copies now. Memos, follow up reports, progress reports. Nick had spent the last two hours playing catch-up on things that had nothing to do with his current case. The "new order" of Conrad Ecklie was ruled by discipline and covering one's ass for every action taken.

Nick hit the send button to the Assistant Director's in box, and rolled his chair backwards. He ran his hand over his closely shaved head and stood up abruptly. He glanced at how much time had been wasted and wanted to find out if anyone had made the slightest bit of progress while he's been in paper-pushing hell.

As he started to exit the cramped office, he almost smacked right into his partner. Warrick stepped aside in time, his quick reflexes saving him from colliding with the other man.

"Whoa, dude," Warrick cautioned.

"Oh, sorry, man," Nick said, smiling somewhat embarrassed. He'd been too lost in thought to notice his visitor.

"No problem. Look, Brass got a hit on a missing child's report." Warrick held up the slip of paper.

Nick took the report, his eyes glued to the details. "Good." He mumbled not looking up from the form.

"So, you ready to head out there?" Warrick asked, as the other man went back into the office to grab his hat.

Nick was still too engrossed in his own world and did a double-take at his partner's question. "Hmm….. what?" Nick seemed confused at first when he saw Warrick's puzzled look. "Yeah, but I need you to do something else, man."

Nick looked at his watch, his eyes growing big at how much time had elapsed. "Those stores are bound to be open now. Why don't you go see if you can talk to anyone about what they might have seen yesterday?"

Warrick didn't seem too thrilled at the prospect of pounding on doors, on what might be a wild goose chase.

"You taking Greggo?"

Nick put his ball cap on. "Yeah. I'll take the lead, but he needs to observe."

Both men walked down the hall, as Sara rounded a corner, a sparkle and glee in her eyes. "Got it!" she exclaimed.

The female CSI must have made a break in her case.

Nick grinned. "You nail the guy?" he asked, knowing full well that had to be the reason for her boisterous mood.

"Yep. We were right. He used a complex chemical base that broke down in a sugar based liquid." Sara's face flushed with excitement. "Coffee. He poisoned her coffee."

"Nice catch, Sara," Warrick congratulated her.

"Yeah, I think this deserves breakfast. So, which one of you guys is buying?"

Warrick snorted. "No can do. Looks like we're pulling a double today."

Sara looked back and forth between her coworkers. "That boy?" she asked, her voice lowering an octave within seconds.

Nick shuffled his feet, eager to leave. "Yeah. Greg and I are heading to the kid's possible family. Hopefully we'll have a name to go with the face."

"You need some help?" Sara offered, ready to join the ranks in overtime.

Nick thought for a moment, thinking back to all the paperwork and all the rules now in place. Having four criminalists on a single case wasn't something that the lab practiced too much of late unless it was very high profile. Nick chose to ignore his by-the-book manner for now.

"Think you could you lend Warrick a hand in scouting out the scene? See if you two can find anyone who saw anything, or maybe our suspect and his size-11 shoes?"

Sara gave Warrick a strange look, but agreed to the assignment, based on how serious Nick seemed by it.

"Cool. I'll let you know what I find from my interview with this family," Nick told them as he brushed past both colleagues in a hurry.

Sara watched Nick leave, his hurried pace causing him to zig-zag past the morning shift shuffling in.

"He's certainly taken this shift leader business to heart, hasn't he?" Sara asked her companion.

Warrick's gaze never left his partner's form as he disappeared from view. The taller criminalist seemed to mull over the question, his expression betraying how he felt. "Maybe. Something about him the past few hours."

Warrick glanced over at the female criminalist. He shook his head. "Could be nothing."

Sara felt the tension radiate from Warrick's body. She kept her thoughts to herself. Nick wasn't really acting that strange, but there was a fierce sense of determination that she had not seen from him in a while. Nick worked hard and diligently on every case. He gave 110 and more, just like all of them. Maybe his new sense of responsibility with his added duties brought out his overachieving side, she pondered.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Why don't you bring me up to speed in the car?"

Warrick didn't add any comments. "Yeah. Come on, let's go. We got a long day ahead of us."

---

Nick had been on his cell phone almost the entire car ride over to their destination. His clipped answers and the demanding tone behind his questions had certainly made Greg feel like he was very close to a kettle about to boil over. His boss for the night was fuming while he drove, his foot pressed harder on the accelerator more so than usual.

Greg kept glancing over at the Texan, hoping the man would clue him on the conversation with Jim Brass. Right now, Nick seemed too wound up to notice him. He felt like a silent partner for the night.

He wouldn't allow himself to slide into that role. "What's going on?"

Nick tightened his grip on the wheel, his eyes stayed focus on the road. "A Mr. and Mrs. Todd are missing their son, Johnny."

Greg waited for more information to be forthcoming, but Nick was still way too preoccupied with driving a bit more aggressively towards the home.

"What are the chances that he's our John Doe?" he ventured to ask. Greg really didn't know what to say, he just hoped to keep the conversation going.

"I'd bet money on it. There's something odd going on there. Just follow my lead."

Greg wasn't following his supervisor's train of thought. "What's so strange about the situation?"

Nick pulled the SUV alongside a few patrol cars and a very upscale neighborhood. He undid his seatbelt and glanced back at the young man. "The child has been missing for two days, and they never filed a report."

Greg was still sitting in his seat with a confused expression when the sound of Nick slamming the car door shut shook him from his thoughts.

The criminalists were met by Jim Brass, his expression unreadable. His eyebrows rose when he greeted them in his usual way. They exchanged mild pleasantries.

The sun was rising, the rays casting the rich neighborhood in daylight. There was a pristine lawn up front, a little mailbox with cliched flowers painted on it. Nick noted the alarm pad with interest. The heavy door opened up when an officer walked back outside. It was a nice, safe area, Nick supposed. Secured with a bolt lock and expensively-paned windows.

He brought his attention back to the Detective, the whole false sense of security of the house filed in his mind.

"So, according to Marisa Todd, she went to wake up her older son, Johnny, for school on Monday morning around 6:00 a.m. She found his bed empty and searched the house for him. Her other son, Jason Todd, was in his room. She was keeping him home from school, since he was running a slight temperature. Wife goes on to explain that she called her husband who already left for work, and they went about organizing a search in the neighborhood."

Nick didn't appear too convinced by the tale. "It's Wednesday morning, Jim. What's their excuse for not calling the police?" he asked, his tone harsh.

"They have not given me a reasonable explanation yet," he stated, the mild sarcasm obvious in his voice.

"Could it have been a kidnapping and they were too scared to call it in?" Greg asked. Both men turned to look at him. "Maybe there was a ransom, and things didn't go right and they were too afraid to contact the authorities," he quickly added before he could be shot down with doubtful expressions.

"We're not dismissing any theories yet. Their preacher is in there with them. He's been giving them guidance and comfort." Jim gave Nick a pointed look.

"All right. Let's get a positive ID first, and then we'll go from there." Nick picked up his kit and followed the captain into the home.

The trio entered the elaborate living room. The entryway had high arcs; the floor was made of high quality wood, with large bay windows at the back of the area. The home looked like something ripped from Better Home and Gardens. Huddled in a corner, on a solid white plush couch, were two men trying to console a very upset looking woman.

Jim turned to the family. "Mr. and Mrs. Matt and Marisa Todd, these are CSIs Nick Stokes and Greg Sanders with the Vegas Crime Lab."

Matt Todd stood up immediately, confronting the criminalist. "The detective here says you have information concerning our missing son."

"We might, sir. Do you have a picture of your son, Mr. Todd?" Nick asked, ignoring the commanding tone of the husband.

"I do, officer." Marisa Todd literally jumped off the sofa and made her way to a fireplace.

She quickly brought over a framed photo of a little boy, dressed in a softball uniform. Nick took the picture and tried not to groan.

This was definitely the little boy. Johnny Todd. At least he had a name now, he thought mournfully. Nick tried to keep his expression neutral. Greg peered over at the photo and did his best to hide his recognition.

Matt Todd brought his arms around his wife's shoulders; he stared at Nick, his eyes full of anger and worry.

"Mr. and Mrs. Todd, we might have found your son. It would be helpful if you could come down to the station and identify him," Nick tried to explain, his voice even.

Marisa Todd almost crumbled in her husband's arms. Her face paled as tears streamed down her face. She muttered to herself and cried at the implications. The priest put his hand on the distraught woman's shoulder.

Nick tried to back away and give them a few moments to collect themselves. The investigation could not really move forward till a positive ID was made on the boy. An officer would remain at the house until it was determined if the home would become an active scene to canvass or not. Nick looked down at the wooden floor when he heard another set of footsteps approach. He looked up to see a young boy with wavy blonde hair.

He was clutching a book in his hands; his thick rimmed glasses reflected the beams of sunlight from the windows.

"Mom, why are you crying?" the boy asked. His mother pulled her son towards him, as if he too might be snatched away.

Nick thought sadly that this child would no longer have his older brother around to play with. Nick put on his sunglasses and headed back to his SUV. Greg followed suit, not waiting for any instructions.

---

There were terrible sounds of tears, wailing, and the desperate sounds of grief and hysterics. Nick had heard these more times in his life then he ever cared to admit. The pain was fresh and raw, like scraping nails on a chalkboard. Marisa Todd could barely stand as she was led to a chair, her wails from the morgue still loud in Nick's head.

Her proud husband was on one side. He was of average build, Nick noted, with a bit more muscle mass. He had short cropped hair that matched tense brown eyes. He was older than his wife, maybe by ten years. He whispered to her that things were alright while his body shook with emotion. Rage. Nick sensed a very volatile temper.

Marisa was younger, makeup smeared all over her drawn face, her desperate blue eyes, dulled by shock. Her blonde hair was a mess. It was frazzled looking, like she encountered a huge wave of static electricity.

The priest was the same age of the wife and kneeled in front of them as he tried keeping the mother calm. Nick felt like some morbid spectator, but questions needed to be answered and he didn't have all day for breakdowns. Not if they are going to seek justice for the child.

The CSI left the window of the interrogation room. He was sure the people inside had no idea he'd been observing, watching their every move, studying postures. Nick knew what to look for, all the little ticks that might give one of them away.

Warrick entered the room and motioned for Nick to follow him into the hallway. Nick gladly pulled away from the mad spectacle, a morbid play that he was a part of.

Warrick had that look- the one that meant there was bad news. "SART exam is back on Johnny Todd." His mouth was a thin line.

Nick knows Warrick, can anticipate what he's going to say.

"Doc Robbins says there are extensive signs of prolonged abuse, including scarring of tissue." Warrick rubbed his jaw with his hand. "Greg's searching for his medical records. Shouldn't take long. I hope we can get some answers before you start to question them."

Nick crossed his arms. "You and Sara getting anywhere with your store-to-store search?"

"Nah. No one saw or heard anything suspicious and no, didn't see any really large feet," Warrick added.

Nick cocked his head to one side. "It needed to be done." The CSI searched the hallway. "Where's Sara?"

Warrick chuckled softly. "She went ahead and started to gather records on the family. See if anything popped up."

Nick allowed a small growl. "She should have informed me of her plans. I'm the lead."

"She just wanted to run with it. Go ahead and get the history started so we could start ruling them out."

Nick looked at his partner. "Who said anything about ruling them out?"

Warrick narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything when Greg came down the corridor in a hurry. Somewhat breathless and so cranked up with excitement that he wasn't able to get a word out.

Nick fixed him with an odd stare as he noticed a file folder in the younger man's hands. Greg finally caught his breath and fixed each man with an excited look. "Took a while to track down Johnny Todd's medical records, they were spread across several hospitals."

Nick's ears picked up, his muscles along his neck tensed up. "And, Greg?" he asked tersely.

Greg flipped over the folder, and pointed out several highlighted passages. "Johnny Todd at age eight suffered a broken arm. At ages six, a fractured wrist and a sprained ankle at age five."

Nick grabbed the papers out of Greg's hands and scanned the contents. His eyes grew darker, and then stared at the closed door to the room. "Where's the other son, Jason?'

"He's in the waiting room; a friend of the family is with him," Warrick answered.

"I want him to stay away from his parents. Have someone sit with him." Nick squared his shoulders.

Warrick put his hand on his partner's shoulder. "Maybe you should take a break, Nick. You seemed a bit wound-up here."

Nick seemed to take exception to his friend's suggestion. "I'm fine. Clock's been ticking. Go help Sara with those background checks. My gut isn't sitting right with this. Greg will come in with me." Nick looked at the young criminalist. "Just observe, all right?"

Greg nodded, not feeling very comfortable; he looked over at Warrick who didn't seem very happy about the situation.

Nick ignored the glare he was still receiving. He had handed out the assignments and he expected his coworkers to act accordingly. The CSI opened the door. Nick waited for Greg to follow and left the other criminalist in the hallway.

Warrick frowned, a little voice in his head told him not everything was right with his best friend, but for the world he didn't know why.

It took a while to calm both parents down to the point that some basic

questions could be posed to them.

Jim Brass kept the cadence of his voice sympathetic, but it still had that needed edge. "Mrs. Todd, you went to wake up Johnny and discovered he was missing ... at what time?'

Marisa dabbed the corner of her eye. She looked up at her husband and

something ominous passed between them. It was so slight that it

might have gone unnoticed, but Nick caught it. The wife melted back to

immediate sobbing, while Matt Todd's grip on his wife's chair tightened.

"I went to wake him for breakfast and couldn't find him. I had already

checked up on Jason, since he was running a fever and wasn't feeling good. When I couldn't find Johnny, I called my husband."

Matt stared at both Nick and Jim Brass, his intense eyes a strong indication of the turbulent emotions boiling beneath the surface. "I came home right away. We searched the backyard. I called Father Myers, and we started to get the neighbors involved in looking for him."

Nick shifted in his seat. Greg stood back against the wall. The younger CSI waited for the "moment" to be sprung. He was quickly rewarded.

"Why didn't you contact the police?" Jim asked, his chair squeaking as he leaned forward.

"Johnny has had this habit of running away the past few months. He always tried to slip away during the day and we'd find him no more that a few hours later. We thought this was another one of his shenanigans," Matt explained, his voice clipped.

"And when a few hours slipped into two days, you what? Figured it was still him goofing around?" Nick questioned.

All sets of eyes were on him. The Todds' were both outraged, while

Jim's gaze was a bit more annoyed.

Matt Todd slammed his fist on the table as he jumped out of his chair.

He was leaning far over the table, just mere inches from Nick's face, the angry man's contorted in unabated rage. "You have no right, you asshole. You have no clue….no freaking idea what we've gone through," he seethed.

Nick sometimes had an uncanny ability to be very calm despite all the feelings swirling around in his head. Sometimes evoking a cool exterior always seemed to piss of suspects. His face still a mask of calm, Nick slowly met those bitter eyes. Jim Brass seemed ready to haul Mr. Todd away and Greg Sanders' face was an expression of surprise.

"Why don't you tell us, Mr. Todd?" Nick asked through clenched teeth as he kept his voice ever so still.

"Stop it!" Marisa wailed, grabbing at her husband, pulling him away. "Johnny is dead! He's dead!" she screamed.

Matt Todd tried to comfort his wife as she pushed him away. Her face flushed as she turned to the CSI and the Detective. "Johnny had been acting weird lately. Talking to himself. He was withdrawn, acting erratically."

Nick blinked at her. "Did you ever ask yourself why?"

Greg crossed his arms tightly around him. The tension in his legs hurt from standing up so rigidly and straight. He wondered if or when Nick was going to bring up the abuse angle. 'When was it the proper time?' he wondered.

"He wouldn't talk to us. We thought it was a bully at school or someone bothering him, but the more we asked, the more he seemed..." Marisa swallowed still trying to keep her crying somewhat calm. "He seemed scared."

Matt Todd stalked back and forth in the tiny room. "He wouldn't talk to us. So, we had him speak with Father Myers. Our priest told us that Johnny was afraid of someone, but he couldn't get any more information out of our son."

"What does this have to do with not reporting your son missing after 48 hours?" Nick asked incredulously.

Matt shook his head, his hand running through his head. "We thought….maybe it was a ransom, or he was kidnapped or something. "

"We just wanted to wait," Marisa said wringing her hands.

Nick looked over at the Captain; he just wasn't buying his act. Something wasn't right, the story made no sense.

"You waited...and in the meantime you threw away precious time for finding your son." Nick managed to say in an even voice, but his tone was laced with contempt.

"We're leaving." Mr. Todd announced. "Our boy is dead and we have arrangements make."

Jim Brass took control of the situation. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Todd. This is a homicide investigation and I must ask you to remain here while we continue."

"Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt your son? You mentioned that you suspected a ransom demand. Do you have any enemies?" Jim asked, stirring the focus back to the investigation.

Again Marisa Todd's face clouded over, then remained neutral. "No, we don't know anyone who might have wanted to hurt him. We live a normal life."

Nick watched the wife and then her husband's own expression. Matt Todd was biting down on his lip, his fierce gaze drilling a hole in the back of his wife's head.

"Any threats at work?" Jim pressed.

"No." Matt said curtly.

"Mr. Todd, I noticed an alarm system at your home. Your son was still in his PJ's. He was taken after he was put to bed?" Nick said trying to leave the question open-ended.

Both parents stirred in their seats. The husband directed his attention to the CSI. "I set the alarm every night."

"Then how did someone break into your home, without setting off the alarm, and without waking either of you?" Nick asked, waving his hand in the air.

"We don't know!" Mr. Todd growled.

The room remained quiet after the last outburst. Marisa Todd was not holding up well She looked ready to collapse. Nick felt that she was hiding something, but the grief was genuine. Her husband sat back down and touched her shoulder; she flinched and brushed him away, much to his dismay.

"We're going to need your permission to look inside your home, Mr. and Mrs. Todd, while we continue with our questions." Jim asked.

Matt's face reddened. "No, you can violate our home later. We want to get our family together and deal with this."

"The hours are ticking away and so is any evidence on how your son was taken. We also have more questions for you," Nick explained rationally. The criminalist was interested if the Todds were missing any kitchen knifes.

Mr. Todd balled his hands into tight fists, his knuckles turning white. "You can't keep us here. We want to see Jason."

Nick stood up from his chair, gathering up his notes. "I'm afraid he has to remain in our custody for a little while longer." Nick didn't look at the parents while he spoke. He just shuffled his stuff around and headed for the door.

"I want my lawyer," Mr. Todd demanded. "We won't be subjected to any more of your nonsense. I won't answer any other questions till we can tend to our boy," he growled.

Nick ignored him and motioned for Greg to follow him outside. The criminalist let Jim Brass handle the standoff with the parents.

Greg walked fast to keep up with Nick's stride down the hallway. "You didn't bring up the abuse."

Nick shook his head as he searched out one of the labs. "You have to hold all your cards for a while, Greg. Don't let them see your hand...not yet."

Nick stopped short, peering through the window of the lobby. Jason Todd sat quietly flipping through a book, while the family priest looked after him.

Greg looked at his superior and back at the child. "What kind of poker are we playing anyway? We really don't have much to hold them. I mean, they may have been negligent about calling the cops, but we don't have any evidence otherwise."

"The case has just started. It's our jobs to dig."

"What about the blanket and the toy? You didn't mention that either?" Greg mentioned, not really sure of the rules of interrogation.

Nick never took his eyes off the little boy. "I'm saving that for when we discuss their son's abuse. They represent some kind of significance." Nick almost mumbled to himself.

"Don't they have the right to know that their son was molested?" Greg asked, his voice a more even keel than how he felt.

Nick's body stiffened. "There's a difference between molestation, sexual abuse, and rape, Greg. Get your facts straight before challenging me about an aspect of an investigation that you don't understand."

The younger CSI didn't visibly flinch, but he had never experienced this kind of hostility from his coworker before. He didn't say anything for several seconds. He nodded towards the lobby. "We going to talk to the kid?"

Nick kept his eyes glued to the window. "No, I am." He cast a glance at the ex-tech. "Go help Sara and Warrick on those background checks."

Greg cleared his throat. "There are already two CSIs on that, Nick. Maybe I should start looking at other avenues?"

Nick finally locked eyes with the other man. "No. Help them out. I'm going to talk to Jason... alone."

Nick walked towards the lobby, leaving Greg standing there, somewhat confused. Having his orders, the younger man sought out Warrick and Sara to help them with their research.

---

Greg Sanders, Warrick Brown, and Sara Sidle each took different notebook computers and file folders. The criminalists weighed through dozens of records.

"It seems the Todds have been moving around a lot of late," Sara explained, as she pounded away at her keyboard sending a word document to the printer.

Warrick grunted as he took each location the female CSI found and dug around for anything out of the ordinary. He was sifting through any possible medical records, as well as any possible criminal reports filed. Frankly, the CSI felt like he was looking in the dark without a flashlight.

Greg was immersed in financial records, studying any anomalies. "I'm not really sure what kind of connections or information I'm supposed to be looking for."

The other two criminalists snorted, Sara laughed slightly. "You never do Greg. It's like a big puzzle. You take each piece and try to put together anything. Follow possible weird clues or leads." She shrugged. "Every time I find a new town that the Todds moved to, I look for anything suspicious in school records. I'm also making a list of school counselors to contact.

"I'm trying to match up any possible wrongdoings by any member of the family," Warrick piped in.

Greg blew out a long breath. "Well, Matt Todd is an architect, a very well paid one. He specialized in community buildings. Recreation centers, churches, school projects." Greg highlighted different columns. "Nothing weird about his bank records. No large transfers, withdrawals or deposits. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that he's rich."

Warrick tapped his finger as he hurried his way through more police records.

"Wait a minute..." He said attracting the attention of the others.

"I don't know if this is anything, but Sara," the CSI motioned with a chart he had made. "Every time the Todds have moved away from a city is only a few weeks after a recent missing child has been reported."

The other two criminalists moved closer to the table. Warrick wrote out a set of corresponding dates, with reports of missing children from each town.

"Now, that's interesting," Greg said studying the correlations.

Warrick played around with the stubble of his goatee. "So the question is this- why has this family moved away from a city where a child goes missing at the exact same school that their own two sons attended?"

Greg had already informed the rest of them about the flimsy excuse presented by the parents. He tapped his pen. "The Todds claimed that the rallied the neighbors to help with the search. Maybe some of them might have some insight into the family," he offered.

"Nice line of thought, Greg," Sara commented. "I'll go bang on some more doors," she said winking at the two of them.

Warrick looked over at the younger criminalist. "Greggo, why don't you contact some of the detectives on these cases. See if they had any leads or suspects."

Greg's eyes grew large at the enormous task. He nodded his head. "Will do." He grabbed the papers. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to check in with, Nick. See if any made any progress with the other son."

Both criminalists gathered their things and headed to their destinations.

An employee from Child and Family Services sat in the room with the CSI, to make sure an outside observer was present during questioning. Jason Todd stared at all the pictures from the magazine. Nick had found the boy a National Geographic to thumb through. The child was engrossed by all the pictures. He reminded Nick of a little science geek, with his glasses and enthusiasm. The article about T-Rexes had the child fairly excited.

"You like dinosaurs?" Nick asked, as he watched a somewhat amused at the kid's expression.

Jason looked up at the CSI and then back at one of the diagrams. "Yeah.

They're cool."

Nick smiled. "I used to have a whole bunch of books on dinosaurs, and space, and all sorts of things when I was a kid. Do you read a lot at home?"

The little boy shrugged. "Sometimes. I like to read about Spiderman, and Harry Potter. But, mostly I like to play with my gameboy." The boy looked at Nick, adjusting his glasses. "I left mine at home. Do you have one here?

Nick clasped his hands on the desk. "I think I might be able to find one for you."

"Do you have Pokemon Green? I have all my Pokemon on my gameboy at home."

"I don't have Pokemon here. I think I have some racing game. Is that cool?" Nick asked acting very concerned about the game choice.

Jason shook his head. "I don't like racing. I just want my gameboy." He slide the magazine away disappointed.

Nick suppressed a laugh. He knew kids at this age could be pretty hard to handle. Jason coughed for a few minutes, and then rubbed his face.

"Sorry, you don't feel good," Nick offered, forgetting that the boy had woken up ill a few days ago.

"It's okay. There are little germs inside me, but my medicine is like an army defending everything," he said excitedly.

Nick now grinned. "Yeah, you're right about that." Nick grew somber, the next topic was difficult to broach with a child.

"Jason, do you know what happened to your brother?"

The little boy looked down at the table, his eyes averted Nick's. "I don't know," he mumbled.

Nick kept his voice quiet. "Did you hear anything that night?"

Jason shook his head.

Nick bit his lip and looked up at the child advocate. He grit his teeth. "That's okay. Did your brother act weird the past few weeks?"

Jason shrugged, then started to fiddle with his hands. Nick didn't want to run into a dead end, not yet. "Did he ever mention someone at school that may have been mean to him?"

Jason crossed his arms. "My brother had tons of friends. He played sports and even had girls talk to him."

Nick smiled a little. "He was popular, I take it."

Another shrug from the kid.

"Did you ever notice a time when he wasn't so popular, when he was not hanging out with his friends?"

Jason started to look around the room. He sneezed and rubbed his nose. "I didn't hang out with Johnny as much. Daddy was the one who he hung around with. He was an outfielder in little league and played defense in football." Jason's voice held a slight edgy tone.

Nick leaned over the table. "Your older brother and your dad were close?"

Jason started to squirm in his seat. "Daddy always hung out with Johnny," he complained.

"Do you ever hang out with your dad, Jason?" Nick asked.

The little boy grabbed the magazine and started to look at the pictures again.

"Jason?" Nick pressed.

"I don't like hanging out with Dad, he always gets me in trouble," Jason whined and began to look at the magazine, almost tearing the pages out doing so.

Nick swallowed hard. "Jason, why do you get in trouble hanging out with your dad?"

Jason ignored the CSI as he played around the pages in front of him. The family counselor looked at the little boy. "It's okay to talk with Nick. He's a good man."

Jason began humming, looking anywhere but the two people in the room. The social service employee looked over at the CSI and gave him a sympathetic look.

Nick gently took away the magazine. "I promise nothing will happen to you if you talk to me. Just us, okay?'

Jason jumped out of the chair. "No!" Then he put his hands over his ears as he sang and hummed to himself.

Nick carefully got out of his seat and tried to get near the little boy. He waited for Jason to face him.

"It's okay. We don't have to talk about it anymore." Nick just looked at the child.

Jason slowly pulled away his hands. He sniffed a little, the poor child was still sick, and Nick didn't feel like pressuring him too much now.

"I'll go find you a copy of Pokemon, all right?'

"I want my copy." Jason stood there looking around the room. Then he walked over to Nick who was crouching on the floor. Jason went over to the CSI. "I just want my Mom. I want to go home." The little boy tried to brush away the tears that were sliding off his face.

Nick tried to keep himself under control. "It's alright, partner. It's okay," he tried to soothe.

Jason rested his hands on Nick's shoulder. "Where's my Mom?" he whispered into Nick's ear.

---

Nick bounded out of the room, and headed to the men's bathroom. He never saw his partner stare back at him. Warrick witnessed the whole conversation from the two way mirror. Nick put both hands on the counter in the bathroom, trying to push away dark thoughts. Images of his worried mother's face flashed through his mind, and just as quickly he pushed away the memory.

He turned on the faucet, splashed some water on his face, and exited quickly. He almost collided with Warrick in the hallway, who was about to enter the restroom.

"That didn't look like much fun," Warrick commented.

Nick ignored his remark, or simply did not hear it. "You come up with anything on your background checks?" Nick plunged ahead.

Warrick considered asking Nick to go into an empty lab room, but thought better of it. "Yeah. There's definitely a pattern with the Todds' movement across the country."

Nick looked up expectantly. "What kind of pattern?"

"Seems like that have been missing children reported from every school their kids previously attended."

Nick's eyes grew wide. "I knew it," he muttered under his breath. Before he could start barking orders Warrick cut him off.

"Greggo's tracking down the detectives assigned to those cases. Sara's canvassing the neighborhood for any possible witnesses when the boy was taken."

The temporary supervisor seemed to take the news in stride. "Good. I want to talk to their priest and anyone else who had contact with the family. School counselors, coaches, anyone. I'm going to talk to Brass about getting a search warrant for the home."

None of these requests seem to faze the taller CSI. "On it. Hey, I was going to grab food, you want some grub?"

"Nah. Not hungry." Nick was ready to walk off. Warrick's hand on his shoulder kept him still.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find a gameboy," Nick responded and then continued on without another thought.

Warrick did not hide his frown at the answer.

---

Several hours later, Nick found himself back in Grissom's office. He rubbed at his burning eyes since the words on the computer screen were beginning to get fuzzy. He grabbed his cup of coffee, the third one in the past few hours and chugged down the cold sludge. He had spent half an hour on the phone concerning Sofia's newest case, and chased down Bobby Dawson about the results from his ballistic test from the local weapon's society.

So far he had put off his talk with David Hodges, since he didn't want to get roped into the some stupid inner-lab feud. In fact, he had been able to avoid Mia all night.

Nick began to press his thumbs into the pulse points above his eyes, when a small knock interrupted him. Nick looked up to see Sara leaning on the door frame.

"What's up, Sar?" he asked, not getting up from his seat.

"Just wanted you to know that Brass came up empty on the warrant and that the Todds went home a little while ago."

Nick's outrage was easy to recognize as he the muscles along his jaw tightened, and the veins around his neck stood out. "That's a load of bullshit. We've got possible history of physical abuse from three different hospitals on their now deceased son. We have a trail of missing kids clear across the country..."

Sara went around the desk and put her hand on the agitated criminalist. "We have no evidence to the murder of Johnny Todd. We have no prints, no DNA, no scrap of anything physical that ties the family to the crime. Johnny was an active kid who played in two different kinds of sports teams. "

Nick's eyes narrowed. "Come on. We have a hell of a lot of suspicious circumstances as well as a family that did not call in the police when their kid went missing."

Sara tried to calm the other man down. "Matt Todd has some pretty tight connections with a prestigious law firm. He has a priest who backs his story of devotion and a hell of a lot of neighborhood parents that back on their claim of searching for him."

Nick stood up and paced the small space.

Sara looked at him with empathy. "Nick, their neighbors speak volumes about what a close knit family the Todds are. Greg came up empty on the missing kids reports. There were no leads, no really connection between the possible kidnappings. No ransom notes, no clues. Just kids that disappeared. Johnny Todd's body was found, the pattern is off." She held up her hand to cut off his rebuttal. "Except for the possible connection we found today. However, every city has their own group of missing kids. Mathematically, the odds are strange but not on our side."

Nick seemed too lost in his own world. "I still have to talk to anyone who had contact with the family."

"Tomorrow, Nick. It's already 6:00 p.m. We've got another six hours before the start of the next shift. The interviews are going to have to wait till the morning."

He sighed. "All right. Go home, get some sleep. Tell Warrick and Greg to get some shut-eye as well."

"They already went home an hour ago." Sara allowed a small smile. "I can stay if you want."

"No, I'm fine. I've got some progress reports for the shift to turn in to Ecklie." Nick explained rubbing his neck, trying to knead the tense muscles there.

Sara rubbed his shoulder. "You need to sleep too, Nick."

He allowed a tiny grin. "I will. Now get going." Nick began to physically move Sara out of the office.

"Get some rest!" Sara said in a commanding tone.

Nick waved her away dismissively. "Yep. One more report."

The criminalist closed the door and slumped down in his chair. He pulled open a drawer and grabbed the gameboy he had managed to snag from Archie. He dropped the thing heavily on the desk, and stared at it. Nick switched on Grissom's laptop and started to dig deeper into the Todds' personal history.

Sara Sidle arrived at work fairly refreshed after five hours of sleep. She came early, knowing that there were a ton of interviews to be sent up. She swung by the break room to grab a cup of coffee and headed towards the phones to contact Jim Brass concerning the schedule of witnesses. After spending more than twenty minutes on the phone with the Captain, she began to write a list of people she would speak to during the day.

The sheet of paper displayed a fairly long list of names. School counselors would be handled by Brass. She would speak with the family priest, assuming that Nick would be the easiest person to talk with the school contemplated the assignments, knowing that Nick might want to have a say as to who spoke to which visitor, but she was trying to be efficient.

She strolled down the corridor in search of her "temporary" boss to find him slumped behind the desk of Grissom's office. His eyes were glued to the computer screen, the sounds of the mouse clicking the only thing to break the silence in the room. Sara smiled slightly at the determination behind those fierce features, but then the smirk slowly faded to a small frown.

Sara blinked a few time as she noted the wrinkled shirt that he wore the other day. Did the guy ever leave last night?

Sara cleared her throat to alert him to her presence. He glanced up in slight confusion. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall, and he pushed back on the chair he sat in.

"Hey," he said his voice slightly hoarse.

"Hey, yourself." Sara walked further into the room and looked down at the various papers, printouts, and files strewn about the desk.

"I set up all the interviews. Brass is going over to the school to speak with the two counselors. I've got the priest, and I felt that maybe you might handle the head coach...if that's all right with you." Sara looked
up at him, trying to invoke casualness to her tone. She wasn't trying to  take over any aspect of the case, but wanted to help delegate duties.

Nick seemed too engrossed to notice as he ran a hand through his hair. "Good."

"You find anything in all this mess?" She indicated the mass of crap piled on the desk.

Nick began to gather up the items in some sort of pattern. He placed certain papers in stacks only known to him. "Maybe."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sara asked, arching an eyebrow.

Nick smiled at her. She reciprocated- at least he wasn't too worn away to appreciate their kind of banter.

"Everything is too neat and tidy going back the last twenty years, and then Matt Todd's history becomes hard to track down past 1985, when he was living at..." Nick searched for a slip of paper. "When he lived in Tucson, Arizona. Then the trail goes cold."

Sara wandered over to the chaos that was Nick's current work desk. "He would have been…..what, 25? You think digging that deep into the father's past is going to reveal some magical reason for his son's current murder?" Sara asked. She didn't mean to come off as condescending, but she really wasn't following the other man's thought processes.

Nick seemed to take exception to her question. He scooped up his papers, ignoring her glance. "I'm being meticulous," he grunted.

He brushed past her, as he organized his work area the best he could. Sara noted the stubble around his face from not shaving. She folded her arms across her chest. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Nick ignored her. He finished with his stacks and looked up. "What time does the coach get here?"

Sara didn't try to hide her annoyance at being selectively disregarded. "At 8 a.m. Plenty of time for you to eat something, take a nap, and shave."

Nick's mouth formed a thin line. "I've got a meeting in less than an hour, more red tape crap to deal with." He handed her a thick file folder. "See if you can research Matt Todd's business ties. All of his construction projects have to do with buildings for the community. Recreation centers, churches, local theaters, parks. They all have one thing in common."

"Families and kids," Sara replied accepting the items. She looked down, not really convinced at any possible link, but she was intrigued.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to assign Warrick to a robbery. Hopefully he can wrap it up in time to help with the interviews in the morning," he explained, heading out of the office.

Sara hurried to catch up with him. "We've got another double ahead."

It wasn't really a question and the temporary supervisor didn't even try to answer it as he walked down the hall to his next destination.

Sara was left with the feeling that Nick Stokes was spearheading a case- whether the rest of the team caught up to him or not.

---

Nick had assigned Greg the task of searching for any medical history on Jason Todd. He wanted to know if the father concentrated on both sons at the same time, or if he followed pattern according to age. Perhaps the youngest had been spared any advances. More than likely Jason would be ignored until his brother was too old. Then, sexual predators tended to go after the next sibling. Nick prioritized his morning after the pointless meeting with the day and swing shift supervisors. All the cases from Graveyard were being handled in a timely manner. Nick headed towards the Trace lab, knowing he had to clear one more obstacle off his plate. He spotted David Hodges, standing near a printer, his bored expression quite obvious.

"Hey, Goose. I need to talk to you." Nick used his pointer finger to summon the other man closer. The tech rolled his eyes and sauntered over as if this was a waste of his time.

"Yeah," David greeted.

Nick fixed him with one of his best intimation stares. "Look, you got to keep your area as sanitary as possible. All of your projects need to be maintained and neatly organized according to procedure. Other people use the same space, all right?" Nick gave him a slight smile, trying to play the 'I'm just doing my job card'.

David just stared at him as if he just went over something as lame as the fundamentals of the alphabet. "You know, boss. Good grooming is a requirement for any kind of management position."

Nick didn't let the snarky act faze him. "I'll come by to check out your cleanliness if need be. However, this isn't a school and I'm not a principal. So, why don't we pretend to be respectful to other coworkers?" Nick explained, clearing his throat, which had become very scratchy towards the end of his remarks.

David looked past him, as one of the female lab techs walked by them. Following her till she disappeared from view, he brought his attention back to the other man.

"Sure. Whatever."

Nick sighed. He subconsciously rubbed at the muscles in his neck that decided now was a good time to spasm up on him. "I'm glad we had this conversation," he mumbled as the tech walked away.

Nick shook his head and went to track down Greg on his progress. His phone shrilled at him. He looked down to see Warrick's ID blink at him. He flipped it open, to find out how far the other man had gotten on his case.

---

Greg studied the crime scene photos with fresh eyes. There were no significant clues about the body. The dump area was proving to be a dead end. Nothing came back on the blanket or from the child's clothes. No trace of any epithelials, DNA, or hair and fiber. The rookie criminalist was at a loss on how to move forward. He looked up when he heard foot steps. Nick came bounding into the room with purpose.

"Come on. Marisa Todd convinced her husband to allow us access to the house. The funeral arrangements have been put on hold, since Doc hasn't completed his findings."

Greg jumped up and quickly joined the other man, who continued to update him. "It seems she wants the investigation to hurry up so she can bury her child."

Both criminalists headed to their SUV.

"Where do we start?" Greg asked on the drive over.

"We're covering the whole house. Sara's meeting us there. I'll cover the boy's bedroom. I want the two of you to look for anything that could have been used as a murder weapon. Doc Robbins says we should be looking for a large blade. Hunting knife or anything with a serrated edge."

Greg listened to his instructions intently; his superior's voice kept drifting into raspy tones.

"What about blood evidence?" He asked.

Nick shook his head. "The child was killed at the scene. There were no other wounds to the body, besides the sexual assault." Nick's jaw tightened. "Look at any computers. Check for e-mail and chat room conversations about any kind of kiddie porn, or anything sexual in nature. These types of predators usually like to share with other people. Their appetites are not bound by their own family."

Greg nodded mutely.

Both CSI's arrived at the house in record time. It felt a bit unusual for the uncooperative parents to have all of a sudden changed their minds and allowed the investigation to continue in the middle of the night. The whole dichotomy of the household seemed to on some sort of rift. Marisa and Matt Todd were struggling over who had control. It was obvious during the failed interview that there was tension between them. Somehow the mother had won out on some argument. Nick wondered if the possible murder weapon had all ready been disposed of.

The duo met Jim Brass at the door while the rest of the family stood outside. Marisa Todd held on to the hand of her youngest son as she approached Nick.

"We're staying at a hotel, while you go through anything. I hope you find something that tells me what happened to my son." The woman stared at the lead CSI intently. She seemed more in control, and less on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Her husband stood back, casting a weary glare at the both of them.

"That's for the best, Madame," Nick explained.

Jason Todd let go of his mother's hand and wandered over to the criminalist. Nick kneeled down to talk to the child face to face. "Hey, buddy. You feel any better?"

The little boy shrugged. "Mom says I have step throat." He fiddled with something in his right hand and displayed the item to the CSI. "This is my game boy. I've got all 200 pokeomon." The child shoved the device into the older man's hands.

Nick smiled at him. "Oh, yeah? Must have taken you along time to collect them." Nick inspected the video game.

Jason went beside him and pointed at the screen excitedly. "There's Char Char, he's one of the rarest ones."

"That's very cool." Nick squinted at the animated animal.

"Leave Mr. Stokes alone, Jason. He has work to do and we have to go on a trip to a hotel." His mom tugged at the child and ushered him closer to her.

Nick stood up. "I'll talk to you later, all right partner?"

"Okay." Jason followed his mom to a car, his father close behind.

Nick watched them drive away, a patrol car following them to their destination. A SUV pulled up as the family drove away. Sara stepped out with her kit.

Nick gathered his stuff and looked at his two collogues "Let's set to work, we have a long night ahead of us."

Nick did a preliminary walkthrough of Johnny Todd's bedroom. He had sent Sara to go through the dad's room. Greg started his search of the rest of the house for any sign of a weapon or pornographic materials. Nick combed though the child's bed, using the ALS in search of any possible body fluids. So, far he didn't detect any trace evidence of sexual abuse. He bagged the blankets and sheets for further analysis later on.

Nick searched for anything out of the ordinary, going through the boy's closet, drawers, and book shelves. The child's room was like a shrine for the sport's enthusiast. Posters of football players and major baseball teams lined one wall, while pennants covered every space around the bed. There was a case for every trophy won, with pictures of teammates taped to the sides. Johnny was definitely an active child and Nick took a moment to sit crossed legged in the middle of the room. He took in all the pride, all the accomplishments, and shook his head. Everything had been destroyed; all the little icons in competitive achievement in the world would never bring this kid back.

Nick closed his eyes as he drifted away for a moment. He rubbed at his strained eyes and shuddered a little when a slight chill went down his spine. His head filled with music, a song's lyrics drifted through his mind.

"You looked inside my fantasies and made each one come true,
something no one else had ever found a way to do.
I've kept the mem'ries one by one, since you took me in;
and I know I'll never love this way again.

I know I'll never love this way again,
so I keep holdin' on before the good is gone.
I know I'll never love this way again,
hold on, hold on, hold on."

Nick's eyes flew open as his stomach churned upon the female vocal in his head. He got up ignoring the song's memory that slowly faded away.

"Get a grip," he mumbled to himself.

He stretched since his back ached from moving around so much. He grabbed his less-than-stellar collection, and sought out Greg to help with the rest of the inspection of the home. The team spent five hours covering every inch of the place. Nick gathered his teammates together after they finished going over every room. The trio met back at the lab to discuss their lack of findings before the morning interviews could begin.

---

Nick found himself in the AV lab, hounding Archie over security tapes from another case. Sophia Curtis's rape case was dwindling down. They had a suspect in custody and the thing to nail the bastard with was lost somewhere in his twisted library of videotapes that were found in a basement.

"Come on man, I know you are quicker than this," Nick said, pacing the room.

"I'm not a miracle worker, Captain," the tech replied in a really bad Scottish accent.

Nick gave him a look of mild amusement as he sipped his bottle of Coke. "Just try to sift through these faster. We need to find the right tape. Sophia is an interview room as we speak."

The Asian shook his head. "As soon as I find it, I'll bring it to her."

Nick patted the man's shoulder. "I know you're doing great work. I appreciate the haste, dude."

The criminalist walked out of the room in search of Warrick. His partner had wrapped up on his burglary, and was going to start the analysis of the linen Nick had collected from the son's bedroom. The search of the Todd's residence had turned up nothing. There wasn't a scrap of any pornographic material. The computers' e-mails and hard drive had been a bust. Greg was working on a set of large kitchen knives, but it was highly unlikely that any of them were the right style. The coroner had insisted that a hunting knife had been the weapon, and a butcher knife wasn't going to match up.

Warrick caught up with his partner, a plastic-wrapped sandwich held tightly in his grip. He pulled the Texan aside and stuffed the food into his empty hands.

"Sara says you haven't eaten anything all night. Now scarf this down before you have your interview."

Nick was going to protest, but the thought of food made his stomach growl, reminding him how long it had been that he went without eating. He wasn't being self-destructive; the CSI just forgot to take the time for a meal. Nick went to the break room and began to wolf down the sandwich, much to the glee of his partner.

"You know, Grissom seems like a robot at times, but even he knows when to take the time to refuel. You know what I mean," Warrick deadpanned.

"Yeah, I know, man. Just kind of got caught up with the case and all the rest of the supervisor duties," Nick answered between mouthfuls of food.

"So, what's with you lately?" the lanky man asked as he leaned against the doorframe.

Nick paused ever so slightly and shook his head. "Nothin'." He looked over at his disbelieving friend and gave him a lame answer. "You know how it goes."

"You're way past the point of trying to impress the boss, you know," Warrick reasoned to him.

That earned him a glare. "I'm not trying to prove anything." Nick got up from his chair to throw his trash away. "I'm just focused." He looked at his watch. "I've got to meet with someone now. You going to---"

"The sheets. I'm already on it." Warrick interrupted him.

Nick allowed a grin. "Cool, man. See you in a little while."

---

Father Myers sat in the interview room, with simple ease and calm. His demeanor didn't reflect the kind of pressure he must have been under as a family guide in crisis. Sara entered the room after observing him, her expression neutral. Little things were not adding up, and she didn't want to let this man think for a moment that he could hide behind a collar if he had any relevant information.

"Mr. Myers, how long have you known the Todds?" she asked.

"For three years. They attend Mass every Sunday and as well as a few of my Bible Study classes," the priest answered.

Sara flipped through her file. "Mr. Todd was in charge of the building and construction plans for the new wing of your church. Correct?" She looked up at him, searching for any nuance.

"Yes, Ms. Sidle. Matt Todd has helped construct many houses of God over the years. It was a blessing when he joined our family as well as building the congressional."

Sara nodded. "Do you know of any other social circles of the family? Any functions that they take their children to?"

Father Myers placed his elbows on the table. "The Todds are a private family, but they remain active in the community. Marisa is an art teacher at a local middle school; her husband belongs to the chamber of commerce. They entertain; they go to every game that Johnny ever played at school. They are a loving family, Ms. Sidle. They are being torn apart by this horrible crime."

"Marisa Todd spoke about a conversation with Johnny. She said that the boy had been acting weird, and when he would not talk with them. You had a conversation with him." Sara looked at the other man. "What was he afraid of?"

Father Myers's expression changed, his eyes grew softer, his lips thinned as he frowned. He seemed drained all of a sudden, but then quickly composed himself. His tone of voice was as sweet and kind as ever. "I simply don't know. He got very quiet any time I tried to get him to open up about what was wrong. He seemed skittish… not communicative."

Sara leaned in. "Do you recall seeing anyone approach Johnny at church,
notice anyone out of the ordinary?"

The priest grew somber. "No, Ms. Sidle. In fact the Todds had a group of friends over at their house just a week ago, and everyone had a nice time."

Sara's eyes narrowed. "Really? Tell me about it."

The priest's brow furrowed in concentration, and then he shook his head agitated. "It was to celebrate Johnny's promotion to shortstop. He'd been in the outfield, but wasn't really happy about it. Some of the boy's friends were there, his coach, some of the other parents."

The man looked at the criminalist. "It was just a fun time." Then he paused as if struck by something.

Sara noticed the slight mannerism. "What is it?"

Father Myers looked hesitant, and then shifted uncomfortably. "It's nothing."

"If it is, then telling me won't be an issue," Sara urged, as she smiled slightly.

Father Myers sighed. "Matt was in a terrible mood that night and I don't know why. He seemed very agitated and didn't spend any time with Johnny at a party that was put together for him." He looked up at the CSI. "They were always so close."

"Did it seem like Johnny was avoiding his father?"

There was a grim expression that quickly faded to a more determined one. "No…they….I mean…..I just didn't see them act as they normally did. You know?"

Sara didn't answer. "Why didn't the Todds report their child missing right away, Father?" The CSI had no problem with addressing the man in front of her with his revered name to gain some sort of trust.

"Johnny had run away several times in the past few months. They just thought it was more of his antics… his growing rebellious nature," the priest defended.

"Rebellion and teenagers go hand and hand. Johnny was 9 years old, hardly a time to get all distant with your family and start running away. Unless he was fearful of his own home?" Sara hinted, trying a gauge a reaction.

The priest straightened in his chair. "There was nothing to be afraid of at home."

Sara continued her line of questioning, but came back with very little information. Father Myers was very loyal towards the family and protective, almost to a fault, of their need for privacy. He insisted they were not to be the ones to be put under the microscope.

Sara had him write down the list of people at the party just a week earlier. The case still cried out that someone in the family or close to them was part of their tragedy. The last gathering might have been the final preparations in order to plan out the kidnapping and murder.

Nick sent another round of e-mails to Conrad Ecklie about the progress on the latest cases. Warrick's robbery was a slam dunk, a very sloppy inside job. Sofia's rape suspect was seeking a plea bargain agreement with the D.A., after his lewd video tape collection had been sorted out. The one incriminating tape had been located and the man's lawyer was all ready trying to swindle a deal.

Nick had let Sofia go home. Her shift had ended, and his was now entering into the post twenty-four window. His coworkers were finishing interviews and he was going to make sure they all got to go home. The case was stalled, but Nick knew it was bound to break wide open. There was something in his gut. He asked Jim Brass to pressure some of the out-of-state police departments to send over their case reports on the missing children around the time the family had lived in each city. Maybe if they were able to read over the original investigations, they could find a pattern that the other police didn't know existed. The captain was calling in favors to have those past cases sent to the Lab by tomorrow night. Nick finished up on the computer and headed towards his interview with the coach of the school that Johnny and Jason had attended. He rounded a corner and entered the room, where the man had been waiting on him for the past few minutes.

Nick made formal introductions and sat across from the other man. Brent Nero looked to be in his early thirties, with a crew cut and broad shoulders. He was a cookie cutter description of a sports director, the typical all-American guy. He eyed the criminalist with some interest, his expression serious.

"How can I help you, Mr. Stokes?" he asked.

Nick decided to use a different tactic with this witness. All the others seemed to stonewall them. Perhaps this time, another approach might work. The CSI leaned forward, maintaining eye contact.

"I need your help to find out what happened to Johnny Todd." Nick watched as the coach seemed to take a more energized posture.

His blue eyes sparkled with intensity. "Anything. You name it. I've spent quite a bit of time with Johnny this year. He was an amazing kid, quite talented. I'll do whatever it takes to put the bastard responsible for his death behind bars."

Nick chewed on his lip. "You saw him four times a week. Did he ever confide in you about problems at home, or perhaps something that was bothering him?"

Nick took a long breath for dramatic effect. "I think people have not been been very forthcoming during this investigation. Something's not right, Mr. Nero. I really need your opinion and observations."

The coach stared at Nick and seemed to study him for a moment. "I'm a mentor for kids, sir. But, I don't talk to every one of them as much as I would like to."

Nick smiled. "I played sports all my life, Coach. I know who I could turn to if I needed to talk to anyone outside my family. I won't be breaking any bond you have with your team."

Brent Nero tilted his head to one side. He played with the end of his shirt sleeve, rubbing at the fabric. "I can't come across as playing favorites, but, yeah I hung out with Johnny. He wanted to be better player to impress his dad. He was a star member of my team, so of course I tried to help develop him."

Nick sat back in his chair. His voice light, he shrugged his shoulders. "He didn't say anything odd to you of late?"

"Not really. I mean... I want to help… but he never really spoke about anything other then correcting an issue with his swing."

Nick felt his cheeks burn slightly. Another act. He was really getting tired of the same song and dance. "Doesn't Mr. Todd contribute money to the school sports program?'

Brent Nero stood up, his chair squeaking on the floor. He pointed to the school T-shirt he was wearing. "I'm a proud member of this faculty. My responsibilities are to my school and to the safety of its students. Just because Matt donates a lot of money to the sports program doesn't mean I'd turn my back on any family problems."

Brent rolled up his sleeves, revealing tattoos up and down his arms. He flexed his muscles then slammed a fist into his other palm. "I try to be there for my kids. If I ever got any hint of problems, then I'd help take care of the issue... if you know what I mean."

The coach glared at the investigator. Nick got up as well and went around the table. He stood in the room, his face an open book of his frustration and anger. When he spoke his voice was an octave lower. The cords around his neck stood out beneath the skin.

"I'm trying to find out what happened to an innocent child who was killed and dumped like garbage in an alley. If I have to question your loyalties to do so, then I will. I don't care whose toes I step on in the process," Nick growled, never taking his eyes off the other man.

Coach Nero didn't even seem to blink. He never took his eyes off the criminalist, as he clenched and unclenched his fists that hung to his side. "It's fine, Mr. Stokes. I'm glad there is someone with so much passion behind this case. I want to protect my team from anything, but I can't be there all the time."

He stepped closer to the lead CSI. "I really hope you catch the asshole that did this. Give me just a few minutes in a locked room with him when you do," he snarled.

Nick looked down; the other man's body trembled with anger. The two men were almost feeding off each other's emotions. It was uncomfortable and Nick felt like such an amateur for letting a witness see his unprofessional side.

"Thanks for your time," Nick mentioned softly. Not wanting to continue with eye contact he studied the ink that adorned the coach's arms.

"I thought a school might balk at those tattoos," he said, pointing at them. Nick really wanted to speak about something off topic to settle down nerves.

The criminalist noted the "Victory or Death" printed over a shield on the man's right arm.

The coach chuckled. "You can't say anything about my art when you got as good a winning record as I do," he beamed.

Nick laughed. "I guess not," he said, clearing his throat.

The lead CSI let the coach go, and tried not to bang his head against the wall. Another dead end. This case was slipping away and his criminalist gut told him that the team was missing some link to everything.

He glanced at his watch and groaned. It was time to go home. The CSI prayed that the next shift would yield some better leads.

---

Nick entered his home and headed for the kitchen. He saw the light to his answering machine blinking and hit the button as he rummaged through his fridge for food.

"Hey Nick, its Lori. Call me."

The criminalist smiled. He had meet Lori at a camera store. His visits there were made on a fairly regular bases, between work and all of his bird watching hobbies. After several months of flirting, they had exchanged phone numbers. Nick wasn't in the mood to go on a date this weekend. The two of them could wait; it wasn't like he had been searching for anyone of late. Nick grabbed a sandwich he had made, and went over to his sofa to veg out on whatever game was on. He may have had good and bad streaks of luck when it came to women, but it wasn't like it was ever hard for him to meet anyone. The problem wasn't with sex- that was something had never had any difficulties with. No, it was finding any kind of meaningful relationship, and with the type of work he was involved in- well, it didn't really leave time for a normal personal life.

Nick sighed. There was nothing on TV, so he found a game that his TiVo had recorded and sat back to watch the Rangers vs. the Braves for an inter-league game. Nick was fast asleep an hour later.

---

'It's our secret and no one should ever know.'

Nick woke with a start; he felt his heart thunder in his chest as he looked around his living room in confusion. It was nighttime, and the sun no longer drifted into the room. He had fallen asleep on his couch, and groaned when he felt a crick in his neck.

"I don't like keeping secrets, Laura. Why do we have to hide from everyone?"

A male voice raged from his television.

Nick looked over at the night time drama. One of those hunky actors was whining about something to some blonde bimbo. The leggy actress strode over to Ken Doll, placing her fingertips to the man's lips.

"It's better this way. Your father would be very upset if he ever found out about us."

Nick grabbed the remote and quickly turned off the program as a slight tremble made his hand shake slightly. His DVR unit had shut off after the game, leaving on some terrible prime time soap opera. Nick wiped his hand over his clammy face and looked back at his moist hand from his sweat-soaked hair. He shook his head and disgust and went to his bathroom for a shower.

He had a couple of hours before the start of shift and wanted to head to work early.

---

Once Nick was back at the lab, he was assaulted with the backlog from day shift cases. He sifted through paperwork and tried to prioritize which cases he would hand off to grave, while trying to keep as many people from his team on the current case. He was in the middle of dismissing one of the

CSI's from days, so distracted that he had not noticed Conrad Ecklie standing behind him.

"Stokes."

Nick startled easily sometimes, but he felt like a fool when he did so in from of the Lab Assistant Director. The older man gave him an odd look.

"Where are you getting on this Todd case?"

"It's still ongoing. I sent you---"

Ecklie waved his hand at the younger man cutting him off. "I can read,

Nick," he said, obviously annoyed. "What I want to know is, are you close to a suspect?"

Nick crossed his arms across his chest and in sincere confidence answered, "I believe so."

The Assistant Director didn't look very impressed. "Well, I hope for your sake, it's someone outside the family. Matt Todd has long arms in this community, and whatever you might have on him better be airtight," he said gruffly.

Nick worked his jaw before rebuffing, but didn't have time as Ecklie looked at his watch. "Look, I've got to be at the other side of the city for a dinner with the Mayor, then it's meetings for two days. I'll be staying at the Elicer, but my phone is always on. Try to get something concrete, before this case gets too cold. I want a viable suspect soon."

Conrad Ecklie looked at the CSI. "Grissom left you in charge. Try to keep the solve rate of the lab up to par during his absence."

The director left Nick in the hallway, without any further conversation. The lead criminalist just shook his head in annoyance at the supposed support he was receiving from the half-politician.

"If this is what upper management is all about, I'm not sure if I ever want to get promoted," he mumbled under his breath.

Nick headed for his temporary office when he saw Greg Sanders running down the hallway in his direction. He quickly side-stepped before the rookie CSI could run him over in his excitement.

Greg was breathing hard, his hands clutched at a set of folders. His eyes were beaming and Nick couldn't wait for the man to speak.

"You got something important, G?" he asked, trying to keep his irritation at bay. He just didn't have any patience right now.

Greg was nearly bouncing up and down. "I think I found what you've been looking for."

Nick didn't suppress his annoyance. "Spit it out, man."

Greg's enthusiasm sagged a little, but it didn't keep him from delivering his hot news. "I kept digging and digging like you asked me to."

Nick nodded along, trying to keep the other man talking, and hopefully get to a point.

Greg sensed this and skipped ahead to his news. "I found some old articles from the Arizona Tribune. Apparently there was a scandal involving one of the pastors at his church. Parents of three boys filed charges of sexual molestation by members of the congregation."

Nick looked at the copy of the newspaper that Greg was handing to him. He scanned the item as the other CSI continued to explain some of his other findings. "The charges went unanswered as the church denied the claims. There was a big to do about the grand opening of one of its newest churches, a very large one. In fact Matt Todd was one of the architects in charge. It was one of his first major projects as a partner to a firm."

Nick was busy flipping through some more articles. "It says the case was dismissed after the charges were dropped by the parents. The reporter felt that the families were paid off to keep the church's reputation in tact."

The lead criminalist looked over at the younger man, who was desperately awaiting his reaction. "Good job, Greg."

The rookie eyes lit up, but there was something more to his expression. "There's more."

Nick looked at him expectantly. His cell phone buzzed, but he ignored it.

"One of the articles quotes the lead detective in saying that two of the children claimed that they were molested by more than one member of the church and that there were indications that they included someone from outside the actual clergy."

Nick's eyes grew dark with realization. "Matt Todd."

Greg let his voice quiet down. He was excited about providing a new lead, but also kept in mind the ramifications of the information and the subject matter. "I checked up on some things. Matt Todd did live in Tuscan and attended Mass on a regular basis there. One of the news investigators suspected that Mr. Todd used his money and influence to cover up his involvement. He protected the church and then moved away when the issue became too hot. It was still the early 80's, so things were easier to cover up back then."

"So, he was a suspect in the case." Nick said out loud, his mind going a mile a minute.

Greg stepped closer to him, whispering unnecessarily. "He was never charged. However, I was able to track down one of the police reports that had in the notes that he was under investigation. I didn't get that report till just a few minutes ago and put everything together."

Nick began to walk away and Greg was forced to keep up with him again. There was a fury in his stride and the rookie's eagerness began to wear away. Nick looked down at his phone again, and flipped it open to see he had missed Jim Brass's last call. He was about to dial the Captain's number when heard his name being summoned.

"Hey Nick!" Warrick Brown shouted and chased after the criminalist from another hallway.

The African-American caught up to his partner as Nick stopped to see what was so urgent. Warrick looked worked up and his face clouded over with dread. Nick felt his stomach tighten up for some unknown reason.

Warrick's grim expression darkened. "Brass has been trying to get a hold of ya."

Nick looked down at his phone, then back up. "I just saw that he called. What's going on?"

Both Nick and Greg looked at the lanky man with trepidation. The other criminalist was tense.

"Jason Todd went missing from his house a few hours ago."

The scene was chaos compared to the previous forty-eight hours. There were several cop cars parked outside, blue and red lights bounced around wildly. Neighbors gawked in huddled groups, CB radios chirped and buzzed all around, and even the scent dogs were out.

It was madness personified as the two SUVs pulled up to the scene. All four criminalists gathered around as Jim Brass filled them in on the details.

"Marisa put Jason to bed around 8:30 p.m. Both parents stayed up to around 11 p.m., each turned in for the night. Both parents checked in on their son. Marisa got up around 2 a.m. to get some water. She was feeling paranoid, so she opened the door to Jason's room and found him missing. They called the police right away," the captain explained, slipping his notebook back into his pocket.

Nick stared at the house, his eyes scanning the exterior. His fellow coworkers could feel the tension radiate off of the man. He'd been deadly silent on the ride over, and the other CSIs waited for his instructions. When none came, Warrick cleared his throat to get his attention. Sara shot the lanky man a warning look. It was obvious that the lead CSI was acting somewhat erratically.

Jim didn't hide his concern, as Nick just stared ahead in a daze without any indication that he heard his summary at all. Nick's gaze methodically took in the scene, oblivious to the insanity around him. His eyes meticulously soaked in every detail of the house. He observed the entrance, the lawn in front, even the carefully-kept bushes. After several agonizing seconds, his eyes rested on his team.

"Sara, I want you to canvass the front area. Make sure you go over that security pad with a fine-tooth comb. Warrick, you have the backyard," Nick's throaty voice said, drifting in and out of a low cadence.

He swallowed, the stiffness of his movements warning signs of the raging emotions that were being so closely guarded. "Greg, you're inside with me."

The Texan picked up his kit, and left the others behind. Greg opened his mouth to say something to his colleagues, but words seemed to fail him. Silently he grabbed his stuff and once again had to hurry to follow the lead CSI.

Sara looked over at her partner for the night, her anxiety clearly obvious. "He's letting himself get pulled into this too deeply," she warned.

Warrick didn't acknowledge her comment. He didn't want to vocalize the dread that had been building up over the last hour, because if he did, then he acknowledged that his partner might need to be pulled off this case. However, a little part of him held out hope that Nick would work through whatever was eating at him. So far the CSI had been holding things together in a very professional manner, despite some of the weird vibes Warrick had picked up lately. He wouldn't be the one to drop a dime on his friend, something that could have ramifications that could haunt Nick's career.

Warrick didn't say a word to the female criminalist. His silence caused her face to flush in resentment as she stalked past him. It was obvious that she was worried about their coworker as well as trying to remain objective about the potential ramifications of his handling of the case. Warrick shook his head angrily at his cowardness. He was making an internal wager… one with insurmountable consequences- ignoring his gut and following a little voice that wanted to have his friend's back. He decided to wait things out. He headed for the backyard, his eyes drifting up towards the window of Jason Todd's bedroom.

Warrick saw the camera flash in the darkened room above. The CSI prayed that he had made the right decision.

---

Jason Todd's bedroom was in stark contrast to his older brother's. Star Wars posters and action figures were all over the place. A mobile of the solar system hung from the ceiling. It caught the moonlight at an odd angle casting strange shadows along the walls. Nick glanced at the collection of fantasy novels, dinosaur books, and one of those weird 3-D puzzles that was nearly finished.

There was no sign of a struggle. The child's covers were pulled away and the CSI bagged a tiny flashlight that he found hidden under the pillow. The boy's prized Gameboy was also tucked next to it. The CSI felt a slight breeze and his brown eyes focused on the open window. Nick took a few photos of the opened entrance. He fished a flashlight out of his vest pocket and examined the window.

The criminalist pulled out his powders and began dusting for prints on the inside and outside handles. The point of entry had been discovered and Nick poked his head out and noticed how easily it was to gain access inside. Jason's room was near the garage. A person could easily scale onto the roof and then make their way over to the window. It was an easy climb to reach the second level that way. Nick peered down at his partner; Warrick looked up at him from his position.

"I've got some fresh shoe prints down here," he yelled.

Nick gave him a thumbs-up, and imagined himself climbing out the window, scooting along a few feet till he reached the roof of the garage, and then descending to the ground. The alarm system for the house had to be turned off or compromised. Or whoever took the child knew the code.

Nick examined the room some more. He had a similar solar system mobile set up in his room as a kid. He had taken such great care and pride at measuring where each planet hung. Math always came easy to him; he took a ruler and calculated the correct positions between the celestial bodies and the sun. It took him nearly a whole day to set up. But he did it by himself, while his parents worked.

He'd lay in bed for hours, reading and staring upwards as the very solar system he studied. A boy's bedroom was the entrance way to imagination, escapism to other worlds. A small hideaway from homework, chores, and annoying siblings. Nick would seek out the solitude of his room when the cackles of his sisters grew too much in his home. He would study his mock universe, and marvel at the magnificence it represented.

Till the day that the sight of it made him sick to his stomach. He had torn the mobile down and ripped the strings and wires that held it in place. His parents never understood his sudden aversion at the sight of that damn monstrosity. For weeks he didn't speak of it. Thinking he was just going through a phase, his mom bought him a chemistry set. For weeks and months afterwards, Nick has spent countless hours applying himself to the science of structure and logic.

The strings that held the planets in this room shifted from the draft. Earth hovered in the air, and Nick was drawn to the ease in which it floated above the bed. The paper planet made a flapping sound as it twisted around and around. The motion of the ornament slowly hypnotized the criminalist, his legs grew heavy and he nearly collapsed backwards. Nick took a few haphazard steps. The back of his knees collided with the mattress, and he sat heavily on the child's bed, transfixed by the fluttering sound.

Nick scowled at the play set above him. The bedroom was a cold lifeless shell. The energy and spark that it once protected was gone. The sanctity of what this room represented was now violated and shattered.

Nick felt drawn explicably towards those inner planets. Venus, Earth, and Mars coasted above him, mocking him as they hung freely. Nick felt his pulse accelerate, his chest tightened as his body felt trapped by a weight that he couldn't escape from. His frozen limbs would not move; his voice was silenced by his constricting throat. He couldn't take his eyes off that damn mobile. He was forced to watch them slowly twirl on their strings, while his head buzzed loudly.

"I know I'll never love this way again, hold on, hold on, hold on."

His finger tips clawed at the sheets as he squeezed his eyes closed from a sense of revulsion. His lower lip quivered as he struggled to breathe. Just as he felt the loss of control, his eyes flew open at the sound of a question.

"Hey, Nick. You all right?'

Greg Sanders's concerned voice pulled him away from the abyss. He pushed his hands down on the bed so hard that his arms trembled.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

'Well, I've been trying to get your attention for a few—"

Nick's fingers curled into fists, turning his knuckles white, the fabric of the sheets entwined between his fingers. "I said I was fine," he hissed.

He heard hurried footsteps leave the doorway. And Nick dropped his forehead to his knees and breathed in deeply, hoping his heart would slow the fuck down. After the longest ten seconds ever, Nick forced himself to a standing position. He didn't look up at the ceiling anymore. His gaze dropped back to the green Gameboy that was left abandoned. The CSI stormed out of the room before it suffocated him.

---

The four CSIs stood in a circle in the cramped hallway inside the police station. Sara's canvass of the outside area around the front of the house had yielded few clues. The alarm key code was covered in fingerprints from the family. Either the suspect wore gloves when he disengaged the alarm, or a member of the family had turned it off.

The latter theory had the group of criminalists sharply divided concerning the probability of such an act, considering there was no real motive or evidence that indicated that one of the parents was capable of murdering one son and then possibly the second one.

Warrick's shoe prints were the closest thing they had to a real clue. It was the same size 11 Adidas shoe, and the next step in the case involved collecting shoe prints from the rest of the family. Whether or not it would was to rule them out was a hotly contested debate.

"The shoe prints are the first real break," Warrick argued. "We lay all our cards on the table about their first son's abuse and we finally get something going in this case.

Warrick flashed his green eyes towards his partner. Nick had been reluctant to go in that direction during the interview but he was feeling the pressure from all sides right now. His mind kept drifting back to Jason Todd and all thoughts about what might have happened to him. Sara had suggested that she handle the interview, but for once Nick had used his powers of shift supervisor to veto her opinion, leaving her exasperated and angry.

"Enough," Nick silenced the bickering. "Sara, you come with me into the interview. Warrick get everything ready for the comparison prints." The CSI turned to the rookie who had been strangely reserved the past few hours. "Greg, go see if those police reports from the other cities has finally arrived and get to work going through them. The answers are there, I can feel it."

The youngest criminalist dredged down the hall, his lack of vigor gone unnoticed by anyone.

With assignments effectively handed out. Nick glanced at the disapproving stare of his partner, and ignored it. He turned his back to him as he and Sara entered the interrogation room.

It was hot in the room. Nick wanted to adjust his collar, but he had all ready undone the first three buttons of his shirt. The CSI didn't fidget, but his skin tingled and he felt completely on edge. Marisa and Matt Todd refused to be interviewed separately and their lawyer, an older gentlemen, sat with them. Jim Brass remained in the corner as both CSIs sat across from the table.

The story had remained the same, with nothing changed from Jim Brass' report. Marisa Todd's face was waxen, but it was difficult to tell if it was from rage or absolute devastation. Her eyes were downcast, but she hung on to every word of the criminalist. Her husband, shifted in his chair constantly, and continued to wring his hands through his sparse hair. His foot tapped impatiently, and he glared at Nick with contempt. The answer to every question was clipped, and huffed in between every word.

"We only found prints belonging to the family on the window handle and the alarm code," Sara explained.

Matt Todd's complexion took on several hues of red. He leaned forward, his lawyer's hand on his shoulder trying to calm him. "You people heard of gloves, right?'

Sara would not be baited. "Would Jason just open the window for anyone?"

Marisa's hands began to shake, "No," she whispered. She wiped at her eyes. "I don't know why he would ever open it for anybody."

"How many people have the alarm code to your home?" Sara continued her line of questioning.

Matt began to rock back and forth in his chair. "Just the two of us and the boys. No one else has it." The man looked down at his hands as if studying them. "Or at least I thought," he mumbled under his breath.

"You didn't hear any strange noises outside?" Sara continued, trying to get anything out of these distraught people.

"No. Marisa took a sleeping pill before bed. She's hasn't been able to get any rest. And I didn't hear any disturbance... nothing," the husband responded, his eyes scanning the room.

Sara glanced at her coworker. Nick remained strangely silent despite the argument concerning who would conduct the interview. She had taken the lead so far, and it was unnerving at the way he continued to stare at both parents. His brown eyes were cold and distant. The criminalist decided that it would be the best interest for the case to go ahead and begin the toughest set of questions thus far. She licked her lips somewhat nervously, more from the erratic behavior of the man beside her than of the emotional reaction she expected from the couple in front.

She had a feeling that she was about to step onto a minefield, but didn't know whose reaction she feared the most.

"I don't have an easy way to say this, Mr. and Mrs. Todd. However, there is physical evidence that your son, Johnny, had been sexually abused."

Sara waited for it. Marisa's complexion became even more chalky white if that were possible; her sharp intake of breath was countered by the complete stillness of her husband's body. The color drained from his face, his momentary state of shock was very real.

Nick remained mute, his body wrought with tension. The family's lawyer tried to soothe both parents. H glanced at both criminalists, not very keen over where this interview was heading.

Sara allowed a moment of grief before she lost them to another emotional breakdown. "We think whoever killed your son had repeatedly assaulted him over time. This person obviously gained the trust of both of your children, with intimate knowledge of your home."

Marisa Todd began to lose control, her soft cries increased in volume. Her husband was too stunned to comfort her, his lower jaw hung loose as it took time for him to form a response.

"W-what?" he stuttered.

Nick startled Sara with his movements; he opened up a file folder next to him and meticulously slid several photocopies of a newspaper article towards the gaping man in front of him.

Matt Todd's eyes grew incredible large at the sight of the papers. He paled at first, his eyes shifted from the object on the table then towards Nick's granite expression. The veins around his face stood out, and his hand crumpled the papers in silence.

"What size shoe do you wear, Mr. Todd?" Nick's scratchy voice broke the heated stare down between the two men.

Matt Todd leaned forward as his nails scratched the table. "I would never harm my son."

"What about the two boys in Tuscan?" Nick asked, his voice tight and deadly.

Jim Brass shifted uneasily in the corner. Sara felt like she was in the middle of a tennis match as he watched both men battle to keep themselves from going at each other.

"Any allegations from my client's past have no relevance in their recent tragedies," the family lawyer began.

Nick stood up slowly; he kept his hands firmly on the table as he loomed over at his suspect. "We're going to need your shoe prints for analysis to rule you out, sir."

Matt Todd rose from his chair. He placed his foot on the table and systematically unlaced his shoe. He pulled off the loafer and gazed at it for a moment, before flinging against the wall, missing Nick's head by only a few inches.

The CSI didn't flinch but Jim Brass rushed over before things could get even worse. Matt Todd started to unbutton his shirt, as he continued to stare Nick down. He slipped the garment off and threw it on the table as well.

"You want to test the rest of my clothes, Mr. Stokes," he seethed. The architect never took his eyes off the criminalist. "Whatever monster you still think I am, you're dead wrong."

Sara felt like some weird spectator at a boxing match. She stood up next to her coworker, her hand gently touched his back. Her fingertips brushed over his sweat-soaked shirt. She looked around the room for any sign of sanity from anyone else. Sara looked at the other CSI whose expression reflected something totally different than expected. Nick look surprised- no, he looked astonished.

The frazzled CSI's eyes darted at each person in the room and back to the father. He stared at the man's arms. A tattoo of a shield with the words "Victory of Death" covered his right forearm.

"How long have you had that tattoo, Mr. Todd?"

The husband stared insidiously at the other man. "I got it when I was twenty." The outraged father glanced at the ink that adored his flesh. "Why?"

Nick glanced over at Sara then back to the mother, his voice was slightly shaky.

"Mrs. Todd, did Johnny have a favorite toy?"

The hysterical woman gathered enough of her wits to stammer an answer. "H-he loved this little stuffed donkey. He never went anywhere without it."

Nick stumbled backwards, shaking his head. "Two days," he mumbled under his breath.

Sara started towards him. "What about two days?" she asked, trying to find some rhyme or reason in his words.

Nick looked at the female CSI in what had to be described as horror. He moved till his back hit the wall, his head bouncing back from the impact. Nick's confused expression haunted Sara. She didn't know what to say or how to react.

Nick stood there paralyzed. He spoke so softly that Sara didn't catch his words as he abandoned her to the frenzy that had been created in his wake.

Nick exited the room without an explanation. He cursed and pushed passed people in the busy hallway. Voices buzzed past him as he headed towards the exit.

Greg Sanders caught up to him as he ducked and weaved, the younger criminalist keeping up with his insane pace. Nick was in the parking lot before he realized where his feet were taking him.

He was nearing his truck, his half hazard breathing was under more control, and reality seemed to zap back into focus. It was only then that he realized he had company. The youngest CSI stared at him in some sort of mix of awe and trepidation. Nick blinked several times, not knowing how he even reached his SUV.

"We need to get back to the boy's room," he explained.

Greg was too caught in the craziness to rebuke the erratic behavior of the man in front him. He managed to stutter a small "Okay."

Before better common sense could take hold, both criminalist headed back to the scene.

---

Nick stood before the entrance of the home, cutting away the crime seal tape that sealed the house from others. Greg bounced on the balls of his feet nervously.

"Dude, what are we doing here?" he asked, looking around. "Shouldn't we wait for an officer?"

Nick was acting before mulling over any action. "His Gameboy is still here," he stated as if this rationalization would clarify all of the answers for the younger man.

Greg's brow furrowed, still completely baffled. "Huh?"

The ex-lab tech followed Nick into the house, almost bumping into him, when he halted in the middle of the room. Nick's cell phone had been buzzing wildly and he stopped momentary to shut it off.

Greg's was starting to ring, and unlike his coworker, he waited to answer it.

Nick gave the rookie one final order. "I know that's Sara or Warrick. Tell them to start digging into any information on Coach Brent Nero."

Greg looked up at Nick to tell him to wait up, but the other criminalist was all ready going up the stairs. The Texan was reacting, following on pure instinct, without stopping to ask himself any reasonable questions. His heart had been pounding during the interrogation, perhaps from the intensity of the interview, or even more problematic, from his own twisted guilt and anxiety.

Jason Todd wasn't the newest DB, not a body missing its personality. No, he had meet and gotten to know the boy. The innocent smile and awkward emotions still fresh in the CSI's mind. And that child had slipped right through his fingers.

Nick pushed open the door to the bedroom that he had evacuated only a few hours earlier. He went straight towards the bed, and peered down towards the sheets, scanning for the elusive Gameboy. His hands instinctively dug through his jeans pockets for a pair of gloves, all the while his eyes searched for the toy.

He started to slide on the latex items, when he heard the creak of a floor board. His fingers brushed the butt of his gun when he felt an arm snake around his chest and the sharp metal of a large blade against his throat. A voice whispered in his ear as he felt the knife cut into his flesh, a small rivet of blood spilled down and stained the front of his shirt.

"You move so much as a muscle, and you'll be dead before you can utter a word."

Nick froze, his fingers rested on the handle of his service weapon, an arm around him held him flush against the unseen assailant. He held his breath, anything to keep the knife from cutting him any deeper.

"I want you to drop your gun to the floor, very carefully," a voice whispered in his ear.

Nick kept his movements to a minimum. The guy had a steady hand, but he wasn't very careful about how the blade dug into his skin. Nick pulled his gun out of his holster, and dropped it to the floor. He knew the suspect could slice his throat open in seconds, so trying shoot him from his prone position wasn't going to work.

Now that he was disarmed, the suspect forced him forward. Nick heard the guy kick the gun backwards, towards the entrance of the room. The suspect moved Nick closer to the wall with the window and spun him around till the criminalist was facing him.

Once Nick was turned about, a hand shoved him till his back hit the wall with a thud. The knife was back against his throat, the sharp end of the blade dug into the soft fleshy side under his chin. Nick's eyes grew large when he saw Brent Nero's steely expression. The coach kept Nick pinned to the interior of the room. Blood slowly dripped down his chest from more than one cut. Coach Nero was very calm for a man who was threatening the life of a crime scene investigator. His eyes weredeadly serious, his breathing even.

"Any one else in the house?"

"No," Nick lied. The criminalist tried to keep from sweating. Half of him wanted Greg to come in and call for help, the other part prayed the younger man stayed away so that he would remain out of danger.

Nero twisted the blade, the point stung his skin, and fresh little droplets of blood trickled down.

"You came here alone?" he scoffed.

"Yeah," Nick tried not to gulp with the knife bearing down on him.

Nero's eyes narrowed. He brought his face closer to the CSI, his left thumb dug into Nick's shoulder. "Why are you here?" he leaned closer, his eyes almost twinkled in curiosity. "I mean, how did you know?'

Nick tried to keep his teeth from clattering when he spoke. "The donkey was Johnny's favorite toy. I know that Jason doesn't like to go anywhere without his Gameboy. He wouldn't be very cooperative without it."

Nero slid the knife closer to Nick's Adam's apple. "Very perceptive. So, you rushed over here. Not very smart."

"I can be impulsive sometimes."

The Coach chuckled, and then grew silent. "You seemed pretty worked up over this case. I mean…you were upset up at my interview. I didn't expect that kind of emotion from a crime scene guy."

Nick stiffened. "You murdered an innocent child, you bastard."

The knife never wavered, as Brent Nero stood and observed his hostage's anger. The suspect didn't react and Nick continued to speak.

"Is Jason alive?" Nick tried to keep his voice even.

"Yes." Nero smiled. He seemed to enjoy watching his prey try to remain calm.

"Just let him go. You still have a chance to---"

Nero pressed the blade upwards causing Nick to grimace and end short his tirade. "He's mine. He needs to be tested just like all the others."

Nick felt his heart quicken at the implications. Nero was a sociopath and the thought that he could be responsible for the death of so many children, made him violently nauseous. He had to choose his words carefully.

"Tested?" Nick tried not to squirm.

Nero kept the knife in place but moved his left hand till his fingers were wrapped around the back of Nick's neck, his thumb pressed along the CSI's jaw line.

"All of them." He shook his head, disappointed. "They all failed." The coach's eyes drifted towards the interior of the room. "Then I finally understood what I had to do."

The suspect looked back at Nick. "I had to take his children. Take the offspring from the man who started it all. Who made me do this."

"Matt Todd," Nick stated.

Brent Nero's eyes flashed with anger. "It's all his fault," he growled.

"Your tattoo."

Nero licked his lips. "It was all I saw every time he…" He gnashed his teeth together. "It was only right that it became part of my arm. A reminder of what I needed to do."

"All those kids!" Nick growled. The criminalist saw the way the man looked at him, as if it was time to be done with this conversation. He had to get a grip, keep him talking.

"Please don't test Jason," Nick swiftly amended, his voice softer.

Nero shook his head almost sympathetically. "It has to be done. They all need to be judged."

"No, they don't." Nick didn't care if he was begging. It was his fault that Jason was being subjected to this monster.

The coach tilted his head. "You don't understand." He adjusted his fingers, sliding his left hand to the back of Nick's shoulder. Positioning him for the kill.

The CSI knew that any moment he was going to die. The bastard was setting him up for the easiest way to strike. He couldn't let Jason down. "I do understand," he beseeched. His voice sounded so pathetically weak to his own ears.

The evil smile was back. "No you don't. You couldn't possibly."

Nick tentatively raised his hand in a non-threatening way. Nero watched with curiosity as Nick gently placed it on the man's shoulder. The CSI felt his insides churn, he HATED touching this vile person. "I... I do," he swallowed.

Nero squinted. He chewed on his lower lip. "No… no, you can't."

"I wished to God, that I didn't know. That I could just make it all go away. Push away all those memories… or had fought back somehow, " his voice grew lower, thicker.

Brent Nero stared at him. His expression changed… drifted.

Nick felt like he was gaining something. Controlling the game. However he heard footsteps approach and the look of acceptance from the other man disappeared.

"Hey, Nick. We really need to wait for---" Greg Sanders's voice trailed off as he entered the room. The rookie criminalist gawked in shock at the presence of the other man.

Things happened too quickly for Nick to comprehend. Brent Nero pulled him away from the wall. He stood behind him using the CSI as a shield with the large knife still pressed against his throat.

Greg Sanders spotted the other CSI's gun on the floor and picked it up. He aimed it unsteadily in the direction of the assailant. Nero held Nick securely against him, his hold nearly crushing the CSI. Nick willed himself to remain calm, he didn't know how this was going to turnout, but he knew the ex-lab tech was completely inexperienced with firearms.

"Drop the gun, son, or your buddy here is going to have a fancy new necktie," Coach Nero threatened, his voice steady and cold.

Greg Sanders held onto the Glock with both hands, his breathing coming in and out harshly. He stared at both men, his gaze drifting over to the other CSI for any hint of instructions. The rookie was already upset over the cuts and the small amount of blood that dripped down his friend's shirt.

The suspect was completely unfazed by the other man's presence, and he even gave the younger man a wicked grin. His dark eyes almost lit up in glee with excitement. It was obvious who was in control of this situation. Brent Nero could feel the uncertainty beam out in waves from the rookie.

"Let him go," Greg ordered. His voice was in more control than he felt.

Nero chuckled.

Nick tried to deflect the attention away from the ex-lab tech. "You still have a chance. Just drop the knife."

Nero squeezed him harder, inflicting a grunt from his hostage. "Shut up." The assailant than glared at the other CSI. "Are you going to shoot me?"

Greg held out the gun, he kept his trembling to a minimum. "Drop your weapon."

"Do you even know how to fire one, young man? What if you miss?" The suspect laughed louder. "What if you hit your buddy here?"

Greg tightened his hold on the gun, he was faltering. Sweat poured down his face, and he started to shuffle his feet slightly. Feeling the anxiety from the inexperienced criminalist in front of him, the suspect forced Nick to move along with him closer towards the window. His confidence in the situation was plainly obvious. "What if I kill him and then gut you for fun?" he threatened, his eyes dancing with joy.

Greg trained his weapon as the man moved. He was speechless; Greg gave Nick a pleading look. One full of regret and much more. He couldn't handle this. He was trying so hard to keep it together.

"There's another way," Nick offered. He was flailing, trying to do anything to keep alive and Greg safe.

Nero crept them both closer towards the window. He stared at Greg, soaking in all the edgy and unsure movements. The assailant continued to grin while he spoke. "I don't think you'll shoot at all."

Greg bit his lip, he fingered the trigger, knowing that something was going to happen.

Brent Nero eyed the young man. "But just in case, I'll need a small diversion."

Greg squinted.

Brent Nero's movements were quick and precise. He lowered the knife away from Nick's throat and then swiftly cut across the CSI's middle. His blade made quick work, the slice long and unexpected.

Nick flinched when he felt the weapon move away from his jugular, but felt the heat of the steel as it tore across his belly. Nick's hands went to protect his abdomen. He was too late, the burning sensation, and the pain filled in the gaps of unawareness.

Greg's hands shook as he witnessed the assault. It was over so quickly that his brain barely registered what transpired. He watched as Brent Nero created his distraction and slipped out the window. Greg pulled the trigger.

A shot rang out but he wildly missed and the man was gone. Nick stood there for a few seconds. He looked down at his wounded body slightly confused. He looked back up at Greg, his face filled with relief that the other man was unharmed. Then his complexion paled, and he crumpled to the ground.

Greg was paralyzed from fear, but after Nick slumped to the floor, he managed to get his body to follow some basic commands and he rushed to his friend.

"Oh God, Nick, I'm so sorry," he stuttered as he tried to get his overloaded brain to work enough to help.

Nick leaned against the child's dresser, and fought his body's desire to slide all the way down to the floor. Greg was beside him, frantic with fear. Nick felt a wave of lightheadedness and he clutched at his stomach out of instinct.

Greg kneeled down beside the woozy criminalist and took out his cell phone. He dropped it with fumbling hands, and then clamored around the floor for it. He kept glancing back up at Nick, and touched his shoulder softly before flailing around for his stupid phone.

The younger man was able to gather his wits long enough to request backup and an ambulance. Then he shoved the device into his pants pocket.

Nick looked over and gave him a small smile. "Good thinking," he mumbled.

Greg let out a hysterical grunt and then lifted up Nick's T-thirt to view the damage. The CSI's eyes lit up as he saw the flesh cut open from a single slice across Nick's ribcage. Greg scanned around the room for something to staunch the flow of blood.

Nick fumbled with the hem of his soaked shirt and peered down at his belly. "It looks worse than it feels," he said offhandedly.

Greg stared at him, shaking his head at the absurdity of the words. "Hold on," he said breathlessly.

The rookie dashed down the hall to the bathroom and grabbed a handful of towels. He returned with the linen and squatted down next to the injured man. Greg folded the towel lengthwise then pressed it against the wound, eliciting a hiss of protest from the other man.

"Sorry," Greg mumbled when Nick flinched from the pressure.

Greg did the best he could as he tried to keep makeshift bandage in place. Nick leaned his head back against the furniture and closed his eyes.

"He was right here," he shook his head, angrily. "Goddamnit! So fucking close," he chided himself.

"All the background checks came back normal. I mean, there was nothing to indicate he was a suspect," Greg offered, as he started to realize who had taken the CSI hostage.

Nick still cursed at himself, and the younger man did his best to calm him down. "Dude, please, man. Relax." Greg didn't want Nick to harm himself any further.

"Goddamn bastard's going to 'test' him," Nick went on, working himself into a frenzy.

Greg started listening out for the sirens. He had no clue how long it had been since he made the call. His cell phone had been vibrating nonstop since he dialed for help. The rest of the team was bound to get here. How was he ever going to explain to them what happened? Greg tried to keep his hands from shaking and tried to compose himself. He'd have to fill out a report and he still had no clue what happened or why Nick even came back to the house.

He had broken so many procedures. Hell, he didn't even know what the rules were concerning what had just transpired. Not only did the suspect taunt him, but he succumbed to the fear that the assailant had honed in on. If that wasn't bad enough, he let him get away. Greg tried to dismiss his selfish ramblings when he finally heard the wail of a siren.

"Help's coming," he tired to reassure the other criminalist. Greg frowned.

Nick didn't seem to be paying him any attention. The wounded man just continued to mutter about how everything was going to be too late. Greg felt helpless as his attempts of comfort were having zero effect. 'Its just shock,' he tried to reason as the downstairs boomed with the shout of police as they entered the home.

---

"Why the hell were you guys even there?"

Warrick Brown paced up and down in the waiting room of the ER, while he continued to grill Greg Sanders about the events that lead up to the disastrous encounter back at the Todd residence. The tech sat meekly in one of the hard plastic chairs, giving soft one-worded answers.

Greg was clearly shaken by the ordeal. He had watched helplessly as the EMTs arrived and assessed the injured CSI. Instead of following along to the hospital, the CSI Level 1 was immediately confronted by both Jim Brass and Sara Sidle asking what had occurred. The younger man gave a detailed account about what had transpired, which wasn't much. The female criminalist remained to process the scene, and the burly captain had returned to police headquarters to keep an eye on the Todds, who remained in custody.

Warrick had stormed in awhile ago, and Greg sat there dejectedly as the worried man took out his frustration. No one had seen or heard any news regarding the subject of their worry. Deep down inside Greg knew that Warrick was just as steamed at Nick for his reckless and very questionable behavior. Right now, however, the frantic man had nowhere to vent.

"I just followed him there. I-I, don't even know why we went," Greg said, never meeting the green blistering eyes of his coworker.

Warrick kicked at one of the empty chairs and then sat down heavily into it. Warrick sighed, his elbows propped on his knees. "I'm sorry, Greg." The older man cast a weary look towards his colleague.

Greg remained silent, not really sure he deserved any kind of apology.

"Something's been off about Nick the past few days and I-I just dismissed it." Warrick rambled as his way of explanation.

Greg stared at the tiled floor. "I had no clue what to do. I—I just froze up."

Warrick's nostrils flared. "There's no training for what happened. Both of you could have been killed."

If the words were meant to encourage or make him feel better, Greg didn't feel the intended impact. He glanced down at his disheveled appearance, noting the blood on his jeans. Before he could rally himself to freshen up, a very frustrated ER doctor came over to both men.

"I'm Doctor Taylor," a woman in her early thirties, with long red hair that was pulled away in a ponytail, addressed the criminalists.

Warrick and Greg stood up immediately.

"How's he doing?' Warrick asked, trying to calm down his nervous insides.

Dr. Taylor sighed, glancing at her chart and back up towards the men. "Mr. Stokes has a deep laceration extending laterally across his entire midsection right above his navel. He received stitches on both the inside and out, closing the wound. We also gave him a unit of blood to replace what he lost."

"How long does he have to stay?" Warrick questioned the doctor.

The physician bristled in irritation for a moment. "We planned on keeping him overnight for observation; however, Mr. Stokes is currently signing the paperwork to leave against medical advice."

"What!" Warrick blurted, louder than he intended.

The doctor gave him a wan smile. "Maybe you can change his mind. I don't really recommend him leaving. He's even talking about returning to work, which I find a bit ridiculous."

"The hell he's going to leave this place," Warrick growled. "You lead the way to that stubborn man." Warrick pointed toward the inside of the hospital.

The physician sighed. "I hope you might talk some sense into him." She led the CSIs to Nick's cubicle.

---

Nick lay on his bed, replaying the scenarios in the house over and over again. Jason Todd was alive… somewhere. He needed to get back to the lab, to re-focus the team on their new suspect. Nick's instincts had gone haywire on this case. His inability to step away and observe obscured by things better left alone and buried.

He hadn't been wrong about Matt Todd. Nick somehow sensed the sickness in that man, no matter how reformed he would claim to be. The criminalist had begun formulating a game plan. His thoughts were interrupted by the curtain being slid away, revealing three distinctly unhappy people.

Nick moved his head; his body wasn't really up to shifting around too much right now. He sighed, this wasn't what he needed right now. He could sense the frustration radiate from his partner. Warrick and his doctor were going to play tag team against him.

It wouldn't work.

"So, you get yourself almost slit in half, and now you think you can just walk outta here?" Warrick taunted.

Nick rubbed at his face, the IV pulling at the skin in the crook of his elbow. He looked down at his hospital-issued shirt and pants. His clothes were ruined- evidence now. He'd need something to wear when he left.

Warrick was aggravated at being ignored. "Just listen to your doctor, she has a degree in medicine and you don't."

Dr. Taylor shifted next to the angry criminalist. It was obvious she agreed with the man, but was too professional to vocalize it. Or intervene with the reprimand.

Nick subconsciously rubbed at his stomach, his fingers brushed over carefully wrapped gauze and bandages. He had been in a haze of pain and shock when he had entered the ER, his belly burned, and his guts felt like they had been ripped out. If that had been the case, he would have required surgery instead of the repair job done by the resident on call, using only a local. After they had topped him off with a unit of blood, he had regained the use of most of his brain.

His belly still burned, his head roared with a fierce headache, but all of that didn't matter. He had lost, what, two hours? Time was slipping away. A child was still alive, there was still hope. It all rested on the ability to find Brent Nero.

He'd been damned if he lazed around licking his wounds, while a bright boy was subjected to God knew what kind of terror. Nick looked over at his best friend. Warrick Brown berated him with a decent amount of logic, even if it was rooted in deep worry. He didn't need concern right now. Nick was still in charge and had the ability to salvage the remnants of this case. He'd have to push himself harder than he ever had, but it needed to be done.

"We don't have time to coddle me. We need every member on the team centered on this case. There is still time to save Jason." Nick's voice was hoarse and thick from not being used.

He swallowed when he felt he had the attention of the three people in the room. "He's still alive. Every second wasted is another one that monster has to do whatever he wants with him before he's killed like the others."

Nick moved up in his bed, ignoring the splitting sensations in his flesh. He felt the room spin, and then right itself. He wet dry lips, his mouth felt like dry cotton. "I'm not debating this." Nick eyed the physician and his two coworkers. "I won't have his death on my conscience when there was something I could have done to prevent it."

He stared at Warrick and then Greg. "Will you?"

Warrick shook his head. "Nick, man."

"Just help me get ready. I need clothes. I've got an hour before I can go, right?" Nick looked over at the female physician who stiffened during his little speech.

"You have to wait for your IV to finish, and then you can leave." She cleared her throat. "It's still AMA. I'm not recommending it."

Nick shifted his gaze back at his friends. He could feel their reluctance, but his words had hit home. They were wavering.

"I'll… I mean, I'll grab you something to wear," Greg offered.

The lanky criminalist didn't give him a glare. He still stewed and wrestled with Nick's argument. Nick nodded his head in thanks, not wanting to ruin the acceptance with words.

Greg slipped out of the room, leaving Warrick Brown to pull up a chair and start filling his partner in on what little had happened since his attack.

---

Slipping into a pair of Dockers wasn't a terribly difficult thing to do. He stared at the black long-sleeved shirt with more caution. It was button up, thank goodness. Nick slipped his arms into the sleeves, hissing when he had to stretch them so they fit into the holes. The stitches pulled around the tear along his midsection.

Not really enjoying these kind of masochistic acts, Warrick huffed loudly, as he helped Nick get the garment on. Nick shrugged him away, when his partner even started buttoning it up for him.

Dr. Taylor looked over at him, arms crossed, and obviously not happy about a patient of hers flying the coop. She handed a bag to the taller criminalist. "Make sure he takes these antibiotics and pain pills." She looked over at Nick. "It's obvious he doesn't have any self-preservation.

Nick looked sheepish, and was about to open his mouth to protest her assessment when she addressed him with a tone of voice reminiscent of some of his sternest professors.

"Don't do any bending, or any other kind of unnecessary movements. If you're working some case, keep to sitting down. You pop those stitches; you better get back here right away."

The doctor held onto Nick's gaze for a minute before addressing him again, alternating her stern expression between her patient and his partner. "Keep that wound clean and sterile. " She glared at the man. "I mean it. I'm a little concerned about your white blood count, its slightly elevated, which means you just got over being sick, or you're catching something. Of course, I'd know more if you stuck around long enough for some of your labs to come back."

Nick felt bad enough to look slightly chagrined. Warrick shot him a look that said 'this was a very bad idea', but it disappeared quickly. This was a serious situation.

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll be sure to follow all of your instructions," Nick tried to placate the woman as he stepped closer to the door and ultimately his escape from the hospital.

Warrick quickly thanked the physician and followed his partner out. The taller CSI kept his mouth shut concerning Nick's stiff and awkward movements as he maneuvered around.

"I'd say she was hitting on you there, bro," Warrick mentioned in an effort to lighten the mood but quickly changed the subject when Nick snorted his disagreement. They headed towards the SUV.

Warrick held the door open for the criminalist as Nick gingerly climbed into the passenger seat with slight difficulty.

"Greg went back to meet up with Sara. They've been digging into Nero's history for anything we might have missed," Warrick explained as they drove back to the lab.

"What about the Todds?" Nick inquired.

"They are still at the station. Their lawyer has been kicking up a fuss ever since you accused Matt Todd of a crime."

"I handed him some newspaper clippings," Nick corrected his partner. "But the man did commit a crime. And if he wants his son back, he's going to cut the bull and level with us," Nick growled.

The criminalist filled the other man in on most of the conversation that had taken place in Jason's room. Warrick mulled over the informationsilently. "The guy's a nut job. Who knows if what he's saying is the truth or not."

Warrick glanced over at his partner. "Matt Todd is involved in this somehow. He's going to have to fess up to some major shit and accept the consequences."

"It takes a man to face his evil deeds. I just hope he's more of a father than a monster after all these years." Nick adjusted the air conditioning slightly in the truck.

"You're going to have to deal with Brass and Sara when we arrive, man. They might not be as easy to snowball as me and Greg." Warrick warned. "They're both pretty pissed off right now. You still have a hell of a lot of explaining to do."

Warrick's voice faded into the background. Nick stared out the window, his brain going a million miles a minute. He replayed every vile word from the child murderer, looking for any clue into the man's madness. There was no time for mistakes. Nick would do everything in his power to make up for what happened, even if he had to drag Matt Todd into the street with a bullhorn and offer up the man in return for his kidnapped child.

Nick walked as swiftly as his injured body would permit down the hallways of the LVPD. He kept to one side of the corridor so he could avoid bumping into anyone. Warrick remained to his left side, presumably to keep others away. It wasn't long until they found the room where Sara and Greg were holed up, both glued to their laptops.

Sara got out of her chair and moved beside the temporary shift supervisor. She eyed him critically, the summary of his injury echoing in her head. The man needed to be in a hospital. "Didn't you ask me once if I thought I was indestructible?" she challenged.

Nick scowled, disagreeing with the situation but not saying so aloud. "You can chastise me later. Have you found anything on Brent Nero?"

Sara pursed her kips, wanting to argue, to validate her point. However she shook her head solemnly. "Nothing, Nick. Not a single thing connects him to any of the other missing children."

"How long has he been in Vegas?" Nick pressed on, unconvinced at the lack of findings.

Sara searched the table for a few printouts, leafing through till she found the specific sheet. "He moved here two years ago from Salt Lake City. He resided in Utah the last fifteen years, albeit he moved around some of the smaller cities. He's coached for several school systems there, with tons of written allocates from local sports columnists."

Greg tentatively crept out of his seat and stood next to the female criminalist. "I went as far as to cross reference some of the same dates when some of the children went missing where the Todds lived. Brent Nero won several division championships during that time."

Nick walked over to a chair and dug his fingers into the back of it, absently shaking his head. It couldn't be right, he wouldn't believe it.

Greg looked at the chart he had made almost dismally. He looked over at Sara who gave him a supportive look. The rookie continued, his voice betraying how conflicted he sounded. He wanted to find the elusive connection, but there simply wasn't one. Nothing to corroborate what Nick insisted was the truth.

"You were in little league, right?" Greg asked.

Nick clawed at the chair even more, his eyes glued to the floor. He wanted to scratch the small bandages along his throat, but he kept his fingers curled into the fabric of the office chair.

The younger man gulped. Sara and Warrick looked uncomfortable at witnessing their friend's inability to accept that he was wrong when it was so obvious he needed it to be otherwise.

"The coach has to be present during every day of practice leading to the playoffs," Warrick answered for him. Everyone knew that he played ball in college and was an avid baseball player when he was younger. Both he and Nick knew the rigors of a sports schedule. It was one of many things they had in common.

Sara placed a hand on Nick's shoulder. "Not only did Nero not live in any of the states where the Todds resided, but his job kept him in the public eye and under a strict schedule. He couldn't possibly have been responsible for those missing children."

Nick kept his arms taunt over the chair. "He told me that he was assaulted by Matt Todd and went to seek his vengeance on his family, after he molested the others."

Warrick didn't want to push a person who was reaching their limit, but his partner had to regain perspective. "Brent Nero killed Johnny Todd and kidnapped Jason, but we might not know why. He probably just made everything up to screw with your head, man."

Nick bit his lip. He wasn't going to be second-guessed. He straightened his body back up, grimacing a bit, at the feeling of being incised all over again. He glanced over at Sara. "Are his parents still here?"

"Nick..."

"Never mind. I'll find which interview room they're in. Matt Todd is going to come clean about everything." Nick turned his head in the doorway. "Warrick, how's the warrant looking for Nero's house?"

"Brass is working on it. Not too long now," Warrick responded, glad to see that Nick's mind was still on the needed physical evidence for the crime at hand.

"You and Greg go to the house when it's ready to be processed." Nick was still in charge and he wasn't about to let the others doubt his ability about moving forward. "Sara, please keep digging on his background."

Nick left the trio as he prepared himself to confront the Todds again. His run-in with the murderer would be a weapon in his fight to get the child molester to admit to his past deeds.

---

Jim Brass stood outside the entrance to the interview room sullenly. He eyed the criminalist's approach and didn't hide his visual assessment of the man. Nick held his arm around his middle. It was clear that every step sent a wave of pain through him, no matter how closely he guarded it. Nick came to a stop right in front of detective, his face betraying a mixture of anxiety, frustration and a little bit of annoyance.

Jim raised an eyebrow. "You all right there, Nicky?"

The CSI allowed his shoulders to slump forward. He didn't want to argue with the captain and was somewhat relived that he wasn't greeted with more hostility.

Nick didn't feel all right, not by a long shot. It hurt to breathe; every single intake of breath caused his skin to stretch, his belly to burn and the muscles of his abdomen to feel the rip in his flesh being artificially pulled back together. It took too much energy to stand erect, but did it really matter?

He gave him a wary smile, one filled with grim gratitude. "I'll be fine."

Jim snorted humorlessly. "Yeah? I didn't know you were such a gambler, Nicky. Maybe you might have more luck just playing Russian roulette, instead of running off to scenes unescorted. Leave us slow and stupid beat cops behind."

Nick stared at the captain wordlessly.

Jim shook his head and looked back at the closed door. "You glutting for more punishment, huh?" He laughed. "You're lucky that they even permitted you to speak to them again instead of clamming up. But they want to know about their child." Jim frowned. He didn't envy Nick's position at all.

"I'm not going to endanger this case. It's going to be airtight," Nick informed the other man.

The Captain cautiously stepped aside. "I'll be looking in through the two-way, they requested that my presence not be there. It's still an active investigation, but if we play along, they might slip up." Jim shrugged.

"Cool," Nick acknowledged the trust that the older detective still had in him.

The criminalist pushed open the door, and entered the quiet room. Three occupants had been talking softly, and Marisa Todd almost toppled her chair over in her haste to meet the CSI.

She rushed up to him. Nick halted abruptly at her unexpected actions. "You talked to the man who took my boy. What did he say? What did he want?" she asked in rapid succession.

Nick grimaced when she grabbed at his shirt. The older lawyer, came over to pull her away. Nick grunted slightly, but made his way over to the chair and cautiously sat down. He sat across from Matt Todd, who had not made a single move when he entered. Nick had felt the man's cold eyes on him the whole time.

The husband's hands rested on the table, his pointer finger bounced rhythmically. The newspaper articles had been ripped to shreds, little scraps littering the floor. The architect glanced down at the floor and back up at the CSI.

"Is my son alive?"

Nick felt his throat burn, the acid of his stomach churned again. "I was told that he was."

Matt Todd leaned forward, his voice hollow. "What are you doing to get him back?"

Nick coughed quietly, trying to clear his throat and retain an authoritative tone. "I'm trying to learn about the murderer. If we know more about him, his behavior, then it might lead to avenues where we can capture him."

Marisa Todd stood in the corner, the family lawyer held on to her as she sobbed quietly, her eyes bore into the back of her husband's head. "Just fucking tell him, Matt."

Nick's eyes narrowed, his hands gripped the table, as he watched the shadows flash across the other man's features. Matt Todd swallowed, shaking his head.

The CSI wasn't going to let this opportunity escape. "Is your pride worth more than your own son? Your older one was assaulted for God knows how long and brutally killed. Now you're just going to wait? Let the hours go by while Jason is held somewhere, while some monster has his way with him?" Nick's voice continued to strain as he leaned closer and closer, his hostile demeanor becoming more prevalent as it was unleashed.

"Is your miserable secret worth more than the sanity and well being of-"

"Enough! Stop it!" Matt stood up and kicked the chair. His chest was heaving and his face became beet red. The veins once again pulsated around the side of his head. He wiped a bit of spittle from his lips. "I was 25. I was a sick man. Is that what you want to hear?"

Nick raised his suddenly heavy head. He didn't give him any sympathy. "You molested Brent Nero?"

Matt Todd slapped his hands on the table, "I don't know. I never knew a Brent Nero… I knew a few boys... it's not liked I memorized their names." The enraged man stole a glance at his silent wife. "I've been married for over fifteen years. I told Marisa before we had Johnny about my previous illness."

Nick grit his teeth. "Your… illness?"

"A man can reform. After I helped bail out my church from the scandal their clergy were involved in they sent me to counseling. I've never touched another child since."

Nick glared. "But you did molest several boys in Tuscan?"

Matt Todd gaped at the criminalist. "Yes, I did."

"And now one has come back searching for you… to seek his vindication," Nick said with disgust.

Matt Todd held his head in his hands. "I don't know… I- I swear to God, I don't know."

"So, because you were too fearful of being exposed for the lie you led, you didn't report your first son missing… for what? Fear that your miserable past would come to light?" Nick accused the man.

"I thought… ya know... there was a ransom..." Matt Todd babbled, now a shell of a confident man.

Nick blinked. "Why a ransom?" When he got no response, he glanced over at the wife. Her blank look of shock and repulsion clouded her ability to answer him.

Nick stood up abruptly, biting his lip, channeling his pain. "Answer me!"

"Because I saw the bastard's tattoo at my son's party. He was there, and I wasn't sure who the hell he was. I confronted Johnny about Coach Nero. Asked him if he had ever approached him, but he just claimed ignorance at what I was talking about."

Nick stood there in absolute silence, his brain unwilling to comprehend such selfishness and reckless disregard. "You knew that the coach was some demon from your past, and you just kept silent while we ran around in circles." Nick felt his face flush in anger. "Your son Jason could have been protected and he was snatched right from under your nose."

Matt Todd knocked aside his chair and pointed his finger at the criminalist. "If you wouldn't have spent so much time harping on me, and looking for other suspects, you might have caught the asshole."

Nick felt his face redden, his hands shook. "I'm sure Detective Brass will be taking your statement about your previous crimes, Mr. Todd."

The criminalist stalked out of the interview room and slammed the door. He dragged his feet to the other side of the hall and rested his forehead against the wall, his hand clutching at his stomach.

Jim Brass came out to check on the criminalist. A few people wandered down the hall, casting the CSI an odd look. Jim exhaled a breath, walked over, and leaned against the wall with his shoulder.

"Come on, Nicky," he gently ordered and grabbed the man's elbow to lead him down the corridor.

Nick extracted his head from the cool exterior of the wall, and moved along with the older man, somewhat confused as to where they were going. After walking along for a few seconds, the captain's hand still guiding him, Nick had the presence of mind to speak up.

"Um, I've got some–"

Jim stepped in front of the criminalist, who almost bumped into him. "You're going to go lay down in an office for a few hours. If I hear a single word of defiance, then I'm sending your ass home, supervisor or not," he warned.

"Why does everyone around here, think they know what's best for me?" Nick's eyes focused on the man in front him. "I've got a case—"

"We've got a case. And that's the problem, Nicky. You keep forgetting about your subordinates. Now if you're going to provide good leadership, you need to pay attention to your surroundings," the captain explained.

"Running the unit is more than just chasing down whatever personal issues you've got, and don't tell me you're not battling something, Nick." Jim lowered his voice. "Don't let people question your judgment. You're smarter than that."

Nick placed his hands on his hips, a definite sign of protest and defensiveness.

Jim chuckled to himself at how easy it was to read the CSI in front of him.

Both men reached an empty office at the end of the hall. The captain pushed the door open. "Here's a nice comfy couch, Nick. Take a load off."

Nick looked at the sofa longingly, but he knew that Jason Todd didn't have the luxury of a quiet room. Nick turned to leave, but Jim didn't budge. The CSI tried to step around the detective, who kept intruding on his personal space. Nick couldn't move away fast enough, his reflexes dangerously dulled, his ease of movement awkward and stiff. Jim nudged him a little with the side of his body and Nick had to grab the handle of the door to keep from toppling over.

Jim wasn't a cruel man, but his demonstration of how much Nick needed to recuperate was plainly and painfully obvious. The captain watched the younger man suck in an excruciating breath, his face draining of some of his color.

"I'll wake you up in a couple of hours." Jim's expression softened.

Nick cradled his arm around his sensitive belly, and ambled his way into the darkened room. He lay on his back, swinging his legs around, till he was as flat as he could get on such a lumpy sofa. He tried to ignore the sting that lashed its way across his abdomen, the sickly feeling of his insides pushing along the sewn up middle. Feeling the exhaustion of the day, Nick closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep quicker that he thought was possible.

---

There was whispering and soft voices that drifted in and out. It was confusing at first. Nick tried to wade though the seas of darkness. He opened his eyes, the glue that kept them together thick as he rubbed his hand over them. The soft muttering stopped, when he moved and the last few days came back to whack him across the skull.

He groaned when he slid his feet to the floor and got into a sitting position, the jostling doing wonders to his splitting headache. He allowed the dim room to swim into focus, and he coughed slightly as the rest of his wary body reacted to his awakened state.

Sara and Warrick were in the office, watching his every move. He didn't enjoy being observed in this matter, and he swallowed to give his dry throat some moisture. "Why are you guys here? Shouldn't you be processing Nero's house?"

Sara seemed to be holding something back and his partner was casting nervous glances his way. Nick kept from shivering from the inside of the room, the air conditioner must have been working over time in such a small space. It made the occupant feel chilled to the bone.

Warrick sighed. "There's nuthin' there."

"What?" Nick knew this wasn't the most intellectual response, but he was still trying to wrap his brain around the unexpected word.

"We went there with the warrant. Nero split, but he must have left days ago. The house was spotless. Not a single pierce of furniture, the whole place reeked of bleach."

Nick's brow furrowed. He sat there stunned. Every single avenue of the case had been stunted... they were grasping at straws.

"What about a paper trail?" he asked in a low murmur.

"We're going to work on that. See if we can find any previous address from before," Sara offered to the dejected man.

"Greg IDed the blonde hair off the donkey as Johnny Todd's. No scrap of anything belonging to the suspect," Warrick explained, updating the CSI on everything so far.

Nick looked up, his dark eyes in contrast to his pale pallor. "If the house was vacant, then he must have switched locations before the first kidnapping. Do we have an APB out?"

"Yeah. Amber Alerts have been broadcasting since Jason was taken, and Brent Nero's picture has been flashed over every local TV network. We got hotlines and every patrolman on the look out for him." Warrick tried to give them all a little reassurance.

The trio remained silent, the bad news weighing heavily on each person in the room. Nick pulled himself off the couch, and wandered around aimlessly in the tiny area. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, calculating every stupid mistake made during the investigation. Conrad Eckile's voice loomed in his head about solve rates, which only fueled his anger and self-recrimination. Grissom had placed faith in him, in his skills as a CSI, and as a leader. His failure was insurmountable as the case fell apart around him. Every aspect of the investigation had turned sour. His instincts had poisoned the investigation, ruined the careful detachment needed in a case like this.

A life… a little boy's life was slipping away. Nick felt the frustration mount and saw the defeated postures of the people in his command. Nick Stokes didn't allow anger to influence his behavior, but it burned and slowly ate away at all his carefully constructed walls.

Images of dinosaurs, stuffed tattered donkeys, and Pokemon attacked his memories.

Nick felt the hammer fall, the crack in his self-assured confidence. He stalked past the desk one final time. In an unexpected flourish he took his hands and threw everything off the top into a heap on the floor.

Warrick and Sara had to jump back as files, books, pens, and a coffee cup went flying off the desk. Nick took another swipe at the furniture, nearly toppling over a computer monitor, and slammed his fist down. The metal piece of furniture creaked and shuddered under the impact.

"There has to be something that we're missing!" Nick's voice was filled with pain and anger.

Sara looked at her friend with pity and back at Warrick, daring him to do something. To act.

Warrick readied himself, stood straight and walked over to the CSI who was still leaning on the desk in a huff.

"Come on, dude. You need to go home." He gently put his hand on Nick's shoulder, but he shrugged it off and stalked out of the room.

Sara turned to her coworker. "Something needs to be done, Warrick. He's not thinking straight and it's only going to hurt the case."

Warrick's face lit up in anger at callous words, but Sara's expression slipped to what was really on her mind.

"I'm worried about him. He needs to get away from this before it tears him up anymore." Sara's tone was sympathetic; her eyes betrayed her deep worry.

Warrick nodded and went after his friend in the hall. Sara remained behind in the darkened room. The place was hot and stuffy. She wandered over to the see the poor little air conditioner try to pump out colder air, but it was a beat-up system on its last leg. Sighing, she sat down on the frumpy sofa and pulled out her cell phone.

She bit her lip, knowing what she was about to do would be irreversible. Sara debated hitting the number on her speed dial, but knowing how serious of a situation this was, and did the only thing she thought could help everyone.

She hit it and waited for the other end to pick up.

Warrick had the other CSI cornered in one of the hallways. The black man normally didn't use his posture to intimidate his friends, but this time, he would use body mass and height to drive home his point.

"What's been eating at you, man? This supervisor thing has you acting out of whack."

Nick dug the palm of his hand into his forehead as he tried to ease the pressure of his migraine. He barely paid any attention to his coworker, having all ready got the gist of his argument. He sighed loudly, indicating his general annoyance.

He shook his head trying to erase the fuzziness that had descended and fogged up his brain. "It's got nothin' to do with the shift leader thing, bro."

Warrick cocked his head. "Then what is it? Talk to me, man."

"There isn't anything to discuss. I just got worked up." Nick plastered on a fake grin, trying to act modest. "You know how things go."

Warrick huffed, not buying the act. "You're a real easy book to read sometimes, and I know when you're bullshitting me. So, why don't you cut the crap and lay it on me."

Nick opened his mouth, but no words came out. No, there wasn't anything to discuss. "You know what? It's close to the end of the shift, maybe I'll go home and sleep."

Avoidance- the CSI was good at this game. Nick patted Warrick's shoulder; it only served to irritate the lanky man further. Nick ducked away, and started heading for the exit.

Warrick narrowed his eyes, not very pleased with the snow job. "Is that how it is, huh?" he accused the retreating man.

Nick kept this back to his friend, not wanting to continue the discussion. He waved his hand, never once turning around. Warrick felt the urge to go after him, but if his buddy was tired of being coddled, he'd give him the space.

Just this once.

---

It was his freaking luck that it was pouring outside, downdrafts of heavy rain that pelted him hard. Nick groaned as he was quickly soaked. His meager button-up shirt did nothing to protect him from the wind and sheets of wetness. To top it all off, his SUV was parked at the Lab parking lot, and he had to walk through the melee to reach his vehicle.

For a moment he thought about turning back and going through police headquarters, but realized that he would track in puddles galore, only irritating the local cops. So, he held his arms around his body and braved the rain for several minutes, crossing parking lots and getting drenched. After more time passed than Nick ever thought possible, his bones aching, he finally reached his car. He unlocked the door, crawled in and hit the button to his heater.

With chattering teeth, Nick drove, downtrodden and pissed off at the misery of it all. When he made it home, the CSI peeled off his thoroughly soaked shirt, hissing as the fabric pulled at the wet bandages. He stepped out of his soaked pants and threw on some sweats and a shirt. With great effort, Nick made his way towards his kitchen. It seemed the last half hour had sucked the life out of him and he could barely move without excruciating pain.

He reached into his fridge and pulled out some leftovers. He wasn't hungry, but with a bit of difficulty he managed to sit at his table and eat a few bites of pasta. He had grabbed a bottle of aspirin and took four of them in hopes of dulling the burning pain he felt. He groaned inwardly. Warrick had his meds, which he had forgotten to get from him. Nick was sure the prescriptions would have been stronger than his over-the-counter relief.

Feeling like this was the last straw, Nick stood up, grunting from the unbelievable effort. He took tiny steps towards his bedroom, using the wall to guide him along. He almost collapsed on his bed, pulling the covers over his body. He closed his eyes and prayed that sleep would simply take him away for a little while.

He was rewarded with slumber only half an hour later.

---

He saw the planet earth hang and spin on its string. The little paper world danced along, swinging back and fourth, back and fourth. The fishing line used to hold it invisible in the air, along with all the rest of the inner solar system.

Terra Firma.

It was all he could do to just stare at it, let it swallow him whole. Anything to keep his focus, his brain consumed with scientific facts. Nick awoke with a start. He almost lunged out of bed, and cried out when the throbbing hit him full force. His hands were shaking and his body was covered in a cold sweat. He stumbled out of his room, as he cast a bleary eye at his alarm clock. He was going to be late for shift and walked with wobbly legs towards his bathroom. Nick didn't have time for a shower, not with his middle wrapped around tightly. Instead he took a damp towel and tried to clean himself up a bit.

Trying to ignore his grayish complexion in the mirror, he found a T-shirt that he carefully put on. Still feeling cold, he grabbed a black sweater and tugged it over the shirt. After gathering his stuff, Nick headed back to the lab. He prayed that while he slept, someone had made progress at tracking down Jason Todd.

Nick had forgotten that Ecklie was out playing politics with the Sheriff at the other side of town. As soon as he set foot in the lab, he had to sign forms, track down lost paperwork and inform one of the members of the swing shift that one of their blood samples had been contaminated by bleach residue.

He'd been inside for twenty minutes when he reached Grissom's office. He sat behind the laptop to answer, delete, and forward various e-mails. Two cases from dayshift needed to be re-assigned to his grave team. Nick didn't have any choice but to assign Sara a hit-and-run and the other he quickly handed to Sofia to oversee.

Nick went to the reception desk to see if the any of the actual files from the missing children's cases had arrived and was actually relieved to see an overnight package waiting for him.

"There was also a box of files sent over from Tuscan that arrived late afternoon, but Greg took it an hour ago," Judy informed the criminalist with her usual cheeriness.

Nick lifted his head in acknowledgement and forced a smile. "Thanks, Judy."

The receptionist beamed at him, but quickly scrambled around her desk. "There's a message left for you by Detective Brass." She handed him the post-it.

Matt Todd had been arrested based on his pseudo confession; his lawyer was already contesting it. The note also told him that Marisa Todd was waiting to speak to him. Nick didn't have to wait long to find Jason's mother as she sat in the waiting area for him with Father Myers. Since he still had not seen any of his coworkers, the criminalist approached the woman. She stood up immediately and met the man in the lobby. Both visitors stood closer together, the priest kept his arm around the slim lady's waist for support.

"Mr. Stokes. My family has strong ties with the church, as you may know." Her bitter tone wasn't kept in check.

The priest looked very uncomfortable but stuck by the woman. She handed the CSI an envelope. "Between what my husband kept from that investigation so long ago, and with the help of some of the clergy, I have an unofficial report for you"

Nick looked over at the woman with shocked awe. He didn't know if he was grateful for the information, or angered at how easy it was to obtain it.

He managed a mumbled thanks.

Marisa Todd gripped Nick's arm, "Please find my boy. Don't let his father's past- past digressions take my last child away from me." After a bit of urging, Father Myers persuaded the distraught woman to move along so Nick could concentrate on the case. The temporary supervisor finally found one of his missing teammates.

Nick handed Sara her assignment slip. "I really wish we didn't have to deal with backlog," he said regretfully.

The smaller criminalist accepted the sheet, as she stared at him. "Jesus, Nick. Are you all right?'

"Where's Warrick?" he asked, clearing his increasingly scratchy throat.

"He's helping Greg with the latest background information on Nero." Sara looked up at the other man. "Nick, you don't look so good."

"I didn't have time to shower, so I wouldn't stand so close." Nick warned. "I'm going to sit down and sift though some new information. I'll take it easy."

Sara was about to protest, but Nick brushed past her, walking guardedly towards Grissom's office. The other CSI stared down at her new case, and cursed under her breath about being re-assigned.

---

Nick unfolded a typed and faded report from a legal wing of the Tuscan archdiocese. He tried to concentrate on the unofficial internal inquiry into the "matter". One of the church leaders had amassed a series of interviews from the molested boys as well as written statements from the clergy involved.

Nick fidgeted in his chair; the office must have had some timed climate control. He didn't recall it being so damn freezing in the place earlier. Maybe all of Grissom's creepy crawlies required some regulated Arctic environment to live in. Nick poured through the accounts, his stomach twisting into a knot at the vivid detail of the sexual assault. He quickly skipped that part as he searched the rest of the document.

It was beyond belief that the church kept a written report on the crime and explicitly listed the members of the church who were reassigned to other areas of the country. Not a single bit of disciplinary action had taken. Matt Todd, whose name had appeared as one of the accused, had helped to pay for the legal inquiry as well as "financial contributions" to the families who had filed grievances.

Nick had scanned through the eyewitness statements trying to spare himself some of the details, but so far nothing from the summary seemed to be help. He forced himself to read the three boys' testimony. Grant Payne Higgins had been 8 years old, Trent N. Walker 10 and Steve Dobbs Smith had been 7. Nick grimaced at the number of times the boys had been assaulted during the practice for Mass and late Bible Study.

Matt Todd had often spent time at the church in the early mornings to monitor the progress of the construction of the new wing. He made reports to the firm he had worked for at the time. He had helped keep an eye on some of the boys when one of the church staff has been called away on an emergency or had other duties to oversee.

Nick fumed away, at the thought that bribes and corruption had buried the atrocious acts. The offenses made his stomach queasy. Nick threw down the papers in disgust. It wasn't anything new to read about the uglier details of such assaults. He had felt nauseous when he woke up, and the added visual details of the abuse only served to make his stomach more upset.

Nick stared at the documents as they lay at his desk. He swallowed trying to keep the bile down. The three victims' names flashed in his aching head. The words had made him feel slightly dizzy.

Trent N. Walker.

Nick's eyes flew open. Could it have been a simple switch of letters and names? Was such an odd long shot possible? Nick got out of his chair, ignoring the pinching sensation around his abdomen. He knew the sore area was going to plague him, so he did his best to try to keep his movements as easy as possible. He slowly made his way out the room, as he searched for Greg and Warrick. They had the rest of Brent Nero's records and if his hunch was right, he may have found the break they needed in this case.

Nick trudged slowly in the hallway, which made him an easy target for techs and assistants alike to track him down for instructions. He had answered questions tersely, and ignored a few concerned looks. He had only made it past two cubicles when Archie Johnson came storming out of the AV Lab.

"Hey, Nick, Bobby needs to see you ASAP," the Asian nearly pounced on the CSI. Nick leaned against the wall. He started to feel lightheaded and fought the urge to sit down in the middle of the hallway. Archie quickly grew concerned, placing his hand on the man's shoulder. "Whoa, dude, you okay?"

"Can Bobby just wait? I've got to track down Warrick and Greg," Nick answered, thus ignoring the stare.

"No... I mean... its really important," the AV Tech replied.

"Fine," Nick huffed and crept like an old man toward Ballistics.

Archie followed close behind when Bobby Dawson swiveled in his chair at the approach of the temporary boss.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Nick. But the Weapons' Society claims they never got their gun back, and I faxed them a tracking number and everything," the tech rattled off, obviously nervous and upset.

Nick really wished that some of the lab employees could learn to do things with less hand holding. "What do they want from us?"

"They want more than a tracking number. They want whatever documentation we have on-"

"Then send it to them, Bobby," Nick replied testily.

"Ahh, Nick. You have all the paperwork. I put it in your box and can't find it now," Bobby explained hesitantly.

Nick sighed. The roaring in his head was reaching a crescendo, and it was hard to pay attention when there were two other techs moving around in the lab. Nick was about to apologize when the most vicious odor assaulted his nostrils. The CSI quickly tried to suppress his gag reflex and turned away. Now both techs were hovering near by. Nick recognized the strong smelling chemical; sodium rhodizonate was used to detect the presence of lead in bullets. He's been around it before, but his weak stomach wasn't ready for such an assault.

Nick dragged himself out of the ballistics lab and headed straight for the men's bathroom. Thankfully it was empty and he pushed open the door to the nearest stall. He sank to his knees and retched heavily into the toilet. There was very little in his stomach and he heaved until his muscles finally calmed down. He stayed hunched over the toilet, his arms shaking, as he rested his head on his outstretched forearm. He tried to calm his breathing, his eyes watering from the fresh pain in his belly. Nick was too preoccupied with his rebellious stomach to notice the stall door open.

He felt a hand under one of his arms pull him up, and he allowed himself to lean on the person lending him assistance. He was guided towards the wall, where he remained resting. He heard the sound of running water, and a damp paper towel was shoved into his hands. Nick took the wet item and wiped his face with it, and applied the coolness to the back of his neck. He looked up to his benefactor to see the bland expression of David Hodges.

"They were all too cowardly to come in here, so I guess I came in by process of elimination," he responded to the wide-eyed expression in his usual bored manner.

Nick groaned as he made his way to the sink. He ran the faucet and cupped his hand to drink and spit out the water as he rinsed his mouth.

Hodges remained in the bathroom, his eyebrow arched. "You know, Nick. You could make some of the DBs in the morgue jealous."

Nick glared at the tech as he exited the men's room, leaving the worried man behind. He forced his feet to carry him to one of the few rooms left that he had not looked for the duo of CSI's that were still missing. He walked past the room with the enormous examination table when an unexpected voice resounded from it.

"Nick, come here."

The bewildered CSI came to a halt and entered the lab room, where Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows stood unhappily. Now he understood why his fellow coworkers couldn't be found. They were hiding from him.

"What are you doing here?" Nick's voice was harsh sounding, as he licked his dry lips.

Grissom squinted at him through his glasses, sizing him up. A disappointed expression clouded his features. He was beginning to give him a downcast head shake, when Nick interrupted.

"Who the hell called you?" he demanded.

Catherine gave him a sympathetic stare. He would have preferred to see anger than that damn motherly gaze. He knew the words 'Oh, Nicky' were echoing in her head.

"You're off the case, Nick." Grissom announced. No conversation, no reading the riot act.

Nick took exception at being summarily dismissed without a discussion. "What? No, Grissom, you don't understand," he whined. He hated it when he sounded like that.

"Nick…" Catherine's soft voice floated in the air. There it was.

He shook his head, his body still trembling from his early bout of sickness. "Wait… I can explain."

Grissom wasn't allowing any room for argument. He started to pile files into his briefcase. "Nick, you're on leave starting now. Catherine and I are going to handle the rest of the Todd case. Go home."

Nick grabbed Grissom's hand, halting the man's paper-shoveling. "This is my case," he said sternly.

Grissom stared at his arm, and he dragged his gaze upwards. "You're too attached to this one, Nick. Please don't make me suspend you." Gil's words were nearly condescending.

"You don't have the right," Nick argued, his voice raspy.

"One of your coworkers had to call me and Catherine away from our conference, Nick. This is a serious breach of—"

"Don't do this," Nick argued, but the room was spinning, the outlines of his vision graying out.

Grissom stood there, his reprimand on the tip of his tongue as an alarm bell inside his head went off. His eyes grew soft and somewhat fearful.

"Nick?" He asked worried, just as the CSI fell forward, his supervisor catching him before he hit the floor.

Grissom held onto the smaller man by the shoulders and carefully lowered him to the ground. Catherine watched the fall in an eerie type of slow motion. She leaped forward, and was instantly on the ground, her hand reaching Nick's face.

"God, Gil, he's burning up," she said in shock as she touched his forehead and cheeks.

Nick shivered violently on the ground. Grissom shouted for help, resulting in a blurry of activity outside the room. He reached for a pulse, but his trained eye caught something on the front of Nick's sweater that shouldn't be there… that didn't belong.

He gently rolled the semi-conscious man to his back, as he pulled up the hem of his sweater.

"Jesus," Grissom muttered, at the blood soaking the bandages underneath.

Warrick and Greg rummaged through the seemingly spotless history of Coach Brent Nero. The guy never married and seemed to have lived a pretty clean life. There were no indications of any criminal wrongdoing, and his professional record was impeccable. Warrick shook his head, scanning another document before digging into some of the newspaper clippings gathered from microfilm.

He was fishing though the box when he noticed Greg staring off into space instead of paying attention to his work. Warrick cleared his throat, but after being greeted by silence, he leaned back in his chair, eyeing the kid.

"What's on your mind, Greggo?"

Greg rested his elbows on the table and twiddled with his hands. "I was just thinking back to yesterday."

Hearing the dissonance in his voice, Warrick sighed. "Yeah? And what do you think you could have done differently?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't carry a gun... maybe I should," he said dejectedly, not quite looking the other man in the eye.

Warrick shook his head. "You are not allowed to carry a weapon until you're a CSI level 2. Even if you had one… then what? The guy was using Nick as a shield."

Greg didn't look too convinced.

Warrick taped his fingers on the table. "Nick went over there, without an officer, dragged you along…" He trailed off as he became more upset with each word.

Greg finally looked over at him. "We wouldn't have found out about Nero if Nick didn't—"

"I know that, Greg!" Warrick's eyes flashed in anger then calmed. "I'm sorry, man. Its just Nick should be in a hospital… Hell! He shouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place."

Greg looked down at the table. He knew how worried Warrick was over the whole situation. Trying to distract himself, he leafed through the newspapers and tried to decide where to start… when he froze.

Greg's eyes got big, and he did a double-take. "Warrick!" The tech jumped up and shoved the clipping towards him.

Warrick glanced down at the sports column, reading about Coach Nero's team from 2000, when his fingers nearly crumpled the item from adrenaline.

"It's not the same guy," he said excitedly.

Greg smiled, his grin matching his beady eyes. "Which means whoever took Jason and killed his brother is someone totally different."

Warrick clapped Greg on the back. "Nice catch, man. Now all we have to do is figure out who the hell has been posing as this Nero guy."

Both men were giddy after finally making some sort of breakthrough on the case. The lead only meant more questions, than answers, but it was something fresh to go on. Warrick was about to pull out his cell when each CSI heard a loud commotion erupt in the hallway.

Curious, both of them went into the corridor in search of the fuss. There was a group of employees huddled much farther down the hallway. Doc Robbins was trying to get past the onlookers and both CSI's eyes and ears perked up when they heard the unmistakable voice of Gil Grissom.

Greg looked over at Warrick. "When did Grissom get here?"

Warrick's face clouded over. "Better question. Who told him to come back?"

Archie Johnson wandered away from the group, and headed towards them, his expression rattled.

"What's goin' on over there, man?" Warrick asked, with a sinking feeling.

Archie squinted and looked back over his shoulder for a second. "Hodges says that Nick collapsed. It looks pretty bad."

Warrick closed his eyes for a split second, muttering under his breath. Then he ran down the hallway, shoving people out of his way, with Greg close behind him.

---

Gil Grissom carefully kept the fabric of Nick's sweater pushed away as he stared at the spreading crimson stain over a thick layer of bandages. Nick was shivering, his eyes glassed over and unfocused, while he mumbled incoherently under his breath.

Catherine clasped her hand over her mouth, but quickly backed away and bolted out the door in search of help. She almost barreled over David Hodges, who had been hanging around after his encounter with Nick in the men's room.

Catherine gripped him by the shoulders, her voice tight and in control. "Go get Doc Robbins, now!"

Before the tech could respond, Bobby Dawson who also had been lurking in the hallway quickly responded, "I'll get him." He dashed towards the morgue.

David was fast on Catherine's heels when she re-entered the room. She quickly dialed 911 and requested immediate medical assistance. Hodges took off his jacket and draped it over Nick's upper body, as he squatted by the CSI's side.

Grissom tried to examine the pinkish tinges of flesh around the dingy gauze, noting the oozing blood along the whole length of the bandage. Catherine squeezed Nick's leg, trying to add some encouragement to him. She ran her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, pushing the short strands out of his face.

"What the hell has been going on while we've been away?" Catherine questioned the lab tech, who stood away quietly.

Grissom slipped his finger over Nick's jugular. "He's got a weak and thready pulse."

Doc Robbins entered the room and crutched his way in, and then carefully lowered himself to the floor. He gently prodded at the bandage, as Warrick barged his way into the now crowding room.

"Oh, God, Nick." Warrick came as close as he dared, hovering over his best friend.

"He was throwing up a few minutes ago," David explained, unable to take his eyes off of his coworker.

Doc Robbins looked up and back at the hurt CSI. "He must have pulled out his stitches. Someone get me a sterile cloth to apply some pressure with," the coroner ordered.

Hodges quickly exited the room, pushing by employees who were in his way. Grissom fixed Warrick Brown with a steely glare. "Sara told me that Nick was getting in over his head… growing too obsessed. She told me he was hurt in an altercation with a suspect."

Grissom peered down at his coworker and back up at Warrick's pinched expression. "This looks a hell of a lot worse than a damn cut. What the hell was he doing at the lab?"

Warrick was shaking his head struggling with an answer. "I just wanted to give him time to pull himself together."

"Time! For what, Warrick?" Grissom screamed at him.

"Gil!" Catherine tried to calm him.

David was back with a clean-looking towel and Doc grabbed it and applied pressure to Nick's abdomen, causing the wounded man to shrink away from the pain.

Doc held the towel in place, "I'm sorry, Nick," he told him softly. It was obvious that the semi-conscious man never heard him.

The coroner looked over at the concerned group. "I don't want to cut away these bandages and cause him to bleed out more. If he threw up, he probably popped his internal stitches as well."

Grissom placed the back of his hand on Nick's flushed face. "He's got a fever."

Doc Robbins stared at the part of Nick's dressing that was not covered in blood. He noted the beige color and yellow tinges. "Doesn't look like these have been properly changed. It's hard to tell, but from the pallor of the skin around these bandages, his wound has been infected."

Grissom glared at Warrick whose fierce green eyes were growing more alarmed as each second ticked by.

"How bad was this injury? Why isn't he in a hospital?"

Warrick let the accusation wash over him and bristled. "He received over forty stitches and he signed out AMA. He was determined to get back here and nothing was going to stop him, Gris."

Gil Grissom looked furious. He kept his hand on Nick's shoulder while he shivered and groaned on the ground. Grissom looked back up at his staff members. "Well someone should have damn well done something. I want the incident report from his injury and an explanation as to why Nick was even allowed back into the building."

Greg held himself in a tight hug and stepped away as the EMTs finally arrived, saving them from the rest of Grissom's wrath. The medics quickly surrounded Nick and the others stepped aside to give them room to work on him.

One of the EMTs shined a penlight into Nick's pupils, while the other checked his blood pressure and assessed the injury.

"Pulse's 135, BP 80/30," the female EMT announced to her partner.

The lead EMT applied an oxygen mask to the CSI, and both of them began the process of transferring him to their gurney for transport.

Grissom and Hodges began clearing a way for the patient, getting the lab employees to move along. Nick was quickly transported down the hall and into a waiting ambulance.

Grissom looked back at both Greg and Warrick. "You two in my office, now!"

"I want to see what's happening to---"

Catherine placed a hand on Warrick's shoulder to cut him off. "Let's talk first, then we'll go see Nick, okay."

The four CSIs silently went though the halls after Grissom made arrangements for the room to be cordoned off and spoke on the phone with Sara. The Graveyard Team arrived inside the supervisor's office and the door was slammed closed. Grissom flipped off his phone and fixed two of his team members with a somewhat calmer expression.

"Tell me what happened from the beginning."

---

Grissom and Warrick had been directed towards a set of chairs to wait on news about Nick's condition. Sara had joined Greg on trying to identify who was posing as Brent Nero after he pulled her off her hit-and-run. Armed with a warrant, the two CSIs headed for the school to retrieve fingerprints or DNA off of any of the items from the coach's office or from the school's sport's equipment.

Warrick quietly fumed over the thought that Sara had secretly contacted Grissom about the case. Sara had called in the supervisor behind his back… behind Nick's back. It still irked him that she had so little trust in any of them.

Warrick and Grissom said very little to each other since they arrived. After Grissom took in all the information about the case and re-assigned aspects of it, the man had not spoke a single word to him. Before Warrick could break the silence, Dr. Taylor made her way over to the awaiting visitors. The redheaded physician gave Warrick an unfavorable look and introduced herself to the graveyard shift supervisor.

"Mr. Stokes is in recovery. I re-stitched the laceration and drained an infection that settled around the wound." Dr. Taylor sent a seething look in Warrick's direction and looked back over at the older man. "Despite the fact that we drained some of the bacterial build-up. I'm afraid an infection has entered the bloodstream, also called sepsis."

Warrick's body slumped at the words and he visible paled. Grissom took the information in stride. "I take it you're giving him an array of antibiotics to battle this?"

Dr. Taylor sighed. "We're giving him a large dose of broad-spectrum antibiotics until we get the cultures back. I'll be very frank. He's in septic shock, and his temperature has spiked to 105."

"He was doing all right yesterday," Warrick was too engrossed in the news to realize he said the words out loud.

The physician gave him a stern look. "The dressing was never changed and has become dirty. There may be an underlying infection, which would compromise his immune system, compounding the infection."

Warrick looked over at her, completely defeated. He glanced over at his boss, whose gaze softened somewhat.

"Do you know if he had been taking the prescriptions I handed him?" the physician inquired.

Warrick's eyes grew large and he stalked away, cursing. Grissom wandered after him. "Calm down, Warrick."

Warrick turned, "I forgot to give them to him. Damn it! Grissom. The doc handed me his bag and I just simply left them in my locker when we got back."

"Sounds like Nicky didn't have his head on right during this case, Warrick," Grissom tried to calm him.

Warrick shook his head. "Nah, Gris. He had everything down. He was large and in charge, taking care of every single thing that came up. You'd be proud… but… this family…" Warrick shook his head again. "I dunno, he got in too deep."

"He got attached, Warrick," Grissom explained.

Warrick wasn't buying it. "It wasn't that simple… there's more to it. Nick's good at stepping back when he needs to. Yeah, he gets a bit emotionally involved, but he's smarter than that. I've seen him detach from a case. He wouldn't risk harming anything that might get us later at trial."

Grissom adjusted his glasses. "Then what was it?"

Dr. Taylor wandered over to the criminalists, her posture slightly more gentle than before. "While you were talking, one of the nurses informed me that Mr. Stokes really wants to see both of you. He's been very insistent. Since all of you have been working a rather difficult case, I thought you should go talk to him."

"We'll go see him," Grissom answered her.

---

Both Grissom and Warrick put disinfected their hands before they were allowed to see their friend. There were many steps in place to keep any kind of bacteria any from the patient. Nick was not on a ventilator, which was one of the few reasons he was in a closely monitored private room and not in the ICU ward. Nick looked asleep, his short hair matted to his forehead. A slight flush could be seen on his cheeks, despite the sickly pale color of the rest of his skin. Oxygen was being supplied to him by a nasal cannula. Nick had an IV line in the back of his arm half from his wrist. A nurse was finishing up her vitals check, which would contiune every two hours for the first twelve hours of Nick's stay.

Warrick shuddered. He frowned, knowing how hard Nick had pushed himslef on this case. Warrick should have been more forceful about his growing concern, but he had backed off...maybe too much. He looked over at Gil, as if silently wandering if they should intrude at all. But as soon as they got near the bed rail, Nick instantly woke up and lifted a shaky hand off the bed.

Warrick grabbed it and squeezed it reassuringly. Grissom came beside him, looking at a loss on how to address the younger man.

Nick pulled his partner closer. "He's n-not the s-same guy," he spoke hoarsely.

The little effort of talking seemed to wipe him out and Nick struggled to breathe before speaking again. "N-nero.."

"Shhssh, we know. Greg found a picture of Coach Nero and he's not the same guy," Warrick tried to soothe the clearly agitated man.

"No," Nick moaned, closing his eyes as he fought off the chills that caused him to shiver so badly in the bed. "T-trent N-N Walker," he managed to say through chattering teeth.

"Who's that, Nick?" Grissom asked, leaning down so he could hear.

Nick squeezed Warrick's hand trying to channel his pain and frustration.

"It's okay, man. Trent Walker? Where did you get that name?" he asked, patting his shoulder.

Nick wrapped his right hand over the a pillow that a nurse gave him to splint his stomach with. It covered the bulky surgical dressing through his hospital shirt. The shivering and talking was causing the stitches to pull, the pain to mount. His head was already fuzzy and confused. He needed to communicate but it was taking such a toll to stay focused. Nick breathed heavily, almost panting.

"The church papers," he coughed slightly.

Warrick shared a frustrated expression with his boss, trying to decipher the ill man's ramblings. It was important to Nick, so he would wait and figure out the meaning.

"Which papers, Nick?" Grissom tried to get him to focus. "Trent Walker was in the some church papers? What documents?"

Nick nodded. "Church paper… f-from..." Nick fell back, too exhausted to continue.

Warrick whispered soothing words in his ear. He looked back over at Grissom who stood quietly, but his eyes spoke volumes.

Warrick looked back at the supervisor. "I think Nick's trying to tell us that Trent Walker is the guy posing as Brent Nero. We can check back at your office to see what he was looking at before everything went to hell."

"If Nick identified the real kidnapper, then it might lead us to Jason."

Grissom summarized.

"Then let's go," Warrick was ready to lead the charge, but Grissom kept a hand on his shoulder to still him.

"Maybe you should stay and be with Nick. He should have someone here with him."

"Hell, no. The best way I can help my boy is to catch the guy who did this," Warrick argued, trying to keep his voice low.

"This case already consumed one CSI. I'm not going to let it get two," Grissom warned.

Warrick was going to launch into a diatribe, when Catherine made her presence known. How long she been standing there was either man's guess. "I'll stay with Nicky. I think he'll feel better talking to me when he gets a chance."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at the remark, and looked back over at Warrick's determined expression.

"I think the best way to help Nick is to save Jason Todd," Warrick explained. He went over to Catherine and brushed his hand over her arm. "Tell my bro that I'm working hard for him. That I'll stop by when I can."

Catherine smiled pensively, "I will. I'll keep him company."

Grissom left hesitantly with Warrick in tow. He nodded at Catherine before looking back at the prone man in the bed. Without a word the two men left Catherine Willows alone. She pulled out the chair and sat down. She found Nick's overly warm hand and held it in hers.

"Oh, Nicky. Why didn't you call me?" she asked, without getting an answer.

Sara and Greg drove back towards the lab after gathering a few of Nero's personal effects from his locker as well as dozens of fingerprints in order to finally identify the man they had been hunting. Sara drove the SUV, occasionally casting quick glances at her passenger.

"What's with the silent treatment, Greg?"

Greg shifted slightly in his seat. "Nothing," he said unconvincingly.

Sara gripped the wheel tighter. "You don't have a very good poker face. You worried about Nick?"

Greg looked out the window, anywhere but at the driver. "Yeah, of course."

Sara's eye drifted over again and she sighed loudly. "You know it was Nick's inability to talk to his coworkers about what was bugging him that caused him to lose sight of the case."

Greg whipped his head around. He didn't hide the accusation in his voice. "You ratted him out."

Sara quickly swerved the truck out of their lane and into a laundromat parking lot. She yanked on the brake and glared at him.

"Don't make me the bad guy here, Greg. I didn't 'rat' him out. I did what I thought was best for him, when everyone else was too busy trying to give him enough rope to hang himself with."

Greg crossed his arms in front of his chest. "He pushed the case along and forced Matt Todd to confess about his previous crimes. He put together clues and connections way before any of us," he defended.

Sara leaned over. "At what cost, Greg? He checked himself out of the hospital after a brutal attack. He went back to work against medical advice, pushed himself so hard until he collapsed. Would the case be any good if he di---"

Sara cut herself at mid-sentence, almost losing her composure. She rested her back against the seat and played with her hands. Her face softened and she looked back fearfully.

"I know what its like to be pulled into the abyss, and for no one be there for you. We just stood around and let Nick get sucked in deeper and deeper. He ignored Warrick and dismissed me. Nick needed someone he'd listen to. to keep him from going all the way in."

Greg licked nervous lips. "So you called Grissom."

Sara pushed back strands of hair that had fallen in her face. "Yeah, I did. " She looked at him. "And look what good it did."

Greg looked down at his lap, without a word. Sara cleared her throat and started the vehicle again as they made their way back to the lab.

---

Catherine carefully pulled down the sheet to Nick's waist and undid the tie at the neck of his gown and thesnaps along his arms. She folded it down to unveil his chest. She took the basin with tepid water and soaked the sponge. Then she applied the damp item over his shoulders, down his torso and back up to his throat. She dunked the sponge back into the cool water and started wetting the sides of his neck, his flushed cheeks and forehead.

The nurse had come in a few minutes earlier, explaining that the physician wanted to try to lower Nick's temperature down a bit with a cool bath. Wanting to feel helpful, Catherine explained to the nurse that she would like to do it. Catherine had seen the disappointed expression on the other woman. The CSI narrowed her eyes and ushered her out of Nick's room, like some fierce lion.

Catherine continued her ministrations, wiping the soaked sponge over Nick's chest, as she talked softly to him. "See what you're doing to the nurses, Nicky? I might not be able to leave you alone till you can fend them off for your self."

Catherine looked up when she heard the door open to the room and a tired Dr. Taylor entered. The physician had a chart in her hands that she studied intently. She flipped through the pages and then rested her eyes on the still form of the patient.

Catherine momentarily ceased her actions. "How's Nick doing, Dr. Taylor?"

The CSI had been at the hospital for the last three hours and gotten to speak to Nick's caregivers as they continued to bring more bags of fluids, injections of drugs and repeated cursory examinations.

The female doctor shook her head which only made Catherine tense up even more.

"I've run CBC's, Chem 7s, and I’m still waiting on more blood cultures." The frustrated doctor walked over to the bed. "I have him on Ampicillin and Sulbactam. I’m going to try something else, see if we can find something that works until I can get the sensitivity tests back. Hopefully we can figure out what is making him sick.”

The doctor gave the CSI a sympathetic smile. "I'm going to replace his vasoactive support since he has hypotension. A nurse will give him a dose of Norepinephrine, which will help bring his blood pressure back up."

Catherine kept her composure as the doctor went over to her patient and removed the surgical dressing to inspect the wound closely.

"This had remained clear at least." The physician looked over at the female investigator. "The nurse will be in soon to add the meds to his line and increase his fluids in a few minutes."

"I've noticed the large amount he's been given so far."

"We've doing everything we can for him"

Catherine stood up immediately not taking very kindly to the despondency in the physician's voice. "I know this is serious, Dr. Taylor, but you make it sound like Nick might not recover."

Dr. Taylor matched Catherine's aggressive stance. "This is incredibly serious, Ms. Willows. I've got to lower his temperature. His body is in danger of just shutting down"

Catherine was shocked into silence. She had come straight from the airport to the lab, only to have Nick who had in prefect health earlier only days early, collapse on her. Ever since then, she'd been working on the case that drove him to this point and back in his hospital room. She quickly busied herself with the sponge bath, not wanting to think about what the doctor had just informed her.

Dr. Taylor sighed loudly and went over to the other side of the bedrail. "I guess some of the cases you work on are very difficult to deal with. Facing and dealing with death all the time."

Catherine was dripping water into Nick's hair, wiping away the beads of perspiration around his face again. "Yeah. Except this case involves a child who may still be alive." Catherine looked at Nick while trying not to break down. "I think Nick felt at fault for his abduction."

Dr. Taylor patted Nick's shoulder. "He was very determined to help the boy" Her hand lingered for a moment before turning to the other woman. "I'm going to try hard to help him. I'm sure Mr. Stokes is a real fighter. From what I've seen of him, he'll beat this infection."

Catherine watched as the physician removed her hand and left the room quickly. She looked back down at Nick for the very first time and became very afraid for him.

---

Gil Grissom found the unofficial church documents in a stack on his desk. He had inputted the name of Trent N. Walker into CODIS as well as every other database available to them. Labs had come back on all the linen collected in Jason's room, and thankfully it had been negative for any fluids or sexual abuse.

Greg and Sara had arrived earlier both in very tense moods and were copying and entering the prints that had found of "Brent Nero". Grissom looked over at Warrick who had been diligently going over interviews with school employees about Nero's activities. They tried to dig into where the coach liked to go in town, who he knew, and where he might be hiding.

Nero had been very active in school activities, but remained a total mystery to the administration. It seemed that no one knew anything about him. He was like a ghost who was visible only on the surface.

Grissom was waiting on more results when Greg and Sara nearly raced inside the conference room.

Sara was first to speak, holding out a file for all to see. "Trent N. Walker is definably the man who posed as Coach Brent Nero. He simply stole his social security number, personal, and financial information from the real guy in Utah. They have the same physical characteristics as well as their age in common."

"Basic form of identity theft," Greg added.

Warrick slid his papers way and looked over. "So, who is Trent Walker?"

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Captain Trent Walker was honorable discharged from the Army Rangers in 2002. He served for 12 years specializing in demolitions. He moved around quite a bit and was stationed in Japan and Korea before staying in the states during his last tour of duty."

Grissom took a cursory look at the information and back at his team. "The knife that was used to kill Johnny Todd as well as to injure Nick might have been military issued. Some Special Forces' blades have a very unique serrated edge to them."

Warrick swiveled in his chair. "If he was Special Forces, then we're dealing with a very resourceful guy. Detail-oriented, professionally trained, and smart."

"And elusive," Sara added.

Grissom stood up and paced across the room. Photos of the crime scene, reports, and important documents were pinned on bulletin board in front of him. He looked a chart with the timeline of several missing kids from the same schools that Johnny and Jason had attended.

"We have a guy who was molested by Matt Todd when he was ten years old. The case is covered up, the clergy and Matt Todd move away. This child grows up, joins the military, and then after he leaves, he suddenly starts following the man responsible for this abuse around the country, kidnapping and killing kids."

"Nick said he was 'testing' them," Greg interrupted.

Grissom paused. "Then he decides to take Matt's own children, when he's unsatisfied with whatever he was seeking with those other victims." Gil turned to face his team.

"Do we have a timeline from when some of those children were taken and when their bodies were discovered from those past police reports?"

"Nick determined there was a two-day window. That's why he was so adamant about going back to the house in search for the Gameboy," Greg offered.

Grissom went to the board and found one of the photos. "The stuffed donkey was found at the scene. Any other toys or items missing or discovered in the other investigations?" he inquired.

"I recall various amounts of items, blankets, stuffed bears, a pair of roller skates," Greg explained while trying to remember the reports.

"What about Walker's family? He have any?" Warrick asked.

Sara put her pile of papers down and flipped through them. "Both his parents were killed in a car accident when he was 17, he joined the military soon after," she explained.

"Check for property inheritance. See if he has any family whatsoever out here," Grissom instructed.

His team was gathering items when Grissom's cell phone went off. He picked it up, listening intently to the frantic voice.

"Okay, Cath, I'll get over there."

Grissom clicked the cell off and saw three sets of apprehensive eyes. "Catherine says Nicky is getting worse. I'm going over there."

Warrick stared at his folders, and back to the board. "Let me go with you, and then I'll come back."

Grissom sized the man up. "Okay, Warrick." He looked back at his other CSIs.

"Find out about his family ties. See if you can find anyone who might know where he's hiding." Grissom looked at his watch. "It's been two days, and we don't have any time to spare.

---

Catherine was holding Nick's hand as he started to thrash around in his bed. His face was hotter to the touch than before, and he started mumbling under his breath. Catherine tried to gently brush his face with her hand and settle him down.

One of the nurses had entered and was in search of his physician as the female criminalist continued to talk gently to him.

"It's all right, Nicky," she soothed.

Nick moaned in his sleep.

"Luna. Mercurius. Sol."

Catherine shook her head at the gibberish. Was Nick speaking in Latin?

Catherine felt his fingers crush her hand as Nick sat up in his bed frantically. He shivered and coughed loudly. He turned to face her, his eyes dull and hazy.

"Terra firma," he stammered.

Catherine placed her hand gently on his shoulder, guiding him back down to the bed. He slowly released the iron-clad grip over her other hand, while he continued to talk to himself.

Nick slowly moved his head to the side, breathing raggedly. "Cath?"

She tried to smile at him, rubbing her thumb over his fingers.

"I'm here, Nicky. Just try to rest, okay."

Nick placed a shaky hand to his face, and then stopped to look at his IV. Confused, feeling miserable, hot and achy, he just wrapped his arms around the pillow resting on his stomach.

"J-jason. h-have you f-found him?"

Catherine kept her emotions under control. Nick was battling literally for his life and the child was still on his mind. "No, Nicky. We haven't."

Nick seemed to sink into the bed further. "No." he croaked- a low, painful, guttural noise.

Catherine tried to give him reassurance but he seemed to drift back into some sort of semi-consciousness again. His body shivered more and it took everything in her willpower to not sob uncontrollably at the pain she witnessed.

Catherine felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and she spun around and wrapped her arms around Warrick who gripped her in a fierce hug. Grissom moved over to the bed and looked helplessly on.

Warrick let go of his embrace as his coworker wiped at her moist face. "His fever jumped to over 106," she said, her voice cracking.

Warrick rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "He'll get through this, Cath."

Grissom leaned over the railing, taking in the fragile appearance of his criminalist. Grissom lifted his hand up, and it hovered over the still man's shoulder.

Grissom kept his hand in the air, and quickly snatched it back at the approach of other people. He immediately turned to face the new visitors.

Dr. Taylor and a nurse arrived. The redheaded woman faced the trio of distraught people. "The cultures came back. It’s a resistant strain of coagulase positive staphylococci. I'm going to switch to Vancomygin and take him off of the other antibiotics. We’ll know if less than four hours if he responds to the new treatment."

"Then he'll be all right?' Warrick pressed, as he held onto to Catherine.

Dr. Taylor tried to give them reassurances. "We found the culprit, we can only wait to see how he responds."

It wasn't the reaffirmation that the criminalists were looking for, but they would take the news and pray that Nick would react to it.

He felt like he had fallen asleep at the beach after drinking so much that he had puked his guts out. His skin felt heavy, like some oily coat pressing along his bones, his whole body wrapped in thick plastic... hot... sticky... and terribly ill.

Nick tried to move, but his body did not want to cooperate. It hurt to breathe, and it took a hell of a lot of effort to coax his lungs into performing the necessary function. God, why couldn't he crawl away from this fucking sand dune?

A sunburn scorched his skin and if he could just crack open his eyes and get his feet moving then maybe he'd find some shade to lie under. He opened his parched mouth, peeling away dry lips. Instead of forming words, he made a sort of groaning sound.

He heard a faint voice, like someone talking to him through muffled cotton.
Nick shook his heavy-leaden head and tilted it to one side. He slowly opened his eyes. A blurry room swam in and out of view.

He squinted, his intake of breath, caused a sharp ripping spasm of pain across his stomach.

That forced his eyes open again. "G—god damn... t-that... hurts."

Taking the necessary moment to ride out the throbbing, Nick allowed his eyes adjust to his surroundings.

"Catherine?" he asked when he saw her expression light up at his horribly dry-sounding voice.

She grabbed his hand, her smile genuinely relieved. "You finally decided to wake up."

Nick squeezed her hand back, caught off-guard by her desperation. He tried to smile at her, but the more his brain processed the situation, the more he felt a sense of dread.

Realizing what had happened… little flashes of the lab, and the descending darkness. Nick fell back into a depressed frame of mind.

He was too late.

Nick felt Catherine glide her hand lightly over his arm. "You had us very worried, Nicky," she said, her throat choking up slightly.

He wanted to respond, to give her words of comfort, but the truth was, he felt weak, and exhausted. His mind began to close down, not really wanting to talk to anyone. Because if he tried to talk to his friend and coworker, then he would know that the child was dead.

"Nick?"

He was too drained to respond.

Catherine took his limp hand into both of hers, gripping it tightly. "We haven't found him yet. There's still hope."

He didn't reply.

"Grissom is working on it. We all are, Nicky." She wanted to ask him what had been eating away at her, but Catherine knew better to press the issue right now. Nick was still very sick.

Dr. Taylor quietly entered the room. She looked over at the female CSI who nodded her head over at the man trying to ignore them both.

"Finally graced us with you presence, Mr. Stokes?" she teased gently.

Nick opened his eyes and glanced at her irritably.

"You can act like that if you want. It's certainly better than how you've been lately," she continued, checking the read-out of the machines.
The physician took off her stethoscope and began listening to his chest.

"H-hey, that's cold," he complained.

Dr. Taylor ignored him, concentrating to his breathing. "Please be quiet,
now." After assessing for any signs of pneumonia, she placed the back of her hand against the side of his face.

Catherine looked at the doctor oddly. The nurse had just been in earlier for a vitals check.

"Don't you have a thermometer for that," he said in a terribly raspy voice.

She eyed him. "We have the infection under control."

Catherine continued to hang on to his hand and gather her emotions back under control. "You should thank Dr. Taylor, Nicky. She and many of the nurses have been working around the clock to fix all the stuff you subjected yourself to."

The guilt made him look at both women. It was like seeing the eyes of his mother two-fold. He didn't need this. It wasn't like he didn't feel like death warmed over.

The physician looked over at his sullen eyes. "You're still running a fever, but it's not nearly as high as it was before. We're still going to keep pumping tons of fluids and antibiotics into your system."

Nick finally took stock of himself. His belly still felt like it was fire, his skin definably did. He could barely keep his eyes open, and it was hard for him to focus on anything. Nick lifted up his shaky right hand and absently toyed with his IV line, but Catherine grabbed a hold of it to keep it still.

Closing his eyes he turned to look over at Catherine "No—n-new leads?"

Catherine held his hand down to his body, preventing him from idly playing with the tube. "No, Nick. We know who he is, but we're still looking."

The physician looked over at the other woman. "I'll check up on you two in a while." She turned her attention to the CSI. "A nurse will come soon to give you some pain medication."

Nick fought his misery. He wanted to push all the sheets way from him, from his fevered flesh. Nick was so uncomfortable... but did he even have the right to complain?

Catherine moved her hand to rest on his shoulder. "Warrick and Gil were here, and once you started responding to the treatment, they left to help with the investigation. But right now, you need to rest. You've been through a terrible ordeal."

No, it wasn't right. But it was too much to cope with his damaged body. He couldn't hold onto a single thought. The burning sensation of his torn abdomen and the fever that still zapped and consumed his energy lulled him back to a fitful slumber.

---

Matt Todd looked like any other person, any other criminal. He didn't possess any kind of mannerism, tick, or even evoked the image of a child molester. Gil Grissom observed an interview with the man, before taking a seat in front of him. Most suspects had little things about their personality that sometimes, lit up like a blip on some radar.

Grissom didn't pick up a thing. The guy sitting in a drab jailhouse uniform was a defeated and beaten man. Gil wondered what about him had sent Nick's internal sensors on overload.

"I told the other guy that I've never hurt my sons. NEVER," Matt Todd started the conversation off, after too many moments of silence.

"You reformed after the Church relocated you," Grissom stated… his voice silky smooth. Nothing laced, nothing to instigate or irritate.

"Yes. I didn't tell Marisa until later. I owed it to her, she… it took her a long time to get over it. But she fell in love with me… not that other sick man," Matt Todd explained.

"It's good to have a support system. Is that why you were nervous about telling us earlier in the investigation?" Grissom asked… still calm and even.

Matt Todd squirmed, shaking his head. He started talking down into his hands. "It takes so long to escape your past. To not look in the mirror and see the controlling, demented man you once were. I had a family..." he looked up. "A normal life."

Grissom pushed his glassed forward. "You were afraid of giving that all up. That exposing your past would open you up as a suspect. That all of your years of living to society's code would be wiped away."

Matt started chewing on his lips. "Didn't matter did it? I mean… it came out anyway and now my other son is probably dead now."

Grissom was silent.

Matt stared. "None of this helps find that bastard or find my little boy. Why do you even care about this stuff now?"

Grissom leaned on his elbows that rested on the table. "I wanted to learn about a man's motivation."

Matt snorted, "Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable. Is that it? You don't want to know my motives."

The left side of Grissom's lip twitched. "There are two levers for moving men -- interest and fear…" Grissom rose from his set.

"And I wasn't interested in yours."

Grissom turned around and exited the room without further comment.

---

Grissom sat in the conference room watching his assembled team. He noted two absent chairs, but dragged his eyes back to the piles of files and papers on the table.

"What do we have?"

Sara and Greg pulled out sheets and graphs that had been made. The rookie looked over at the female criminalist who gave him a nod of encouragement.

"Now that we have someone to track, we were able to trace Trent Walker's movements across the country. Every city he moved to corresponded with an area the Todd's had relocated to."

Greg pointed to his data: dates, cities, schools- all equivalent with their suspect's movements.

"How did he get near the other kids? Do we know, or have any guesses" Warrick asked, sipping on some hot tea.

"He didn't change identities during his travels. He only stole his new persona after it was clear he was going to get near his main target's family," Greg explained.

"He lived off a pension from the military," Sara added.

Grissom nodded. "That was an honorable discharge?"

"As far as we can tell," Sara answered.

"What about relatives?" the supervisor prodded.

"Nadda," Warrick answered. "His grandparents died before he was born, and he doesn't have any siblings. He has an aunt in New York, but they have not spoken in many years."

"What about these buildings that Todd constructed? There have been more around town, right?" Grissom asked, flipping through some of Sara's research from earlier.

"He built the new wing to the church, a YMCA, an outreach center for rape victims, and he's in the middle of constructing a new park." Sara explained.

Greg smiled. "Good memory."

Sara shrugged.

"All right. Let's get Brass and some uniforms to start searching those buildings. If Walker is obsessed about his original abuser, maybe he's hiding out at one of the places he helped build," Grissom said, trying to move the case forward.

The supervisor was very aware that it had now been close to three days since Jason had been abducted. He was all ready thinking about possible dumpsites.

"What about where Johnny Todd was first found? Any link there?" Sara asked.

Warrick looked across the table and glanced over at Sara for the first time during the meeting; he didn't hide a glare. "I don't think he had anything to do with those run-down businesses," he told her his tone dismissive.

"But has anyone checked them out?" Sara asked, as she stared back at the other criminalist.

Grissom leaned back in his chair. "Warrick, go look into it."

"I would have found something earlier, Griss," he defended.

The supervisor sighed. "Just do it, Warrick. You have a fresh perspective now."

Grissom gave the indication that the meeting was finished and the rest of the team exited, leaving the two men. Grissom fingered a few reports, but didn't speak to his coworker who was obviously wanted to be heard.

"You think I should have intervened with Nick."

Grissom didn't look up. "I think watching out for a coworker involves more than covering for them. It's about taking a step back and doing things you don't want to."

"Like Sara." Warrick stared at his cup of tea. His superior continued to fiddle with his papers. "For your information, Nick wouldn't talk to me. I tried."

Warrick got up to head out. Before he left, he hovered in the doorway.
"Maybe I did make a mistake. Maybe Nick did too. But if it wasn't for his single-mindedness, we'd still be wandering around in circles."

Grissom looked up finally. "Obsessive behavior has no place in the field. It clouds your mind... where stupid and dangerous mistakes are made. You always have to keep perspective," he challenged.

Warrick leaned on the doorjamb. "And you've always done that?" Warrick shot at him and then walked away before receiving an answer.

Grissom tossed his paper aside and rubbed his fingers into his temples. He took off his glasses and tried to focus… to keep to his own advice, when he heard the door close.

He threw his glasses back on ready to argue with Warrick some more when he noticed Conrad Ecklie standing there with an unreadable expression.

Grissom groaned. He did not need this right now. He didn't want to listen to this man question his decisions, or dress down one of his best employees while he lay in a hospital bed.

Grissom mentally prepared himself for the lecture, but when he looked at Eckile's expression, he instantly got very nervous.

Conrad looked... sympathetic… on edge.

"What is it?" Grissom didn't want to wait.

The Assistant Director sighed, but didn't mince words. "We got a call from your suspect."

Grissom stood up. "We?"

"The tape is in the AV lab."

"He called here?" Grissom moved in front of the other man.

Ecklie snorted. "Yeah. He dialed the front desk and told them to record his message as he was only going to say it once. Judy quickly alerted one of the techs."

Grissom let out a small breath. "What did he say?"

Ecklie stood straighter. "He says that Jason Todd is still alive."

Grissom tilted his head. "And?"

Ecklie swallowed uncomfortably. "He'll hand him over if Nick exchanges himself for the boy."

Grissom let his mouth hang open. For once, he was too shocked to respond.

Conrad Ecklie looked at the floor, having nowhere to shift his gaze comfortably. The deathly silence in the room lasted only a few moments before the nightshift supervisor found his voice.

Grissom fixed the Assistant Director with his dark eyes. "Absolutely not."

Conrad backed up slightly. "I was only relaying the message."

Grissom shook his head as he lifted his hand in the air, pointing his finger at the other man. "I don't care. It's not even up for discussion."

Conrad held his hands up as if trying to back down an emotionally unstable witness. "I know, Gil. I'm not as heartless as you think I am. But I needed to tell you what the suspect demanded."

Grissom lowered his hand and cocked his head, disbelieving the man's words. He walked past Ecklie, trying to give himself time to think. He paced for a moment, while his superior looked on in confusion.

Gil stopped and voiced a question that he really didn't expect to be answered. "What does he want with Nick?"

Before Conrad opened his mouth, Grissom continued on with his train of thought as if he didn't expect a reply. "No one tells him about this." He looked at his superior; his voice contained a threatening edge. "Nobody informs Nick."

The Assistant Director chewed on his bottom lip. "We have to do something, Gil. We have to at least attempt some sort of operation."

Grissom was shaking his head. "Nick isn't going to be subjected to this man. He's not bait, Conrad!"

"Gil, I wasn't suggesting it."

Grissom's eyes grew even more intense. "He's in no shape to deal with this."

The other man frowned. "I'll consult with some of the detectives on how to proceed. We won't involve Stokes."

Grissom stalked past Conrad Ecklie and slammed the door closed behind his exit.

---

Warrick and Greg scoured the original dump site for any missing signs or clues. Even though the task had been assigned to him, Warrick wanted Greg to tagalong, so he had something to focus his nervous energy. The rookie had been withdrawn ever since Nick had entered the hospital, and it was clearly evident that the younger man still blamed himself for Nick's attack.

"You know you're going to give yourself an ulcer," Warrick warned, seeing Greg's continued solemn expression.

Greg didn't reply, and only glanced up to give him a dark look. "I'm not sulking."

Warrick grunted in his disagreement, but decided after recent events that ignoring what appeared to be a problem was going to help matters. "If you want, we can go visit Nick- after we drop our stuff off at the lab."

Greg bagged a tiny fiber with some tweezers. "I don't know what to say to him."

Warrick walked down to the end of the alleyway, picking though scraps of trash. "Just hang out. He's been out of sorts, I'm sure he could use some friendly company."

Greg met the other CSI where he stood and sighed, upset. "There's nothing here."

Warrick grabbed Greg by his shoulders. "Look, this has been a tough case. It's been hard on all of us, Greg. When it's over, you'll need to take some time to reflect. This is an example of how bad it can get. And if you can work though it, then you can almost get though anything."

Greg let his body sag. "I've never felt this much under the gun before. If Nick… if he let himself get so caught up like this. I mean... what's to say I can handle being in the field?"

Warrick patted the young man. "Don't doubt Nick. Sometimes we need a support system, one that we can count on." Warrick sighed. "But it's tough when that system lets you down. When we don't know when to make the tough choices."

Greg shook his head. "Now you sound like me."

Warrick snorted. He took one final look around the desolate area. Sara may have been right; everything held such significance in this case. Walker planned every little detail. He glanced at the street sign. They were at a cross roads, just like the case.

"10th and St. Andrew's," Warrick mumbled to himself.

Greg arched an eyebrow. "You got something?"

Warrick smiled. "Maybe."

---

Grissom had just finished going over the taped demand for an exchange for the eighth time. The recording had been made in a quiet room, absent of any additional noise. Gil sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes. Sara had entered the AV Lab on the seventh replay, her back resting against the wall. Gil got up to leave and was startled at her presence.

"Were you going to tell the rest of us about this?" she asked, not hiding her accusation.

Grissom ignored her statement, recalling a time when she once offered herself up during a federal investigation. "Where's Warrick?'

"Waiting for you. He thinks he has something," she replied, still not backing down.

"Jim and Ecklie are working on some strategies, but we're not considering the demands of the kidnapper."

Sara walked towards her boss as he exited the room. "I know that. I didn't expect anything else."

Both CSIs entered the conference room once again.

"How many buildings have we covered?" Warrick asked as he entered the room.

Grissom replied automatically. "The rape crisis center and the YMCA have been cleared. Why?"

Warrick showed him a printout. "Johnny Todd was found on 10th and St. Andrew's street. Well, I ran some info on Saint Andrew."

"He was the first Apostle." Grissom stated, and then his expression got more inquisitive. "He was one of the closest to Jesus. He was present at the Last Supper, witnessed the Ascension, and helped establish Palestine."

Warrick shook his head. Gil's knowledge didn't faze him anymore. Greg stood perplexed, and Sara only smirked.

"Well, he also lived to share the teachings of Jesus. He preached in Greece, Asia, and even Russia. He was martyred on a cross in the shape of an X where he claimed to have preached from for two days before he died."

Grissom pursued his lips at the significance of the number of days. "And you think Walker is obsessed with Saint Andrew?"

"No, but the church that he attended in Tuscan- where he was molested- was located at 11th Street and Saint Andrews."

Sara stalked over at the bulletin board, sheets and charts from the cases pinned to every area. "The church that the Todds attend is off of Clover and 11th Street."

All four criminalists stared at the board. Grissom was the first to speak. "I'll call Brass. Tell him to concentrate his efforts on that church. Make sure he has an entire team assembled."

Grissom informed the Captain of their possible clue. Trent Walker had given them 24 hours for the exchange before he called with instructions and the where it would take place. For once they might be one up on the guy, knowing in advance where he was hiding. It wouldn't take too long for a SWAT team to be assembled. Grissom was bone tired, he'd been working non-stop since yesterday. He ordered Greg and Warrick to go home and rest a little as he knew they had been stretched overly thin from this stressful case.

They told him they would go after dropping by the hospital. Gil glanced at his watch with a frown. Catherine had gone back and forth between her own home and the hospital, staying with Nick often. At first the supervisor didn't really put much thought into it, but Catherine had been overly sensitive when it concerned Nick this time around. His brow furrowed as he wondered if Catherine had sensed something more than what she was sharing with him about Nick's near-obsessive behavior retaining to the case.

---

Catherine was back at the hospital after a quick nap at her home and a few minutes of quality time with her daughter. She was scrubbing her hands with disinfectant when she spotted Dr. Taylor exiting Nick's room.

Catherine finished rubbing her fingers nearly raw and stopped near the physician.

"How's Nick doing?"

Dr. Taylor stuffed her hands into her lab coat. "He's hanging in there. Right now, his body is sort of at a stand-still. We've got a handle on the septic poisoning. It's not damaging his system anymore, but we haven't quite purged it from his blood stream."

Catherine held herself in a weak hug. "But he'll get better the longer you treat him."

The doctor gave the other woman a soft expression. "The cultures are coming back with less of the bacteria. The treatment is working. We just have to give his body the time and rest it needs. His fever hasn't broken yet, and its draining his weak immune system. I'm still trying to keep him from developing any complications like pneumonia on top of everything else."

Catherine's face crumpled slightly. It just wasn't fair. She wiped at her eyes and felt a gentle hand on her arm.

"His prognosis is very good, Ms. Willows. He's just going to be here for a little while."

"Thanks, Doctor." Catherine replied, entering her coworker's room.

She made her way towards the chair that had been her companion the last day or so. Catherine rested her hand on his arm, and Nick turned his head towards her.

"Hey, Cath," he said rather weakly.

His face was still flushed and his eyes were dull and exhausted. She found his fingers and she stroked them softly.

Nick curled his hand around hers. "You… don't have to stay... ya know."

"Someone has to keep you out of trouble," she teased.

Nick coughed and tried to suppress a grimace. "I didn't mean to screw things up."

Catherine bit her lip and leaned closer. "Nick, you did a wonderful job gathering the evidence."

He looked at her without any emotion, as he tried to adjust his sore body into a more comfortable position.

Catherine knew better to smooth talk him. "I think... I think you didn't step away when you needed to." She couldn't stop her need to mess with the strands of hair that stuck to his forehead. "It must have been hard holding everything in."

"I've handled it fine before." He swallowed. "It's not like I dwell on it, Cath."

"I know."

Nick moved further up in the bed, so he could sit up a little straighter instead of being flat on his back. Catherine helped as she kept him from pulling on his IV. Nick bit back any comments at her motherly intentions.

"Do you, really, Cath?" He cleared his sore throat. "It's not like I could ever forget. But, I don't think about it either."

Catherine smiled. "You moved on, Nick. But it doesn't change the fact that it can still effect your emotions, you wouldn't be human if didn't."

Nick rubbed at his middle softly. "No, I could become like Trent Walker," he said dryly.

"Walker never learned how to cope. He let what happen to him sicken and twist up his mind. He probably didn't have a support system, but you always will have one, Nick. Even if you never use it," Catherine explained.

Nick breathed heavily, taking in the fresh oxygen being delivered to him. He closed his heavy eyes as his mind began to shut down again. He vaguely heard Catherine's cell phone ring and pretty much didn't care as his thoughts drifted back to image of Jason, showing him his Gameboy with so much awe and excitement. A little science geek with glasses and an untainted view of the world, until a few days ago.

Catherine walked to one end of the room, cell phone to her ear. "Willows." The female criminalist sighed in relief when her supervisor filled her in on the operation to try to rescue the Todd boy. The SWAT team was assembled outside the church and several members were preparing to enter the newly built wing after a recon sweep.

Catherine was so engrossed with the details of the operation that she didn't notice the phone ring inside the room.

Nick opened his eyes at the noise and turned his head towards the soft ringing sound. He looked over to see Catherine at the other end of the room, intently focused on her conversation. Thinking that it might be important, Nick twisted over towards the small table near his bed.

Hissing in pain, his fingers brushed over the phone and he managed to pick it up without dropping it. He placed it to his ear, "Uh... Stokes," he answered.

"Do you think I don't notice the SWAT Team, Nick?" a voice mocked.

The CSI gripped the phone tightly. "Walker?" he asked, his voice hoarse and sore.

He heard a light chuckle. "Knew you were a smart guy, but then again we have a lot in common, don't we."

Nick tried to remain calm. He noticed how Catherine froze when she saw him on the phone. He ignored her. "Where's Jason?"

More laughter. "I've kept him alive longer than normal. I guess you didn't get my earlier message."

Nick felt his heart beat faster. Catherine started coming over to the bed, but he disregarded her questioning glance.

Nick turned away from her. "No, I didn't." He tried to keep his voice from failing him.

"Yeah, I heard you had one foot in the grave. Hmmmmm, sorry about that."

Nick was sitting straight up in his bed; his left hand had a death grip on the railing. "The boy," he urged.

"He will be returned unharmed, if you simply exchange yourself for him."

"No problem. Where and when," Nick replied without hesitation.

He heard laughter again. "It seems your boss knows where, Nick. Please tell them I have the doors of the church rigged to explode if they bust in, killing me and little Jason along with them. It was my expertise ya know."

Nick's eyes went wide in fear. He looked over at Catherine, placing his hand over the phone.

"If you're talking to Grissom… tell him … that Walker has the church wired with explosives," he said between ragged breathing.

Catherine quickly relayed the message to the other person on the phone. "Nick! Is that Walker?" she asked desperately.

Nick continued to ignore her. It was becoming harder to concentrate on the conversation, with his mind reeling from the situation.

"Now that's better. Since you're kind of occupied, I'll give you exactly six hours to get over here, Nick. Go to the side door of the west wing. Come alone or the boy dies."

"Wait!" Nick begged before being greeted by a click.

Catherine hovered over him, a sickened sense of alarm on her face. "Nick, talk to me."

Nick let the phone drop on the bed and looked back up at her. He stared at the IV and shifted around at the other tube that he was connected to. "You better tell Dr. Taylor to come back in here and unhook me from these damn things, or I'm going to rip them out."

"You better get over here," Catherine said on her cell insistently and closed it shut. She put her hand on Nick's shoulder. "Calm down, Nicky and tell me what's going on. I'm not a mind reader."

"I'm going to bring back Jason from that monster."

Warrick and Greg were trying to speed through the tedious disinfection process which only resulted in both of them dropping the soap in the sink several times. Each man tried to remain calm, while wondering why Grissom had demanded that they get to the hospital as quickly as possible. It wasn't too difficult- they were on their way anyhow. It was the mere fact that Grissom was so adamant and on his way as well that caused the anxiety to grow between both of them.

Warrick was finally deemed bacteria-free enough to enter the room, with Greg following as quickly as possible. Neither man knew if Nick had suffered a setback, as the supervisor had simply ended his call after the demanding message.

Warrick did not expect to run right into a full-blown battle inside the room. Catherine was arguing with Nick using her pissed-off mother tone, while Dr. Taylor looked like she was about to throttle her patient.

"Hey, hey. What's going on in here?" Warrick asked, his voice halting the stand-off.

When he stood next to Catherine, it was the first time Warrick noticed Nick's oxygen abandoned and lying over the side of the railing. Nick looked over at him. It was obvious he wasn't thrilled at the idea of their arrival. His partner's face had beads of perspiration rolling down his face, and he was breathing rapidly and heavily. Warrick knew whatever was causing his aggravated state could not be good for him.

"Whoa... Nick. Chill, man. Take it easy."

Nick ignored him as he started to pull out his IV.

"Now stop that, Mr. Stokes!" his physician chastised as she tried to grab his hand.

"Nick!" Catherine hollered.

Dr. Taylor pressed her hand over her patient's, calming his increasingly reckless movements.

Nick kept his hand still; his physician's still covering it. Frustrated, he bit back a defeated noise, resting his head back against the bed and sighed heavily. He took a few moments to compose himself. Nick opened his eyes, and gave his audience an exhausted and pleaded look.

"I need to leave. He'll give Jason Todd back if I go over there," Nick explained, his voice nearly cracking in desolation.

Warrick and Catherine remained mute, obviously struck by the sheer desperation from the other man. Dr. Taylor slowly removed her hand, and tried to pull up his blanket. An air of calm settled in the room, the silence only interrupted by the sounds of Greg Sanders' shoes as he crept up closer to where he nearly hid behind his taller partner.

"What are you talking about?" Greg asked.

Nick closed his eyes before speaking. "Walker called me here. He knows about the SWAT team you guys sent after him. He's rigged wherever he is with explosives and he'll let Jason go…" Nick trailed off, knowing how his friends would react.

"Oh, hell, Nick! No way you're just going to give yourself to that bastard," Warrick protested.

Nick took a long breath. "He'll kill him, bro. Follow me, send in a team in after me, but we have our way… our chance."

"Dude, can you even get out of bed?" Greg asked, speaking up for a second time with a line of logic that seemed to escape the other man.

Nick shot his friend a scowl.

"Ummm, excuse me for interrupting your debate, but your friend is right, Mr. Stokes." Dr. Taylor's words brought everyone's attention to her. "If you had been brought in here just hours later than you were, you could have died."

Catherine gave her coworker a scorching look, which was reflected in the other CSI's expressions.

He opened his heavy lids, his voice as steady as it was ever going to be.

"It's my decision. Either you help me, or get the hell out of my room."

---

Gil Grissom stood motionless in the corner of the room. His skin still tingled from having a layer rubbed away. The protocol of the room was to keep the occupant free from germs, quiet for rest, and monitored closely for vital signs. Grissom wasn't sure why he still had to be subjected to a set of rules that were being broken one by one from the single-minded and self-destructive behavior of one man.

His CSI sometimes showed empathy, yes, but he almost always exhibited intelligence, diligence and forethought. Nick Stokes possessed an amazing mind, and right now this very same person was completely and totally blinded by the right and illogical side of his brain.

Captain Brass and members of the SWAT team waited for their arrival several miles away. Catherine and Warrick hovered inside the private room while Sara and Greg waited at the scene. Greg Sanders was only too happy to escape the surreal atmosphere of the room, while Sara wanted no part in such irrational decisions.

Nick's bed was pushed forward so he was sitting straight. A nurse removed the IV from his arm, and placed a bandage over the hole.

A curtain had been draped around while the foley had been removed, Nick's uncomfortable grunts of pain inescapable. Catherine kept sending Gil evil looks, screaming at him to do something, say the magic words that would convince Nick that this was the stupidest thing ever. Catherine knew that somehow he had some magical hold on the young criminalist, but deep down inside, even he knew his words would have no weight.

Warrick held onto a plastic bag that contained a simple pair of khaki slacks and a button-down shirt. Nick had refused a set of sweatpants as if the items were an undignified set of clothes to wear when meeting with a psychotic child murderer. Grissom studied the remarkably selfless CSI. Nick's strength was waning despite his brave front.

Dr. Taylor had been a constant commentator from the get-go. She was stubborn to a fault about her patient's well-being. Nick glanced at his direction every once in a while almost expecting… waiting for something... anything.

Gil lacked the encouragement or the acceptance that Nick sought. Not when he struggled with wrapping his brain over this whole situation. Grissom finally turned down the volume of his internal musings when Dr. Taylor began her instructions.

"I'm re-inserting the IV in after you change. You're going to keep it until you have to get out of the car. It's the only source for fluids and antibiotics. You need to keep your system pumped full till the last possible moment."

Nick nodded accepting the terms of his release. He had not spoken very much, probably trying to conserve as much energy as possible.

"I'm giving you a vitamin shot as well as something to boost your stamina. It'll give you a little energy, but once it's done, you'll crash hard." She explained.

Warrick continued to tense up at every little set of instructions. He stood rigidly by the doctor's side, his frown almost etched into his features.

"I don't know what you think you'll be doing. But, don't pull on those new stitches," she warned.

"Yeah," Nick said quietly.

Dr. Taylor's frown deepened. She put the back of her hand over his cheek. "You're still very warm," she said, shaking her head. "I'll add one more dose of fever-reducer before we leave."

"We?" Nick asked.

Dr. Taylor looked at her patient as if he had grown two heads. "I'm not letting you go off to some absurd standoff, without a doctor present until the last possible moment. Whenever you're done riding your white stallion, I'll be there to try to salvage all my hard work," she said in a voice that reflected his own stubborness.

Nick simply gaped at her, while he heard Warrick mumble a few comments under his breath. After a moment, Nick managed to wander over to the edge of the bed. He tentatively placed his feet to the floor and put all his weight down as he stood up. He didn't fall face first at the sudden bout of dizziness.

Warrick was by his side, grabbing a hold of his arm. Catherine was at his other elbow as he stood still for several moments, his face even whiter than it had been a few seconds earlier. Gil stood with his arms crossed, still silent as Nick took a few steps forward, leaning on Warrick as he moved.

"I need to change clothes."

Dr. Taylor shook her head and pulled the curtain around for his privacy. Nick looked over at Catherine and gave her a look. When she didn't respond he simply cleared his throat. "Ahh, Cath… um---"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Denying me a cheap thrill, eh." She patted his shoulder and wandered around the curtain. Warrick did the manly thing by standing by and only assisting Nick with changing if it really seemed like he needed the extra help. His shoes were the most obvious challenge and he sat back on the bed, while his partner laced up his boots so the man didn't have to bend. With that task complete, Warrick stood up shaking his head.

"I don't get this, Nick," he said frowning.

"You don't have to," Nick said. Seeing his partner's almost hurt expression, Nick bit his lip. "I'm sorry, man."

Warrick tentatively placed his hand on his partner's shoulder. "Just let SWAT take this guy out and get yourself back in one piece."

"It's all I want to do." Nick was quiet for a moment then looked over at his friend. "I need you to do me a favor."

Warrick narrowed his eyes. "Name it."

---

After being wheeled out of the hospital and loaded into the back of the SUV, Nick tried to rest on the way over to the scene. The drive was quiet and the CSI almost nodded off by the time they had reached the church. When the vehicle approached several checkpoints, Nick was instantly alert. He'd never really been part of a major operation like this before and it was ever more bizarre than anything he seen in the movies.

There were dozens of cop cars, unmarked vehicles as well as a van from a special unit deployed to such situations. As the car came to a stop, Dr. Taylor started to pull out the IV that was hung on the little hook meant for transporting clothes.

Nick looked at her. "I'll be back soon." He gave her a small grin.

She didn't return it as the car door opened and he dragged himself out.

---

Nick stood behind a van that was filled with surveillance equipment. The commander of the SWAT team was an older guy with a graying mustache and hair. Captain Henry was giving out instructions to his snipers who were positioned on various roof tops and areas around the building. The rest of the CSI team huddled in a small group beside Nick, as each of them looked around hesitantly at all the activity buzzing around them.

Captain Jim Brass stood next to the SWAT leader, listening to all of words with interest. Finally, the burly man turned his attention to the criminalist in front of him.

"Captain Brass has given you the rundown, but let me go over things one more time. Try to keep your distance from the suspect. Don't go near him. Don't do anything he says until you see the child and verify that he is alive."

Nick nodded.

"My guys will keep you in their sights. As soon as they have a clear target they will take their shot. Got it?"

"Yeah." Nick looked over at his fellow coworkers; he saw their extreme worry and tried to keep his focus on the man in front of him.

"We're going to put a wire in your vest, so we can hear what's going on around you. If you see or notice anything funny, just speak softly, we'll hear it."

"How far away will your team be?" Jim spoke up.

Captain Henry looked over at him. "I have to keep my guys far away enough from a possible blast, but we have a bomb squad here to defuse any explosives."

Jim didn't look happy at the comment.

"So you're saying that Nick is just going to walk over there without any protection," Sara accused.

The commander shot her a tense expression. "My guys are the best. As soon as they have a shot, he'll be taken down quickly. Mr. Stokes has an entire team watching over him. You don't need to be near the target to strike it."

"This is ridiculous," Sara said as she stalked away.

Greg went up to his friend, obviously nervous. "Tell Jason we'll hook him up with the new Sony PSP, I mean Gameboy is so old-school." He smiled weakly as he reached out to touch his arm, and then quickly backed away to go after Sara.

Warrick handed Nick his vest, which he put on slowly, grimacing slightly.

Brass took the wired device out of the SWAT commander's hands and clipped it inside the vest and secured it in place. Then he zipped up the clothing. "Don't mess around with this guy," he warned.

The SWAT commander pressed his hands to an ear piece. "We're ready for you to proceed, Mr. Stokes."

Catherine walked over to her coworker of so many years. She grabbed his hand even if it was unprofessional, not caring if it looked like some overly emotional reaction to the stress of the event. She leaned towards him, ignoring how every eye was on her actions.

"God, Nicky. This is so... so stupid." Catherine choked back any outward struggle. "But… I understand." She looked up at his dark brown eyes and squeezed his hand. "Doesn't mean I'm not pissed off right now. Why do you have to be the one, huh?"

Catherine didn't expect a response, not fully understanding what was going through Nick's mind. She didn't even know if he fully accepted the consequences. But she knew the gut feeling that caused him to risk his life for that of a child. She hugged him as fiercely as she could without hurting him, and kissed his cheek.

"Be careful, Nick," she whispered. Catherine hoped that when all was said and done, she would force him to talk to someone about all the crap that was long ago pushed away, but boiling beneath the surface of this very brave man.

Nick accepted the kind gesture and didn't look over as Catherine she walked away. He did steal a glance at his boss and mentor. Nick looked over at Grissom with an unreadable expression. He hesitated for the briefest of seconds, his eyes searching his superior's. Nick opened his mouth to speak, but then he quickly turned around and started going towards the building.

When Catherine walked over to Grissom she gave him an irritated expression. "I can't believe you just stood there without saying a word, Gil," she whispered angrily.

Grissom simply unfolded his arms. "I could say the same of you, Catherine," and he walked away and got inside the surveillance truck.

---

Nick saw the small set of steps that lead to the door. There was a short flight that was straight ahead and then a few steps to the right at a landing. He looked out of the corner of his eye at all the awaiting snipers' movements as they got into position.

Nick walked slowly, taking the railing to help guide him up. The shot at the hospital had helped. He felt a small sense of energy, and his mind was solely focused as he moved one foot in front of the other.

"I'm getting closer," he said quietly, and then chuckled to himself. Of course they could see him. He just felt better talking out loud.

Nick's face was sweating badly; he wiped at his brow. His limbs felt like they were on pins and needles- he was so fucking tense. He reached the second set of concrete steps and was starting up those when the door cracked.

Nick froze.

"Don't move any further," a voice commanded.

Nick remained on the third step leading to the little landing. He peered straight ahead. Nick ignored the way everything seemed to tilt and sway. He kept a death hold on the railing. Slowly the door in front of him squeaked ajar. There was some rustling, and then Nick saw him. Jason Todd was in the coach's arms, held securely in front of him. Nick could see the little boy as he wiggled in the man's grasp.

Nick swallowed, trying to keep his anger and fear at bay. Jason looked straight at him, their eyes locking. Nick tried to smile back to convey some sense of calm.

"Come closer."

Nick's jaw tightened. He inched up the next step, enough to look like he was complying, but not so close to interfere with any shot that a sniper might have.

Nick was only two steps away from the landing.

"I have a trigger device in my hands. If you do anything foolish, it'll detonate the explosives attached to the door."

Nick idly wondered just how sensitive his little microphone was, but he didn't say anything just in case it gave away his wire. Trent Walker moved slowly out of the doorway. He held little Jason against his chest, with one arm holding the child along the waist. The man was smart. Jason was aligned with his body, and he had barely crept away from the entrance.

"Come on. I just want to talk with you," Trent calmly explained.

Nick placed his foot on the next step; he was even with the landing, but a good two feet away from the kidnapper.

Walker kept moving side to side, never quite standing still. He took a tiny step forward, but Jason was squirming in his grasp, obviously the man was holding him so tightly that he was hurting the child. Nick felt his anger swell and he moved closer, his hand on the railing to keep him steady. Nick could see a small device in Walker's left hand that he kept flush against the struggling child.

"Just let him go," Nick ordered.

Walker leaned against the wide open door, his body keeping it from closing. He was near the railing, his movements jerky enough that Nick knew the snipers didn't have a shot.

Nick was feeling a bit woozy, but he kept his focus ahead. "Just let the child go. I'm here and we can talk," he said trying to get the boy away from the monster.

Walker moved just a little closer. He was just a foot away from the CSI. "Fine. Have it your way."

Walker turned to his right, the child now over the landing and dangling several feet in the air from the ground below. Nick's eyes grew large as Walker chucked the little boy over. Nick lunged after the child grabbing him by shoulder to keep him from falling. With adrenaline screaming in his over-taxed body, Nick swung Jason back away from the open air and over towards the steps.

Nick felt the pain of his still sore abdomen and let go of the boy. Nick had to twist around to grab the child and with his back towards the suspect, Walker quickly snagged his vest from behind and pulled him towards him.

Just as Jason's feet landed, Nick felt himself get yanked away. "Run, Jason!" he yelled at the child, as he was dragged backwards and into the doorway.

As soon as Nick felt the child slip from his fingertips, the boy had run down the stairs and the door slammed shut in front of his face. Nick landed painfully to the floor, as Trent Walker loomed over him.

"Now we can talk."

Grissom stood next to Commander Henry as they watched the only true source for observing all the activities around. He preferred to have sound and visual, than to be some spectator from several hundred feet away. If Grissom stood quietly in the vehicle, than he could observe all he needed to from the monitors that had been set up and listen in on the wire as things proceeded.

Gil stood tensely ignoring all the radio chatter between the units, his ears solely attuned to the voice that sporadically chirped from the microphone. He watched as Nick approached the steps cautiously, depending on the rail to keep his body moving forward.

He heard the nervousness of Nick's voice when he absently signaled his approach. The van filled up with the audio of scraping fabric, and outside white noise. Gil tensed when the assailant came into view. The man responsible for this entire ordeal cowardly shielded himself from justice with the little boy's struggling body.

Grissom chewed on his lip as Nick did his job and kept his distance as the suspect tried to get him nearer. Grissom felt his body lean closer to the live monitor as the exchange was nearly complete, but his heart thundered when the murderer flung the child over the landing. The static of the radios bounced around as teams screamed their observations. The target was still not clear and now the hostage had been thrown. However, Gil's steely eyes enlarged as he saw Nick grab the child, making himself vulnerable to an attack.

It was what the suspect had been waiting for. His ears were assaulted by Nick's shouts for the child to run, followed by his heavy intake of breath as he was snatched from behind by the assailant. Grissom felt his body tense as his CSI was pulled and hidden from view and the door closed shut on the camera lens.

Commander Henry was screaming for his team to grab Jason as he ran down the steps, away from the building… and finally at an acceptably safe distance. Jason Todd was grabbed by two men there to protect him; all the while his CSI had been torn from safety. Grissom didn't realize his jaw had been clamped shut. His eyes had gone wide in fear when the door swung open, by the thunderous approach of Warrick Brown followed by the rest of the team.

"Goddamn bastard grabbed Nick!" Warrick shouted, stating the obvious.

The SWAT team scrambled to no avail and Gil's eyes darted from screen to screen, his ears keenly attuned to the audio. They were all blinded like bats, their only connection to Nick the wispy audio of a wire hidden in his vest.

Gill took a moment to breathe. To articulate what had happened. He looked over to the shocked and angered expressions of his criminalists as they waited to see what unfolded next. The van was way too cramped and crowded by the other members of the team. It would be like Nick to sacrifice himself up for the little boy… a child who was now safe, and the very fragile CSI at the hands of a madman.

The units were still re-establishing positions outside the van, several SWAT members standing by for additional instructions. The explosives hidden in the building kept them all at bay, knowing that there was a trigger device involved, and the lack of information about the locations of the bombs.

Warrick, Sara, and Greg remained in the back of the van. Catherine snuck up closer next to Grissom's side, the vehicle silent except for the audio signal from Nick's wire.

'Now we can talk.'

They could hear the sounds of harsh breathing and Nick's soft groan after being thrown inside.

'Come on, get up. Let's not be so close to these doors,' Walker instructed.

Grissom tilted his head as the van was filled with the sounds of Nick being forced to move, his weak struggle and hiss of pain, causing Grissom to grind his teeth.

"He's being moved into the next room," one of the AV guys announced.

"Let me see that blue print," Commander Henry instructed.

Sara wrung her hands together, as the sounds of Nick's movements bounced around in all the speakers. Warrick remained tense, his hand on Sara's arm for comfort. The lanky man kept his eyes closed. He blocked off his other senses as he tried to listen as close as possible to what was happening.

There was a lot of white noise and ruckus that had been quickly replaced by another 'thud.' Nick was breathing very heavily now. He had not said a word to the kidnapper- no orders or commands, no soft pleas or questions. It was the lack of any conversation from him that had Grissom's attention. He hoped it wasn't a signal of quiet acceptance. That Nick felt with the child free that whatever transpired next was of no consequence, considering the heavy emotional and physical toll he had undergone the past few days.

'We don't have very much time, you know.'

Catherine's hand rested on Grissom's shoulder at the casualness of the words. Gil kept his head bowed to the ground in his attempts to listen intently.

'I've been thinking about what you said the other day. I mean… how much we're alike. I thought Jason was the answer… I think I was wrong.'

'Did you test Jason?' Nick's voice echoed inside the van.

Grissom squinted.

'No, I didn't. I talked to him about his father, about the kind of evil that raised him. I was going to simply put him out of his misery… of growing up under such influence, but I decided not to.'

The audio shifted. It filled with movement and more inaudible noise.

'I kept him alive so we could have our talk.'

Nick's breathing was ragged, but his voice remained soft and clear. He was trying to help the case and get statements on the record.

'What did you do to all of those other children?' he asked.

There was a strange scraping sound. Whatever caused it made Nick's intake of breath even more rapid.

'I buried them in the same graveyards of the churches that the Todds attended. Unmarked and unattended, so that their impure souls could be wiped clean by the soil.'

Nick's raspy and angry voice resonated inside the van. 'They were innocent children!'

'That's the question, isn't it? Are we really innocent, Nick? Was I?'

Grissom shifted his feet; his fear of what might come next slowly crept down his spine.

Walker's voice was lower. 'Were you innocent, Nick? Did you ask to be marked? To have your soul stained, and your spirit tainted by impure hands?'

There was a mumbled response, slurred and profanity laced.

Catherine leaned on Gil's shoulder, face stricken, her eyes squeezed shut. Grissom dug his fingers into his knee.

'Did you ever tell anyone, only to be ignored? To have your violation brushed under the rug.' Walker's voice continued to rise in tone. 'To have your own family ashamed and accept money afterwards, once guilt began to eat away!'

Trent Walker's voice boomed inside the van. It was filled with pain, resentment, and pure rage. It only served to highlight Nick's own silence.

'Talk! Answer me!' Walker's raged voice wavered through, causing Catherine's hands to dig into the flesh of Grissom's shoulder.

Grissom slowly turned around to face the shocked and saddened faces of his team. Sara stared at the ceiling. Her body trembled, and Warrick's arm went around her small shoulders, only to be brushed away. Nick's best friend's expression was of pained realization. Warrick's eyes were wide open and vacant, his brain on overload, thinking and taking in the conversation.

Greg's gaze was directed at the floor, obviously unable to look at anyone right now, as the team slowly put the pieces together. Nick's actions and reactions were becoming much clearer in the resulting chaos.

Nick had still not said a word. Grissom was almost grateful not to hear a response, a final affirmation of the unfolding nightmare.

Gil looked at his team. "I think all of you should leave."

No one moved, too stunned to actually respond to the supervisor's request. Catherine looked over at three sets of eyes that only reflected determination and refusal.

'You know don't you. You knew deep inside that it was wrong. Did you allowit? Did you just let it happen, Nick?'

Catherine sent her coworkers a plea with her eyes, to walk away. To leave Nick with some dignity, not to bear witness to a secret that wasn't theirs to share with willingly.

'Answer me!' Walker demanded.

'Go to hell.'

Nick's response made everyone straighten in pride. He wasn't going to acquiesce and bend to another.

'Soon enough, Nick. We'll both go together, but not until you share with me your pain.'

Then the van filled up with the sounds of Nick's screams.

---

Nick landed on the floor with a grunt and with a complete void of energy. He remained on his back, his limbs unresponsive and his head filled with a sort of lethargy. His body was dead weight, void of any kind of desire to fight anymore. He closed his eyes, feeling the presence of the other man leaning over him.

He felt a sense of calm, knowing that Jason had escaped. Nick let his exhausted mind slip into a sort of limbo. His fevered skin continued to zap him of any kind of stamina, his strength ebbing away into the smooth floor below him.

Walker had said something to him, but Nick didn't hear him. But the kidnapper grabbed him by his vest, hoisted him up, and dragged him to another room. Nick could barely keep his feet under him, his coordination lazy and slow. Once inside a different room, the kidnapper simply let go of him and he collapsed back to the floor.

Trent Walker put his bomb device onto a small desk and sat down next to where Nick lay sprawled out. He was speaking to him, and knowing that anything said would be a matter of record, Nick tried to keep vigilant. Walker had kept Jason alive, but did he harm him? He asked about the testing and when he angrily demanded to know what he had done to the bodies of his other victims, Walker pulled out his favorite thing.

Walker took out his knife and began to gently stroke the tip of the blade from Nick's throat down the fabric of his vest, idly brushing the blade in an up-and-down motion over his chest. Nick couldn't slow down his breathing; his sense of preservation was still in tact.

Walker began to ask him questions, somehow projecting some weird sort of bond between them. Nick just stared up at the face of a man who was unable to cope with the abuse he suffered. Nick's own day of trauma had been buried deep inside; he wouldn't let it plague his behavior. He learned how to move on and try to escape the phantoms that sometimes opened up old wounds.

Walker was screaming at him, insisting he share his own inner turmoil. It was no one's business, it was left in the past, and he wasn't about to share any of it with this madman. Walker applied pressure to his blade, allowing it to tear at the fabric of his vest, but Nick was not going to cave in to weakness or show the man any fear. Walker would not gain anything.

"You know, don't you. You knew deep inside that it was wrong. Did you allow it? Did you just let it happen, Nick?"

Nick just stared, his jaw tightening from the taunts. His silence would be his victory.

Walker's face was sweating, his skin's tone growing dark with increased anger. "Answer me!" he screamed.

"Go to hell," he replied. It was such a satisfying thing to say.

Walker stopped methodically taunting him with his knife. With a glint in his eye he stared down at him, placing his face mere inches away from Nick's.

"Soon enough, Nick. We'll both go together, but not until you share with me your pain."

The kidnapper took his left hand and caressed his fingers over Nick's vest, sliding them down to his belly. His fingertips lingered right over his injured abdomen and pressed down hard.

Nick screamed when the weight sent hot white blinding pain across his stomach. Walker continued the pressure for several seconds and stopped. Nick had a death grip over the kidnapper's hand, trying to prevent the assault. Once Walker removed his fingers, Nick tried to shrink away, but the man kept him still. Panting, the CSI calmed down once the throbbing receded.

"Did you enjoy it, Nick? When someone you trusted hurt you. Did you fight back?"

Nick gnashed his teeth, but Walker waited for an answer. His fingers went back to subject him to more pain and Nick felt them as he pressed his fingers down harder.

"Stop! You bastard," he choked out. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't ask for Matt Todd to do what he did. It's always about control," he gasped.

Nick fought hard to breathe. He groaned and tried to control his shivering body.

"I must have. We both did. Why would we let it happen otherwise? He sensed something wrong inside me. The same way I tested those children, to find out the evil inside them."

Nick's brain was running a mile a minute. He felt a twinge of empathy at the desperation that had twisted up the mind of a child who had been unable to cope with what been done to him.

"There was nothing wrong with you. Nothing you did made Matt Todd hurt you. He's the sick man. He was the one with the control problem, not you," he whispered. Nick was so tired, his body unable to endure this much stress. His head was pounding and all he wanted to do was sleep.

"You're wrong!" Walker yelled. "I must have wanted it. My body didn't seem to mind. Neither did all those kids. It's all the same," he rationalized.

Nick closed his eyes shaking his head. "Your body is programmed to react in a certain way… its natural... no matter how hard you fight it. You were a kid who trusted a man who was supposed to look after you. Of course you'd blame yourself… its easier to accept that we were somehow at fault than to believe an adult capable of that kind of violation."

Walker was shaking his head while he ran his hand though his buzzed hair.

"No, no. It's not true. Who did you tell then?"

Nick kept his mouth closed. He saw Walker's agitated expression as he asked the same question again. Nick saw the fingers start to come down on his belly.

"No one!" Nick's voice cracked. "I told no one. I just pretended it didn't happen."

Walker's expression twisted into a mask of non-acceptance. "No, you told no one because you liked it."

Nick grew angry. "I never wanted it. Neither did you," he whispered.

"Did you let it happen, Nick?" Walker was leaning over him again. "Did you fight back?"

Nick was lost again in a flurry of pain. It was hard to concentrate as his ears were filled with a loud buzzing sensation. "I just memorized the planets," he mumbled.

Walker looked confused. Nick was fading out on him, shaking his head, not paying him any more attention. The kidnapper slapped Nick's face a few times to gain his attention. The CSI opened his unfocused eyes, they reflected back in a daze, bright with fever.

Walker looked over at the prone man, his head still shaking. "No, you're wrong. And I'll prove it. I might not have the time to do it properly. With the children I first took away their favorite thing and taunted them with it for hours, keeping their wants and desire for it at bay."

Walker looked around the room, taking in his surroundings. "But with you, I know. You'll be tested just like the others."

Nick's eyes grew large at the last statement. Walker went to unzip his vest, and Nick grabbed the man's hands with as much force as possible.

"You'll have to kill me first," he growled as he shoved the man away with as much force as possible.

Walker was caught off guard by the amount of strength that his hostage had managed to exhibit. He was right, this man had shown incredible resolve, and as much as he wanted to see for himself, it was just a matter of time. The kidnapper grabbed his knife and decided to end the game now.

Nick took a second to try to sit up. He began to reach for his right ankle when Walker was on top of him again, the sharp knife posed to strike. Nick used his left hand to grab Walker's wrist as the knife came bearing down on him. With what little adrenaline left flowing in his veins, Nick tried to keep the suspect's hand in the air over him. His right hand brushed up against the gun hidden in his ankle holster.

Nick struggled with a man near his strength on a normal day. His fingers curled around the gun and he brought it to his side in only a second, even though his struggle seemed to last forever. Walker had the knife over Nick's chest, the point pressing down, tearing the fabric of his shirt.

He felt the blade begin to dig, as Walker whispered, "Just let go."

Nick pointed the gun towards the body over him, and as his assailant made one final attempt to jab the knife in, Nick pulled the trigger.

"Do something!" Sara shouted at the SWAT commander when Nick's screams of agony filled the speakers.

Catherine kept her hand over her mouth. She felt her teeth dig into the flesh of her finger, then she nearly bit down when she heard Nick's pain filled cry again.

Warrick stormed over to the console, staring at the speaker, Nick's soft moans drifting in and out. He slammed his hand down on one of the control consoles. "Go in there and save him!" he thundered.

"Mr. Brown, calm down or I'll have you removed," the commander warned.

"Warrick," Grissom said softly.

Commander Henry looked over at the group. "I can't let my guys go in there. The building may be rigged to explode."

"He's too busy torturing him to notice any of you going in," Warrick growled.

Grissom eyed his CSIs. "Walker could blow them all up, if any bombs are triggered by any of the doors," he tried to reason.

Warrick gaped at his supervisor and his ability to use such a calm and steady voice. But the pain in Grissom's eyes gave him away. Warrick knew he was only trying to keep everyone composed.

"Damn it!" Warrick swore and stalked back over towards Sara, whose face paled at the words being exchanged between hostage and kidnapper.

Greg grimaced as Nick reasoned with his attacker. It was too eerie to hear him explain the fundamental psychology of an abuser and the self-hatred and self-recrimination of a victim. Hearing that pained voice try to rationalize with the other man, to connect in some way, made his stomach churn. Greg took small steps forward and rested his hands on the back of a chair, trying not to lean over too far by the ramifications of it all. He stood transfixed by the conversation, replaying some of the cases he helped his friend with during his lab days and how detached and professional he'd been able to stay during some of the more horrific crimes.

'No one!' Nick's voice cracked. 'I told no one. I just pretended it didn't happen.'

Greg gulped back the bile that threatened to rise in his throat at the words. He felt a hand on his back, as Sara managed to move her paralyzed body, her face moist from the terrible exposure of the childhood trauma.

Warrick kept his back to the end of the wall, staring straight into the amplifier, his face cracking at the rage that filled his being.

'I never wanted it. Neither did you,' he whispered.

Warrick balled his fist and slammed it into the wall. The two other police officers didn't move to eject him out of the van. Commander Henry crossed his arms in front of his chest, reluctantly telling his men to stand by.

Grissom kept his eyes closed, not only to concentrate on the conversation, but to try to keep his face a mask of authority. He squeezed his eyes tighter during certain points of the discussion. His head jerked up after what Walker had threatened.

'You'll have to kill me first.'

Grissom's eyes flew open, his breath caught in his throat. Catherine leaned on him, clinging her arms around his shoulders, her eyes filled with unshed tears. She was mumbling 'no' under her breath as the entire team tensed up from the sounds of a struggle.

'Just let go.'

Walker's sinister voice was barely heard over the white noise and the quiet punctuated by a gunshot.

Catherine screamed out, and Greg ran out of the van. Grissom held onto the female CSI as he strained to hear anything to signal that Nick was alive. Sara sniffled in the background as Warrick Brown slid down to the floor, his back resting against the wall.

---

Nick felt the weight of the man collapse on him and the spray of blood as it coated his clothes. Trent Walker's loose fingers dropped the knife where it clanked to the floor. The front of his shirt was stained crimson red, dripping down over Nick's body. His dark blue eyes looked surprised, as he dragged his weight off of Nick and began to crawl away.

Nick was gasping down; his shaky hand still gripped his weapon tightly. He rolled to his side, ignoring pain and exhaustion. His eyes followed Trent's increasingly sluggish movements. The blood drops left in his wake a large indication of how bad a wound he suffered. Nick groaned as he started to crawl in the opposite direction towards the door and away from this place. His brain was fuzzy, he moved on his hands and knees towards the elusive door. He heard Trent choke and sputter for air as he continued to flail around on the floor.

Nick's arms trembled from the strain of holding him up, but if he didn't continue moving he would surely collapse and he didn't want to remain stuck in the same room with a dying man. So he clawed at the floor, inching his way forward. If he had any presence of mind, he would have alerted his friends that he was alive, but Nick had forgotten about the wire hidden in his vest long ago. His skull pounded with such a terrible and blinding headache that he probably couldn't even name the current date.

Nick's hands grasped the door handle and he used it to pull himself upright. He turned the handle so that the door creaked open, leading to the hall and his freedom.

Nick stayed hunched over, his arm around his middle in some vain attempt to keep the pain at bay. Nick took a few steps and fell to one knee. He took a trembling hand to wipe away the sweat that dripped into his eyes. The final door, a blurry outline, was only a few feet away. He growled and swore as he hobbled along and rested his body against the exit. Nick was breathing so heavily he felt that his lungs would explode. He finally took his last bits of energy and shoved his way through. The sunlight blinded him, but the scent of fresh air was enough to send him onto the steps.

He vaguely heard the sounds of radios and officers converging from a safe distance away. A voice from far away was asking him if the building was clear, but all he could to do was lean on the railing as he made his way down the steps. He managed to go down one flight until his body had enough.

His legs simply gave out and fell to the ground in a heap.

Too weak to move anymore, too out of it to care.

---

Greg found a spot away from the van and leaned his body over an empty patrol car. It was too much. The dead child, the conflicted father, his witness to Nick's attack, his friend's slow unraveling at the seams. To hear Nick's painful voice through the speakers at his unwanted confession, knowing he was privy to a secret that was something that should not have been forced upon him. To know the secret had been purged out of Nick from the force of pain made him sick. The only thing keeping Greg from throwing up was the presence of so many cops around.

Greg took deep breaths, berating himself for his cowardice, for abandoning Nick. It finally dawned on him how strong a person his friend was. Nick Stokes was the polar opposite of Trent Walker- he had moved on and devoted his life to helping victims of crimes. Greg felt such pride to be able to work side-by-side with a man he could continue to learn so much from. He stood up, his body no longer shaking, when the door to the van flew open and the rest of the team piled out, running through the parking lot.

Scared, Greg went after them, until a group of SWAT members blocked their path several hundred feet from the building. Greg's breathing started to become frantic again.

"What? What happened?"

Warrick was scanning the building, his line of sight directly at the doors. Sara was close behind him, her hand on his arm, franticly looking around. Her face was pale, her eyes smeared from makeup. Catherine was behind Grissom, her body in constant motion and her feet moving back and forth in place.

Greg looked over at Grissom, to seek out some sort of presence of mind, but the normally stoic supervisor looked… unsure and almost fearful. Warrick saw the young man approach, knowing the last thing he heard was the dreaded gun shot.

"I gave Nick a gun. He asked for one at the hospital. He hid it in an ankle holster."

The rest of the team gaped at his statement, a tiny sense of hope evident in their demeanor.

"We heard movement, Nick's breathing," Catherine explained, imagining Nick escaping the horror of the situation.

Each team member waited and listened and stared until the door opened, revealing their friend. Each CSI wanted to go to him, but the danger and uncertainly of what was happening kept them away. Several SWAT members crept closer. One of them shouted at Nick, asking him about the suspect. Warrick bounced up and down anxiously on the balls of his feet at the sight of his partner and friend, barely able to move.

Nick wobbled and leaned heavily on the railing, scarcely making it down the first flight of stairs. Warrick's heart nearly gave out when Nick simply collapsed under his weight.

Warrick searched for any signs that some member of the elite team of rescuers was going to go and help. Seeing only hesitancy, and knowing the guidelines, he said, 'screw it,' and pushed away one of the men in front of him who was too fixated by the drama in front of them.

"Warrick!" Grissom shouted.

It was too late. Warrick was running towards the stairs, not caring about the commotion of his actions. What he didn't realize was the chaos that he created shook up the SWAT team so badly that Sara rushed behind him close on his heels.

"Sara!"

Warrick heard the frantic voice of his supervisor and knew from the noise that his coworker was close behind him. Warrick flew up the first set of stairs and came to a screeching halt as he got to Nick's still form. He saw the blood splattered all over the front of his shirt and for one single moment thought that maybe his best friend had indeed been shot.

With a shaky hand he touched Nick's face.

"Nick?" He started running his hands under the vest and shirt and didn't find a hole or wound. Sighing with a bit of relief, he leaned over.

"Nick, come on man," he coaxed.

Sara was next to him, squatting along, her eyes taking in the stillness of her friend.

Nick raised his hands to defend himself, but Warrick quickly took one of them in his own. "Its okay, bro. We're here. It's over."

Warrick tried to remain collected. Nick was barely conscious, his brown eyes opened slightly confused.

"Warrick?"

Warrick smiled. "Yeah, man. Come on let's get away from here."

Sara looked over at her coworker nervous at the approximation to the building. "Want us to each grab a side?"

Warrick looked over at her, nodding his head. "Yeah, let's see if we can get him up."

Both Warrick and Sara carefully draped an arm around their shoulders, slowing bringing Nick to his feet. He was dead weight between them, barely moving as they started their decent down the stairs. Sara kept her arm around Nick's small waist, finding some comfort in helping just a little.

The trio made it down the last flight of stairs, each one keeping their balance, talking softly to Nick, as they tried to keep him focused. Sara saw Greg arguing with one of the police officers. It seemed he won out somehow as he walked past him, after a disgruntled sense of acknowledgement. Greg met them as the got to the sidewalk, still several feet from the supposed safety zone.

Greg nervously followed them along.

"Why don't you grab his legs," Warrick suggested, since they had been practically dragging him the last few seconds.

Happy to have something to do, Greg snatched Nick's feet and the three moved him all the way back to the parking lot.

Warrick noticed Dr. Taylor waiting for them near the SUV. He heard the sirens of an ambulance which had been told to be on standby. He almost forgot about the physician during the hostage stand-off. He vaguely wondered where she was the entire time.

Grissom and Catherine walked behind the team now, a few officers keeping their distance.

"Lower him down to the ground," Dr. Taylor ordered.

The trio laid Nick down to the asphalt as the doctor began her cursory examination. She unzipped his vest, and unbuttoned his shirt. Sighing in relief that his bandage was still clean and his stitches still in place, she went through her medical bag for a few needed items.

The trio watched as she listened to his heart, and wrapped a BP cuff around his arm. The ambulance drew closer. She looked up at the CSIs. "What the hell happened to him?"

Grissom opened his mouth to answer just as the ground rocketed from an explosion. The sounds of glass shattering, and fire roared through the area. Smoke plumed from the building and everyone around lowered themselves to the ground out of instinct.

Grissom covered Nick up with his body, even though there wasn't any danger from falling debris or shrapnel. Dr. Taylor had also leaned over from her side to shield the man from any potential danger.

People began shouting and screaming. A fire crew only a few blocks away was called to respond. Warrick turned his head towards the now ruined side of the structure. His face grew somewhat calm and he brought his gaze back over towards the doctor. "He was just being Nick."

Dr Taylor didn't respond as she focused back towards her patient. "What is he like when he's not trying to save kids from insane madmen?"

"He's into sports, helping old ladies across the street, and birds," Greg responded.

Dr. Taylor looked over at him, confused, and shook her head as she prepared him to be transported back to the hospital.

It was his third day in the hospital, but the first time without being in a haze or under sedation. Nick had played havoc with his immune system, losing a battle with wills to strep throat. As soon as he arrived back at the ER and began treatment for the bacteria in his system, the strep had kicked in. He was so weak from his original illness that his body could barely fight back against all the threats to his system.

So, his physician put him out for almost two days solid, as she cleared out the septic poisoning and kept his most recent illness from overtaxing his body so much that he succumbed to pneumonia. Nick got the impression that those last couple of days had been fairly intense and that he had scared some of his friends.

No one really mentioned the last seventy-two hours- of which he was grateful. No one really said anything to him at all. Trent Walker had triggered the bomb, killing himself, and preventing the families of he destroyed from ever gaining closure. Nick didn't even really remember much from his confrontation with the man, and felt guilty that his friends had been put at risk when they came over to drag his sorry ass back to safety.

Nick lay on his hospital bed, the covers held tightly over him. He was chilly now, a stark contrast to what he had been over the past few days. He had already forgot what it was like to feel normal. Nick was told that he was lucky and was just suffering from a mild fever now. Nick looked over at his window; he'd been studying a tree several feet away. He noticed a robin flying around and followed it with his eyes.

He heard the approach of footsteps and he moved his head to his side. Sara Sidle entered his room, somewhat hesitantly, which was bit abnormal for her usual confidence.

"Hey, Sar," he greeted her, throat scratchy.

Sara grimaced at Nick's raw voice. "Strep throat on top of everything, huh," she said, taking a seat in the chair next to his bed.

Nick grunted in response as he shifted uncomfortably in the bed and directed his gaze at the ceiling.

Sara looked away as well. She had practiced what she was going to say over a dozen times, only to dismiss the whole thing in favor of just being spontaneous to whatever conversation might transpire. After five solid minutes of Nick ignoring her, she decided to be the one to speak out first.

"I do trust you," she told him softly, already defensive.

Nick cleared his throat before attempting to talk. "You called Grissom."

Sara sat straighter in the chair. "Yes, I did." She looked confused, then smiled, embarrassed. "He didn't tell you... did he?"

"No, I just guessed."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "You're good at reading people."

"A trait that is often criticized," Nick responded dryly.

"Maybe when you let emotions cloud everything else..." Sara started to go on the offensive again, only to have Nick try to shift over to his side.

Sara got up from her chair and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Don't do that. Don't push me away. You're only going to hurt yourself."

Nick settled down on his back- trying to roll over was definitely a bad idea.

Irritated, he wiped at his sweaty face. "Does everything you say today have some kind of double meaning?"

Sara kept her hand on his shoulder. "No, Nick. ...Look, I didn't come here to argue with you. I just wanted to visit. If that is going to upset you, then I'll leave."

Nick felt Sara remove her hand and he reached out to grab it. "Don't," he whispered.

Sara stood somewhat stunned and held onto his fingers as he looked over at her, his expression raw and powerfully torn.

Nick sighed deeply. "Is that how it's going to be for now on? Are you going to walk on eggshells around me?" he asked, his voice scratchy.

Sara shook her head. "No, Nick. I might have a small hint of understanding, and I probably still have no clue about everything, but I know this- what I witnessed wasn't mine to know, but I won't pretend that I didn't hear it."

She contemplated her next thoughts, Nick's eyes still on her face. "It's a part of who you are, but it's only a fraction of what makes you such a good man. We all have secrets, but I learned long ago that sometimes it's okay if they are shared, no matter how painful. If you ever wanted to talk to me about it, I'd listen."

Nick studied Sara's sincerity in her voice and patted her hand. "Okay." He coughed again. "You... um... want to stay for a while?'

Sara smiled and sat back down. "Yeah."

---

Nick inhaled deeply, taking in the crisp, clean air into his lungs. It was nice to feel natural warmth. It was refreshing and seemed to energize the weariness that seeped into his bones and flesh. For once his skin was not burning with fever, and his body didn't have a constant ache that seemed to suck the life out of him. He was on day four at the hospital and he was really growing weary of being trapped inside. Greg pushed the wheelchair through the grounds outside the hospital. It was early morning and there was a slight breeze, whipping around some of the leaves.

Greg stopped the chair under a tree, the spot where Nick had requested to go. He just wanted to bask in the outdoors and maybe spot the robin he saw building a nest in the nearby branches. Nick shifted around in his seat. He felt a bit more comfortable. At least he had on sweatpants now, and not that damn hospital-issued pair of pajama-type bottoms. Greg put the chair brake on and wandered around to the other side, still abnormally subdued.

Nick tried to keep from fiddling with his IV. It was such a pain in the ass. He hated this. The few moments of serenity were already slipping away. He didn't want Greg to push him out here. He could have done it himself, but the rookie was in his room, and he had finally gotten permission to go outside.

"I bought the Sony PSP for... ah... Jason," Greg mentioned after a long period of silence.

Nick's eyes had been closed, and he peeled back his eyelids and looked over at the rookie.

"I'll give you some money for it when I get out of here."

Greg lowered his eyes, embarrassed. "It's cool, man. Whenever."

Nick studied Greg's awkwardness around him. He knew where the tension stemmed from and he couldn't stand it anymore. Nick exhaled and was about to breach the dreaded topic when Greg interrupted his train of thought.

"I'm sorry for everything, Nick. For not knowing what to do back at the Todd house and for freaking out. I just ended up hanging outside the van. I felt like I abandoned you while you dealt with Walker."

Nick kept his reaction hidden. He glanced over at Greg. "You weren't inside the van at all?"

Greg looked down at his shoes. "No, I just couldn't bring myself to listen to anything after I saw you get grabbed… I'm sorry," he stammered.

The relief that Nick felt wasn't easy to conceal. "Dude, it's all right. It's not anything I really want to relive." Nick looked over at his friend. He reached out and touched his arm. "As far as what happened at the Todd house, I really put both of us in a lot of danger. It was reckless and stupid… I'm sorry for putting you in that situation."

Greg shrugged. "I learned a lot from this case. There is so much more to what we do then just evidence. Cases are people too, and we should never lose sight of that."

"It's a fine line," Nick murmured. He coughed slightly, his throat still very sore.

Greg gave him a small smile. "I learn from you every day, Nick. Thank you."

Before Nick could respond, Greg gestured to the outside area. "Look, I know you kind of wanted to take this in alone. I'll be over there by that bench if you need anything."

Greg walked away to give his buddy some space. Greg debated many times over whether or not he would admit to knowing about Nick's secret and concluded that nothing positive could come out of it. So lying to him just then about it seemed a logical thing to do. It gave Nick peace of mind, and Greg from now on would be aware of any similar circumstances that might pop up in the future.

---

Three more hours until he was free of the drab walls, beige ceilings, and the smell of antiseptic. Nick sat in a chair, flipping through television channels on the 9-inch screen, of which only one station came in clearly. He began to pace and then settled back down in a huff, waiting to be picked up.

The door to his room opened and he looked up expectantly. Catherine entered with two other people close behind her. At first he was surprised, knowing that Warrick was going to take him home. Then Nick's eyes got large when Jason Todd and his mother hovered in the doorway.

Catherine looked over at the criminalist. "You mind some company before you get sprung?"

Nick got up out of his chair and smiled genuinely when Jason walked over to him as his mother remained in the far corner of the room.

"Hey pal. How are you?" Nick asked the little boy.

Jason looked around the hospital room with slight nervousness. Nick followed the youngster's gaze. "What'cha looking at, Jason?" Nick asked.

The child adjusted his glasses. "This is a hospital room."

Catherine went over to stand next to Marisa Todd who watched her son talk with the criminalist. Nick looked over at both women out of the corner of his eye. "Yes it is. Kind of boring, isn't it?"

Jason looked up at Nick. "This is where sick people go?"

Nick nodded his head. He carefully squatted down to stay at eye level with the boy. "Yes it is, but then you get better and go home."

Jason whispered, "Are you better?'

Nick nodded. "Yes, I am."

"Coach Nero hurt you though," Jason said, causing his mother to shift uncomfortably behind them.

Nick wanted to put his hand on Jason's shoulder but thought better of it. "Yes, but the doctors and nurses fixed me back up."

Jason leaned closer to Nick's ear. "Mommy says that Coach Nero was a sick man, too. Is that why he was mean?"

Nick bit his lip, not knowing what kind of line to tread with the kid. He looked over at the two women and chose his words cautiously.

"Yes, he was. It would take a lot more to make him better. His illness caused him to do things he was not supposed to."

Jason looked at the floor. "He told me all sorts of bad things."

Nick's heart began to race, but he remained calm. "Did he hurt you, Jason?'

The little boy quickly shook his head. "No. He said all sorts of nice things to me, but after a while he started to get very mad. Told me he'd hurt my mom and dad if I didn't go with him that night." Jason started to sniffle, as he ran his hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry I went with him."

Nick felt his chest ache and he put his arm around the little boy who quickly embraced him with a hug.

"Shhhh, Jason. It's okay. You were very brave and you wanted to make sure your parents were okay." Nick comforted the boy and assured him everything would be all right.

Marisa and Catherine slowly approached the two and Jason walked back over and grabbed his mother's hand. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Stokes. For risking your life, for saving my little boy." Marisa was barely able to control her voice as she thanked the criminalist.

Nick stood up slowly. "It's all right, Mrs. Todd. I just hope that everyone gets the right amount of help needed."

Marisa brushed away a tear, still clinging on to her child's hand. "I will. I'm going to make sure Jason goes to see someone after everything he went though. As for his father… well, I'll take it one step at a time."

Nick nodded his head. The woman looked down at her son. "Say goodbye to Mr. Stokes, okay?"

Jason went back over to Nick to give him a hug. "Mom says I can go talk to a nice doctor about what I'm feeling and that she'll help."

Nick smiled at him. "Your mom is a smart lady."

Jason looked over at Nick. "Are you going to go talk to a doctor about what Coach Nero said when you were scared?"

Nick blinked, knowing that the boy really had no clue what he was asking. He looked over at Catherine who gave him a pointed expression. Nick broke from her gaze. "I think I am, Jason."

Marisa Todd excused herself, wishing Nick the best. Catherine remained in the room for a moment. "I'm driving them back over to the station for a few more forms." Catherine looked over at Nick her intent quite clear. "Were you telling Jason the truth? You going to go see someone, Nick?"

Nick shifted around, not quite ready to talk any more about what was going through his head. "I planed on looking into it," he said simply.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "I hope so, Nicky." She looked at her watch.

"Warrick will be here any minute. I know you're anxious to get out of here. He's bringing another set of clothes."

Nick chuckled. "I think I owe him like three wardrobes."

Catherine shook her head. "I hope you'll do yourself a favor, Nick, and stick to your promise."

Nick tilted his head. "I think I will."

---

"I can't believe you bought me this shirt," Nick said shaking his head at the 'threads' his partner had purchased for him. He looked down at himself, still trying to get over the fact that $150 was spent on a black shirt, with just a simple set of buttons.

Warrick appraised Nick's new designer jeans and the hot number he bought at the Man Style store. He whistled. "I think it's the best outfit you got."

Nick looked at the slip-on loafers that were waiting for him as well. He wouldn't have to bend over so much to tie his usual boots. "Man, I'm leaving the hospital to go straight home. It's not like I'm going on a date."

Warrick snorted. "Apparently you haven't seen the disappointed looks of some the staff. A few numbers were slipped to me by some of those nurses."

Warrick took out several folded slips of paper. Nick wandered over and peered over his shoulder.

His eyes grew big. "Four numbers? You're kidding right?"

Warrick laughed. "Nope, I even got a couple for myself. So I thought you should leave in style, and then you'd have something much hotter to wear when you took one of them out."

Nick shook his head. "Only you, bro. I don't need a dating service, you know."

Again Warrick gave him one of his disbelieving expressions. "Says the guy who took two months to give his number to the camera-store girl." He laughed some more at the evil look he received.

"Now come on, be nice, get into the wheelchair and let's get out of here."

---

Nick didn't stay in his new clothes for very long after changing into something more comfortable when he got home. Warrick made himself at home in his kitchen, making them both sub sandwiches while Nick looked for a game on the television. Warrick brought a tray filled with food and they both dug into it as they watched the NFL halftime report.

"What about that doctor of yours. I didn't see her today."

Nick had to cover his mouth from spitting out his food. "Jeez, man. She treated me when I got back, and then another resident took over during her days off. Will you chill with my love life, man?"

Nick smiled at his bud, knowing he was only trying to keep the mood upbeat. For a moment he forgot about the wire in his vest and all the nice audio transmissions of his personal life. He was still fuzzy on what exactly was said, but he knew enough to feel awkward around his best friend.

The game went on, the small talk continued and Nick was starting to wear out quickly. His head began nodding off a little after finishing his dinner. He felt someone's hand tapping him on his shoulder and he was instantly awake.

Warrick was looking over at him, and that fun spark in his eyes was gone to be replaced with that darn concerned one. "I'm about to leave, but I wanted you to remember to take your pills, dude."

Warrick had a glass of water and his medication. He accepted the antibiotics and pain pills without question and swallowed them both.

"You know I was so wrapped up in the case and being kind of ticked off at you that I forgot to give you your meds when you were first hurt," Warrick said.

Nick wasn't about to go down the Boulevard of Guilt. "Dude, it's all good. I was kind of in my own tunnel vision."

Warrick shook his head. "I know you were. That's the problem, I wasn't a good enough friend to confront you the way I should have instead of just letting you get sucked in deeper."

"What, now you're my mom? The only person in control of me was me, man. No one else is to blame. I might have not stepped back, but I did not lose focus on the case."

Warrick stood up a bit angrily. "Fuck the case, Nick. It was more than just that. I was too blinded, trying to watch your back, instead of just knocking some sense into you. And that'll never happen again. I hope you do the same for me if I ever start that kind of self-destructive shit."

Nick felt his defenses going up, but took a breath and calmed down. "I wasn't self-destructive," Nick retorted.

Warrick's eyes were blazing, but he started to back down. He licked his lips. "I don't know what was going on inside your head, not at all. What you did to save that child was amazing, man. Freaking insane and brave all at the same time. The things that were said are going to be left at that church."

Warrick went over towards his friend, his voice softer. "What happened when you were younger didn't make you weaker... in fact, I'd say you're the strongest guy I know, dude."

Nick looked down at the floor, "Thanks man," he mumbled. He looked back up. "Now get outta here, I need to go to bed."

Warrick smiled and shook his bud's hand, giving them their patented 'ghetto low five'. Warrick patted Nick on the back and let himself out. Nick looked around the room. He was now bone-tired and went to bed for the night.

---

Nick took a look at the outfit that his 'bro' had bought him and settled for a button-down navy shirt, jeans and of course his loafers. He wasn't quite ready for his usual boots. He had just recently showered and shaved... all without any pain.

It was nice to be back to semi-normal except for a tad of discomfort. He still had a week of leave on the books. When he had called about a return date, he was informed about his enforced extra time off. Nick looked at himself in the mirror, feeling confident that he wouldn't scare away his date. Nick did put off the call long enough. He was mentally going over the items he needed- car keys, wallet- when he heard a soft knock. He looked at his watch knowing she was early, so he wandered over in his bare feet.

He smiled when he opened the door, but it slowly faded at the sight of his supervisor.

"Grissom," Nick said surprised.

Gil Grissom arched an eyebrow. "Bad timing?"

Nick floundered for a response. "Um... well... ah, no, come in," he said, opening the door for the other man.

Grissom walked in as Nick contemplated why his boss would come over to visit him at home.

"There something wrong, Grissom?" he asked, while his supervisor just stood in his living room.

"No. Should there be?" Gil replied.

"Uh, no. Well, it's just... you know…" Nick didn't really finish his sentence.

Grissom stared at him with an unreadable expression. "I was on my way in to work and wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm good," Nick said lamely.

Grissom pulled out a form out of his breast pocket. "I'm trying to file my paperwork on time for once. I really need your signature on this."

Nick was a bit amused by this newfound sense of commitment but he took the paper and looked over at it. The sheet was an evaluation form on his supervisory role. Nick's eyes grew large at the number of outstandings he had.

He looked up dumbfounded. "I-I don't understand?"

Grissom just gave him one of his patented stares. "You don't think you deserve this?"

Nick held the paper in the air, his supervisor not accepting it back. "I screwed up."

Grissom looked back at the form. "You supervised an incredibly complex case, while submitting all necessary paper work for all the lab duties. You re-assigned staff to handle the overload from Days, you supported your employees during their cases, correctly doing follow up procedures at every step. You handled multiple cases, and juggled some difficult circumstances with the Vegas Gun society."

Grissom flipped over the stapled paper. "Your peers gave you high marks. You were approachable and punctual. You showed leadership as well as people skills. You did however; fail to take yourself off the case when circumstances caused your inability to be subjective," Grissom pointed out in another section.

Grissom peered at him through his glasses. "You took unacceptable risks during the case and endangered yourself and a fellow CSI when you went back to the scene without an officer escort. For that, you've been formally written up, but not suspended."

Nick looked at the evaluation again, accepting the criticism. "I'd say that was fair."

Grissom handed him a pen, in which Nick placed the form on an end table to scribble his name down, then handed it back to his boss.

Grissom still stood quietly. Nick looked over at him again. "Anything else?"

Grissom's expression faltered. "You know how I feel about your attachment to victims. You still need to stay objective."

Nick knew this was coming. "Yeah, I know. It's all about the evidence, the facts. The 'how' and not the 'why'." Nick looked at the ceiling and back at his boss. "You think the 'why' in this case got messed up because of my personal feelings and my ability to connect with the victims."

Nick looked him in the eye. "Maybe you're right, Grissom. Maybe it does make me a bad CSI, and that you'll have to be extra careful with assignments for now on. Worry about me and my issues." Nick looked at his mentor with seriousness. "All I can say is that you don't… that… I'm still a good investigator, emotions or not."

Grissom looked thoughtful as he folded up the evaluation form. "Some people think that only intellect counts. That knowing how to solve problems, knowing how to get by, knowing how to identify an advantage and seize it is all that's important. But the functions of intellect are insufficient without courage, love, friendship, compassion, and empathy. "

Nick simply blinked.

Grissom sort of nodded his head. “I think you’re a good CSI, Nick. I’ve held you back before because of your emotions, your attachments. But, now I know ‘why’ and this time the reason is important.”

Grissom lifted his hand almost nervously, and after a brief moment gently placed it on Nick’s shoulder. “You know where to find me if you ever want to just talk.”

Nick was still mute, he just sort of nodded.

Gil raised his eyebrow. "I'll see you at work next week." He gave Nick a soft squeeze to his arm and walked away.

Nick stood still a bit shocked as his supervisor let himself out. He sat down on his sofa still somewhat numb from the whole exchange. Did Grissom just accept him for who he was? Nick swallowed, still astonished and felt a warmth fill him.

His thoughts were once again disturbed by a knock at the door. His mind still reeling he opened it to present the redhead inside his house.

"You know, it's rare to meet a doctor who makes house calls," Nick said, smirking.

Dr. Linda Taylor laughed. "Not a house call, Mr. Stokes. I mean, I did take myself off your case after you came back to my ER."

Nick chuckled. "Yes, you did. Can't have a violation of some work code."

She smiled coyly. "No, I can't."

"I've got to put on my shoes, I ran late by an unexpected visitor. Make yourself at home," Nick said as he rushed to put on his loafers.

Nick retuned, ready to go for dinner. He opened the door for her as they walked outside. She studied him for a moment in the night air.

He looked at her curiously. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I just can't wait to learn more about the white knight who spends his time helping others and has a keen interest in Ornithology."

Nick's cheeks reddened. "Well, I'm a bit more complicated then that."

She took his arm as they headed for his SUV. "I'm sure you are."

The End.

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