Title: Fourteen Days
By: Mickeylover303
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Two separate cases merge into one as Nick deals with his personal feelings for Greg and the pressure to find him before time runs out.

***

01 May 2003

Lisa Gibson peered cautiously down the scope, well aware of the warm air beating down upon her neck. She couldn't ignore the harsh breathing patterns, which seemed to quicken each second. The overall effect was grating on her nerves.

"Would you please refrain from breathing down my neck?" She lifted her head, turning to face the man behind her. Relaying her agitation at his presence.

She practically heard the grinding of his teeth as he spoke. "This is something more important than me bothering you."

"Mr. Stokes," She paused in an effort to gather her patience. "I know how important this sample is. It could help find this guy. Believe me, I want him found, too because I don't want this happening to my daughter."

But he seemed to ignore her attempts at reconciliation. "I need to see the results." Lisa watched as his jaw clenched tightly. She discerned the desperation in his words, making her more sympathetic and able to help her push aside his misplaced anger.

"Which won't be ready for at least another half-hour." Lisa looked at the man poignantly. "Look, I can tell you're stressed. So I'll just page you when the results are ready, okay?"

He looked as if he would retort, but was interrupted by a new presence in the lab, Mr. Grissom.

"Nick."

"Yeah." She was sad to note that Mr. Stokes sounded almost defeated, nothing like the frantic state he was in a few minutes ago. The case must be hitting him particularly hard if it was able to play on his emotions.

On the same note however, Lisa was also grateful that the man's attention was given to Mr. Grissom. She couldn't bear to handle his nerves alongside her own.

"Could I see you for a minute?"

"Can't it wait, Grissom? I'm-"

"Now." His voice left no room for argument. "In my office."

She was wary as Mr. Stokes sighed, turning to her. "Page me?"

Lisa nodded. "Half an hour."

Mr. Stokes offered her a broken smile - a means of apology - as he turned to follow Mr. Grissom.

**

Nick followed Grissom, knowing that the man saw his stunt with the temporary DNA tech from Days.

He placed himself into the chair, watching Grissom close the door and then taking a seat behind his desk.

"Griss, I'm sorry. I know I was out of line-"

"Do I need to take you off this case?" Grissom removed his glasses, looking at Nick pointedly.

They had been searching for the newest pathological killer. One who the press dubbed as the Prose Killer. Only due to the fact that initial evidence was found by close relations of the victims and subsequently released to the media.

The series of killings started in September. The typical case beginning with a kidnapping that lasted two weeks. Sometime in the duration, the killer began exsanguination of a victim through a series of puncture wounds.

Literally having them bleed to death.

The deaths of the victims were long and drawn out. It was suspected that one victim bled out for at least two days before he died. Something the press conveniently left out, focussing more on transforming the killer into some romantic ideal because of his letters - the souvenirs he leaves in regards to his victims.

They found the most recent victim this morning. Ashley Parker was abandoned in a ditch outside a small suburban neighbourhood in Clark County. The garbage man called it in. He thought she ran away from home. Until he saw the dried blood and the puncture wounds.

Like the previous cases, they were too late to save the victim. And in this instance, they were too late to save a nine year-old little girl.

Nick quickly straightened in the chair, a pleading look in his eyes. Being taken off the case was the last thing he wanted. He knew he had a tendency to get too involved, but this time it was an emotional outlet for his own personal issues.

Especially concerning his relationship with Greg.

They had been seeing each other for a little over a year now. And Nick knew that their relationship was more than a casual fling. He had become remarkably at ease with Greg, and Nick knew he didn't feel comfortable around too many people. However, man had quickly become a constant in his life.

And unfortunately, his frustrations on not being able to reach Greg were taken out on Lisa. "No, but-"

"Good. Let's keep it that way."

Nick sighed in relief, leaning heavily against the chair. His thoughts were already scattered and wouldn't help matters to deviate from the single-minded focus offered by the case.

"Is Brass already at the station?" He had relayed his anxiety concerning Greg's sudden disappearance to his supervisor, who also shared his apprehension.

"He's been there for about," Grissom looked at his watch. "An hour, now. I told him you wanted to file a missing persons report."

"Did he check the hospitals already?" Even though a part of him would simply like to find Greg, Nick was relieved when Grissom shook his head, affirming that Greg was not in a hospital.

"I understand your reasoning and concerns, Nick, but remember Greg has the day off. There's nothing to suspect foul play."

"But I called him, and he still hasn't answered or even sent me a text."

"We have to take into account the fact that he could have left impromptu. Until then, it's not something that will be a high priority."

"Sixteen times Grissom?" Nick stood up, his anger seeping through. "I've called him sixteen times since this morning, and he still hasn't called back."

"Sit down." Grissom narrowed his eyes, waiting for Nick to sit. "I'm as concerned as you Nick, but we can't jump to conclusions. We have no evidence to suggest anything happened to him. In the case that we do find evidence that states otherwise, then we'll be able to do something."

Nick understood the logic behind Grissom's words. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he couldn't help but consider the conversation he held with Greg the night before.

"I won't keep you up because I know you like your sleep, so I'll call you tomorrow."

"How early?"

"The way you sleep, Nick, I'll have to give myself a head start."

"Ha. Ha. I'm not a heavy sleeper."

"Says the guy who almost squeezed the life out of me on his bed."

Nick chuckled at the teasing tone. "Hey, man. I was tired."

"Nice to know one of us did the work."

Nick warmed at suggestive undertone in the comment. "When don't I?"

He could practically see the other man's smile through the sound of his laughter. "Don't worry. I'll call you at the usual time. I always do. Someone needs to wake you up, Nicky."

But it was already well into the night and he had yet to receive a call from Greg.

"Can't we just go to his apartment to look for something? I swear something's not right about this."

"We don't have a legitimate reason to break into his apartment. For all we know he could be visiting his family."

Nick gave his supervisor a disbelieving look. "On a Thursday, Griss? When he has work the next day?"

Grissom look at him helplessly. He didn't believe it, either. Greg was one to make sure someone always knew where he was. But they had nothing further to go on.

They were trapped in silence. Neither was willing to believe in the likelihood of Greg leaving without any notice. But both were in understanding that there was little they could do in the meantime.

Breaking the tension, Nick spoke softly. His voice oddly hopeful. "What if there was another way to get in?" At Grissom's questioning glance, Nick was encouraged to continue. "Without crossing the legal tape?"

"If you know someone who has a key of his apartment, I'm listening. Because nothing short of that would..." Grissom trailed off, looking closely at the sudden indifference in Nick's face.

"You have a key to Greg's apartment?"

He almost cursed when Nick turned his head away, confirming his statement. "And when were you going to decide to tell me this, Nick?"

Grissom sighed when Nick wouldn't answer, deciding he could dwell on the fact later. "Have you been there at all today?"

"No." Nick had been occupied with the case, finding the latest victim in the Prose murders. And though Greg lingered in the back of his mind, his worry had taking precedence of his normal rational thought.

"I'm not one to make judgements. The fact that you have a key to Greg's apartment means nothing to me except we can bypass some legal barriers." He gave Nick a disapproving look because of the delayed information.

Nick quickly turned to face the other man. "I didn't think about it until now, Grissom." He clenched the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white. "You know there's something going on between me and Greg. I'm not going to deny it."

"But when it starts interfering with your job, then I-"

Grissom paused at the knock on the door. Both men turned the entrance of Sara. "Hey, guys. Sorry to interrupt, but..." She wore a solemn expression, but her colleagues attentions was directed towards a clear bag held loosely in her hand. "It's another letter. Judy brought it in. She said it was lying on her desk when she got there."

Nick looked anxiously at Sara. "Did anyone see-"

"Who brought it? I already asked. Apparently, no one tracks who comes in and out of here." She moved toward Grissom, setting the bag on his desk, but remained standing. "It could have been brought in at any time today."

Grissom scrunched his eyes at the bag in thought, his eyes never leaving the bag. "Nick, hand me a pair of gloves." Nick took out the gloves from a shelf behind, turning back around to hand them to Grissom.

Putting them on, Grissom gave his attention to Sara. "Did you already ask for prints?"

She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yeah, Jacqui is supposed to page me with the results."

Grissom made a small noise acknowledging her statement, but his concentration remained on the bag. Sara and Nick watched as he opened it, carefully taking the envelope out.

All three knew what to expect. It was a part of the killer's MO. On the first day, he would send the first of many clues in the form of an unmarked envelope that contained a piece of paper on which it was written by hand no more than four lines.

A quatrain of morbid poetry.

Each line worked in concord to provide obscure clues that were often difficult to discern. The killer was well-educated, displaying his knowledge varying fields. He utilised a broad spectrum of allusions in regards to classical literature, languages, math, sciences, and the arts.

Each quatrain was only one in a collection of four that would be an indication of the victim's whereabouts. Each seeming inapt on its own, but together would essentially provide the big picture.

And although they were able to somtimes decode three of the four letters, without managing to reveal the meaning in the fourth, they would have little more to go on. The significance of a collection hard to grasp.

Until it was too late and the victim was found.

The killer was relentless and unlike most of his kind, he worked efficiently, quickly, and confidently. He is thought to be responsible for thirteen victims, detaining each for a two week period in a matter of only seven months. Leaving no trace of himself behind.

The only true lead they had was the fact the handwriting always differed. Each collection of quatrains taking on a separate characteristic. After sending each collection to the graphology department, it could not be determined as to why it was or what implication such an act held. The most logical reasoning being the killer had practiced different types of writing styles in order to cover any possibility of leaving a trail.

Luckily, they were always able to get prints on both the envelope at the letter inside, but they were the always the victim's prints.

Never anyone else's.

Grissom was about to open the envelope when he was startled by a beeping coming from Sara's pocket.

She reached for her pager, silencing the noise and almost dropping it after reading the text.

Grissom and Nick looked at her worriedly. "The prints come back?"

Her mouth opened, but Sara was barely able to get the words out. "The prints..." Her voice was almost cracking.

"They're Greg's."

***

02 May 2003

He tried to move, his body sore and shoulders aching. He must have slept badly, again.

The air felt a little damp, but he wasn't exactly uncomfortable. He couldn't really see much of the room as it was too dark. Although he knew he wasn't anywhere familiar.

But he seemed to be on a bed of sorts.

With the various possibilities running through his mind, he urged his hands over body. Relieved to find his belt secure in the loops around the waist of his jeans. His finger moved to trace the familiar lettering on his shirt.

The one Nick left at his apartment the night before.

He blinked at creaking of the door. His eyes struggling to adapt to sudden burst of light allotted into the room. He tried to sit up, but he had little coordination. Only managing to rest against the headboard.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around his himself. He could discern the figure of a man and felt a semblance of fear at the idea of being alone with some stranger.

"I apologise for the...circumstances in which you are housed."

He watched as the man turn on the light, only to reveal a relatively spacious room. It only had a bed, which he was on, and a chair. And maybe a closet of sorts on the far side of the room.

He found the bed to be large, placed in the middle of the room and flanked by the chair. It made him feel smaller to be contained in such an open space. Worse than when he was in the lab.

He took note of the neutral colour of the wall, which further enhanced the spaciousness of the room and created the illusion of freedom.

He must have been relaying his thoughts on his face because the other man made a note to comment, interrupting his thoughts.

"I'm happy to see you've finally awakened. I was afraid I gave you too high a dosage." He closed the door behind him. Trapping the two of them in the room.

"What?" He was surprised to find his voice was scratchy, as if it was rarely used. He swallowed a few times, hoping to get rid of the itching in his throat.

"What's your name?"

He squinted his eyes in confusion. His voice was still rough as he replied. "You kidnap me and you don't even know my name?" He found himself momentarily forgetting his fear because of the query, questioning the man's competence.

The man in turn, only released a small laugh. "I know as much of you as you know of me."

"I don't know who you are." He admitted, slowly licking his mouth. The ridges of his tongue passing over his chapped lips.

He looked at the man, taking in his features. But as his vision was still blurry, he could only distinguish that the man was Caucasian, with short black, almost grey hair. It looked like he was wearing a dark suit, but everything else was distorted by his grogginess.

He had no warning as the man suddenly pulled a gun, the click signalling that he had taken the safety off.

He was startled at the sound, but was too disoriented to make any significant movement.

"Don't play games." The voice was calm, entirely too calm not to be quelling some sort of anger. "I find that I don't quite appreciate when people try to fool me."

His fear returned, and he couldn't force himself to look away from the man.

He watched as the man moved the gun to rest carelessly against his face, cocking his head in thought. The metallic of the weapon in contrast with the pallor of his skin. "Oh, don't look so afraid. I suppose my temper does get the best of me at times. Perhaps the flunitrazepam did have more of an effect than I originally intended."

"Rohypnol?" He whispered more to himself, but the other man seemed to pick up on it.

He sounded pleasantly surprised. "At least you're not that incoherent. Let's not make this more difficult than it has to be, shall we?" He removed the gun from his face, sitting himself in the armchair, near the bed. The man crossed his legs, leisurely aiming the gun at him.

"Here's a notion. Since you may honestly have no idea as to who I may be, you tell me more of yourself," The man paused, seeming to be highly amused with himself. "And I may or may not return the favour."

He realised it wasn't a question, but a demand. One which he had no choice but to follow.

"I'm..." He swallowed, his voice breaking. "I'm Greg Sanders."

**

"I can't believe we didn't do anything yesterday."

Nick looked at Grissom from across the table. Too afraid he would take his anger out on the other man. There were only six chairs around the rectangular table, but that small barrier was better than none.

They sat in one of the conference rooms in the lab. Partly waiting for the others to arrive, but more so examining the more abstract aspects of the case. Trying to find some sense in the actions from their serial killer.

Starting with decoding that letter.

"Nick."

"He's out there, Gil. He's out there and I'm not with him."

"I know." Grissom gave him a poignant look. One of understanding that Nick did appreciate.

"He's out there alone. And God knows what that maniac is doing to him." He ran his hand through his hair. His frustrations apparent on his face.

"But it's not going to help if you exhaust yourself, Nick."

"I don't have time to rest, Grissom. Greg doesn't have time."

"Warrick and Catherine are at his apartment. Sara's in the middle of an autopsy-"

"It's just so frustrating, you know? That I can't do anything."

"At least you can have your input on this." Grissom pointed to the piece of paper in front of him. He knew figuring out the quatrains was the most trying aspect of these cases and usually did little if anything to help.

But he did try to make Nick feel useful in some sense. "You're still a suspect. And until we prove otherwise, so is Greg."

"That's bull and you know it, Grissom." Nick rose in his seat, slamming his fist against the table.

"Raise your voice at me again, and I will take you off this case." Grissom took his glasses off, glaring at Nick, who quickly sat down at the reproach.

Grissom rarely raised his own voice, but Nick had managed to evoke his anger in twice two days.

"Now take a breath." Grissom watched as Nick's chest rose and slowly deflated. "I understand that this is more complex for you, but blowing your top off isn't going to do anything more to help."

Nick held his head back, wiping his eyes before returning his attention to Grissom. He knew this guy had Greg. There was no other reason. And the evidence now pointed in that direction.

So he couldn't help but feel frustrated because of the situation.

With all the luck they had with the other victims, nothing gave him hope that he would find Greg.

But he really wanted to believe he could.

He still did.

Nick was startled by Sara's appearance, which was becoming an annoying habit. He couldn't let her see him like this. All messed up. Nick inhaled softly, hoping she wouldn't notice his red eyes.

"Am I interrupting, again?" She looked between Nick and Grissom. Aware of the tension between the two, she wondered what she stumbled upon this time.

"No, Sara." Grissom said, making a motion for her to sit down.

"Then I won't ask." Sara ignored the grateful look Nick sent her, sitting herself in the chair besides Grissom. "I just got back from Doc with the autopsy of the little girl." She shook her head, dropping a stack of pictures on the table.

"And it was nothing different from the other victims. The same puncture wounds, and we still don't know what caused them." She began spreading the pictures out.

"Various puncture wounds. Death by exsanguination."

"Same, huh."

Sara nodded her head at Nick's question, but quickly turned her attention to the paper in front of Grissom "What does this one say?" She asked, pointing to it.

Grissom put on his glasses, picking up the paper with one hand. He read the lines with a exaggerated tone.

The greater of myself
Lessened of my mind
Destruction of one's self
Perchance that of time

Sara sighed as she crossed her arms, placing them on the table. Her head following suit. If the one person with the most obscure knowledge couldn't even make sense of it, she wondered who could.

Grissom shook his head, look at both Nick and Sara, dejectedly. "Like I was telling Nick earlier, it doesn't do much if I can tell you he's quoting Aesop, but I don't know what he means."

Nick himself leaned heavily against the cushioning of his chair, going through pictures he held in hands. Looking for any abnormality. Looking for anything that could alert them.

The guy had to be making some mistakes.

Grissom, placed the letter back on the table, a new determination in his voice. "When was the last time you saw him?"

Sara raised her head from her arms. "Umm...The day before yesterday, Wednesday. I gave him the samples from the Gorchen case..."

Nick began to speak but was cut off by Grissom.

"When did Judy get the envelope?"

Sara noted that Grissom neglected to ask Nick, but stored it in her mind for later. She could ask after they find Greg.

"She came in at seven; I gave it to Jacqui a little after..."

Nick looked curiously at his supervisor. "What are we doing?"

"We're establishing a timeline. We have a limited timeframe so we have to make the best of it."

"Starting with-" Nick began to ask.

"Ruling him out as a suspect."

Sara looked at Grissom in surprise. "You don't really think he did this?"

"Right now, we can't prove whether he did or he didn't."

Grissom held his finger up as Sara looked as if she was going to protest. His phone was vibrating. He took it out of his pocket, showing it to Sara and Nick before answering it.

"Grissom."

**

"Hey Catherine."

"Yeah?"

"Could you come here?"

"What is it?" Catherine turned around to see Warrick squatting, examining the lock on the front door of the apartment.

"It looks like it may have been tampered with." He pointed at the small scrapes on the brass lock. It was either that or Greg had trouble finding where to put his keys.

Catherine removed her gaze from the lock to Warrick. "Sign of forcible entry?"

"But definitely not a B&E." Warrick paused, turning on his camera. "I'll get pictures."

"Yeah, and get one of the trainees to take it apart to bring back to the lab." Her voice trailed off as she moved further away. "Doesn't look like there's an upstairs. I'm going to be in the bedroom."

With Catherine gone, Warrick called Chris to pick apart the lock after he took pictures. He made his way to what he assumed to be the bedroom, confirming when he saw the fluorescent light reflecting on the walls.

He put on his goggles before entering and taking out his flashlight. "So what do you think about this?"

"I'm treating it like every other case, Warrick." She moved the comforter off the bed, moving the black light on the sheets. "I have to."

"It's just...I can't get over this one, you know?" He crouched on the floor, holding the flashlight underneath the bed. "I mean, it's Sanders."

"I'm just glad we got it and not Day or Swing. I couldn't handle it if Ecklie handled the case". She turned off the light, removing her goggles.

"I was worried about that, too. We hadn't really gotten anywhere with the other victims."

She turned to Warrick as he stood from the floor. "As much as I love the kid, there are just some things I don't need to know."

Warrick turned off his flashlight. "What did you find?"

"Semen. Lots of it. And by the look of it, it's pretty fresh."

Warrick allowed himself a small laugh. "I see what you mean."

"Did you find anything? Because everything looks clean to me. Besides the sheets." She put the light back in her kit. "I guess we can take those, hopefully pick up a trace of something."

"We checked his car, just finished his apartment," He pointed around the room. "Interrogated the neighbours. Nothing came up and no one saw anything."

"His car is here, so I doubt he went anywhere. Just like the others."

"Sanders isn't exactly a brawny guy. But he isn't small, either."

"I didn't see any signs of a struggle."

"You think he didn't struggle?"

Catherine looked at Warrick as he searched the room. "You know that's not what I'm saying."

Warrick's voice was heavy. "Unless this isn't the crime scene."

Catherine sharply turned away, putting her concentration on gathering the sheet. She didn't want to think of the implications of Warrick's words. "Call Grissom. It's already been more than a few hours. Tell him what we've got."

She closed the evidence bag hastily. Labelling the contents and ignoring Warrick's conversation with Grissom.

**

"What have we got?" Grissom said into the phone.

Nick and Sara watched him eagerly, faintly hearing Warrick's voice through the phone.

"Griss, we looked. There was nothing. Everything was in place."

"Anything out of the ordinary or worth mentioning?"

"Catherine found some fresh semen on the bed," Sara raised her eyebrows in surprise, but Nick only stared at the table as Grissom gave him a pokerfaced expression.

Nick knew he would most likely be outted; in more ways than one. As both a suspect and as having sexual relations with Greg.

He knew there were going to be scars after this.

He raised his head, looking at Grissom as Warrick continued. "And there's a possibility of a tampered lock. It looks like it could just be a bad bolt, but we're bringing it in for prints."

Grissom was indifferent to news. Internally going over the utility of the evidence because of Nick's presence in Greg's life.

"So we're on our way. Any luck with the new letter, yet?"

Grissom blinked at the question. "Nothing you couldn't guess. We're doing a timeline. Trying to find any connection between the victims we may have missed."

"Because we actually know one this time."

"That's the best chance we have."

"Yeah...I know."

"All we can do is wait until something comes up."

Grissom heard a bitter laugh before he ended the conversation. "Not like we have much of a choice."

***

03 May 2003

"Hey, Nick."

"Yeah, Warrick?" Nick pulled his shirt over his head. He picked up his dirty shirt from the floor and stuffed in his locker.

"Word's been getting around that you've been off, lately."

Nick slammed the locker door, looking to the other man. "And who's been selling you this crap, man?"

"I'm not trying to start something, all right. I just want to give you the heads up." Warrick pulled his grey shirt over his arms, pleased to finally be able to change his clothes.

"Does this have to do with what I said to Gibson?"

"You keep this up and you're going to get kicked off. You might want to lay low for a while. "

Nick punched the locker with the bottom of his fist.

"Damn it, Warrick?" He ignored the small dent, leaning his head against the door. "How can you ask me to do that?"

Nick looked away from Warrick. "It's bad enough we're having trouble finding this guy, but he's got one of us, man."

He knew it wouldn't be long before he cracked under the strain. And he'd probably end up to saying more than he wanted because of it. Not to mention that the results from Greg's sheets would be back, soon.

Like the Warrick said, if he kept it up, he'd be off the case. Grissom already brought up the possibility. Between his own temperament and the evidence, Nick knew it was only a matter of time.

But he still wasn't ready to reveal his personal relationship with Greg.

"Nick?"

"Hmm?" Nick placed his head on Greg's shoulder, holding the other man in his arms.

"How do you feel about...Us?"

"What are you talking about, G?" Nick couldn't see his face, but felt Greg's back tense against his chest.

"I mean, about what others would do if they found out?"

"It's just a fling, man. We're not officially going out or anything."

"Oh." Nick ignored the disappointment in the voice, his mind on other things.

He lowered his face, smiling against Greg's shoulder. "But since you woke me up, you ready for another round?"

Because he was still trying to figure it out himself.

"Look." Nick turned at the other man's darkened tone. "I think I know what you're-"

"No." Nick sat himself on the bench. "I don't mean any disrespect, but you don't know, Warrick."

"You won't be able to do anything about Sanders if your mind is out of whack."

"Christ man, you're calling him Sanders?"

"I'm separating my personal feelings from this case." Warrick sighed, trying not to let his anger at Nick's stubbornness get the best of him. "I'm not trying to put you down. I understand that Sanders is just a kid."

"Warrick-"

"And don't tell me I don't understand." Warrick slammed his own locker door. "Greg is like a little brother to me."

Nick looked away as Warrick continued, the other's face coming dangerously close to his own. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you better do something about it."

He winced at the spray of saliva on his face. "Because you're being selfish if you think that this only about your relationship with Sanders."

Nick watched as Warrick left the locker room, his voice lingering in his wake.

"I'll see you in the conference room."

**

"Semen on the sheets?" Grissom asked. He stood by the dry erase board, watching as Catherine subtlety moved from side to side in her chair. Waiting for the rest of the team.

"Being processed. It wasn't as fresh as I thought." She played with the pile of files on the table. Stacking and restacking the folders. "Sample could be three days old. Lisa is trying to get something from it."

"Some are more recent than others?"

"Yeah." Catherine said suspiciously, noting that he sounded particular hopeful. "Could be vaginal secretion."

"Or semen from another donor." Grissom looked at her warily.

"You know something we don't about this."

But Grissom didn't get a chance to respond, cut short by the entrance of Warrick and Sara, who each took a seat at the table.

Warrick looked questioningly at the four separate stacks of folders in front of Catherine. "So what do we have so far?"

"Where's Nick?" Grissom asked.

"In the locker room." Warrick scoffed, taking one of Catherine's stacks. "He's coming."

"What's going on with-" Catherine started, but was interrupted by Grissom.

"Never mind-"

"What about the Gorchen case?" Sara asked. "I'm not saying I don't want to work on this one, but we can't just drop that off."

"Forget it. This is our priority. I want us on this twenty-four/seven." Grissom paused. "Ecklie has the Gorchen case."

Warrick looked up from reading the files he held. "So Ecklie knows?"

"I think everybody knows by now." Sara spread the autopsy photographs of Ashley Parker and other victims on the table. "Both the PD and the Lab."

"All right people. We're already behind. Back to the case." Grissom turned from his team, opening a dry erase marker. He wrote the words In Common on the board. "What makes them special?"

They each looked at him blankly. Not having a response.

Grissom snapped his fingers, impatient and anxious. "Come on. We're almost down to a week. Give me something. Give me anything."

"Each victim was under thirty."

"Good, Catherine." Grissom quickly scribbled on the board the words under thirty. The felt tip of the marker was still touching the board, a blot appearing around it. "That's not all. What else is there? I don't care if it's their favourite colour, I want it."

There was a stretch of silence until they heard the opening of the door. A new voice entering the conversation.

"They've been gone for exactly two weeks." The team looked at the appearance of Nick, who pulled out a chair beside Sara.

Warrick looked at Nick, eyebrows raised. "Isn't that a given?"

"Grissom's right." Nick looked at him, his eyes piercing. "It's not just something we can dismiss. It could have some kind of significance."

"Man, I'm not trying to start-"

Nick began to raise his voice "Anything could be important. And if you think-"

"All right. Cool it." Catherine intervened. "We don't have time for this. Greg doesn't have time for this."

Grissom simply looked expectantly at them, turning to Sara at the sound of her voice.

"Each one was a resident of Nevada."

"But Greg is from California."

Grissom gave a quick glance to Nick. "Warrick, check the files. Where were the victims originally from and where was their last residence in Nevada."

"Yeah, maybe he knew them at some point."

"We've been over this already, Grissom."

"Well, we're going over it, again, Sara."

Warrick ignored the tension in the room, flipping through the folders in his hand. "Each victim had Las Vegas as their current residence for at least two years."

"What about prior location?"

"Uh...Ashley Parker was a native. So were Rachel Johnson and Marcella Caley. We know Sanders isn't."

"Here," Sara held out her hand, motioning Warrick to give her some of the files. "Let me help you."

"Thanks." After handing over some files, he returned his attention to the ones in his hand. "Randy Drayton. Jessica Meyton."

"James Elwood. Michael Vans. Brandi Rhame..."

"What about their ethnic background, race, religion...Any connection on that?"

"African-American, Catholic, Israeli, Japanese, Christian, Caucasian....Grissom, there's nothing there. It's like he just picked them at random." Catherine said, aggravated at the thought.

Sara looked thoughtfully at Catherine. "This guy's smart. He's not doing this for personal gain so it makes it harder to track him."

Dismayed be the direction of the conversation, Grissom intervened, still writing notes on the board. "What about schools? Who went where?"

Nick grabbed a pile from the table, quickly flipping through it. "We only know those three who are Las Vegas natives: Ashley, Rachel, and Marcella. And they weren't even the first victims."

"And plus," Warrick added. "Since the others grew up outside of Vegas, there's no way they could have been to the same elementary schools. Because Parker was the youngest."

"What about any familiarity between relations of the victims? Did someone's dad know someone's cousin?" Grissom asked.

"Completely different social circles." Warrick looked through the files. Slightly taken back by seeing Greg's picture in one of them. "We re-examined Sanders in the possibility-"

"He couldn't have done this."

"That he may be a victim." Warrick ignored Nick, not willing to deal with him after the incident in the locker room.

"Not to mention the fact that his family is still in San Gabriel."

Grissom gave Nick a disbelieving look before bringing up another topic before the others had a chance to ask questions. "Where were the victims found?"

"Ashley Parker was found in a ditch." Catherine gave a snort at the thought. "It's just like the other victims. Either in some alley on the strip or some ditch in a middle-class suburban neighbourhood."

"And we know they weren't moved. So..." Sara trailed off.

"We know that it was random, too." Warrick said, finally closing Greg's file. "But it was almost like he wanted them to be found."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "He's an exhibitionist?"

"If those letters are anything to go by." Catherine returned the glance. "He's at least eccentric."

Nick looked animatedly at Grissom, a new excitement in his eyes. "What about the letters?"

"We need to look at evidence." Warrick looked at him, becoming irritated at Nick's changing moods. "We can't find any leads with those letters."

"But that's the problem." Nick turned to Warrick, his voice an angered whisper. "We don't have any evidence that's leading us anywhere."

"I already gave you an out, man. Are you still looking to start something, Stokes?"

The others looked surprised at the two. Even Grissom, who knew the source of Nick's irritation, didn't expect him to take it out on Warrick.

Catherine was ready to intercede before anything became volatile, but stopped herself at tone of crushed tone in Nick's voice.

"If we can't find something in the concrete evidence..." Nick lowered his head into his hands. "Maybe we overlooked something else."

"As much I don't want to say this." Warrick gave Nick a poignant glance. "We can't base this solely on those letters."

"It's not like they've helped with anything." Sara cautiously entered the conversation. She was fully aware that Nick wasn't exactly the most stable, right now, but completely understanding his state of mind.

"So we just dismiss them?" Nick raised his hands from his head, looking at Sara.

"What else is there?" Catherine asked. "It's not like they tell us where the victims are."

Grissom preferred not to deal with the what-ifs, more interested in the facts. "Back to the case..."

"Does anyone know if Greg was-"

"Is."

Catherine spared a glance at Nick, before finishing her sentence. Her thoughts trailing back to the semen on Greg's sheets. "Is in a relationship?"

Grissom gave Nick a warning look, urging him not to say anything.

"I'm not sure about a relationship, but what about Sanders' friends?"

"What do you have?" Grissom turned to Warrick

"His cell is in the evidence lab. Battery was dead so I already started charging it."

"I got that one." Nick looked worriedly at Grissom, not sure if he was mentioned to Greg mentioned him to his friends or not.

He knew his pending status as a suspect, even though Grissom was the only one who knew, wouldn't allow him to do much. But hopefully he would be able to do something. And maybe delay everyone finding out that he sometimes shared Greg's bed.

"No, Nick. For now, I need you helping me."

"Well, we already questioned everyone in the apartment complex. And there weren't a lot of people under the age of sixty." Catherine said.

"Or a lot of people for that matter." Warrick added.

"We haven't questioned everyone at the Lab. And since everyone probably already knows about the situation..."

"Sara," Grissom pointed at her with a marker. "You and Catherine are on it."

"Anything else?"

"The SAFE kit from little girl came back." Sara took a piece of paper out of a folder, holding it in her hand. "Like the others, it came back negative."

"Not even signs of sexual activity." Catherine didn't wish the girl the worst in her last hours, but something was better than nothing.

Nick, though outwardly he appeared calm, was relieved at the lack of evidence suggesting anything sexual. He knew that serial killers would sometimes change their MO, escalating to more daring methods and ways to torture their victims.

And he didn't even want to think of the possibility of Greg being sexually assaulted. He still suffered the repercussions of his own experience.

"Nothing besides the puncture wounds. Which we still haven't figured out what caused them."

"So that really doesn't help us, except broaden our range of possible suspects to the state of Nevada and then some." Warrick looked away from Sara.

Grissom turned his back on the team, looking at the the board. He was surprised as he didn't pay attention to the fact that he had switched markers. Between the the title and subsequent notes.

But he was more disturbed by the fact that it was almost bare; so much white space was available.

"So what can we get from this?"

***

04 May 2003

"Do you like it?"

The voice was oddly insistent, and it made him feel particularly uncomfortable. In the end, he wasn't sure what to think of the situation. "I guess."

He wished he could turn off the lights. Hide under the softness of the comforter on the bed. Go to sleep and just wake up to see Nick lying beside him.

Those rare times when Nick would spend the night at his apartment.

Or those even more infrequent times when he would spend the night at Nick's.

It was childish, and he knew that.

But he was desperate to hold on to any semblance of sanity.

Because he felt completely naked under that stare. And the way the man's eyes seemed to linger on him. As he sat forward in that chair by the bed. His gaze unblinking and unwavering.

It was disturbing.

Not to mention awkward.

"Come on." The man tried to guile him; with a soft and inviting tone. And despite his well-placed misgivings, he knew he didn't have the opportunity to deny him. "Be honest with me."

Still, Greg couldn't help the strange expression that came across his face. He let the tail hang out of his mouth, before swallowing it whole. The firm texture tickled his palette and left a tangy taste permeating in his mouth.

He was being encouraged to masticate by a madman.

A madman who apparently liked to watch him eat on a bed.

What was he supposed to say to that?

"I admit I was surprised when you requested chocolate soy milk." Greg turned his head up at the light laughter of the other man's voice. "But you appeared so earnest that I could not deny it."

And though he didn't voice his opinion, Greg, too, was surprised that the man has honoured his request of shrimp and milk.

"Here." Greg watched as the man pulled something out of the bag beside him. "I apologise, but that's all that was available at the store." The man held a small carton of milk to Greg, who only looked warily at it. "Don't worry about poison in this one, either. There are better ways to kill you."

The man seemed amused by his own joke as he released another chuckle.

Greg shivered at the laugh. Watching as the man removed his dress coat, the movement revealing the gun in the pocket of his pants.

The light of the room giving it a menacing sheen.

"Go on." He made a move to take away Greg's plate, urging the milk into Greg's hand. He took the cleared plate and placed it on the bedside table. "You were unconscious for the entirety of yesterday. It would behove you to drink something, as well."

As the disapproving tone, Greg slowly took the straw out its plastic wrapper. He held the man in his peripheral vision as he concentrated on fitting the straw through the aluminium covered whole of the small milk carton.

Taking a careful sip of the brown substance, Greg raised his eyes at man who sat in the chair.

"I'll tell you what." The man leaned on his knees, eying Greg intently. "Since you have done such a wonderful job cooperating, I think I will allow you to ask me a question."

Greg put his milk on the table, wiping his mouth with his other hand. "Really?" He wasn't sure how he should proceed, but this way - in the off chance that he would get out alive - he would at least have the opportunity to get some kind of information.

"Why of course, Greg." Greg wanted to curl within himself at the way his name was pronounced. To him, never before had anything sounded so wrong. "I'm sure you tire of constantly speaking of yourself." The man gave a knowing smile. "How else may we become friends?"

Greg, against his initial misgivings, answered in a hesitant voice. "What's your name?"

"Not a surprising question, but..."

Greg only looked at the man. He was anticipating any sort of response. Not quite looking for a direct answer, but in this case, something was better than nothing.

The man only revealed an eerie smile. "Then that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

**

"Uh, Grissom." Catherine walked briskly into Grissom's office.

He watched as her finger pushed her hair behind one ear, removing it from her eyes. "Yes, Catherine."

"Do you want to explain this," She waved a piece of paper in front of him. "To me?"

Grissom put the frames of his glasses behind his ears, straightening the lenses in front of his eyes. He took the paper from her hands, reading the results. "I think this speaks for itself."

She leaned over his desk, whispering harshly to his face. "I had no idea Nicky was personally involved with this case."

Grissom only raised his eyes in question.

"I take it your silence means that you knew that Nick had something do with Greg before his disappearance." She moved away from his desk. "Either that or someone neglected to give our Greg the talk."

"You think Nick did it, now?"

"You know..." Catherine paused, her gaze lowering to the floor. "Greg's out there." She remembered Warrick's words the day before. Looking up, she took a quick breath to call upon some semblance of patience. "Greg's not with us. And I'm beginning to understand Nick's anger."

"I don't know all of it myself."

"But enough to keep it under wraps?" She reached for a chair, the feet making a long scratching noise against the floor.

"I don't want to bring Nick and Greg's personal relationship in this."

Catherine shook her head, scoffing at the response. "And I don't want it to be exposed, either. I don't even have time to take in the fact that they had sex in the same bed."

"It didn't have to necessarily be with each other."

"Don't try it, Gil. That's why you wouldn't let him come with us to the apartment." She gave him a pointed look as she leaned her elbows on the desk. "You already knew about it."

"Nick more or less told me."

"Meaning you coerced him." She pushed off the desk, placing her back against the chair. "Does he know why you did it? Why you're hiding all of this?"

"Nick actually came to me, first. He was concerned when Greg didn't call him on his day off. But I did suspect something."

"Of course you did. What about the DNA samples from the sheets in Greg's apartment? Did you suspect that Nick's semen would be on there, too?"

"To be truthful, yes."

"And you knowingly took that chance. Aware what our only substantial evidence could do to Nick."

"But that's why I assigned you with Warrick to cover Greg's apartment. That way, I knew the samples would go to you."

"Because I have seniority..." She trailed off in thought. "And you knew I would tell Gibson to keep her mouth shut."

"Yes." Grissom tilted his head to the side. His face was an expression of complete innocence, almost mocking the incredulity in Catherine's voice. "Nick knows he's a suspect. And he also knows why his involvement has to be professional and nonexistent until otherwise."

"Care to elaborate?"

He placed his elbows on the desk, leaning closer to Catherine. "If Nick is a suspect for a case involving Greg, his position would be questioned because of his relationship with Greg. It would effectively deter the focus of the case."

"And you don't want a repeat of the strangler case a couple of years ago. I'm surprised the FBI still hasn't picked this one up."

Catherine was prepared to listen to Grissom's response, but interrupted before he had the opportunity to do so. "Don't tell me. Brass knows, too." She didn't bother to cover her open mouth. The shock was already evident on her face.

"Of course."

"I thought you weren't one for politics, Griss?" She gave a smirk, surprised at this change in her supervisor. Even if it was only because of extenuating circumstances.

He only cocked his head, giving her a coy look in response.

**

"I see you're working hard." Sara looked at the knife in Nick's hands.

"Yeah, but on something totally different."

"The Gorchen case?" Sara looked at him inquisitively, standing beside the wall of the room. "I thought Grissom said Ecklie and Days were covering it?"

"Turns out Days is short, again." Nick wasn't one to lie, but in this case, he didn't have much of a choice.

"Grissom. Just give me a copy of the letters. And I can try to find some connection with them."

"I shouldn't even be reading them to you."

"What can it hurt?"

"It could make you look suspicious, Nick. And we don't have time for this case to go in the wrong direction."

Nick began to turn away, but Grissom grabbed his shoulder. "That's why I need you to calm down."

"And the semen?"

"Once Catherine gets the results, hopefully it will be enough clear you before you do become a suspect. Until then, I don't want the evidence to be inadmissible."

"And what about Greg? Is he still a suspect?"

"Once you're clear, you'll be able to provide an alibi for him."

"Two birds with one stone."

"So just wait a little longer."

"I'll try, Griss."

"That's all I'm asking you to do."

Nick was taken out of his musings by Sara's voice. "Oh...And if helps at all, another letter came today."

Nick raised his head, almost dropping the bottle of luminol in his hand. "Grissom didn't tell me."

"It's already been dusted for prints."

"Let me guess. It-"

"Turned out to be Greg's prints-"

"Again."

"Yeah. But did you hear what I said earlier?"

"When?" Nick placed the bottle on the table, beside the seemingly clean knife. "Today?"

"When else? Where were you?"

"Just...I just got a lot on my mind."

"It's better than the bad news, but it's still sort of good news." Sara's voice rose with her enthusiasm. The most excitement in a person Nick had seen since the beginning of the prose killings, which still wasn't much. "You remember Warrick's lock from Greg's apartment?"

"The scratched-up lock?" Nick nodded his head, prompting her for more information. "What about it? He get anything from it?"

"That's where the ‘sort of' comes in. Warrick thinks it could be some kind of writing. "

As much as Nick wanted to believe in this possible new lead, even he was a little sceptic. But the truth was that he didn't want to get his hopes up.

He looked at Sara incredulously. Staring as she didn't falter. "You're being serious?"

"With a key to victim's apartment. Or it's at least probable that the marks were left with the victims' keys." She became more animated as she spoke. "And he's looking back on the other victims to see if there's a pattern. I mean, if this guy's leaving letters, why not cryptic messages?"

"I don't know. It sounds kind of out there, Sara." Nick raised his brows. "The letters are pretty straight forward, but-"

"Warrick already found similar markings on the locks of two other victims."

"Really?"

"But it only looks like letters so far. I'm thinking the killer is spelling something out."

Despite his earlier reservations, Nick was now letting himself be motivated by this new prospect. "Maybe his name or something?"

"That's what I'm thinking." Sara pointed at him with her finger. "Because the locks aren't broken or picked."

Nick nodded his head in agreement. "It sounds like they were just scratched."

"So hopefully our anonymous writer will become someone."

"Gives us the letters."

"Leaves the signature on the victim's front door lock."

"And what about Greg's phone?" While the lock angle did bring something new to the case, Nick knew it was still better to stick with evidence that wasn't so improbable. "Warrick get something from that?"

"Yeah, that's part of the bad news. The phone was completely fried. Archie said he couldn't get anything from because it was a CDMA phone."

Nick looked away, remembering joking with Greg to switch carriers. So they would get free minutes when they would call each other.

But Greg would always say he liked the phones offered by his own provider.

"Nothing at all? Did you call the cell phone company?"

"Unlike GSM, there's no SIM card to carry. Once the phone is gone, so is the information."

Nick sighed wearily, almost afraid to ask. "What's the other bad news?"

"Catherine and I got nothing from the interviewing the Lab." She leaned against the glass wall. "Everyone, and I mean everyone, has an alibi and hasn't seen Greg since last Wednesday."

"You can't be serious."

"Believe me, Cath and I questioned every single person."

"Any hits from the APB Brass sent?" He picked up the bottle of luminol, spraying it on the knife. "Turn off the lights, would you?"

Sara reached behind her to turn off the light switch. "Not, yet."

Nick paused from his conversation with Sara, watching the bluish-green light emit from the blade of the knife.

From the tip to the hilt.

"Is that..." Sara removed herself from wall, walking towards Nick and the knife.

"The murder weapon." He picked up the knife from the table. "If we confirm it's human blood."

"And Mr. Gorchen's blood. Are you going to shoot this?"

"Yeah." Nick watched as Sara moved to retrieve the camera on the other side of the table, placing the knife down as she did so.

"It's all I can do for now."

***

05 May 2003

"See these here?" Warrick arranged four photos on the table.

"Now, this one is from Brandi Rhame's lock, the first victim. I went back to the crime scene, since the apartment was still open. Got the lock and some pictures.

"Do you see the impressions right here, next to the keyhole?"

"It looks like the letter A." Sara said, moving closer to examine the photo of the lock.

"Actually," Grissom hastily put on his glasses. "It looks like it's written in cursive."

"Exactly." Warrick nodded at Grissom. "When I was looking at Sanders' lock, I saw the letter E. And the cursive made me think that this was done on purpose."

"Because if it was accidental from trying to enter the apartment, it wouldn't be in cursive." Nick added.

"And we thought the marks originally looked like something that happens when you're hurrying to get into your house." Sara didn't lift her face from another photo, which she now held in her hand.

"That's from the sixth victim, Jared Poler. He was the only victim, besides Sanders, who was living by himself." Warrick said.

"No relatives or anything?" Sara asked.

Warrick shook his head. "Not here. He came to Vegas four years ago. Attended UNLV and graduated summa cum laude a year go. Couple of months before he was kidnapped."

"Damn it." Warrick looked away from Sara's outburst, inwardly feeling the same.

"As much as I want to believe it, I still think it's a stretch." Nick's voice was firm. He was doing his best to keep his emotions in check. "What do you think, Grissom?"

"It can't hurt. We only have nine days, if that. And this guy is upping his ante." He slowly took off his glasses, rubbing his forehead with his other hand. An uncommon display of fatigue. "Usually he would take a few days before the next victim, but he took Greg right after we found the last body."

"Right." Warrick nodded. "I sent some trainees to get photos from the other nine victims. And the locks if we can."

"Didn't most of the families move out of their homes?" Sara asked.

"I think so. I'm not sure if the Parker family moved yet, but maybe they would let us borrow their locks." Nick suggested.

"What I don't understand is how come there's nothing to connect the victims." Sara placed the photo back on the table. "I know I said the guy was smart for picking random people, but it still has to be based on something, right?"

Nick looked toward Warrick, as he was the one who recently looked through the files. "What about ages?"

"Including Sanders, ages range from nine to twenty-nine. And not in any particular order, either."

"Does the number twenty have significance?" Sara picked up another photo, along side Warrick's notes; finding herself looking at what appeared to be a cursive T.

"It could mean too many things." Grissom responded. "A score, the age of majority, a tetrahedral number, a radix for vigesimal numbers...Not to mention that we only have thirteen confirmed victims. He could have more, and Greg may not be his last."

Sara sighed. "There goes that theory."

The four figures did not relish in the stillness of the room.

Grissom kept his head down. His glasses lay unfolded on table.

Sara was looking at the other photos. Trying to find a possible combination for the letters T, E, L, and R. Having no success.

Nick held his head within his hand, elbow propped on the arm of the chair. Going over evidence in his mind. Finding no common ground except for the obvious.

Warrick lay against his chair, reading his notes for the seemingly hundredth time. But then again, the days were increasingly longer.

Not bothering to knock, the door was slammed open, as Catherine made long strides into the room. She chose to stand, her gaze on an empty screen.

"Turn on the TV."

"For what?" Warrick asked, placing his notes down.

"Just do it." Catherine shook her head, impatience lacing within her voice.

Sara sighed, but picked up the remote. She pressed the power button, watching as the screen flickered on to the local news.

The headline Prose Killer hits home at the bottom, changing intermittently with the name Paula Francis.

- Are informed. The Prose Killer has now struck within LVPD's own. Greg Sanders, a third-year DNA technician at the Las Vegas Crime Lab, is the latest victim in this series of kidnapping and murder.

Our sources tell us -

"What the hell is that?" Nick's face was scrunched. "How did this leak into the media?"

"I'm surprised it didn't get out sooner."

Nick quickly turned to Grissom. "What do you mean sooner?" He was becoming nervous. He didn't want Greg to be exploited like that. Nick knew that if Greg's name was already in the media, his would be sure to follow. He wasn't sure where he stood with Greg at this point, be he didn't want their personal lives on display for everyone to see.

"So..."

"It's been a year."

"For what?"

"Since...You know." Nick looked curiously as Greg nudged him on the arm.

"Oh. It's been that long, already?"

"Surprised you could keep up with me?"

Nick snorted. "I think it's the other way around."

"You know the best thing about an opinion?"

"What?"

"At least one person believes it's true."

Nick laughed. "And that one person is me, right?"

"Not me." Greg's smile faltered as he thinned his lips. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"About what, Peanut?"

"No, I'm being serious."

Nick sat up when Greg didn't protest against the nickname. "What's wrong?"

"Our parents."

"Your parents?"

"And yours, too."

"What about them?"

"I want to tell them." Greg put his hands in his lap, nervously fingering his shirt. "About us."

Nick looked at Greg, faltering when Greg didn't laugh. Didn't relay that he was joking. "You mean it?"

"Or at least my parents, you know?"

"Do they know you're - That it's not just girls you like?"

"Not exactly." Greg interrupted before Nick had the chance to speak. "But I want to tell them that I like you."

"What if this doesn't work out?" Nick spoke hastily. Nervously. "What if blows over?"

"Like a mistake?"

"No." Nick shook his head vehemently. "But..."

"Don't you want to find out?"

"Although, I didn't think they would release his name." Grissom said; his eyes on his notepad.

Sara turned her head from the screen. "Yeah, for the last couple of cases, we requested that the names weren't released until after the bodies were found. So why now?"

There was a tense silence as no one knew what to think. Only the murmurs of the television filled the void. It was likely that the Lab and the PD knew about the Greg's disappearance, but who would tell?

"I may have called Greg's parents." Nick said, upsetting the taut atmosphere. The rest of the team looked accusingly at him. And he knew he shouldn't have told Greg's parents on his own. Especially as he didn't have the authority to do so.

Because he wasn't officially on this case.

Nick tried to explain himself. "I called them a couple of days ago. Or at least I left a message because I couldn't get through to them."

"You think they talked?" Catherine asked, taking a seat beside Nick.

"Of course not." Nick protested. "I told them not to."

"Why didn't you tell me, Nicky?"

"Did you guys even think to tell his folks?" Nick moved his gaze from Catherine to Grissom. "How they would feel to know that their son is missing?"

"How much did you say?" Grissom knew that this didn't necessarily mean that Greg's parents released the information, but Nick had still gone behind his back.

"I don't know, Grissom. I'm just trying to do the right thing. I'm keeping them updated, but I'm not giving specifics."

Grissom put his hand underneath his chin, his lack of verbal response unsettling.

However, the fact that Nick knew Greg's parents and the distressed tone of his voice did not go unnoticed. Warrick and Sara's curiosity was prompted as they began to ask questions.

"How did you get his parents' number?" Warrick asked. That kind of information was only available to the supervisor. And Grissom didn't even know that Nick had it.

Nick started to answer but was cut off by Sara. "If Grissom didn't give it to you. Why did Greg?" She continued from Warrick's track of mind, deducing that Nick didn't retrieve the number for work related matters.

Nick looked to Grissom for some kind of support. But it was Catherine who answered him. "Go ahead and say it, Nick."

He looked surprisingly at her, wondering how she knew. But she only shrugged her shoulders. "We've ruled you out already. So it's officially a kidnapping."

"I have your statements on record. Alibi for you and Greg. So PD knows, too." Grissom said, ignoring the confused expressions on Warrick and Sara's faces.

"Only Brass knows the extent of your relationship." Catherine said at the concern the marred Nick's face. "But the samples, other than Greg's, were almost a week old."

"Wait a second." Sara put her hands on the table, looking disbelievingly at Nick. "Your - Your semen was Greg's bed."

"You and Sanders?" Warrick shook his head, an incredulous laugh escaping his mouth. "That explains your attitude."

Nick stared firmly at Warrick, as if defending his relationship with Greg to his best friend. Still unsure how the other man felt about it.

"Okay, wait." Sara looked suspiciously at Nick. "How long has this been going on?"

Nick turned his gaze to Sara. "Does it matter? My relationship with Greg has nothing-"

"Nothing? It has everything to do with this case."

Nick looked at Warrick with an unreadable expression. "Man, I'm-"

"Don't." Warrick held up his hand. "Let's just do what we have to do."

Grissom looked at Warrick. "I told Nicky not to say anything. If there's a problem, take it up with me. Otherwise, this shouldn't be an issue."

"No, Griss." Warrick bit his bottom lip. "I'm cool."

Sara shrugged. "I don't have anything to say about it, personally. But why keep something like this from us?"

"The fewer people who knew, the better." Grissom said.

"Nick was a semi-suspect and we didn't want this getting into the media." Catherine added. "It's bad enough Greg's name is in the news, but can you imagine if he had a same-sex relationship with a colleague, too?"

"The Lab and PD would get bad publicity. And as much as I don't like how the Prose Killer is portrayed on the news, it's better than having our Lab in question."

Warrick and Sara nodded at Grissom's explanation, seemingly satiated for now.

Catherine sat back, crossing her arms. "Well, now we can actually use our advantage over the other victims."

Grissom turned away from Catherine, looking a Nick expectantly. He knew he could only take this case so far. And where he lacked, the other man would have to fill in.

Nick looked at his supervisor gratefully; ready to finally work on the case. "I want to go to Greg's apartment."

Grissom nodded, agreeing with Nick. "Take Warrick with you."

**

"So what are we looking for?" Warrick asked, shining his flashlight underneath Greg's bed for the second time. He almost felt uncomfortable knowing that his best friend and the guy he saw as a kid brother had sex on the mattress he was now underneath.

Growing up in Vegas, he wasn't adverse to homosexual relationships. He saw it all time. He just wished Nick would have told him.

But that was neither here nor there.

"Anything out of place." Nick shouted from the bathroom. "I know you and Cath were looking for a crime scene, and this is probably it. This guy is good, but I'm hoping Greg left something behind for us to find."

"I hear you, but give me something to work with." Warrick said, standing up from the ground.

He was startled as Nick suddenly appeared behind him, a bunched piece of cloth in his hand. "What's that?"

Nick gave a self-deprecating smile as he unfolded the cloth. "It's one of my shirts." He held it up, showing it to Warrick. "He wanted it for his birthday, today."

"His birthday is today?"

"Yeah. This was an early present." Nick said, softly smiling in remembrance of the night a couple of weeks ago. "For once, I'm glad I caved in."

He could almost hear Greg's voice. After the awkwardness brought on by the initial question, Greg had ragged Nick until he finally gave in. At first, Nick thought the request unusual, but couldn't deny the happy feeling he received from seeing Greg wear it.

"You guys were - are that serious?" Warrick initially thought it was just some kind of fling. Thinking it was the reason why Nick didn't tell him.

"I don't know, man. He likes wearing my stuff." Nick folded the t-shirt. "Can you believe that?"

Warrick took notice of the solemn look on his friend's face. Like he was regretting something. "What's wrong with his own clothes?" He attempted a small laugh. Hoping to remove the expression from Nick's face.

"He said...Greg always says..." Nick paused, trying to stop his voice from choking. "It makes him feel closer to me. When I'm not with him."

"Nick." Warrick could only look at Nick. Not able to offer him true sympathy.

"We rarely spent time at my apartment. It was always his. I kept pushing him away and now I'm afraid that..." Nick sat on the bed, the plastic of the mattress awkward without the comfort of Greg's dark red sheets.

"I don't know what to say." Warrick placed a gloveless hand on Nick's shoulder.

I don't know what's between us, man. But..." Nick clutched the shirt tighter to his chest, the wad of cloth becoming smaller in his arms. "Tell me we'll find him, Rick."

"I can't-"

"Give me a chance to tell him that he was right. That I want to give us a chance."

***

06 May 2003

He reluctantly turned the knob, taking his time and twisting it slowly. The squeaking betrayed the age of the fixture. He figured that although it appeared new, it needed lubricant. Probably from frequent use.

How many people had been trapped in here before him?

Watching the spray recede, he expected the sudden change in temperature. But he still found himself shivering from the lack of warmth once covering his skin. The droplets of water now cool against it.

Greg could hear the voice resonating through thin walls of the bathroom. Humming something from Bach, the man's favourite composer. Probably twirling his gun as he had already done so many times before.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the shower door. The man was still waiting for him in the room. Like he always does.

Ever since his arrival in this place, Greg did little without the man knowing. The man whose name he had yet to know.

It went so far as that he would bring him new clothes.

"What size do you wear?"

"Huh?"

"Unless you want me to look for myself." He sat up from the chair. Walking toward Greg who tried was trapped on the bed. "Have you take your clothes off so I may see for myself?"

"No." Greg nearly shouted. But he then remembered where he was. That he was alone with a madman who could in fact do as he pleased with Greg. He softened the tone of his voice while still trying to sound firm. "No."

"Did you think I would let you wear the same clothing the entire time you were here? I may have a proclivity for killing people, but I do enforce good hygiene."

Although, he could eat what he wanted - within reason - Greg could only do so under another's gaze. Meals weren't actually scheduled and the time he had to eat was not limited, but Greg had easily lost his appetite under the circumstances.

His mom would kill him if he lost too much weight.

Greg found himself inwardly laughing at the absurdity of the thought. It was either that or let go of the tears that were threatening to fall.

And he couldn't stand it when he cried.

"Greg...Come out of the shower." He heard a slight edge in the voice, but didn't bother to answer. Couldn't find the strength in himself to do so. He reached for the rack over the toilet, grabbing the towel.

The one that man had given him. Light blue with a matching washcloth and a new bar of soap that was in its packaging in what Greg surmised was a few days ago.

At first, he did wonder if he could keep the paper. Hide it in his pocket. Maybe if they found his body, they would be able to get a print. But he doubted it as he didn't think the man would handle anything without gloves.

Too bad he didn't wear a mask, as well.

Greg wrapped himself in the towel, for a moment, allowing himself to take a little comfort in its softness. He wiggled his toes as he stepped on the tile floor. The unfamiliarity of it almost physically painful.

"I know you're still in there." Greg recognised the impatience in the voice, but he didn't want to leave the small sanctuary offered by the bathroom.

Not yet.

He cringed at his reflection in the mirror. The bags heavy beneath his eyes, which were red and puffy despite his earlier assertion about crying. His hair was limp and wet, falling just below his forehead.

The roots were showing.

He turned away from what he saw. Instead pressing himself against the bathroom door. A feeble barrier. "I'm...I'm coming." He didn't want to open the door. "I'm brushing my...Brushing my teeth."

Greg released the breath he didn't realise he was holding at the lack in response from the other side of the door. He hoped the man wouldn't become too suspicious of him. Demanding he come out before he was ready.

He forced his body to move, walking back towards the sink. The toothbrush was sitting in a seemingly brand new holder. The toothpaste he had opened earlier, right out of the box, was lying innocuously with its cap open.

Greg couldn't help but think that old habits died hard. But this time there was no Nick to nag him for leaving it open.

He began to brush his teeth, his motions mechanical as he focussed his gaze on water running down the drain. Too afraid see to himself, again.

Too afraid that if he began to believe any of this was real, he would never be able to wake up.

**

"Who are we waiting for?" Catherine asked, her hands holding on to the examination table.

"Doc paged Grissom." Sara gave a tightened smile. "Who, of course, sent me here."

"And you wanted to bring me along for the ride." Catherine scoffed. "I wouldn't expect any less. Nicky told me about the locks. How is that going?"

"Warrick and I are trying to unscramble more than half the alphabet."

"Considering there's only twenty-six letters, that shouldn't be hard. Some overlap, right?"

"No, we have fourteen different letters."

Catherine slightly tilted her head, her eyes still on Sara. "That may actually make it easier."

"So far, it's R, D, K, E, U, I..." She paused, taking a quick breath. "L, H, A, S, O, M, C, and N."

"Oh." Catherine was surprised by the onslaught of letters. Not the fact that Sara remembered them. "Don't we have some kind of programme that can come up with combinations?"

"Only if there's something to compare it to."

"It doesn't sound like it would spell out anything that would be too common." But Catherine knew that the uncommon things were the hardest to find.

"But think of the different combinations cross-referenced with everyone in Nevada. Not to mention the other states."

"You have a point here, but I still think this guy is from Vegas."

"Plus, it could be a nickname. An alias. Or not even a name at all. A phrase or something."

"Why go through all this trouble, if you don't want to leave a such a distinct signature like your name?"

"Even it that's true, like Grissom said earlier, there could be other victims and other clues we've missed."

"Do you think someone like this would want to hide what he's done?"

Sara began to answer but was distracted by the opening of the double doors. "Sorry I'm late." As Doc Robbins came into the room. "I had David lay the body out, but I was on my way from a doctor's appointment when he called me."

Catherine and Sara watched as he hobbled to the examination table, where the body of Ashley Parker lay. "He would have been here, himself, but he was called on homicide. Staff gets smaller every day."

"What was so important that you had to page Griss?" Catherine looked at the man who now leaned against the table.

"Definitely something interesting. Originally, I dismissed this because it didn't seem probative. I didn't have a reason to look for it, but I found some occlusion of the carotid arteries." He pointed at the little girl's neck.

"See here." Catherine and Sara followed the path of his finger that hovered above it.

"Are those ligature marks?" Catherine strained her eyes at barely perceivable lines circling the small neck.

"Very faint ones. It wasn't until I found diminutive evidence of hypoxia in the brain that led me to believe she was strangled."

"These weren't here before." Sara said, alluding to when she and the medical examiner looked over the body a few days ago.

"Did you find anything that could be used to strangle her? Preferably something thin?" He asked.

"No. She was dumped." Catherine lifted her gaze. "None of the other victims had anything like this."

"Are you thinking a copycat did this or something?" Sara looked at the older CSI. "Because as far as we know, it's not part of the guy's MO."

Catherine didn't answer, turning her attention to the medical examiner. "Is the COD still exsanguination?"

"The marks were made at least a week before her death, hence why they almost blended with her complexion. They had time to heal."

"But something like strangulation would leave a darker bruise than this."

"Now, this one will get you." He pointed at Sara. "She was anaemic, as well. I sent for a reticulocyte a couple of days ago, when she was first found."

"It wasn't listed in her med records?"

"The family didn't even know. Diagnosis finally came back for microcytic anaemia due to iron deficiency."

"So it wouldn't have taken much to make her unconscious." Catherine mused.

"This ligature is diffused. Probably left by something soft, maybe fabric based."

"Like a shoe string or something?"

"Possibly."

"Even if we did have something," Catherine followed Sara's train of thought. "If he was careful enough not to leave his prints on anything else, why would he leave them on what he used to strangle her?"

"The anaemia also changes the time of death."

"Can you give us something?"

"No, but I can tell you that it didn't take her long to bleed out."

"But why would he strangle her and not the others? He could have easily overpowered her." Sara turned to Robbins, but it Catherine who answered.

"He was angry." Her tone was certain and almost vindictive. "This little girl did something and he lost it."

Sara moved her gaze back to the body on the table. "What about the other bodies?"

"The earliest ones are most likely already buried."

"County can get over that."

Sara looked at Catherine with something akin to disbelief. "You cannot exhume all the bodies at one time."

"Who says?"

**

"I haven't actually talked to them. I only left messages, but they still haven't called me back." Nick replied as Grissom walked in.

"Have you called Greg's parents, recently?"

"I left a message, again, yesterday because no one picked up."

Grissom was somewhat relieved at the information. They had enough to deal with sans the addition of Greg's parents peering over their shoulders.

"Did you get a new letter?" Nick noticed the bags his supervisor held. Small clear ones in one hand and a large dark blue one in the other.

"No, just some reference books." He lifted the dark blue bag. "But I do have the letters from the last three victims."

"Can I see them? The letters, I mean?" He watched as Grissom titled his head. The other man seeking to know why he wanted to see them. "You know, since I haven't got a chance to look at the newest ones."

"Sure." He shrugged. "I'm planning on looking at them again, myself. Trying to go through them from a different angle." Grissom showed Nick the clear bags. "Have you looked at the ones from the older cases?"

"I started going over them this morning." Nick pointed to the thin pieces of paper on the table, all but one sealed within a plastic bag. "But I haven't actually seen the ones since Greg..."

"I figured that." He sat across from Nick, placing the blue bag on the floor. "Did you and Warrick find anything in the apartment?"

"Never thought I'd go ho - to Greg's place to see it so empty." Nick laughed cynically while he placed a letter in a emptied bag. "But I did find a couple of shirts of mine that he likes to wear."

Grissom made no remark as he gave Nick the evidence bags in his hand.

"I'm sorry. I guess I..." Nick trailed off as he received the bags. But he only looked for the latest two. Hoping he could find something from the ones pertaining to Greg's case.

He carefully opened the bags, laying the first unfolded note on the table. "Grissom."

Grissom lifted his head, drawing his attention away from a large book once within his blue bag. "What is it?"

"It's..." Nick couldn't fight the smile that spread across his face as looked at his supervisor. "It's Greg's handwriting."

"Really?" Grissom asked, quickly moving from his seat to stand beside Nick.

"There's no way you can forge the chicken scratch he calls cursive." The smile was threatening to break Nick's face. The crinkles around his eyes becoming more distinct.

"I'm betting that the other victims wrote their letters. And he probably sends someone to deliver it." Nick said eagerly, a new determination in his voice. "That's why there were no consistencies in the handwriting. When we thought this guy was just trying to cover his tracks."

"Okay..." Grissom paused in thought, slowly taking his glasses off." That explains a few things, but that doesn't exactly help us find Greg."

"No Griss." Nick shook his head. He took a gloved finger, wiping it against the ink on the paper. Proudly showing Grissom the transfer of black ink on his finger, ignoring the fact that he was tampering with the evidence.

"It means he's still alive."

***

07 May 2003

Nick leaned his elbow against the side of the door. Watching the seemingly unchanging desert. Trails of sand uplifted by the tires of the car, making brief contact with the tinted window.

The monotonous scenery continuing despite his obvious displacement.

"Dude." Greg looked at his reflection as he put on the sunglasses, the frames covering the majority of his face. "I rock these."

Nick laughed as he watched Greg pose in the mirror. "Where did you find those? I haven't seen them, since-"

"You moved here?"

"Yeah." Nick scratched the back of his neck. "They're from my days as a cop."

"You didn't tell me you were a cop." Greg turned around to face Nick, his brown eyes hidden beneath dark lenses.

"You didn't ask?"

"Nothing to be ashamed about." He leisurely plopped himself beside Nick. The bed dipping slightly because of the additional weight. "I think it's cool."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Greg stood up, walking towards Nick's closest. "Anything else interesting you have in here?"

Nick snorted. "I appreciate the help with moving to my new place, but-"

"I think I've I earned the right to search through your stuff." Greg said, poking his head out of the closest. "Besides, it's only fair if I return the favour. Seeing as you been in mine so many times." He retreated back into the enclosed space.

Nick sighed when he heard Greg tearing open boxes. Shaking his head at the thought of the cardboard and tape Greg was spewing all over the place. "Is sex the only thing you think about, now?"

"I think about you."

"Hey, Nicky." Catherine called, briefly looking at Nick. She kept her hands on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly.

"Sorry." Nick removed his head from the window. The heat of his skin leaving a fog where his face was once pressed. "You were calling me?"

"About ten times." She gave him another glance, worried at his delayed response. "You've been dozing off since you got in the car."

"Oh."

"I know it's hard for us...And probably harder for you." She sighed as she caught sight of two figures. One walking towards the other. "But if you need to talk-"

"No...No, I'm fine." He crossed his arms defensively, returning his gaze out the window. "I just haven't been getting much sleep."

Catherine parked the car on the side of the dirt road. "Get out of the car, Nicky." Pulling up the break and taking the key out of the ignition. "We're here."

**

Simplicity doth you seek
Of wretchedness is alone
Pleasures of a last retreat
For thee I do atone

"Shakespeare?"

"The newest letter from our killer." Grissom said, raising his head at Warrick's entrance. "How are you holding up?"

"I don't know." He took a glance at one of Grissom's shelves. Watching three cockroaches contained in a jar. Slipping each time they tried to climb the glass walls. "The best I can, I guess."

"We all are."

"It's already been a week, Grissom." Warrick sighed as he turned back toward his supervisor, walking toward the man's desk. His chest deflated as he sat down, his body sagging against the chair. "And we've got no real leads."

"You needed to get rest." Grissom knew Warrick had practically been on the clock since the first notice of Greg's disappearance. Pushing himself until he had to force the other CSI to go home.

"Didn't really do much, though."

Which wasn't even close to the truth.

When he was lying in bed, Warrick couldn't get anything close to rest. Failing all attempts to get the least semblance of sleep. He was only able to maintain a sense of urgency each hour he wasn't working on the case. Precious time he let slip through his fingers.

Warrick knew Grissom enforced the same policy on his colleagues. They all had to take a break at some point in time.

But he couldn't help but wonder if Grissom had even left the lab. "What'd I miss yesterday?"

"Sara's re-examining the bodies of the other victims. David's with her."

"All of the bodies...Aren't some already buried?" Warrick slowly leaned toward Grissom at the new information. His back now erect. "Does that mean they're being exhumed?"

"In the process of being exhumed. Catherine already vouched and got the go ahead."

"But why would we even need to do that? We have the autopsies on record."

"Doc called me about ligature marks for Ashley Parker. The latest body."

"What would ligature marks being doing on a PK victim?" Warrick said softly. More to himself than to Grissom. "Do you think the little girl was killed by-"

"Definitely not a copycat. Anomaly or mistake, perhaps?" Grissom cocked his head. "We found no evidence of domestic abuse prior to her kidnapping. And her anaemia narrows the timeline."

"That's new."

"Doc requested a reticulocyte a few days ago. Got the results back, yesterday."

"Speaking of which, Nick called me yesterday." He ignored Grissom's admonishing look. Their supervisor may have forced the team to go home, but it didn't stop any of them from updating each other about the case.

"Told me about the handwriting theory..." Warrick graciously omitted the excitement he heard in Nick's voice when he told Warrick that Greg was still alive. That for Nick, such a small thing could actually be compared to finding Greg.

"Started checking the other letters myself, and I already compared some samples. So far, the handwriting seems consistent. Four letters per victim."

"The handwriting explains the abundance of victims' prints on the paper, but I've been thinking." Warrick paused, licking his lips. "If the victims have been writing the letters..."

"How do the letters end up here?"

"Yeah. And with no other prints?"

"My only guess is that he sends it himself."

"First four victims, the letters were initially left with the family." Warrick said. "And we didn't correlate anything until the fifth victim. The first time it was sent to the lab."

Grissom blinked; his eyes unfocussed as he took another glance at the letter on his desk. "Do you think those letters from the locks spell out a name?"

"I doubt it's anything else, but Sara thinks it could be a place where the guy kept the victims."

"Then I want you to cross-reference them with whoever works in the postal system." Grissom looked up to see Warrick's confused expression. "Start with everyone in Vegas."

"Do you think this guy would put himself in the system? Even if we did come across a name with the same letters, we can't exactly take him in."

"It couldn't hurt."

Warrick thinned his lips at the logic. "I'll check the lab's video footage, too."

"Didn't you already do that?"

"I've been checking it since the first letter came here. But like you said, it couldn't hurt to check again."

Grissom stood up from his chair, moving around the desk and past Warrick. "Tell me if you find anything."

"Griss...Wait."

"Hmm." The man stopped short of walking through the doorway, turning to look at Warrick questioningly.

"Where's Nick and Cath? They're not answering their phones."

"Must have bad reception. Catherine and Nick are meeting Brass in the desert."

"Why are they all the way out there for this case?"

"Turns out the media leak wasn't such a bad thing, after all." Or someone paid attention to the latest APB, Grissom thought to himself. Though he held more faith in the former rather than the latter.

"I thought you didn't like to get involved with that kind of stuff."

"Nothing to do with politics, this time." Grissom shook his head. "We may have a possible witness."

**

The door of the car was slammed shut. "Why couldn't we meet at the station?" Catherine flipped her hair, adjusting her sunglasses.

"Supposedly, this is where he," Brass pointed at the police officer who was leaning against his patrol car. "Pulled them over."

"Them?" Nick looked at Brass. "You didn't say-"

"Hold on there, Nicky." Catherine held out her arm in front of Nick when began to advance toward the man standing by his squad car. "So, officer..." She squinted her eyes, trying to discern his name through the glare of the sun. "Neil. What happened?"

"I saw a kid with your description. Dark hair with blonde highlights. He was passing through with some other guy with dark hair. Looked like he was in his late to mid thirties."

Catherine began to write in her pad. "Can you go into more detail about this guy with dark hair?"

"Not that I can remember. He was Caucasian and had really dark, almost black, hair." Neil stood up from his car. "I only pulled them over because the car had a blinking taillight."

"Anything else you notice about them?" Brass asked. "Was Sanders-"

"Who?"

"The man with the blonde highlights." Nick tried to contain his frustration.

"Oh. He was sleeping on the passenger side. The other guy - with the dark hair - was the one driving."

"Did Sanders look hurt?" Brass spared a quick glance to the officer's badge. "Have some sort of injury?"

"Just knocked out." Neil answered. "Even though the other guy's voice was pretty loud, the kid wouldn't wake up. But he was still breathing when I left them."

Nick expressed his impatience with an audible groan. As the man really wasn't getting them anywhere. "Did you notice if his hands were bound, behind his back or something like that?"

"You think I would let them go if I saw something like that?" He steadily held Nick's gaze.

Catherine shared a funny look with Brass, who only shrugged at Nick's behaviour. "Okay...Now we have a possibility that Greg was drugged."

"Look, there were no marks on the kid." Neil replied defensively, turning away from Nick. "How was I supposed to know he wasn't just sleeping?"

"Relax, man." Brass put up his hands in a sign of surrender. His tone cajoling. "Nobody's accusing you of anything."

"What I don't get," Nick laughed bitterly, ruining Brass' attempts to keep the situation level. "Is how you even let that guy go if you knew we were looking for Greg Sanders?" He scoffed in disbelief. "Did they even look alike?"

"Nick..." Catherine placed her hand on his arm, squeezing it enough to cause Nick to slightly wince.

"Look, man." Neil countered. "I had no reason, no reason at all to suspect anything was wrong. I was just doing my job." He began to raise his voice as he walked toward Nick. Backing down when Catherine and Brass were started to flank the other man. "You don't have to share blood to be family."

Nick seemed chastised and almost hurt by Neil's last sentiment. Biting his lip and turning away from the officer. But despite the upsetting words, Nick knew he was out of line.

Catherine turned her attention back to the officer and Brass. Trying to regain some sense of professionalism. "What kind of car was he driving?"

"It looked like there was a slanted A on the front of the car. A logo or something."

"Acura." Nick suggested. His voice carefully neutral as he raised his head, re-entering the conversation.

"Yeah." Neil gave the man a wary glance. "I think that was it."

"Do you know the year and model?" Brass put his hand to his forehead, trying to block the sun from his eyes.

"I don't really know. I guess it didn't look too old." He paused, straightening his collar. "Listen, I'm not that good with cars, but it was blue."

"What kind of blue?" In her peripheral vision, Catherine saw Nick move closer to her.

"Not too bright. Something you see on one of those car shows or something."

Brass looked at Catherine, his tone sarcastic. "Our guy was classy."

"Aren't they all?"

"And this all happened yesterday, correct?" Nick asked.

"I was watching the news this morning when I remembered about it."

"So this didn't occur recently?" Catherine spoke with disappointment in her voice. Her tone lowering

"Well, it was a while ago." Neil looked up at the sky, trying to remember. "Last week Thursday, I think."

"When Sanders first went missing." Brass noted softly.

"Didn't you get the ATB?" Nick's tone wasn't hostile. Yet, he began to further doubt the officer's competence when the other man didn't dignify his question with a response.

Brass decided to ignore Neil's lack of response, looking toward Catherine and Nick. "Can you guys get anything from this?"

"Well," Catherine said, looking at the other CSI. "Any tire tracks would have blown over by now."

"But we have somewhere we can search. Someplace to start."

"We'll get back to the lab. And come back tomorrow to do a full search."

Brass nodded in agreement, his attention now on the officer. "Thanks for your time."

"Thanks." Catherine said, while Nick only gave a nod. She watched as Neil moved into his car, shutting his door with more force than necessary. Eventually driving off. His tires squealing.

"I'm heading back to the station. Going to do a little background check on our friendly neighbourhood cop. AKA Neil." Brass gave a mock salute as he stepped in his car.

"You suspect him?" Catherine asked.

"No," Brass grabbed the handle of the door. "But he's all I've got." Closing it and starting the car.

Catherine and Nick watched as the detective drove off. A flurry of sand left in his wake.

"What the hell was that about?" Catherine asked, opening the door on the driver's side.

"You heard the guy, Catherine." Nick protested while climbing in his seat. "He didn't even call it in until a week later."

"Brass is handling that angle. We just need to work with what little we've got."

Nick stared at her profile, gaze unwavering. His tone assured. "He was a bad cop."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, Nicky." Catherine put the car into gear, revving up the engine. "But that bad cop just gave us a new lead."

***

08 May 2003

It wasn't there.

Where it was supposed to be beside him. Every time he woke up. Every time he went to sleep.

It was always there.

He couldn't stop the panic that began to bubble within him. His movement off the bed distressing the sheets. Placing himself on the floor in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts. Ignoring the burn on his knees from moving too quickly across the carpet.

It was his only connection to the familiarity of the world he once knew. The world he was taken away from. His only hold on his sanity.

And the closest thing he had to Nick.

He searched frantically underneath the bed. Pushing aside the skirt and the comforter that had fallen over it in his haste. Cursing under his breath in aggravation. Not being able to find it.

"Looking for this?"

He rose quickly, startled by the voice. Only his head appearing above the bed. He was surprised he hadn't notice the man, who was usually the first sight when he woke up. Ever present on that chair. Legs crosses and arms relaxed.

Greg stood slowly, moving his curling hair out of his eyes. Less concerned with the state of his hair, and more worried of the man on the other side of the bed.

He started to reach out with his arms, but paused. Instead, bringing them to rest across his chest. An unconscious gesture to protect himself.

He took a few steps back as the man stood from the chair. Walking towards the bed. Sitting on the bed. "You were clutching to it for dear life, last night."

Not responding, Greg tried to disregard the fact that the man had been watching him sleep, much less waiting for him to wake.

"I'd hope you wouldn't mind, but I took the liberty of washing it for you."

Greg moved his hands to the side. Clutching them tightly, desperately. Upset the man had washed it. Upset that he had, if even for the brief moment, taken it away from him.

The man held the shirt in his hand. The fading grey slightly brightened. Folded neatly as he presented it to Greg, placing it gently on the bed. "Come have a seat." He patted the comforter. "I would like to talk to you a bit more."

Greg closed his eyes as he loosened the grip on his hands. The nails digging into his palms pinching his skin. He took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed. Putting himself as far away as possible from the man who was - As far as Greg knew - closer than he'd ever been.

"I imagine it's not very comfortable on the edge of the bed." The man released a small, controlled laugh. "Come nearer."

Greg inched closer, painfully slow. Eventually placing his entire body on the bed, his legs facing away from the other man.

"Why are you always shivering?" The man asked. As if he was distressed about Greg's state of health.

"I get cold easily." Greg suppressed a shudder. Not liking the man's concern towards him.

"Do you want to wear my jacket?" But he didn't give Greg a chance to answer. Instead removing the jacket and placing it around Greg's shoulders.

Greg remained still. His body stiff at the unexpected but brief contact.

"You should have told me." He gave another smile. Chastising Greg for not making him aware. "I'll turn the heater on for you when I leave."

Thankful when the man had returned his hands to his person, Greg was able to see that he didn't have a gun on him this time. He wondered if he could escape. But there were no windows in the room or the bathroom. And he knew the man always locked the door. A key was needed to unlock it from either side.

He could try hitting him, searching the guy's pockets for the key. But Greg knew it wouldn't end very well. And as much as he wanted to try, he didn't want to take the chance. Angering the man with a failed attempt.

He wanted to at least live until his time was up.

Greg took the shirt from the bed. Thinking that holding it would make him think of better things. Better times. But it felt as if whatever hopes he had left had been washed away. Not even dreams could comfort him. Because he hadn't been sleeping well, lately. Only blank memories remained where his dreams should have been.

"Oh, don't move away." He held Greg's cheek gently within his hand, as if the motion was to be reassuring. But Greg wasn't reassured. The blue eyes in the seemingly kind face were still hard as the man smiled, hoping to take away Greg's discomfort.

"I'm not that kind of killer."

**

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Matted with sweat and dirt.

It had already been twelve hours. Twelve straight hours of searching with nothing to show for it. He had arrived as soon as he could; coming with the first light. Knowing they planned to cover a large perimeter. But the extra hours did little in the long run.

The found nothing telling. Other than the many illegal makeshift landfills. Piles of various shapes and sizes. Littered with things both new and old. Filled with broken toilets, rusted carts, and more surrounding by the ever present trash.

Nothing that pointed to Greg's whereabouts.

He lifted himself off the ground. Wiping away the dust off his face as he watched the row of trainees move across the endless desert. All of them at arm's width apart. Moving carefully and warily, intent on not missing the least little thing. But despite their efforts, Nick couldn't help but feel it wasn't enough.

It was already getting dark. Dusk was moving in as the desert was getting cooler. The hues of yellow and orange against the backdrop were now becoming violet and blue.

"Nick." He turned at the new voice. A trainee getting out of a car. One of the many they had doing a quick scan along the dirt road. He was coming from the opposite direction, where the sun was beginning to set.

"Hey, Chris." Nick wiped his brow, drying his hand on his shirt. The light blue darkened in areas of perspiration. He blinked a few times, trying to keep his eyes opened. Fighting his body's urge for sleep.

"I thought you might like some water." Chris waved the bottle in his hand, giving it to Nick.

"Thanks." He opened the bottle, holding the cap in his hand. He couldn't remember the last time he got something to drink. Probably yesterday.

"No problem." He gave a quick smile. "I heard you've been working since this morning?"

"Not really..." Nick trailed off, disregarding the truth in the trainee's question. He had been here since the morning. But working would imply being productive. Actually finding something.

And nothing was what he was doing.

He closed his eyes, hidden behind the dark tint of his glasses. Tilting his head at the sound of a helicopter. Passing overhead for the seemingly umpteenth time. He lost count a long time ago.

"Have you found anything from your end?"

Nick shook his head, waking up from his short bout of rest. "Huh?" What felt like close to an hour of sleep was only mere seconds until Chris roused him from his daze.

"The SAR dogs haven't found anything, yet. But we're still looking." He looked up at Nick, who remained quiet. Chris moved his shoe in the sand, creating a small circle. "So...I'm going to head back."

Nick simply watched, not saying anything as Chris left. Turning his attention to the noise behind him. He saw a couple of trainees taking out equipment from two vans. What he could discern as spotlights and flashlights being passed along. They were preparing to extend the search into the night.

And as much as he didn't want to, Nick knew he had to leave. Walk away from what was probably Greg's last known location.

He tried to convince himself it was the right thing. He knew he was tired. His body was failing him and wouldn't let him continue at this rate. He'd been working three days straight. With little sleep and barely anything to eat or drink. Hardly able to hold himself up.

Nick sighed, drudgingly moving his feet towards his car. His kit heavy in his hands.

"I won't be doing Greg a damned thing if I pass out."

**

"This is the seventh straight body we've been through." Sara huffed, releasing a deep breath. "If we don't find anything when we're done, Catherine is so going to find a new home here."

"It's not that bad." David leaned closer the body's ankle, his glasses almost falling off. "The ones we've already looked at only had some mold on them. And didn't smell too badly."

"I still haven't gotten used to the smell of one body for a long period of time." Sara sniffed, rubbing her forearm against nose. "Never mind seven of them."

"Nothing unusual with this one, either..."

"What?" Sara looked at David expectantly, knowing he wanted to expand on something.

"It's just that...Don't you think it's weird that all the bodies were healthy?"

"What do you mean?"

"No signs of malnutrition, past sickness...It's almost like he cared for them or something."

"Like a pet?" Sara raised her eyes enquiringly at him. She couldn't wrap her mind around the idea. It was like raising a pig only to kill it. What was the point?

"Just a thought." David dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. Seeing that Sara wasn't too taken with it.

"Who's next?"

"We started from most recent...So, Michael Vans." She watched as David covered the body, pushing the table to the other side of the room.

"We're going to, uh...Have to skip that one."

"Why?"

"Both he and..." He paused, looking at the clipboard placed on the metal counter. "Kathryn Hargrove, and Brandi Rhame haven't had much luck in the preservation department."

"The first two victims?"

"All three were buried in metal caskets. Add that, anaerobic bacteria and after more than six months-"

"They would be putrefied. Great." She scrunched her nose, unbelieving of their luck. "That's just great."

"We can finish three more bodies by the end of the night." David said, trying to reassure Sara with the hopeful tone in his voice.

"Yeah, but we could be missing something. And right now," She closed her eyes, puffing her cheeks in annoyance. "Anything could be everything."

"Well, so far, none of the bodies point to strangulation at any time. The puncture marks are still consistent."

"And you still don't know what could have caused it?"

"Each one was a clean penetration. Something incredibly thin and long enough to just graze the bone."

"But since its small, wouldn't the guy need enough force to go through the skin to actually puncture it? Which would make it messier." She pointed at the right arm, marred by small holes.

"Believe it or not, there's no evidence of a large amount of force being used."

"You're saying this guy..."

"Whatever he used to penetrate the skin, he did it slowly."

"Did we know about this already? Because you would need to be precise about what's punctured to get maximum blood loss." She shook her head. "I mean, he would have to know which veins and how far..."

"Catherine's been keeping track of it, looking for anyone who would know about the human body."

"She didn't tell me." Sara narrowed her eyes at the body, scanning it for anything out of the ordinary.

"She probably has a list or something on file. But she couldn't do anything with it."

"Right." Sara nodded her head in agreement, watching David move his hands over the dead body. "No probable cause because we couldn't connect anyone with the victims."

"But what about those letters from the lock?" David asked, gently moving the left leg.

"Still can't connect anyone. A warrant for having those letters in your name?" She scoffed. "Grissom wouldn't even let that one pass."

"There's-"

"The only way to get clearance is if they do it voluntarily. And since they don't have to, though I'm sure Catherine tried convincing them, they probably won't."

"Who wants be a suspect in a case like this, right?"

"Yeah, but at least we have the bodies to work with."

"You know," He paused, peering at the foot of the right leg. "I'm surprised the county is letting us do this."

"What? Exhume the bodies?" She continued at his nod. "Most hadn't been buried, yet and the families were already willing to work with us."

"Still, it's going to be expensive to put them back."

"Fourteen victims. The most recent is one of our own." Sara lifted her head, waiting for David to make eye contact with her. "I think we're all feeling the same, right now."

"What's that?"

"Desperate."

***

09 May 2003

"Last one." She muttered softly to herself, finding a parking space near the entrance. Closing the car door, she raised her head at the nondescript building. Stepping on the sidewalk and stopping short when she reached the side of the edifice.

She lowered her shades, the nose piece still resting on her nose as she peered at the blue car in the back parking lot. "Gotcha."

Catherine smiled faintly, putting her glasses on her head as she walked into the post office. The cool air a much needed respite from the heat and humidity outside.

Her strides took her to the counter as she bypassed the long line of customers. Ignoring the protests of the people in front of her.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you have to-"

"I'm Catherine Willows from the Las Vegas Crime Lab." She paused, showing the male at the counter her badge. Putting it back in the pocket of her jacket. "I need to speak with a Michael Knott."

"Umm..." He looked at her nervously. "He's not in trouble, is he? Because...Because you can't just-"

"Look, it's purely voluntary. He doesn't even have to answer. So just get him for me, would you?"

"Just wait by the door, please." He pointed to the employee's entrance. "So we can get to the other customers." Catherine nodded in compliance, watching as he left. Disappearing into the back room.

She leaned against wall, sighing heavily with her arms at her side. Kit placed by her feet on the floor. Wondering how long it would take. This was her last stop of the day and she needed something to show for it.

"Hi, Ms. Willows?"

She turned around in surprise. Not startled by the voice, but rather the face that accompanied it. For some reason, she expected an older man. More so in his late thirties than his late twenties. Not someone who appeared so...Young.

But she had to struggle to hide her disappointment when her vision wandered to his hair. Which, instead of black or even a dark brown, was actually red. She closed her eyes, mentally counting to ten. They couldn't afford another dead end.

"Is this about the Prose Killer case?"

Catherine shook her head in surprise at the excitement in his voice. But more importantly, she was wondering how he knew. "Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"Sorry. I know you can't talk about it." He chuckled softly, holding his arm with one hand. "It's just that...Not a lot of interesting stuff goes on around here. But I wouldn't mind helping out. If I can, that is."

"Great...Um..." She motioned with her head to people behind them.

"Oh. We could go in the break room if you want? It's more..." He pointed at the restless crowd. Sounds of children running around. Bodies standing idly, shifting positions and exchanging impatient sighs. "Private."

She followed him as he walked away, holding open the door to the back room. "Thanks."

Catherine took a seat across from him, placing her kit on the small table that separated her from Michael. Ready to take notes. "How long have you been working here?" She already knew the answers to the questions she would ask. This was simply to infer if Knott had anything to hide.

"About two years, now." He crossed his legs. "You know? It's really too bad about that guy. Greg Sanders."

"Uh-huh...Do you have any family close by?"

"Not really. I live by myself in my apartment. Just a little off the outskirts of the desert." He leaned against the chair. "He looked kind of young, didn't he? Did you know him-"

"Excuse me...I'm sorry, but would you mind volunteering a DNA sample?"

"Sure." He agreed with a wide smile on his face. Not faltering beneath her scrutinising gaze. "What do you need for me to do?"

Catherine was somewhat taken back by his easy compliance, unsure if it meant the guy could be a possible suspect or not. She didn't want to admit that she was reaching for something, but they were already limited as it was.

"I just need a strand of your hair."

**

He rang the doorbell.

Once. Twice. And still no reply.

"Hello." He began knocking on the door. A heavy pounding that produced light footsteps on the other side.

He quickly moved back when the door was swung open. Revealing Greg in only shorts and a t-shirt. Hair standing in all directions. "Nick...What are you doing, here?"

"I - I just wanted to see how you were doing?"

"Oh...Well, um..." Greg looked at his position in the doorway, noticing he was preventing Nick from entering. "Sorry. Why don't you come in?" He moved aside, gesturing Nick inside with his hand.

"Is this..." Nick concentrated on the lock of the door. Brass and seemingly brand new. He didn't know why he came by. It wasn't a planned visit. "Is this a bad time?"

"No. Not really." Greg scratched the back of his head, standing nervously in the threshold. His feet bare. "I just wasn't expecting you."

"I see."

"No one likes the morning after, you know?" He released anxious laughter.

"I'm...I'm sorry I left early."

"No." Greg shook his head in disagreement. "I wasn't really expecting you to stay."

The disappointment in the voice was oddly hurtful. As if it were his own. Something Nick didn't want to hear again. "I got a page. Grissom called-"

"It's all right. I'm not mad or anything."

"I'll just..." Nick wanted to say more. But he couldn't bear seeing the desperation on Greg's face. Unknowingly leaning towards Nick. For even the smallest reassurance. "I'll just go then."

"Sure...See you tomorrow or something?" He sounded so hopeful. And Nick could only nod in accord. Another lie for another day.

He walked away before the other man was able to close the door. Nick slammed his own as he got into the car. The sound interleaving with his memory of the easy acceptance in Greg's voice. When he said he wasn't mad.

Because Nick felt he should have been.

He paused as the shadow covered his light. Ironically grateful as it also concealed a trying difficult piece of evidence. And after turning up with nothing the day before, Nick almost wished he never found it.

"Weren't you here, yesterday?"

Nick quickly put it inside a bag. Standing up at the voice while carefully manoeuvring the bag to lay inconspicuously against his leg. Rubbing his cheek with his other hand. "Yeah, but I left early, man."

"Hey." But despite his efforts, Warrick had still seen the bag. And what lay inside. "Aren't those..."

"Yeah. My old ones. I, um...I'm bagging them for evidence."

"Oh..." Warrick didn't press the subject further, knowing Nick would be distressed enough by his message. "Grissom just called. Said you have visitors."

Nick held the clear bag tightly in his hands. Anxiously fingering a pair of sunglasses through the plastic. "Who?"

"Sanders' parents."

"Nick." Warrick looked down at the other man when he didn't answer. The light catching the sheen in his eyes.

"Let me finish tagging these, all right?" He held up the bag for Warrick to see. Trying to buy himself some time.

"Are you-"

"It's just the sand." Nick hastily wiped his face with his arm. "Sand just got in my eye."

**

"If you can't even hold the guy, what's the point?"

Catherine didn't even bother to answer him. Deeming it fruitless to dignify inane questions. "Just give it to me, Hodges."

"All right." He looked at her warily. "But your guy is a natural red head."

"What about dying his hair?"

"You'd have better chances if he had a wig. There's no evidence of any chemical compounds. Take a look for yourself." He rubbed his sleeve on his jacket, watching as Catherine looked into the microscope.

"Not even damaged cuticles." She remarked softly, thrown off by results. Although she knew better, she was still expecting something.

"Unlike some people named..." David trailed off, turning in his chair. "So, do you have anything else besides the hair?"

"That's it." She sighed tiredly. Willing to settle for, if only, ten minutes of sleep.

"That's it?"

"The letters of his name don't match up, either."

"Doesn't he have the car, though?"

"Yeah." She scoffed, crossing her arms in irritation. "The USPIS would be riding my ass if I even thought of trying to take one of them in for something like this." Shrugging helplessly at the thought. "I can't force them to do anything."

"Then how did you get this?" He pointed at the hair in the slide, now moved from beneath the lens.

"He was the only who would volunteer a sample."

David could hear the exhaustion in her voice. Not to mention see it in her body language, but he wasn't necessarily deterred by it. "I overheard Archie talking to Warrick, yesterday. The description that cop gave out doesn't match anything caught on the surveillance tape."

"That's because they didn't find anything. Only something like a blur from the time of the earlier cases."

"The letters are only dropped off at night?"

"Not really. Only sometime before Judy gets in."

"So it could still be anyone?"

"That's what the evidence points to." Catherine noted his anxious tone, as if he knew something she didn't. Or was at least trying to eliminate anything that would prove contrary to whatever it was that he knew.

"Some prints have to be on the letters, though. The nynhydrin only identified the victim's prints. But someone had to bring it here."

"That's why we're trying with the post angle."

"But knowing anyone could just walk in, why go through all the trouble of searching the post offices."

"Because the employees' prints are on file and it's all we have." She groaned at his questions. Not understanding why he felt the need to circumvent. "Listen Hodges, just say what you need to say."

"Why don't we have people at night or something?"

"The county will pay for the exhumations, but can't hire some guards?" Catherine gave him a pointed look. "Go figure. Anyway...What do-"

"Then, how do the letters get in here?" David felt it was the best indication of who the killer was. Or at least the best way to find him.

"Someone brings them."

He didn't give heed to her sardonic tone, too preoccupied with his own train of thought. "Look, I've been doing a little investigating on my own. With the envelopes, I mean."

"I'm listening."

"Maybe it's not the killer who's been planting the letters." He paused, taking note of her questioning gaze. "Or it still could be. Point is I was curious, because even though paper is porous, you'd still suspect something, right? So, I ran some tests."

Catherine uncrossed her arms, eyebrows raised as she looked him over.

"With Grissom's permission, of course." He added quickly. "I found faint traces of hydrated sodium borate, limonene, hydrogen oxide, and melaleuca alternifolia oil."

"Borax, citrus juice, water, and tea tree oil?" Catherine wasn't sure what to say. How had they missed something so unusual? Then again, they didn't have a reason to check the packaging, more interested in the actual contents. "On the envelope?"

"Not your standard combination, but it's a more natural substitute for-"

"Household cleaner." She dismissed the disbelief in his eyes, shaking it off. "I...Use something similar sometimes, but anyway....What does this mean, exactly?"

"The guy used the solution to reduce the chance of leaving his prints."

"That just seems..."

"Highly unlikely, but think about this." He took a sheet from the tray of the printer. "See, because paper is porous, it's more likely to absorb rather than retain anything in liquid form." Taking a bottle from a lowered shelf, he placed the paper on a blank surface. Spraying it with a light mist from the contents in the bottle.

"Like the amino acids left behind in fingerprints. Here." He pointed at the piece of paper. "Press your finger against the paper."

Catherine looked at him charily.

"It's not toxic and it's even hypoallergenic." He rolled his eyes, motioning for her to make a print. "Against the wet spot."

"Okay." She released a quick breath, firmly placing her thumb on the wet spot of the paper.

"Thank you." He smiled unctuously, cocking his head. "Now, when the material of the envelope absorbed the solution, it contained it. Which allowed it to destroy any acids that may have been left by any prints.

"Of course, this was probably done with a few light sprays over time." He scrunched his nose. "So the paper wouldn't get wrinkly or anything. Making it look suspicious."

Despite her initial misgivings about where Hodges was going, the logic almost made sense. "You said Grissom already knows about this?"

"I got the results in just before you came."

"But what about the prints from the victims? How do they come into play if this was sprayed over the envelopes?"

"Actually, I only found traces on the corners of envelope, how he most likely carried it."

"Further limiting the possibility of his fingerprints being left." Catherine added.

"Right, so I was thinking this means he probably didn't wear gloves when he delivered them."

"He still probably has a pair of nylon or cotton ones."

"But that doesn't make any sense." David turned in his chair, holding his hands up in confusion. "Why would he use gloves if he's trying to throw us off?"

"See if you can still get something off the wet corners." She said, moving towards the door.

"It's more impossible than unlikely, you know?"

"Appease me, Hodges."

"I still think he could have gotten someone else to do it."

"I doubt it, Hodges. The way this guy likes to show off." She held her hand on the wall, halting her exit. "It's not his style."

***

10 May 2003

"I can tell you wish to ask me something."

He wondered if he was truly that readable. If his emotions were so easily read when he tried so hard to hide them. Nick often said he had no trouble understanding his body language.

At one point, something Greg thought only Nick could do.

"After spending such an extensive amount of time together, I admit that I was expecting you to be a little more open with me." The man paused, continuing with an afterthought. "At the least, much more so that when you first arrived." He ran his fingers through his hair, almost hesitantly. "I even hoped, dare I say, that if anything, you would be more comfortable around me."

Greg held onto his shirt nervously. Clutching the grey material within his grasp. Maybe his actions did portray more than he once thought. He'd never felt so out of control and out of place before. But did any of that really matter, now?

He swallowed his fear, holding the man's expectant gaze. "Why?"

"Am I doing this," The man motioned at the room with a quick wave of his hand. "I presume?" A smile on his face, happy that his captive was conforming to his subtle demands.

Greg gave a slight nod. So far, he'd received whatever food he wanted, was given brand new clothes - the man hadn't even removed the tags - been allowed to shower, be clean, and sleep in a comfortable bed.

The normalcy of the routine was suffocating.

"I may tell you, someday." The man looked at him, as if he was searching for something. Frowning as if he wasn't pleased with the results. "But only because you remind me of someone I once knew."

"I do?" Greg's voice rose in surprise, the information unexpected.

"Of course, you don't look the least bit similar to him." His gaze lingered on Greg's hair. "No. Not even the least bit similar."

Greg leaned against the headboard of the bed. Crossing his legs and pulling the comforter over his shoulders. Waiting for the man to continue.

"It's more of an abstract familiarity, really. He had the same sort of expression in his eyes." The man laughed briefly, as if he was amused by his own words. "I apologise if I'm not as coherent as my usual self...But sadly, there's something about you."

Greg furrowed his brow, watching as the man closed his eyes. Like he was relieving a memory.

"He was someone with whom I spent my childhood." But Greg soon found himself, once more, the centre of the man's attention. The short respite from being observed already missed.

"Of course, nothing outlandish occurred that would explain my state of mind. Which for all sakes and purposes is little different from yours." He spoke tersely while crossing his legs, putting the left over the right.

Greg was quick to nod. Even though internally, he disagreed.

"Nothing clichéd like...Oh, let's say he died before reached a proper age of maturity." He shook his head. "Nothing as theatrical as that."

"No, I'm afraid I don't have a dismal tale to tell." The man yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. "We simply...Drifted apart, I suppose."

Hearing the remorse in the tone, Greg began to feel somewhat brave. Even if only for a moment, it was a semblance of something more positive than he felt in the past few days. Almost like he was actually communicating with the man. Maybe getting through to him on a more humane level.

Something Greg would cautiously try to play to his advantage.

"And you're probably wondering why I picked you, specifically." He titled his head, which Greg knew meant the man wanted a verbal response. "Am I correct?"

"Yes." Greg answered softly, his gaze concentrated on the blue and white stripes decorating the sheets on the bed.

"I'll tell you why I chose you someday, as well." He smirked as he stood from the chair. Seemingly pleased with the response.

Greg tracked his movements. His eyes following the man as he stalked around the bed. One hand fingering the bulge in his pocket as he made his way to the other side.

To the side where Greg sat huddled beneath the comforter.

"I need you to write something else for me. Call it a favour, if you will." He moved closer. Not quite on the bed, but still inclining himself into Greg's personal space.

"As per usual, I will dictate and you shall simply inscribe."

Greg had been dreading this moment. He wasn't sure how many days had passed, but this was the fourth time he'd been told to write. Not that he could discern what the letters actually meant, but Greg had been keeping track of how many he'd written. Sitting by steel desk. The man constantly peering over his shoulder.

Because even though the man didn't say it, Greg knew it was the last one. He didn't remember much of his first days here. It was an effect of having the rohypnol in his system. However, he did know that the first one was normally sent the day the victim was initially taken.

And this was his third time writing.

He wished there was a way to impart some kind of message. About what little he knew of the man. What he looked like. Where Greg thought the man was keeping him. But he was always under the man's scrutiny.

Always under his gaze.

Even when he left. Even for the brief amount of time when he wasn't in the room with Greg, it still felt like he was there.

Always watching.

"Are you ready?" He shivered when the voice whispered in his ear. It made Greg feel like he was part of some secret that he wasn't supposed to know. A secret because it was something he would never be able to reveal.

The man moved his hand to rest on Greg's shoulder, squeezing it kindly. The soft fringe of his hair covering his eyes, tickling Greg's forehead. His body radiating a warmth Greg almost found himself leaning towards.

Because despite his earlier assurance, the man still hadn't turned off the air conditioner.

And Greg was still cold.

**

He slowly lifted the cup to his lips. The now stale coffee lingering in his mouth, his face indifferent to the sour taste.

"Self-conceit may lead to self-destruction...The smaller the mind, the great the deceit."

"This is...This is from Aesop..."

He removed his glasses, placing them gently besides the stack of papers before him. The lenses obscuring the words. Refracting the light and distorting his vision.

The greater of myself
Lessened of my mind
Destruction of one's self
Perchance that of time

"It's the same thing." Grissom mumbled to himself, confusion lacing his voice. "Where's the first one...Where's Brandi's..."

Searching, he ran his hands through the papers, scattering them across the table. Holding one in between a finger and thumb as he read aloud.

Entitled is he
To think little of himself
Learn not what he may seek
From individual mental wealth

"And this is from Epictetus..." Grissom quickly placed the paper down, immediately reaching for another.

Simplicity doth you seek
Of wretchedness is alone
Pleasures of a last retreat
For thee I do atone

"Now you're quoting Horning..." He leaned closer into his desk, a new letter in hand. Randomly picked. "What about...What about Randy Drayton's..."

Disbelieve that of which you seek
More effective to those untaught
Distrust that of which you do not believe
Less popular by knowledge those distraught

"Uneducated more effective...This is Aristotle..." He narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the third in Greg's series of letters. "You're repeating yourself..."

The life of he who breathes
With intent pure
Is made fine through time
And what he may endure

"Henri-Frédéric Amiel...Like wine." Grissom shook his head at the morbid thought, the way the man played with people's lives. "And if it's in Ashley Parker's, too..."

The perpetuated evasion
That of which calls itself prevention
Is of deceptive persuasion
By torture of things once insignificant

"They're recurring themes." Grissom's whispered to himself, taken back by the revelation.

"I can see what you're doing. But..." His grip loosened. The paper slowly falling, landing on the desk.

"What are you trying to tell us?"

**

"Hi." He nodded his head politely, displaying the proper identification. "I'm Warrick Brown form the Las Vegas Crime Lab. There may have been an incident involving your car." He wet his lips, chapped and parched. "I'm wondering if you wouldn't mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"Do you have a warrant?" She spoke curtly, her eyes narrowing at the man before her.

"This is voluntary, ma'am." And the statement spoke true for Warrick, as well. The team was pulling in the extra hours off the clock. Whatever they could. Whenever they could.

She shook her head. "Then, no." Slamming the door in front of him, almost hitting his nose.

Warrick jerked his body, somewhat surprised by the slamming of the door. He could hear her locking it from the inside, the chain of the security latch hitting hard against the wood of the door.

"Thanks for your time." He let out a weary sigh, making his way back to the car. They only had four more days and the pressure was finally beginning to take a toll on him. But this was the time when he had to pull out all the stops.

He took his phone out of his pocket, using the speed dial and placing it against his ear. "Hey, you all right?"

"I'm, I'm fine...Just cleaning up." Warrick could hear the rustling of papers. Shuffling and stacking on the other end.

"Yeah..."

"Can't get any sleep. Even if it's a Saturday, you know?"

"I couldn't, either." Warrick climbed into his car, turning on the ignition. His phone still in hand.

"Sara said you'd call, soon."

"Yeah, about that. How was she with the bodies?"

"No other bodies had signs of strangulation besides Ashley's....Crap."

"Nick?" He asked quickly and not without a little unease.

"Sorry. I just dropped the papers on floor...But she didn't get a chance to look at three of the bodies."

"What?" Warrick put on his signal light, moving to the left lane. "Why?"

"Liquefied, man."

"Not what I wanted to hear."

"Me, either....How's it going on your end?"

"Man, I've been knocking on doors all day. Lucky for me, I only got the door slammed four times."

"Nothing, huh?" Warrick smiled at the laughter from Nick. A sound he hadn't heard in a while.

"It's like we have a bad rep or something."

"Or something...Well, at least we know the cop's lead was legit."

"Right...Your glasses."

"The car is the strongest lead we have."

"Did Catherine tell you about the red head with the Acura?"

"Not, yet. I didn't get a chance to call her, today."

"The guy's name is Michael Knott. Twenty-eight, works at the post office downtown."

"Off of Stewart? Is-"

"Brass already set it up. Twenty-four hour surveillance at his place. Him and anyone who he works with."

"That's right around the corner from us." Warrick noted the concern in his voice.

"I know. But Catherine already checked his work load, too. Doesn't even drop anything off at the lab."

"What about switching shifts?"

"Catherine told me Sara's picking it up. Said she's started with his co-workers and the manager. See if he gets somebody to take things for him. Checking out his social circle."

"Yeah, I spoke with Sara earlier. She didn't get back to me, yet."

"I haven't even heard from her today. I'm guess that means nothing, so far."

"What about his car? What's the model and year?"

"2002 RSX."

Nick snorted. "How long has he been working at the post office?"

"Two years."

"What about the family?"

"They live in Utah. No big money." Warrick put his foot on the brakes, gradually increasing the pressure. "He came here by himself about three years ago." Stopping at a red light. "Flunked out of undergrad in Utah. Did some work here and there..."

He knew it wasn't much to go on. And the fact that they had relatively so little was discouraging.

"So..." Warrick could hear Nick breathing deeply into the receiver, waiting for the inevitable change in topic.

"How did the talk with the parents go?"

"They're staying at hotel a few miles from the strip."

"You hooked them up?"

"No...They didn't really accept my help. Too upset, I guess. But they told me they already made reservations on their way here."

"Do they..."

"...No." He could tell by the tone in the voice that Nick was berating himself. Already on the path to regret. Warrick was only sorry he couldn't really do much to help.

"He wanted to tell them...Greg wanted to tell them about us."

He followed the street lamps of the neighbourhood, erected between each house. Illuminating the streets. He didn't have the radio on. No music on and the widows up. The consequent silence was the only thing he could offer Nick.

"I was scared. So scared that it wasn't going to last. And now it won't even get a chance to start."

"I don't really know what I was waiting for, man. Why it took so long for me to..." Nick paused, taking a deep breath.

"But I want to tell them. I want to tell them about us." He spoke with his voice firm. "When we find him, Warrick."

"I want to do it together."

***

11 May 2003

He rushed through the lab. Not bothering with civilities as he pushed away at the bodies in front of him. The people walking beside him. The obstacles before him.

Even though he was only travelling a short distance, he still felt a sense of urgency. Like he couldn't run fast enough. Like he couldn't think hard enough.

Like he just couldn't do enough.

Period.

He rushed around the corner, barely missing Lisa as she moved away from him. Watching his back recede as she stood against the wall.

Not slowing down, he continued to his way through hall. Almost reaching his destination, the room now within sight. Still moving as if he had no time to spare.

Because in reality, Nick knew he didn't.

"Wait."

"Huh?"

"Stop..." Greg was panting harshly. Beads of sweat trickling down his face. Nick could see the sheen on his body, made apparent by the dim lighting in the room.

"Am I..." Nick lifted his head, peering down at Greg's eyelids, the other man's eyes squeezed shut. "Did I - Did I hurt you?" Nick started to move away, but was pulled back by a strong grip on his arm. The hand squeezing it tightly.

"No..." Greg took a deep breath, his chest rising slowing as he struggled to catch his breath. "Just wait a sec...Okay?"

Nick was on his knees, straddling the man underneath him. He leaned down, still supporting his own weight. Elbows now resting on the sheets. Framing Greg's head.

He felt the wetness from his own face. Perspiration trailing from his cheek, landing on Greg's skin. "You sure? We can stop. Try it another time if-."

"No...I." Greg squinted his eyes in pain. Attempting to keep Nick still as the other man tried to move away. "I just wasn't...I wasn't ready, all right."

"Greg. I can't-"

"Nick." Greg pulled the other man down, taking on the Nick's full weight. His legs stretched out. Their bodies flushed together. Nick's face resting on his chest.

"I want to do this."

***

"Here."

Sara sat up from the couch, catching a paper bag in her hand. "Thanks...Uh, what is it?" She looked at him curiously.

"I brought a sandwich for you."

She opened the brown bag, taking out the sandwich wrapped in plastic. "Is it-"

"You'd thought I forget?" He raised his eyebrows, taking a seat across from her.

"No, Warrick." They shared a quick smile. "Of course you wouldn't forget."

"Of course."

"Thanks, though." She took a bite out of her sandwich, taking a moment to relish in the taste of food. "I haven't gotten anything in my stomach since yesterday." She picked up a cup from the coffee table. "Except this."

"Was is that?" He looked strangely at the clear cup, filled with a purplish liquid.

"Some kind energy drink with fruits and vegetables. Prunes and asparagus. Supposed to keep you awake."

Warrick made a disgusted face at the concoction. "I think I'll pass."

"It was on sale." Sara admitted.

"I can see why." He shook his head, taking a sip from his coffee. "Did you get anything with the Knott guy?"

"Not the typical loner type. He's very social." She made a face as she drank her juice through a straw. "Everybody I've talked to...They've all said he's a nice guy. Does a good job at work. You know, he even volunteers at the CFIL?"

"The homeless shelter? Trying to throw us off or something?"

"I'd hate to say it, Warrick, but he just didn't seem like the type."

"Well, Brass still has him on surveillance. But nothing suspicious. Guy doesn't even have a rap sheet."

"Since he's so willing to cooperate, we can just ask to see his apartment."

"I'd doubt we'd find anything. And if he is...We don't want to tip him off..."

"I guess, but don't you think he'd want that...?" She moved the straw in her cup, watching the residual circular motions in her drink. "Not like we're being subtle or anything."

"Still, we don't have any reason to-"

"Guys." They both turned at Nick's voice, his head peering through the break room. His face reddened as he leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. "Grissom got the last letter."

***

"Where have you been all this time?" Catherine leaned against the closed door; thumb nestled in her right pocket.

"Right, here." He pointed his finger to the floor.

"Here in the lab." She looked at Grissom incredulously, disbelief in her voice. "Two days straight?"

Grissom simply tilted his head, giving her no verbal response.

"Why do I even bother to ask?" She pushed off from the wall. Walking towards the table and taking a seat. "We couldn't lift anything from the envelopes."

"I didn't think so."

"Guy probably had gloves on...But it doesn't hurt to try, though, does it?"

"No...Any good hits on the car, yet?"

"Zip and nada. It could just be another thing to throw us off - Like the envelopes. Why do you still think it's a name, anyway? It could be anything." She twisted in her chair. "A place, a phrase, God forbid an anagram..."

"Just...Just trust me on this Catherine." He looked in to her eyes, leaning on the table. "Do you trust me, Catherine?"

"Gil - I..." She released a slow breath. "You know I trust you."

"I just have a feeling, that's all."

"You? Mr. Evidence Freak?"

He only shrugged his shoulders, having nothing more to say about the matter.

"Well, we're still getting hits on anyone registered with an Acura. Any model released in the last three years." She bit her bottom lip. "And trust me, Vegas has a lot of them."

"The cop, Neil, said it was a blue one, right. Like a sports model or something?"

"Yeah...RSX." She turned her head. "Where are you going with this?"

"Has anyone shown Neil a picture of the car Knott has?"

"Yep. Said it looked familiar, but he couldn't remember."

"Where do you usually find those kinds of cars?"

"You think someone in...That doesn't make any sense. It does even fit."

"Our killer's profile doesn't fit, either." He shook his head at her. "Just tell me where you usually find those types of cars."

"On the strip...Like from that case Nick and I did last year. But what makes you think of a street car."

"Neil said the car looked like it would be a showroom, right?"

"Right..."

"So, I want you to narrow your search to people who are in that general area. Whoever goes there often."

"What-"

"Hey..." Catherine and Grissom turned to Nick's voice as he entered the room. Sara and Warrick following closely behind him...

"Sorry we're late." Sara held up her half-eaten sandwich.

"Not important right now. We need to go over these letters. Fast."

"You find something?" Warrick asked. Taking a seat beside Catherine, resting his elbows on the table.

"Yes. And you know you're here because we got another letter this morning."

"We don't have much time left." Nick was trying to keep the unease from his voice.

"No...So we need to do this quickly." Grissom waited for the others to nod in understanding before he continued.

"I've been going backwards with the quatrains. From the most recent to the earliest victims. We already know that he takes quotes and rephrases them. Hiding them in his own form of poetry.

"But what we didn't know is that he's repeating the same message. Four recurring themes: Conceit, simplicity, suffering, and youth. And in that order.

"Now, we're getting something, but how does he choose how long he keeps them." Nick asked.

"The final letter for each victim. In the last letter." Grissom unfolded the paper in his hand. "Listen to this."

Misfortune from him curb
Or serve from thee the stigma
In manner unapologetic
Onto he, the multifaceted youth

"Tell me what you notice." Grissom demanded.

"Nothing much different." Catherine looked at him warily. "Still out there."

"It doesn't rhyme?" Sara asked, curious to her own answer.

Grissom nodded in approval. "That tells us that something about this one's different...Even if he's still quoting Whitehead. Because all the other ones rhymed in some shape or form." He turned his attention to Warrick. "Now, what are the letters at the end of each line?"

"Curb, stigma, unapologetic, and youth." Nick listed the last word from each line.

"B, A, C, H." Warrick looked at Grissom.

"Bach, as in Johann Sebastian Bach?" Sara asked when their supervisor didn't answer. Her brows creasing, wondering what the composer had to do with the quatrains.

"Fourteen...Fourteen and Bach...I get it."

"Nicky?" Catherine turned to him, surprise in her voice.

"He keeps them for fourteen days, not two weeks." He moved in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. "Greg told me about Bach's signature. He believes classical is a part of rock." Nick shook his head. "Anyway, but you know what I'm talking about right? From a musical scale?"

Catherine, Sara, and Warrick wore equally confused expressions on their faces. Prompting Nick to explain further. "See, people think it was a kind of moniker or something. Because he used them so often...Like A is one, B is two, C is three and H is nine."

"And all four put together is fourteen...Grissom." Sara looked at him for confirmation. Almost doubting and unbelieving of something that seemed so arbitrary.

"Some people believe it was in fact a signature of his. The number fourteen encoded in a lot of his music."

"This wasn't on the other quatrains, was it?" Catherine asked.

"Almost the same thing...But only three of the letters in Bach's name were in the last quatrain for each of the previous victims. The quatrain about youth."

"Because the vics are all under thirty." Catherine was tapping her pen lightly on the table. Her thoughts running anxiously. s"Ages nine to twenty-nine."

"But if he randomly picked his victims, why be so picky about their ages?" Warrick asked.

"I think he just looked for younger people." Sara answered.

"I don't really care how you came up with the themes." Catherine looked to Grissom. "But what do they...I mean, what's the deal with conceit, simplicity, suffering and youth?"

"That's why I had the hunch about searching near the casinos." He looked at the rest of his time, brushing off their puzzled faces. "I'll explain later." Returning his attention to Catherine. "Think about what this guy probably sees on a daily basis."

He held out his hand, listing the themes with his fingers. "The conceit of those who think they can win. The simplicity of the act of gambling. The suffering people willingly put themselves through. And the folly of youth who gamble for greed."

"So what is that, an attack on people in Vegas because we have legal gambling?" Catherine furrowed her brow. The whole idea ridiculous.

"I don't know, but I think that's our best bet, right now."

"A vigilante or something?" Warrick mused aloud.

Grissom shook is head, relaying that he didn't know. "Haven't you been searching for a number Sara? Something to connect all the victims?" She nodded her head at Grissom, confirming his question. "I think he just gave it to us."

"So...The number fourteen?" Sara asked him. "It's like he has some kind of obsession with it."

"Right. Fourteen letters." Warrick added, nodding his head. "He kept the victims for fourteen days."

"And Greg is the fourteenth victim." Nick stated softly. Remembering they had less than three days to find him. This was the last letter. But he assured himself it wasn't going to be the last indication of when Greg was alive.

"The graphology, right?" The team looked to Sara. "That's why he used their handwriting."

"Punishing them or something, I guess." Grissom took off his glasses. "But what else can the number fourteen mean that deals with this guy, specifically?"

Catherine began snapping her fingers, the words on the tip of her tongue. "The standard notice. Two weeks is the standard notice before you leave your job."

"But what does that have to do with anything." Warrick stared at the table, trying to come up with an answer.

"This is our last chance to catch him." Grissom looked at him with his lips pursed, pressed in a flat line.

"Grissom..." Nick was worried by the expression on Grissom's face. Grave and almost reconciled.

"This is his last letter." He held up the paper in his hand. "This is his letter of resignation."

"I get it, we're rushed for time...But how will this help us find Greg?" Catherine turned to Grissom, her voice expectant and eager. Pointing toward the paper in his hand.

"It doesn't. He never wanted us to find the victims." Grissom looked at his team. Sighing at their haggard faces and bloodshot eyes. Not much different from his own appearance. "At least not until the fourteenth day."

***

12 May 2003

"Nick..." Greg woke up murmuring, his voice incoherent as he began to open his eyes. His vision blurry as he shakily reached out to a body unfamiliar. His hands pulling on familiar clothes, quickly jogging his memory.

Reminding him where he was.

"I didn't expect you to awaken so soon." It was the man again. His tone disillusioned and to Greg's disappointment, all too real. "Actually, not at all."

"I don't usual wait this long, but I felt I had to make an exception for you." The man smiled at Greg. His black hair covering his forehead, extending to his sharp blue eyes. "This will take a little longer than expected, but hopefully it won't be too much trouble in the long run."

His legs refused to move, remaining still and lying vertical to the striped sheets. Greg was held down by the man who was positioned above him. One knee lying on Greg's legs, the other resting on the bed.

"Like I said before, there's something about you, Greg." The man stared down at him. His expression almost considerate and somewhat sad. "Maybe your colleagues think so, as well?"

"Please..." Greg's tried to shift his body, tried to get it to respond to anything at all. But he couldn't even move his head, the simple motion seemingly impossible.

"Because you know how long it will take to die by exsanguination. I'm sure you've figured it out, already." The man's eyes were bright and eager. "Although, you won't be conscious after the initial developments." His excitement could barely be contained.

"I won't tell anyone what you look like." Greg was frantic, now. His voice scratchy and no more than a mere whisper. Pleading to unmindful ears.

"Of course you won't." The man began to laugh, releasing a harsh sound from his lips. The vibrations travelling from his body to Greg's. "You'll be dead."

Greg continued to struggle. His feeble attempts ineffective, becoming useless when the man held Greg's arms above his head. The man's other hand reaching behind him. Searching inside a small black bag on the bed.

"It's amazing how innocent we truly are when we sleep, you know." Greg tried wiggling his body, ignoring the fatigue that coursed through him. Becoming more desperate. His fear overcoming his weariness.

"I even gave you flunitrazepam, last night. So you wouldn't be conscious of the pain. But then, look where we are, now." Greg reached for the man's forearm. His fingers gaining a loose grip. Nails against the man's skin. Trailing to the tip of the man's black gloves. "However, I'm pleased that you decided to gain consciousness."

The man tilted his head slightly. "I really liked you, Greg. You spoke more than any of the others did. But then again, they didn't really have much to say." The direction of his eyes offset, as if he was contemplating his actions. "Maybe under altered circumstances, we could have had a different kind of relationship."

He leaned closer, placing his mouth next to Greg's ear. "I really do abhor the fact of the matter, but I have to admit that I chose you for not much of a reason at all." Whispering softly, as if there were other people present in the room. "I only chose you because I felt some incentive was needed. For what good is a game, if there is no challenge?"

Greg began to inhale faster. The air in his lungs forced in rapidly. His chest moving in time with his quickened breaths as the man leaned back on the bed. One hand still pinning Greg's arms above his head. As the other returned with an ice pick tightly gripped.

"Please...Don't..."

"But maybe this is for the best, Greg. For the both of us." The man released Greg's arm. Delighting as it remained on the bed. Greg not having the strength to move it.

"And I apologise for being so clichéd, but you were simply in the wrong place and the wrong time."

Greg gasped as the ice pick slowly began to penetrate the skin of his arm. The soothing motions on his chest not in the least easing the throbbing. The rohypnol not yet fully in effect. His mind still somewhat lucid.

Did his mom and dad even know he was missing? What would they do when they found him?

Their only son found dead in an alley or some ditch.

"And before you do become insentient, I want to tell you why. Why I do this, that is."

Greg could see his blood streaming from his arm. The fogging image tainted by the colour. Flowing around the handle of the ice pick that had just grazed the bone. The pain of the action becoming more bearable as time pressed on.

The corners of Greg's vision now darkening.

"Because I can."

**

Receiving the last letter yesterday only cemented the exigency of finding Greg. He was fuelled by the image of Greg held against his will. Vulnerable to the wills of some lunatic who couldn't care less about innocent people.

And he couldn't bare the thought of Greg lying so still. Like those other victims. Bodies covered with blood intermixed with dirt. Greg not breathing, his chest not moving.

Not smiling.

He had only two days. And probably less than that.

Because he was going to find Greg alive. He was going to bring Greg back safe. He wasn't going to tell Greg's parents their son was found on some street. Left to die.

Alone.

There were so many things he neglected to do. Too many things he neglected to say.

And this was his last chance do anything at all.

Fingers ran quickly across the board. The clacking of the keys producing a faint echo off the glass walls. The sound unheard by the sole person in the room.

"Steven Thompson...Thompson, Thompson...." Nick's gaze was fixed onto the monitor. The light of the screen reflecting on his face. Emphasising the shadows beneath his eyes.

"Thirty-four-"

"Blonde?" Warrick asked, making his way toward Nick. Peering over his shoulder. His eyes on the picture of Steven Thompson that was presented on the monitor.

"Didn't hear you walk in." Nick spoke offhandedly, his mind already preoccupied.

"Yeah, well...I think you have your mind on other things." Warrick pulled out a swivel chair, facing the rear as he sat. Rolling up to Nick, whose eyes were still fastened to the screen.

"I'm not being picky right now." Nick paused in his typing, sighing heavily before continuing. "Because I still don't have much to go on."

"Well, I just came back." Warrick rested his arms on the back rest of the chair. Gripping the spine in both hands. "Got something else for me?"

"What happened to the last guy you had?"

"Derrick Hayes was a no-go." Warrick released a large yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth. His eyes closed briefly, moisture leaking from the corners.

"Josh Hampton...Twenty-five..." Nick spoke out loud, pulling up Josh's information. "Get a chance to look at the car, at least?"

"Another blonde..." Warrick remarked offhandedly. "But yeah, the guy even offered to show me his house."

Nick stopped typing, his fingers still poised above the keyboard. "His house?"

"Gave me his business card, too." He snorted, trying to keep his face neutral. "Said he wanted to be on the "right side of the law."

Nick faced Warrick, his brows scrunched in confusion. "Derrick Hayes?"

"As in part of General Growth Properties. The Fashion Show Mall in Paradise?"

"Oh...Sorry, man. I've just been through so many names already." Nick twisted in his chair, turning his attention back on the screen. "But what about the car?"

"I think you mean cars. The Acura's not even his primary and he has two of them. Blue and white. They stay in the garage collecting dust. He's only taken them out twice since he bought them. And both times were in March. Last year."

"Peter...Peter Williams. I'm still not finding anything in here." Nick rolled up his sleeves. Pushing away from the computer and turning in his chair to face Warrick. "Well, anyone else had access to them?"

"No kids, but he's married." Warrick continued before Nick had a chance to respond. "And she has her own garage."

"We haven't had any good hits, today. At least nothing that can point us anywhere."

"Yeah...And we're going all out on this one."

"Grissom hasn't called back, yet. Sara hasn't either. But Catherine said she could have something with Amanda Peeves." Nick rubbed the corner of his eye, trying to keep himself awake. "Works at the Tangiers as an event coordinator."

"I thought our killer was a guy?" Warrick asked, but still considerate of the possibility.

"Yeah, but she has a RSX."

"She married?"

"She has a boyfriend named Ryan Jackson. Dark hair, could have taken the car for a spin."

"Or they could have worked together..." Nick only shrugged his shoulders at Warrick's suggestion, not sure of anything at this point. "...Any other names pop up?"

"As far as people registered with an Acura?"

"Yeah."

Nick held his face in his hands, closing his eyes. Fingers massaging his forehead. "I don't really have much left."

**

"Hey, Grissom." She spoke quickly into the phone, her voice hushed and nervous.

"Sara?"

"Yeah...Look, I've got something here." She leaned on her car, turning her eyes to the building. Old and faded bricks decorating the exterior. "Remember when I said that the letters from the locks could be a place or something?"

"Yes, I remember."

"I think I found it....The Dime Knock." She bit the bottom of her lip, tapping her foot on the ground. Dirt gathering on her lightly coloured shoes. "It's not exactly the same, but it's close enough."

"Who did Nick give you?" Sara could hear the concern in his voice. She kenw he was picking up on her unease. Which was something in of itself is she was projecting her apprehension over the phone.

"The guy's name is Brent Collins. Age forty-one, he owns the place." Sara knew the age was important. Especially concerning the man's occupation and what kind of place he owned. That paired with the kind of car he drove.

"Did you go in there, yet?"

Sara moved her hair out of her face, placing the loose strands behind her ear. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"What about the car?" Grissom pressed, anxious for more information.

"It's a RSX...But it's not blue, Grissom. It's red." She sighed as she opened her car door, placing herself on the seat. "I took a sample from it, but I didn't see any evidence of a paint job. No layers besides the prime one."

"Bring it back anyway. It could have been stripped...Did you look inside the car?"

"From the outside. Seats were dirty, looked like they haven't been cleaned in a while. There were stains on the passenger's side that look like they won't come out." Sara looked to her side and rear view mirrors, making sure she was still alone. "Papers in the backseat and a balled up bag from some fast food place. Although no signs of hair or fibres."

She leaned back against the driver's seat, one hand gripping the steering wheel. "But it's not the car, Grissom. Collins was...Collins was creepy."

"Sara, we can't bring him in because of that."

"Don't you think it's the least bit suspicious some forty-one year old guy that owns an antique store drives around in that kind of car?"

"Sara-"

"No, Grissom...You didn't go in there. See those things on the walls."

"What things?" His tone was almost harsy, but mostly impatient.

"He had these framed quotes on his walls. From the same people we found in the letters."

"Explain."

"The same ones. Like the Whitehead one about youth. And the same two lines from Aesop about conceit." She took a deep breath, pushing away the slight panic in her voice. "He kept asking me about my job and where I came from.

"At first I thought he was just being friendly. Until he wanted to know about my age. I didn't tell him, but he kept asking..."

"Where are you?"

"Still outside the place...In my car."

"I'm sending Brass-"

"Already called him. On his way." She took the handset from her ear, ready to end the call.

"Sara, wait."

"Grissom?" She put the phone back to her ear, almost dropping it in her haste.

"Be careful."

***

13 May 2003

"How'd it go?" Grissom looked up as Brass entered the room, appearing less troubled than the day before.

"Well, the guy won't confess to where he kept Sanders. Says he knows nothing about the kidnapping and murders. Claims he just got back from a vacation."

"Anyone to verify his alibi?"

"Supposedly, he has relatives in New Mexico, but no one's answering the phone."

"Convenient."

"I thought so, too..." Brass placed his hand on the back of a chair, moving around it and sitting down. "Do you think we finally caught the Prose Killer?" He mocked the name as he said it, his tone mordant.

Grissom didn't give an immediate answer, his eyes trailing the papers laid out on his desk. "We still don't know where Greg is. And this guy won't speak."

"We have the whole force searching. His house is way out in the desert. Could be something?"

Grissom sighed, still not satisfied.

"So where's Nick?" Brass was in a better mood than the other man, somewhat relieved that they had finally found someone. "I thought he'd want to be there to watch the interrogation?"

"He's out with-"

"Grissom." Nick interrupted, walking quickly through the doorway. Bypassing Brass and moving straight to Grissom's desk, waving a folder in his hand. "I've got something."

"Why aren't you with Sara...Getting evidence from Collin's house?"

"I asked Catherine to take my place." Nick ignored the reproachful expression on his supervisor's face, forcing the folder in Grissom's hand. "Michael Karlson."

"Never heard of him." Brass folded his arms, leaning back into the chair.

Grissom made an impatient gesture with his free hand. "What does this have to do with the case?"

"His mother's maiden name. It's-"

"Knott?" Brass interrupted, still remembering the man who worked at the post office. Wondering if he had a separate identity or anything to do with the case at all.

Nick shook his head. "No, it's Durkson."

"Durkson..." Grissom trailed off. Narrowing his eyes as he looked over the papers in the folder. "That's fourteen letters."

Nick stared at Grissom, his eyes hopeful and searching. Looking for some sort of reassurance.

"Hold on..." Brass placed his elbow on the armrest of the chair, supporting his head with a hand. Looking to Nick for clarification. "You're saying you found a guy with all the letters in his name...Just now?"

Nick nodded his head, giving Brass a quick glance before turning back to Grissom. "Because I've been thinking about those themes. And the whole casino thing, you know?"

Grissom lifted his head. "Do you have anything else that could tie this guy to the case?"

"Well, I...He doesn't have an Acura, but he matches the physical description."

"Which isn't much...Caucasian and dark hair."

Nick looked at Grissom pleadingly. He had that feeling in the bottom of his stomach. The same one he had on the day he found out Greg was missing. "I was looking for people connected to casinos. And Karlson works at the Bellagio."

"Big place." Brass looked at Grissom. "Could have made some money, there."

"I was just playing around with the letters and I found him."

"So nothing else?" Grissom asked.

"No..." Nick relayed, not being able to come up with anything more. Knowing it wasn't exactly the best foundation for probable cause.

"We don't have a warrant to search the guy's place. No reason to suspect him. Why not give him a quick visit?" Brass said, trying to convince Grissom. "Or it could be a coincidence?"

Grissom slowly turned his head to Brass, his face a neutral expression. "I don't believe in coincidence."

"I'm just saying, because you know what I think, Gil. Things happen for a reason. We should at least check this guy out." Brass stood from his chair, straightening his jacket. "You know, like a pre-welcoming party before we convince him to come down here. Initiate a little friendly conversation."

"Then I'm coming with you." Brass turned to Nick, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Nick." Grissom took note of the finality in the other man's tone. "Take Warrick with you."

"Right."

**

"This was not what I was expecting." Sara set her flashlight on the floor, picking up a broken picture frame and turning it over. "This guy looks like Collins."

"Let me see." Catherine made her way across the bedroom, kneeling beside Sara. "From twenty years ago. Who's she?" She pointed at the young woman standing beside Collins.

"Looks like his wife?" Sara tilted the frame, careful of the sharp glass covering the picture. "But she's listed as deceased."

"They couldn't be more than twenty-five in this picture." Catherine held out her hand. "Can I see it for a sec?"

"Oh...Yeah, sure." Sara handed the frame to Catherine. "Do you think that's why all the victims were so young? Because she died at an early age?"

"Could be why he broke it. A different variation on a crime of passion...There." Catherine took the photo out of the frame, turning it around to see the back. "This was taken on their fourth anniversary."

"And she died later that year. It was a hit and run. Some drunk kid." Sara picked up her flashlight, standing to peer over Catherine's shoulder. "May, twenty-three years ago. He was only nineteen when they got married."

"Man, I can't even think of being permanently attached at that age. Never mind when I actually did get married." Catherine stood beside Sara, picture in hand. "And he's only been living here three years. You think he travelled around the country killing people?"

"It's possible. He's still in for questioning. And what we already have should be enough to keep him. But...Catherine?"

"What is it?"

Sara turned on her flashlight, pointing it to the small handwriting on the back of the photo. "What's the date of their anniversary?"

Catherine looked at Sara strangely, curious to where she was taking the conversation. "The fourteenth, why?"

"That's tomorrow."

**

"Greg...Wake up." He looked down at the head resting on his arm. Silently disgusted at the drool coming out of Greg's mouth.

Nick only received a groan in response, Greg's body remaining sprawled languidly on top of him.

"Greg..." Nick trailed his fingers along Greg's side, knowing he was ticklish. Happy to garner some sort of movement, even if it meant the other man wiped the drool against Nick's arm.

Greg released a soft bout of laughter, moving into a more comfortable position. His mouth pressed and moving against Nick's chest. "I was sleeping, you know?"

"Yeah...On me." Nick played with Greg's hair, running his fingers through its layers. "You were snoring, too."

Greg closed his eyes, smiling against Nick's chest. "I don't snore."

"Keep telling yourself that." Nick let his hand travel to Greg's back, making circular motions against the smooth skin. "You need a new couch, too."

"What are you...My mother?"

"Close enough."

"Well, until this one breaks." Greg moved his hand to the side of the couch, squeezing the cushion. "It's still good."

"It's not like you don't have the money."

"I don't want to spend it on something I don't have to fix."

"Could you at least get off of me? My legs fell asleep."

"I could...But that would involve actual movement." He lifted his head from Nick's chest, an earnest smile on his face.

"And I'm not ready to move, yet."

"You all right, Nick?" Warrick nudged his friend in the arm, taking the key out of the ignition.

"Yeah...I'm fine, man." Nick removed himself from the seat of the car, closing the door behind him. "I just don't want to come back from this one with nothing."

"What about Collins?"

"And where did we get with him? I mean, we still don't know where Greg is." He raised his head, glancing at the spectacle of lights that seemed all too familiar. And somehow, far too wrong. "I don't know what to think right now...But I don't want to leave anything open, you know?"

"I hear you." Warrick moved around the car, leading the way to the Bellagio. Nick following behind. "But the Collins guy might be our PK."

"Yeah, but if..." Nick trailed off, his attention caught by a slight movement in alley between the hotel resorts. Seeing a silhouette kneeling on the ground. Searching through the clothes of another figure that lay there, as well.

"Hey..." He extended his voice in the direction of two figures.

"Nick, where are you going?"

"I'll be right back. Just hold on for me." Warrick shook his head wearily. Watching Nick run off as he moved to meet Brass. Now pulling up behind Warrick's car.

"Hey, leave him alone." Nick watched as the guy scurried off the supine body, running away to the other side of the alley. He moved toward the remaining figure. "Are you..." Nick trailed off as the dim lighting revealed the person on the ground.

"Oh my God." Releasing a choking sound as his knees made impact with the cement.

"Oh God...God...Jesus Christ." His breathing was coming in quick pants as he reached for the body.

"Warrick!"

**

"Nick..." Warrick whispered as he ran towards Nick's voice. Startled by the panic he heard in the call. "Nick, why are you...Jesus..."

"Warrick..." Nick looked up at his friend's voice. "Oh God, Warrick..." His expectant gaze poignant as he sat on the ground. Holding a bloodied Greg Sanders in his lap.

Rocking back and forth a bloodied Greg Sanders who wouldn't respond to his voice.

Warrick cursed beneath his breath, quickly kneeling beside Nick. Helping him support Greg while his hands became soaked in blood. Shaking as they placed pressured on the various wounds. "Brass!"

Warrick turned his attention from the blood dripping down Nick's face, hearing footsteps come their way. He was relieved to see Brass' figure, grateful the man wasn't too far behind.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. What are you guys doing in the - God..." Brass trailed off, taking in Nick's white shirt, now painted red. Desperately holding on to the still body of Greg Sanders.

Warrick kneeling beside them.

Brass took out his phone, quickly dialling. "This is Jim Brass. LVPD. We have a..."

Warrick tuned out the detective, looking at the body Nick held in his arms. "Nick!"

"Warrick, he's-"

"Damn it, Nick! Now's not the time to do this." Warrick calmed himself, trying to think. Knowing Nick was too far gone to do anything without instruction. "Did you check to see if he still had a pulse?"

Nick shook his head. "He doesn't have a pulse." Running his hand through Greg's hair. The blood dripping down the side of Greg's face. "He doesn't have a pulse, Warrick."

"Brass is calling for help...The EMS is...The EMS is coming." Warrick grabbed a grey shirt neatly folded next to Nick's leg, not bothering to wonder where it came from. Using it to stop some of the bleeding. "Damn it...He's losing too much blood."

"I tried to stop it..." Nick held out his hands, stained red. His arms still wrapped around Greg's body. "God, I tried to stop it."

"Don't do this to us, Greg...Nick, help me lay him out." He tossed the bloodied shirt to the side. "You get his head and I'll get his chest."

Together, they gently moved Greg. Wary that he was still bleeding. His skin quickly losing colour, turning pale and becoming cool to the touch.

Nick moved to cup Greg's face. Carefully placing his head on the ground. Pressing gently on his forehead and slowly lifting Greg's chin.

Breathing life into the still body.

Warrick stood on the other side, across from Nick. Checking for a pulse, Greg's thin wrist in his hand. "Still no pulse. I have to do compressions." He placed his hands upon Greg's chest, using his body weight to force the movement of blood in Greg's body.

Nick waited for Warrick, forcing air into Greg's body once more. The sounds of sirens in the distance.

"They're almost here." Warrick continued the chest compression when Nick moved his mouth from Greg's. "But keep going. I still don't have a pulse."

Nick again pushed air into Greg, aware of the faint footsteps getting louder. Brass' voice not far behind as Nick was suddenly being pulled away. "What are you - What are you doing?"

"Nick, the paramedics are here." Warrick grabbed Nick from beneath the arms, taking him away from Greg's body as it was being placed on a stretcher. An oxygen mask on Greg's face.

"Warrick...You have to let me go! I gotta get to Greg!" Nick tried to follow the stretcher that carried Greg. His voice high pitched and nearly choking. Almost to the breaking point as he tried to get out of Warrick's grasp.

Stepping over the bloodied shirt on the ground.

"Warrick! "Damn it, Warrick! Let me go!"

"Nick, you have to calm down!" Warrick struggled to keep Nick back. The other man was doing everything in his power, short of kicking and head butting, in order to reach Greg.

Tears were now running freely. Streaming down Nick's face and burning his cheeks. "Let me go! Greg still wasn't breathing!" As he continued to fight Warrick's strong hold. Ignoring the growing crowd as he thrashed wildly in the other man's arms.

"He's not breathing!"

***

14 May 2003

"This is where he lives?" Catherine viewed her surroundings in something akin to disappointment. Her mouth curling in displeasure. "Kind of a dump for someone with his kind of salary."

"You were actually expecting more?" Brass moved through the hallway, taking in the peeling and fading brown paint on the wall. The splintered wood visible as they passed the doors. "Come on, Catherine, you know better than that."

"At least he's on the fourth floor." She glanced behind to see three police officers in tow, following them with weapons ready. "Though, I'm surprised he wasn't on the fourteenth one."

"Superstitious, maybe?" Brass stopped a door. Nodding his head to the address plate labelled 414. "Or that could make up for it."

Catherine shook her head in disbelief; her gaze fixed on the plate's rusted numbers. "Obsession can only take you so far."

Brass only snorted in reply, graciously knocking on the door with the bottom of his fist. "Las Vegas police...Open up." After a moment of silence, he turned to Catherine. Hand still ready at the door. "It's a wonder why this never works. I'm not going to even bother adding the fact that we have a warrant."

Catherine positioned herself by the door, back against the wall. Her firearm cocked and held in both hands. Pointed at the stained beige carpet.

"I don't think it's a fluke that we found Sanders by the Bellagio." He knocked on the door for a second time. Waiting for a response that would never come.

"Me, either...And if this guy doesn't answer, I'm pretty sure he had something to do with it."

Brass didn't protest the opinion, inwardly agreeing with Catherine. "You know, I never was one for these kinds of pleasantries." Kicking the door open, firearm positioned at eyelevel as he entered the room. The piercing sound permeating throughout the apartment and echoing in the hall.

Catherine watched as the other officers went after Brass.

Already following close behind them.

**

He turned the page of the magazine. Back almost flat as he leaned over his legs. Elbows resting against them.

He could see the couple from the corner of his vision. Both figures not bothering to hide their emotions. Seated closely to one another. Dried streaks on their faces as they slept.

But not even in dreams were they allowed comfort.

Nick was only left to watch from a distance. The bodies leaning on one another. He was torn between not wanting to intrude and caught up in his own anguish. Still waiting for something.

Anything.

But no news was good news.

At least that's what Nick kept telling himself.

"I didn't know you could read upside down."

He felt a slight breeze as Warrick took a seat beside him. Jacket rustling as Nick looked at the magazine, inverting it. "Apparently I can." Nick didn't mind the jibe, knowing the other man was only trying to lighten the mood.

Even if it wasn't really working.

"But...Thanks, man. You know...For driving me here, yesterday." Because Nick knew he wouldn't have been able to make it on his own. He was too upset. Too distressed at the time.

He couldn't handle the sight of Greg laying motionless in that stretcher. Being held back as his distance from Greg gradually increased. Greg being carried further away.

Away from him.

"You know it wasn't anything big." Warrick brushed the gratitude off, not willing to accept it. "But what about you?" He pointed to Nick's change of clothes. The shirt Nick wore yesterday still fresh in his mind. White and drenched in blood. "Have you gone home, yet?"

Nick placed the magazine on the table, looking at his friend with bloodshot eyes. Slowly blinking, struggling to keep them open. "I am home, Warrick."

Warrick only sighed at the response. At a complete loss as he didn't know what to say. Not expecting the depth of emotion laced in Nick's voice. An intensity in Nick's gaze he'd never seen before. A combination so raw and agonising, Warrick didn't have the heart to question it. "Heard anything, yet?"

"Greg's still not stable enough to be on his own. From yesterday, I mean." Nick paused, covering his mouth with his knuckles. Giving himself time to collect his thoughts. Filter the correct words through his emotions.

"We're still waiting to see if his body will accept the blood. I ...I couldn't go in the room...They wouldn't even let his parents in there." Nick turned away, lowering his head. Careful not to let Warrick see the wetness in his eyes. "I got the chance to look at him, though. Through the glass. Even if I couldn't touch him. That was still something, right?"

Nick didn't wait for Warrick to respond. Almost forgetting the other man was there. "But he was hooked up to so many machines. So many machines."

"It was...I almost couldn't see him." Realising he was sniffling; Nick wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. Not caring if anyone saw him. "I felt so...So...I couldn't do anything but watch. He's still not even breathing on his own, you know?"

"And they uh...They uh, took him into surgery a few hours ago. And if it doesn't work out, he might not...Greg might..."

"You know it's funny." Nick rubbed his eyes, drying them with his hands. Composing himself. "He almost didn't make it to the hospital."

"You did good, Nick."

"And it hit me, then. If you hadn't come. If we didn't..." He wiped his hand on his leg, the fabric of the pants absorbing the moisture. "For once, I don't care if this guy gets away. I don't care if we never catch him."

Nick closed his eyes, raising his head to face the ceiling. Seeing nothing but darkness. "All I want is to do...Is wake up. Greg next to me. Like this never happened." He bit his bottom lip, opening his eyes to face Warrick. "I'm sorry, man. I know-"

Warrick gave a light snort. "You hear me complaining?" Content to see Nick straighten his shoulders. The corners of his mouth lifting. Even if only for a moment.

"Nah...I guess I'm lucky this time."

"Hey, I'm letting you off easy. But are they..." Warrick nodded at the couple who sat two rows from them. The only other people in the room. "Greg's parents?"

"Yeah...They've been here since yesterday, too." Nick gave a soft smile, turning around and sparing the sleeping pair a quick glance. "I brought them some food from the vending machines...I'm giving them space right, now. But they smiled at me, you know? Said thank you, too."

But Nick's happiness was short lived as Warrick nudged him. Pointing to the doctor who was walking up to the couple. Touching them gently. Trying to wake them up.

Nick kept his gaze on the interaction. Wishing he could read lips. Not able to get anything from the doctor's neutral expression as he whispered something into their ears. Not able to see the couple's reaction as their backs were now turned on Nick.

Not able to know if Greg would really be okay.

**

I am indebted to my friends

Grissom raised his head, looking to Brass for confirmation. "This note...Is the only thing you found?"

"Place was cleared out. Apparently Karlson didn't just leave his job." Brass shook his shoulders. "Catherine found it on top of a folded striped sheet. Everything else was gone. No bed, no clothes, no refrigerator..."

"Nothing..."

"Any idea what this means, Gil?" Brass tilted his head, peering at the other man. His gaze full of questions. Expectant and waiting.

"Honestly," Grissom stilled for a moment, resisting the urge to crumble the paper in his hands. Breathing heavily and sagging his shoulders. "I have no idea."

"Personally, I'm thinking this guy had a hand in the whole thing."

"Yeah, and we thought Collins did, too. But now..."

"Grissom."

"Sara." Grissom greeted as she entered the room, papers in hand. His eyebrows raised in silent questioning.

"Nick just called. Told me Greg still can't breathe on his own. They still had to start surgery, though. And that was a couple of hours ago. So I'm waiting for anymore news." She nodded to Brass, noting his presence. "But get this. They found traces rohypnol when they were testing his blood for the transfusion. He was probably dosed yesterday judging by the high amount they found."

"That's probably how he drugged them." Brass placed his hand on his head. Fingers brushing over his scalp and what was left of his hair.

"Mercy before murder?" Sara asked, taking a seat in the other chair.

"Maybe." Grissom shrugged helplessly. "Don't know, yet."

"The other victims didn't have any traces of it when we found them...On the fourteenth day." Sara countered.

"Parker died earlier and Sanders wouldn't have died at all?" Brass inquired.

"But I don't think he knew about her anaemia." Grissom answered. "I think that was a mistake he didn't count on."

"But still." Sara continued with Brass' notion. "Doesn't that mean he didn't want to kill Greg, at all?"

"Look, I'm just glad we got Sanders back." Brass interrupted.

"Greg's not out of the woods, yet."

"Grissom..." Sara spoke softly, startled by the hard expression on his face.

"What about Karlson?" Brass looked at Sara.

"Well, I checked him out. Since Collins still won't confess to anything. And I found that Karlson turned in his resignation for the Bellagio on the first of May." She dropped the papers on Grissom's desk.

"Two weeks ago."

"And he left yesterday." Brass added. "The guy who owns the apartment complex said the lease was paid off and everything."

Grissom narrowed his eyes at the other man. His gaze searching. "What about an APB for Karlson? Already put one out?"

"Yeah, but...Don't get your hopes up. Guy's probably long gone by now."

"The one that got away." Grissom's tone was distant and regretful. His mind reflecting on the case in its entirety.

"You think he had something to do with it, Gil?" Brass held his hands out in defence at the look he was given. "Hey, I know you don't believe in coincidence. But even if we do find him. We don't have anything to hold him with."

"Don't forget." Sara intervened. "When Greg wakes up, we'll still have an eyewitness account."

"That's if the guy let Greg see his face. And if Greg can remember it." Grissom added. "I'm guessing he wasn't given a single dose of rohypnol."

"That's it then." Brass sighed dejectedly. "This guy is going to get away."

"Probably."

Sara looked to her supervisor. Taken back by his easy compliance. "So we're not going to do anything about it?"

"There's nothing we can do."

**

"Warrick gave this to me." Nick held the shirt in his hands, clutching it tightly. "How could I miss my own shirt...I bet you'd be laughing at me, now."

"Not like you're going to be wearing this again." He let the shirt fall out of his hands, the colour once more a faded grey. Even as it was no longer drenched in blood, it reminded him too much of yesterday night.

"Stupid, right?" He released a laugh. A broken sound that was painful to his ears.

"I'm glad your parents came, though...I tried calling and calling." Nick wiped his eyes with the bottom of his shirt. Not caring about the wet spots on the light blue material.

"Turns out they were on vacation...Funny isn't it?" He rubbed his hands on his pants. His legs stinging, aching from sitting for so long.

But it was nothing compared to the pain he held inside.

"I know they didn't want to see you like this...Hell, I still can't get over seeing you like this. I still - I still can't..." Nick lowered his head. Trying his best to get the words out.

Even if Greg couldn't hear them.

"I keep going back to the last time I saw you smile. Not just imagine it when I talked to you, but when I actually saw you smile.

"Right before I left...When you were sleeping. And I know you don't like to hear it, but you do snore, you know? But it doesn't bother me. Not really." Because anything was better than this silence.

Especially when it came from Greg.

"I'm scared...Really. Because I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go from here."

Nick leaned in the chair, moving his body closer to the bed. Closer to Greg.

He took a bandaged hand in between his palms. Raising it to his lips. Where they lingered. Pressing softly against the area of skin not concealed.

He closed his eyes. Contending with these new emotions. The desire to tell Greg so much. So much he once thought he would never be able to say.

But he could do that tomorrow.

He could worry about everything else later. Helping Greg heal. How others would react to his relationship with Greg. If Greg would still want a relationship with him.

But right now, Nick held the hand tightly, squeezing it and ignoring the moisture falling onto the bandages.

He could worry about the excess baggage at another time.

His only concern was the person in the bed. The person beside him. And even though Greg wasn't necessarily in the best condition, he would still be okay. Because he was still alive.

Alive.

And Nick would go from there.

End

Warning: Long, last note. And because I copied this from my ff.net posting (Too lazy to summarise again).

Thank you and goodnight. Back to crack!fics until further notice. Or at least less serious ones. Ryan/Greg ones excluded because they're not Nick/Greg. The reason why it took so long to get this last one out is because I've been working on a much lighter N/G on the sidelines the entire time (Shame on anza).

My position on Michael's escape: After nearly a year of getting away with murder, it wouldn't make any sense for him to be caught. End of story. Whether he'll do this again, I doubt. He just wanted to see if he could. But anything else about him is open to interpretation.

The ending is...Well, open-ended. But I think Michael wanted the cops to find him. That's why he waited for Greg. He wanted to get some sort of recognition, but they still can't prove it. So it's pretty much speculation. And even if Greg does speak up, Michael is gone.

Michael's friends to whom he refers in the note: Now, the team does not know what it means. But basically Micheal Knott and Brent Collins. There's where my subtle clues come in. Remember when the killer was looking at Greg's hair, saying Greg reminded him of someone he once knew? He was talking about Knott. That was his friend from whom he got the blue car. I had both Michaels cross their legs. They share the same first name. Same initials. That same scary kind of eagerness about Greg.

The killer didn't do it alone. Make your own conclusions.

And Brent Collins. The killer set that up, too. Collins on his own is a creepy guy, but the killer just took some of those traits as his own. And the rest is his own invention. That's the only kind of conclusion that I can give concerning the killer. Collins will probably end up in the slammer. Wrongfully convicted. It's sad, but things like this happen.

Personally, I like the ending. Much to my chagrin - Despite the fact that I wrote the story - it's a Nick fic. About Nick dealing with his feelings for Greg. I know my conclusion leaves much to be desired. But Greg is alive and Nick will never (hopefully) take him for granted again. And right now, that's all the matters, right?

Because come on. You really didn't think I would kill Greg, did you?

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