Title: Demonology
By: VicXntric
Pairing: Warrick/Nick, mention of Keppler/Nick
Summary: Keppler's problems with his are over. Nick's are still there--waiting. Warrick has racked up enough on his own and doesn't need anyone adding to them.
Rating: NC-17

Nick stared blankly at the stack of paperwork he was filing--attempting to file. Reading over the report on the organ bank case, it was impossible not to think of the man he'd worked the case with.

Mike Keppler.

It had only been a few days after the false crime scene Keppler had planned with Catherine, Brass and the undersheriff and Nick had still been trying to "let it go." Catherine's deception had hurt the most, but Brass' had stung as well--those had been the toughest to come to terms with. Nick had never had much respect for the undersheriff to lose and as for Keppler, somehow it had been easier to give him a break, perhaps because he'd been the new guy. Without any history there, it had been easier to start over.

Keppler had made no apologies and gave no excuses, remaining stoic in the face of everyone's initial hostility. He'd practically telegraphed the mantra "what's done is done and I'm getting on with the job."

It was an attitude Nick could respect. What's more, it was one he could relate to. So Nick had made an extra effort to get along with the new guy, and had been surprised to find it relatively easy.

Once they'd wrapped up the organ theft, there were dozens of tissue samples that needed to be tested and logged. When Keppler had offered to lend a hand, Nick accepted gratefully. After several hours of working companionably, Keppler had surprised Nick again by taking him up on his offer to grab a drink.

Two hours later, Nick had found himself braced against his kitchen counter, panting encouragement as Keppler--well, he'd started calling him Mike at some point--pounded into him.

It wasn't Nick's first with another man, by any means, and he didn't think it was Mike's. Besides, he was past caring about any lack of finesse. All he'd wanted was to give himself up to the sensation of being filled by another man.

After they were finished, Mike slid his hand along Nick's spine once more before getting dressed and leaving without a word. At one time that would have bothered Nick--a lot--but he hadn't expected or wanted anything more. He hadn't been looking for anything other than a temporary release and had somehow known Mike was looking for the same thing.

Even if they hadn't known one another very well, their individual demons had recognized and were drawn to each other.

Nick now knew that those demons were vastly different, but it hadn't mattered that day. Or the next day, when Mike fucked him on the sofa. Their parting was exactly the same, and the next time Nick had seen Mike was on their way into a hotel room containing the bodies of a hooker and a retired cop. Thirty-six hours later, Mike had been dead as well.

Other than the usual sorrow for a fallen colleague, Nick wasn't sure how he felt about Mike's death. He thought he'd be more broken up. Hell, he'd slept with the guy twice and thought he would--should--feel like some sort of connection had been broken. Instead, Nick had the sneaking suspicion that it was envy lurking around his consciousness and that--well, that was worrisome. He couldn't ever remember having envied the dead before.

Before.

Because that's how he'd thought about his life for the past two years. There was now and there was before and there was the chasm between the two.

Before being envious of the dead never would have registered with him, barely would have made it onto his radar. Before, when death was just a part of his job. Before he'd held a gun under his chin and tried to decide whether he wanted to suffocate or blow his brains out.

Now Nick couldn't help reflecting that at least Mike's troubles were over. Mike's past had caught up with him, but never again would he have to worry about it endlessly overshadowing his future. Never again would he have to check over his shoulder to make sure of it. The other shoe had dropped for Mike Keppler and as final as it was, Nick couldn't help thinking it must be something of a relief.

Nick knew this was a dangerous mind set and always tried to make himself concentrate on something else when his thoughts turned in that direction. He was successful some of the time, but just as often, those thoughts would creep up to consume him again.

Like right now.

Growling under his breath, Nick tried to refocus his attention on the paperwork in front of him.

"Nick."

He looked up to see Catherine framed in the doorway.

"That arson Warrick and Greg are working turned out to be a lot bigger than anyone thought. They're bringing in some of the debris and I could use your help going through it. I'll be in the second trace lab."

"Okay. Just let me clear this stuff up and I'll meet you there in a few."

Catherine nodded and disappeared again.

This time, Nick didn't bother trying to stifle his sigh. Just a short time ago, Catherine would have popped her head in with a "Hey, Nicky, get your butt into some coveralls and meet me in the second trace lab." He would have gone without question and Catherine would have filled him in once he got there.

Since the "reverse forensics" fiasco, Catherine had been treading carefully to the point that Nick did feel a bit bad for her. He just didn't know how to tell her that he was trying to put it all behind him. What was he supposed to do? Break the news while they were driving out to the scene? "Cath, even though I'm still pretty ticked about the way you lied, I'm not sure I even have the right to be angry with you."

Which was what a lot of things in his life seemed to boil down to. Before, when he was angry, he was angry, and that was it. He'd rarely questioned whether he had the right to be angry, he just was. Now he questioned that all the time.

What right did he have to be angry at people who had suffered while he was missing and gave everything they had to find him? So Catherine had lied to him. She had also risked her reputation and God-knew-what-else to get his ransom from Sam Braun.

It had been the same thing when he discovered Grissom had hidden the recovered tape from him. So what? According to what Nick had heard while in the hospital, Grissom had risked his life to deliver the ransom and had been the one to find the break that lead to the team finding him.

Whenever he thought about it, Nick would still be overwhelmed and humbled by gratitude, yet it was never quite enough to sweep away the anger. He knew he would never be able to repay these people for what they'd done for him, and most of the time, that mad him angry, too.

He tried to shake it off before he joined Catherine in the lab. They worked in near-silence, sifting through ashes and charred debris looking for anything telling or unusual.

"Two-eighteen Gillespie Street," Catherine said, looking over the police report. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

It sounded familiar to Nick as well, and he lifted his head to share a bemused look with Catherine before it came to him. "Keppler," he said, dropping his gaze back to the table. "That's right near the lot where Mike left his phone for us to find the victim's hand."

Silence descended again, but this time for only half an hour before Catherine broke it. "There was a rumor going around swing and days that I was sleeping with him."

"Who?"

"Mike."

"Oh." Nick wasn't sure what she expected him to say to that, so he didn't say anything.

"I didn't."

Nick couldn't stop his laughter from escaping. "I know." He could feel Catherine's gaze and knew she was probably wondering why he found it funny. Since meeting her eyes would mean speaking, Nick looked the other way, only to see Warrick in the doorway, glaring. At him? Yeah, at him.

Great. Now what? During the past two years their friendship had become increasingly unstable. Although most of the time Nick could still sense that solid base they had established over the years, distance and disagreements had taken their toll until the teasing and talking that had once come so naturally were now forced. There was no telling why the green eyes were focused on him with laser intensity. "Hey."

Warrick's poker face appeared as soon as Catherine noticed his presence. "Cavaliere already has a suspect in custody."

"Yeah?" Catherine raised her eyebrows. "The guy looks pretty good for it?"

"I'll say," Warrick snorted. "It goes beyond a confession--he's taking credit for it. Claims the building's owner cheated him in a real estate deal."

Catherine shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"So this isn't the rush we thought it was. Anytime you guys want to stop rooting through those ashes, Greg and I can finish up."

That sounded good to Nick. His last several cases had been document-heavy and although he wasn't behind yet, he wasn't far from it, either.

"We can finish this up first, right, Nick?"

"I've got a lot of paperwork to take care of. I'll help you clean up here first, though."

Catherine looked disconcerted. "No, that's fine. I'm going to keep going."

"Okay. Great." Nick stripped off his gloves and bagged them. "Later, Rick," he said as he walked out the door.

After cleaning up, Nick went back to his case files and settled in. He made good progress, finishing up only twenty minutes past his usual end-of-shift. Pleased with a job well done, Nick filed everything away and headed for the locker room. The only other person there was Warrick. "Hey," Nick said as he unstrapped his sidearm and unloaded it. It didn't register that Warrick hadn't replied until he felt the weight of those eye on him. He turned, and sure enough, Warrick was glaring again. "What's up?"

"What's up with you?"

"Just heading home." Nick knew that wasn't what Warrick meant, but couldn't figure out what had the guy so ticked.

"How long you gonna keep doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Giving Catherine the brush off like that. Treating her like crap."

That was way out of line, as far as Nick was concerned. No matter how angry he'd been at Catherine, he'd never treated her badly. He couldn't believe what a big deal Warrick was making just because he'd bowed out of sifting duty. "You said it wasn't a priority. And I really was getting behind in my files."

"And what about when she was trying to talk to you about Keppler?"

"Jesus, Rick, how long were you standing there listening?"

"Long enough to hear you laughing at her when she was trying to explain things to you."

"I wasn't laughing at her, I was laughing at the rumor she'd slept with Mike." Nick felt his temper getting away. Had Catherine been complaining about him to Warrick? "What did she say after I left?"

"She didn't say anything. Didn't have to. I'm talking about what I saw and heard."

"What you saw and heard was Catherine telling me about the rumor she'd slept with Mike and me laughing because I knew it wasn't true."

The green eyes narrowed suddenly. "When did he become Mike?"

Okay, now he was getting seriously pissed off. "Man, what is your problem?"

"I'm not the one who has the problem. I'm not the one who comes to work a different person every goddamned day."

Nick slammed his locker shut, "I don't need this today." Especially since Warrick couldn't seem to decide what he was pissed off about. "I'm outta here." He stalked out of the locker room and out to his truck, eager to leave work behind him.

As he drove home, Nick tried to figure out what exactly had set Warrick off. Was it really the fact that he'd ducked out of ash duty? Or his treatment of Catherine? Maybe it wasn't the warm relationship he and Catherine had before, but it wasn't crap either.

Maybe Warrick thought he shouldn't have moved to a first name basis with Mike because Mike had basically played them all. Nick wasn't sure if Warrick suspected he and Mike had slept together, but it wasn't like that would blind side Warrick completely. Warrick already knew that although Nick slept with women, he preferred men, just like Nick knew that Warrick didn't limit himself entirely to women.

Once, years before, that knowledge had led to an encounter between them. Afterward, they'd both agreed that it was a one-time thing and wouldn't happen again because it would only mess up their friendship. Actually, Warrick had said that and Nick had agreed. What else could he have said at the time?

So it didn't make sense for Warrick to be uptight about that.

Unlocking his door, Nick entered with a sigh, reflecting uneasily on Warrick's last accusation. So he was different now. Did Warrick think that was news? Besides, Warrick had changed plenty, too, marrying a woman he'd only know for a few months and then divorcing her barely a year later. And then he had the nerve to suggest Nick's behavior was erratic?

Nick let out a derisive snort as he hung up his jacket.

He was just heading to the kitchen to grab some breakfast when he heard a vehicle pull up. He had a sinking feeling he knew who it was.

When the knock sounded, Nick opened the door, but stood so he was blocking the doorway. "I thought we were done," he said to the man on his front step.

"Not by a long shot," Warrick replied firmly.

Nick debated whether he should just close the door in Warrick's face and ignore the whole thing, but when it came down to it, he wanted to have it out. Clear the air once and for all and maybe repair the friendship that was becoming badly frayed. Besides, there were a few things he wouldn't mind getting off his chest. He stepped aside to let Warrick pass.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," Warrick remarked as he walked in.

Closing the door, Nick leaned against it and folded his arms across his chest. Despite his desire to get things out, he wasn't able to bring himself to actually say anything.

"I don't know what's going on with you anymore. One day you're assaulting bystanders at a crime scene."

Was he kidding? "That guy was the ringleader!"

"You didn't know that at the time. He was just some jerk lipping off--we're supposed to ignore them."

"That was months ago--"

"And you did the same thing last year to a kid in the McBride case."

"Last year!" Nick repeated. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I thought the thing with that punk was just a one time thing, then I find out you've done it before. You're just damn lucky neither me or Sara reported you."

Nick tightened his jaw and looked away. This wasn't quite what he'd expected.

"Some days you seem fine, and the next thing you're talking about the job getting to you and leaving Vegas."

"Everybody thinks about that sometime," Nick shrugged, but didn't unfold his arms.

"What about the Zamesca case? You get mad at Catherine but suddenly you're all cozy with Keppler? What the hell was that?"

"That's none of your business."

Warrick didn't say anything, and after several minutes, Nick turned to find Warrick staring at him intently. "You slept with him." It wasn't a question, so Nick didn't see any reason to reply. "You son of a bitch."

Startled by the venom in Warrick's tone, Nick was momentarily thrown off balance.

"You were pissed off at Catherine, so you slept with Keppler."

For a moment Nick could only gape at him, but then the anger returned. "Man, when you are wrong, you are so wrong." He pushed away from the door and shouldered past Warrick.

"Then what the hell was it about?"

"That's a stupid question," Nick retorted, and Warrick's expression grew livid. "What is your problem, anyway? The only time you talk to me anymore is when you're on my case about something." Nick could sense things beginning to spin out of control, but instead of attempting to diffuse it, he found himself relishing the confrontation. "So what is it this time? You're still ticked about your divorce and taking it out on me? You're jealous because Catherine had a thing for Mike? Jealous of me for sleeping with him?"

"Stop calling him Mike like you knew him!"

"You're jealous of Mike," Nick said in sudden realization. "Why? Because Cath had a thing for him or because I slept with him?"

Warrick took a step toward him before catching himself.

Nick knew he'd hit a nerve. It was rare he ever felt he had the upper hand these days, and now that he did, he was going to make the most of it. "Or are you just uptight because you haven't gotten any since the divorce?"

"You are really pushing your luck," Warrick growled.

"Hey, I didn't start this. You came to my place."

"Yeah, and this is exactly why. Half the time you're like someone else."

Just like that, he'd lost the upper hand. "Get the hell out of my house."

"We're not done yet."

"Yeah, we are," Nick gave the larger man a shove toward the door.

"Don't, Nick," Warrick warned, catching Nick's arm. "You know I can put you on the ground again, just like I did back in that alley."

Nick twisted his arm free and gave Warrick another shove.

Warrick clamped his other hand on Nick's shoulder, dragging him forward and leaning down so they were almost nose-to-nose. "I said we aren't finished yet."

Nick used both hands to break Warrick's grip. "Then say what you want and get the hell--" The rest of his words were muffled when Warrick's mouth covered his, hard and demanding. And somehow Nick wasn't shocked or even surprised. Almost instantly, he went from trying to break Warrick's hold to grabbing handfuls of his shirt and pulling it free of the waistband. When they broke off the kiss, Nick latched onto the skin at the hollow of Warrick's throat. There'd be no half-open shirts for Mr. Suave at work tonight.

In return, Warrick bit down hard on his earlobe, making Nick shudder and sending a jolt straight to his groin.

Nick was undoing the few remaining buttons on Warrick's untucked shirt, but had to stop when Warrick abruptly yanked his polo up and over his head. Releasing Warrick, Nick quickly got rid of his own shirt before getting back to Warrick's. He pushed the open shirt off the broad shoulders, but held onto the placket edges, using them to tug Warrick toward the bedroom.

Once inside, Warrick pulled his arms free and wrapped one hand around the back of Nick's neck, dragging him closer and devouring his lips again. When Warrick's tongue invaded his mouth, Nick sucked hard on it until Warrick was moaning in the back of his throat.

This time Warrick broke the kiss to nip and bite at the skin on Nick's neck and shoulders.

Nick felt his bed against the back of his legs and let himself fall back, pulling Warrick down on top of him. Even though they were still wearing their jeans, Nick wound his legs around Warrick's hips and began thrusting up against him.

It was only a few thrusts before Warrick untangled himself and stood again. Surprised, Nick propped himself up on his elbows until he felt Warrick's hands at his belt. He slumped back down briefly before twisting to reach for the drawer of his night stand, but only managed to snag a condom before he was pulled away by Warrick's violent tugging on his jeans.

Nick didn't bother worrying about the lube, quickly sitting up and opening the wrapper while Warrick took off his own jeans. Warrick stepped forward and slipped his fingers into Nick's mouth, and Nick immediately began sucking on them, mustering up as much spit as he could. In the back of his mind he noted that Warrick's formerly flat abs had been replaced by a bit of a gut, but he wasn't nearly as interested in that as he was in the big straining cock that would soon be filling him.

Warrick reached down and grabbed one of Nick's ankles, raising it up to rest against his shoulder while his slicked fingers probed Nick's cleft.

Only giving him time for the barest preparation, Nick wrapped his legs around Warrick's waist again, urging himself closer. When Warrick drove into him, Nick gritted his teeth against a yell, but it didn't take long for his body to adust. He hitched his legs higher so that Warrick could plunge deeper, and hit the perfect spot.

They had barely spoken a word up until now and there were still none as their mouths locked together, their tongues jousting in an echo of the rhythm their bodies were making.

Underlying everything was an instinctive teamwork that assured they were both getting as much pleasure as possible. No matter how angry Warrick was with Nick, when Nick reached for his cock, Warrick's hand was there as well. And even though Nick's own release was suddenly upon him, he managed to tighten his legs and draw Warrick in deeper when Warrick came.

This was what had been missing with Mike. With Mike it had been purely physical.

With Warrick, no matter how physical they got, for Nick it would never be just that.

Nick lay still when Warrick collapsed on him, content to just listen to their breathing as it slowly returned to normal. A few minutes after it had, Warrick withdrew and moved off him. While Warrick discarded the condom, Nick found his jeans and shorts and used the latter to clean himself off. Then he got under the covers and was about to settle in until he saw that Warrick was getting dressed.

"I've gotta go," Warrick explained, obviously noticing his surprise. "I'm looking for a new place today."

Nick considered pointing out that they hadn't settled anything Warrick wanted to settle, but the last thing he wanted was to revisit that argument. "Good luck. I'll see you at work tonight."

"Yep," Warrick buckled his belt. "I'll lock the door on my way out."

"Thanks," Nick said, watching him walk out of the bedroom. He waited until he heard his front door close before letting his head fall back to the pillow. Vaguely disappointed, but comfortably satiated, Nick easily drifted off to sleep.

---

Warrick caught himself humming along with the radio as he drove to work, and couldn't remember the last time his mood had been good enough for that to happen. Certainly not a few nights ago, when he had almost called in sick just to avoid seeing Nick. With no real way to explain what had prompted his actions, he was grateful that Nick seemed to accept it as simply another hitch in their friendship, just like that time years before.

And not even a bad hitch, necessarily, because since it happened, things had been less difficult between he and Nick. Of course, that might also be because Warrick had dropped the subject of the changes in Nick's personality. He was still concerned about it, but decided to let it alone for a while, considering what had happened the last time. As a result, Nick was a bit less guarded around him and working together wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as it had been for the past few months.

Things were looking up for the first time in a while. His divorce had finally gone through--the initial delay was his own fault. Although he hated to admit it, the stalling he'd done had more to do with his own feelings of failure than with losing Tina. All in all, it turned out being much friendlier than he'd expected. He had the sneaking suspicion that Tina figured out she might have taken on more baggage than she could handle and was glad to be out of the situation.

They had agreed that Warrick would stay at "their" place and Tina with her parents until he found somewhere new to live. Earlier today, he'd done just that, signing a lease for an apartment on Sahara. It was only one bedroom, but fairly roomy and not too pricey considering the nice neighborhood. In another week he'd be able to move in and put this giant mistake behind him.

He arrived at work to a very dull night for Las Vegas, pulling only a burglary and an assault. Sunrise--and Grissom--found him writing up the nights' reports across from Nick at the conference table.

"Hope you guys are up for a double," Grissom said.

Warrick hadn't worked a double for nearly five days, a highly unusual occurrence. "Sure."

Nick was obviously of the same mind set. "What is it?"

"DB out in the desert. Off 161 near Ripley--just before the turnoff for the Goodsprings Bypass. Couple of off-roaders found it. Sofia's out there already and the coroner's on his way."

Warrick quickly gathered his files and stood, taking the slip from Grissom. "I'll drive," he said.

Nick shot him a rueful smile and nodded in resignation--he was still gathering up his files.

"Meet you outside," Warrick grinned. It was Nick's own fault--one of the hazards of spreading your work out everywhere as was the Texan's habit.

"So how's the apartment hunt going?" Nick asked once they were on their way out to the scene.

"It's done. I found a place and I'll be moving in at the beginning of the month."

"Need a hand?"

"Sure." There was the Nick that Warrick had always known--friendly and generous. Still, Warrick had learned that nowadays Nick could shut down so much he rivaled Grissom if something provoked him. "I was gonna ask if you'd be able to get a dolly from that guy you played softball with."

"Probably," Nick nodded. "I'll give him a call."

"Cool."

After that, their conversation turned to the usual subjects, with one exception. There was no comparison of notes about their love lives--they both knew who the other had last hooked up with.

It was a little more than half an hour before they finally spotted the police cars--one state trooper, a squad car, a detective's unmarked and the coroner's van. Warrick pulled in next to Sofia's Taurus and they got out, grabbing their kits and a camera as they walked toward the grim-looking group.

"Couple of teenagers found the body," Sofia said, without so much as a smile in greeting. That did not bode well. "They were out here riding their ATVs. The coroner's with her now, I'm going to finish talking to the kids." She nodded behind her before walking away.

"That doesn't sound good," Nick said, slipping the camera around his neck as the continued on in the direction Sofia had indicated.

They rounded a patch of scrub and found David crouched next to the body. A small body with long matted hair. The tatters of what once might have been a pastel nightgown barely covered her. There was no way to know for certain, but Warrick guessed she couldn't have been more than nine or ten.

"Ah, no..." Nick sighed, echoing his thoughts exactly.

David glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, guys," he said before turning back to the body. "No rigor mortis, corneas are opaque--she's been dead at least three days. Fingers and toes show the beginning of mummification, so considering the weather, she could have been out have been out here most of that time."

Nick shook his head, frowning, "There's no sign of animal activity. If she's been out her three days..."

"She has scratches on her face and arms," David continued. "And her nightgown is torn up and stained." Gently, he picked up one of her hands, "Fingernails are jagged."

"Hope she got a piece of whoever did this," Warrick muttered.

"Bands of bruises on both wrists, likely ligature marks, but no other outward signs of trauma."

Letting out a sigh of his own, Warrick gave Nick a slight nudge. "Let's get to work, bro."

---

When Nick got to work, there was a message waiting for him from Dr. Robbins to say he'd finished the post on their little Jane Doe. As soon as he found Warrick, who had received the same message, they went down to the morgue. It hadn't taken them long to process the scene that morning. It looked like a body dump, and after three days of wind and heat, there hadn't been much evidence left in the surrounding area.

The nightgown yielded a bit more information. There were vomit stains, but very little blood. They sent samples of both to DNA along with scrapings from her nails and swabs from the scratches on her arms and neck.

Looking down at the pathetically thin body on the cold metal, Nick tried unsuccessfully to brace himself against a wave of sadness so intense it bordered on despair. Her face, especially her cheeks and eyes were sunken more than he would have expected, even after three days in the desert.

"COD?" Warrick asked.

"Renal failure due to massive dehydration," Robbins replied. "Also signs of ketoacidosis."

Nick clenched his jaw in an effort to keep his voice steady. "She was starved to death."

"Basically, yes."

"Do we know how old she is?" Warrick continued.

"She has her first adult premolars, but not her second. That puts her at about ten years of age."

"This took a long time," Nick said, all the while wondering how someone could starve a ten-year-old. It took such deliberate and sustained cruelty. "From the ligature marks on the wrists we thought this might have been an abduction, but now...are there many signs of previous abuse?"

"None," Robbins replied.

Warrick looked as surprised as Nick to hear that. "What?"

"Bones show no sign of healed fractures. No scars. No signs of genital trauma. Judging from her teeth and bones, she appears to have been well-nourished up until recently. I'd say whatever happened to her happened in the last four months."

"So it could have been an abduction. Well, at least that gives us a time line to work with. What about the scratches?"

"Not very deep, so any bleeding from them would have been sluggish at best. Judging from the size I'd say it was a woman or another child." He held out a copy of the report. "That's all she can tell you, gentlemen."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and her prints will be in a school's child-find program," Nick suggested, knowing that was a very long shot.

"While you run that, I'll start going through missing persons," Warrick said as they headed for the door. "Thanks, Doc."

---

"You would have to pick a day like this to move," Nick said, wiping his forehead. "It must be getting close to a hundred and five out there."

Warrick almost pointed out that it wasn't exactly his choice, but he was too damned hot to bother. He set down the last two boxes that he'd brought up and closed the door against the scorching air outside.

"That's the last of it, yeah?" Nick asked.

"Almost all. I've still got some stuff in storage, but I can get that another day." He walked over to the A/C unit that was humming quietly. "Guess it's time to see how well this works," he turned it up to almost it's highest setting.

"So you know where you want everything to go? You might as well get that done, too."

Warrick looked at all his boxes and furniture they had piled haphazardly in the dining and living areas. "Break first," he said going to the kitchen. "The beers should be good and cold."

"You got beer already?"

"First thing I unpacked," Warrick replied, checking his watch--they still had ten hours before work.

"And I'll bet that's the only thing in your fridge," Nick chuckled as Warrick handed him a beer.

"Of course," Warrick moved some boxes off the sofa in the middle of the room and sat down.

Nick followed suit, taking a long pull from his bottle before sighing with relief. "It's a nice place," he said as he looked around. "Noticed you got a dishwasher now."

"Thank god," Warrick muttered. One thing he absolutely loathed was doing dishes. Tina hadn't liked dishwashers, subscribing to her mother's theory that it didn't get dishes clean enough. Warrick had never been able to wrap his head around that one.

"Lazy ass," Nick replied offhandedly.

Warrick grinned and took another sip of beer. Nick's genial mood, what Warrick thought of as "the old Nick," had lasted for most of the week and that was longer than usual for him. Especially considering they still hadn't gotten anywhere with their little Jane Doe despite working on it every chance they could without completely neglecting the rest of their caseloads.

Warrick still hadn't mentioned his concerns about Nick's behavior again, not wanting to ruin his friend's good mood. Besides, always in the back of his mind was the hope that this time the old Nick was back for good. It was a hope that always lasted until Nick said or did something that just wasn't him.

"If we'd have been thinkin'," Nick commented, still looking around. "We'd have put everything in its place when we brought it up."

"I still haven't decided where I want stuff to go," Warrick shrugged. He might be a stickler for organization about plenty of things, but moving was definitely not one of them.

"Well, your dining table obviously goes there," Nick jerked his thumb toward the nook near the kitchen, then looked behind them. "The couch could go against that wall or we could leave it here, turn it ninety degrees and put the bookshelves behind it to sort of separate it from the table and chairs."

Surprised, Warrick couldn't resist. "Never knew you were so into interior design. What color should my curtains be?"

"Don't go there, man," Nick sounded amused. "I grew up with five sisters. Do you have any idea how often the furniture in our house got rearranged? Hell, they still do it when we all go down for a visit."

Warrick laughed. "The only thing I want to make sure is done is my bed," he said, and rolled his eyes in response to Nick's raised eyebrows. "If I get stuck working a double tonight, I want to be able to come home and crash in a bed, not be stuck out here on the couch."

"Makes sense," Nick agreed, finishing his beer. "Let's get to it."

It didn't take that long to get his bed put together and all his bedroom furniture arranged, but by the time they were finished, Warrick found himself puffing quite a bit. It was his own damn fault. During the last few months of his marriage, Warrick had really let himself go, mostly in reaction to Tina's constant monitoring of his fat, sugar and carb intake. Sitting on his newly made bed, he was almost tempted to catch a quick nap then and there. He grabbed a pillow and put it behind his head as he laid back, but immediately sat up again when he heard Nick laugh.

"You wiped already? You still got more'n half your furniture to arrange yet."

"Yeah, yeah. Just gimme a minute."

More laughing. "Yeah, I noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"That you've gotten a little flabby. Put on a few pounds, haven't you?" Nick's eyes twinkled with amusement.

Embarrassment and irritation brought Warrick to his feet, although he wasn't angry--exactly. "What did you say?"

Nick's grin didn't waver. "Y'know, a gut." Then the guy actually had the nerve to poke him in the stomach.

"Hey!" Warrick slapped his hand away.

"C'mon, Rick." And damned if the son of a bitch didn't poke him again. "You gotta admit you're carrying a little extra there."

This time Warrick caught Nick's wrist and didn't let go. "And what? You think that might give you some sort of advantage?"

The dark eyes widened, but only for a split second before they sparked with challenge. Instead of trying to pull away, Nick moved toward him, pushing until Warrick fell back on the bed. "You were saying?"

Instead of responding, Warrick ran his hands up Nick's bare arms, then grabbed the front of Nick's tank and pulled him down. Nick offered no resistance, his lips meeting Warrick's hungrily. Then Warrick moved his hands back down to the hem of Nick's shirt and pulled it up. While Nick was occupied with taking it off, Warrick made his move, rolling so that he was on top.

Nick let out a yelp of protest and quickly tossed his shirt away.

As he straddled Nick's hips, Warrick quickly stripped off his own shirt to Nick couldn't try the same trick, but found that Nick wasn't even trying to escape. Instead, he slid his hands up Warrick's chest, pausing to toy with his nipples briefly before wrapping his arms around Warrick's neck and drawing him down so their lips could meet again.

This was different from both their other times together. The first had been the result of half-drunken mutual daring, while the last had been fueled mainly by anger. And maybe by jealousy, but Warrick didn't like looking at that possibility very closely. This time, he may have started out a little annoyed, but it wasn't easy to stay angry with Nick thrusting up against him.

Warrick decided he was better off not examining his motives too carefully this time, either, and to just get on with breaking in his new place properly.

Nick's hands were trailing down his back and easily slid under the waistband of his track pants. Then a thought occurred to Warrick that made him get off the bed, despite the tantalizing sensation of Nick's hands kneading his buttocks.

"What?" Nick asked, sitting up.

Now would have been a good time to back off, to say this wasn't a good idea, but what came out of his mouth was--"I hope you have something we can use, because I don't know where the hell anything is out there."

Nick grinned and raised his hips off the bed to get his wallet. He took out a condom before tossing the wallet onto the night stand. "It's lubed. Should be good enough."

"Right. A regular Boy Scout."

Nick smirked up at him, maintaining eye-contact as he yanked down Warrick's pants and shorts.

Warrick nearly lost his balance and was about to protest when he felt warm breath on his skin as Nick nuzzled the base of his cock. Slowly, Nick licked his way along the length, then took Warrick in his mouth. Warrick almost made a comment about Nick apparently not being turned off by a few extra pounds, but couldn't form a coherent sentence. It didn't take long for Nick to bring him close to the edge, and he gently pushed the dark head away. Quickly, Warrick got rid of the rest of his clothes.

Nick stood to do the same, and the instant he finished, Warrick moved in close behind him, putting his hands on Nick's hips and nipping at the back of his neck. Nick shivered and fell forward onto the bed in response to Warrick's slight shove.

The saltiness of clean sweat along with a taste that was just Nick made for a heady combination as Warrick kissed and licked his way down to the firm ass. Nick was already squirming when Warrick reached his cleft and let out a desperate moan when Warrick parted his cheeks, plunging his tongue between them. It didn't take more than a minute of teasing the puckered opening with the tip of his tongue before Nick was whimpering frantically.

Warrick withdrew and found the condom, opening and putting it on as quickly as he could. He prodded Nick to move a little further onto the bed and Nick complied, parting his legs as he did. Stretching out on top of him, Warrick entered as slowly as possible, wanting to be sure Nick had plenty of time to adjust.

Out of nowhere, a thought hit Warrick and he froze.

Maybe Nick was thinking of Keppler right now.

"Please..." Nick moaned, raising his hips as much as he could. "For God's sake move!" It was almost a whine. "War-rick!"

Or maybe not. He slid both hands under Nick's body, one at his waist to grasp Nick's leaking cock, and one around his chest to pinch and pull at Nick's nipples in time with his thrusts as he started to move. He dipped his head into the crook of Nick's neck, "C'mon, Nicky," he whispered. "Come for me...come on..."

Nick gave a long, low moan and Warrick felt warmth coating his hand as Nick's body tightened around him, pulling him over the edge as well.

When he could finally think again, Warrick carefully eased out of Nick. The other man let out a murmur of discomfort, which was understandable--there hadn't been nearly as much preparation as Warrick would have liked, this time or the previous one. He'd definitely be more careful the next time.

Whoa.

There wasn't supposed to be a next time.

Sighing, he rolled off the sweat-slick body and removed the condom. There was still no waste basket in the room, so he tossed it into one of the empty boxes. He retrieved his shirt from where it had landed at the end of the bed and used it to wipe away some of his sweat before handing it to Nick.

Nick rolled onto his side and cleaned up himself and the bedspread as well as he could. Then he sat up and scanned the room for his clothes. "Guess I'd better be going."

"Nah," Warrick pulled the bedspread off. It was so warm that just the two sheets would easily be enough. "You can never stay awake afterward. I don't need you zonking out behind the wheel on your way home." He climbed under the covers and slapped the empty pillow. "Might as well crash here for a few."

"Oh," Nick looked slightly pole-axed, but after a moment he got into bed as well. "Thanks."

"No problem," Warrick replied. Although they lay in bed not touching, it was nice to have the sound of another human next to him again as he fell asleep.

---

Nick snapped his phone shut and started gathering together the evidence he would need for the interrogation. He paused to take another look at the photographs of the crime scene despite the fact that they were practically seared into his memory. He'd drawn the case just two nights before. He and Warrick still weren't any closer to even identifying their little Jane Doe and now he had another dead child.

This time it was eight-year-old Scott McLure, who had been found in a wooded corner of Pueblo Park, just a few blocks away from his family's home. COD was exanguination and the reason had been obvious--there were dozens of cuts on his body and the ground beneath him had been soaked with blood. Bound and gagged, it initially looked like a classic abduction until epithelials found under Scott's nails came back to Bryan Kittle, Scott's stepbrother. Brass had just called to say he was being brought in.

Nick climbed in his truck and pulled out onto Westfall, then made a right on Tropicana. He hated to think that a twenty-year-old college student--a family member--could have done this, but the evidence was pointing to him.

According to interviews with the family, Scott's mother had been widowed and married Bryan's father six year before. Nick tried to imagine what an eight-year-old could have done to set off a twenty-year-old like--no. Nick thought about the cuts. Whoever had done it hadn't been set off. Those cuts had taken time and consideration. Scott would have been two when Sam and Maggie Kittle married. What would have caused such hatred to fester in Bryan that he could do something so vicious? Jealousy of a sibling was something Nick was able to grasp, but to torture another person because of it...

It made Nick think of Walter Gordon, as much as he tried not to.

Grief and rage over his daughter's incarceration, Nick had been able to understand. Holding CSIs responsible for the perceived injustice and wanting revenge was somewhat skewed logic but still not completely unrealistic. The part that chilled Nick's blood, that made the bile rise to the back of his throat was how Walter Gordon had gone from revenge to deliberate torture. All those resources, all that energy could have gone to appealing his daughter's case and probably helped get her released sooner. Instead the man had chosen to arrange for the long, painful death of a person with no connection to him or his daughter.

The whole thing made Nick sick with anger. Not just at the fact that he'd been the one to suffer at Walter Gordon's hands--that was something separate and still unfathomable--but angry at the stupidity, the utter waste of Walter Gordon's decision.

Nick pulled up in front of the station and tried to shake everything off before going inside. He was going to learn to control these sudden surges of temper that had been overtaking him if it was the last thing he did.

Brass was waiting outside the interrogation room. "Hey, Nicky."

"He say anything?"

"Not yet. You ready?"

"Absolutely."

Brass hesitated another moment, giving him a hard look. Nick made an effort to unclench his jaw, knowing it was a dead giveaway. "Let's go."

Nick followed Brass into the stark room and sat down next to him, opening his file while the Captain stared their suspect down.

The college student was leaning back in his chair, his head thrown back and his arms folded across his chest, partially obscuring the Sun Devils' logo. If he was at all concerned with the situation, he was hiding it well.

"So, Bryan," Brass began casually. "You come down from Arizona State for the weekend, huh? Haul down some laundry, visit with old friends, slice up your kid brother..."

"Stepbrother," Kittle corrected.

"So what was it? Didn't want anyone else inheriting the family fortune?" Brass' tone was mocking since they all knew the family had been getting by and not much more.

Kittle blinked slowly but didn't reply. Nick couldn't believe the guy was sitting looked bored when he was being accused of a child's murder--a family member's murder.

"Or maybe this was the way you and your parents planned to make the family fortune? Is there an insurance policy your folks didn't tell us about?"

Kittle still didn't answer. Nick remained silent while Brass continued to prod, speaking as though Kittle's guilt was a foregone conclusion--which it wasn't. Although epithelials under the victim's nails were enough to arrest Kittle, they didn't guarantee a conviction. A good defense attorney could come up with several different ways they could have got there.

So far Kittle hadn't denied anything, and until he did--or unless Brass signaled him--Nick didn't want to jump in with his evidence and possibly throw of the rhythm of the interview. Brass became more provoking with each question. "Or maybe Scott was just convenient. You got a thing for little boys?"

The only response that received was a roll of the eyes.

Even if Kittle had a plausible explanation for his skin under Scott's nails, his utter indifference to the child's death was like a neon guilty sign to Nick. When Brass looked at him and gave the barest nod, Nick began laying out photographs on the table. He couldn't help noticing that Kittle didn't seem surprised by the sight of his stepbrothers mutilated body.

"Mr. Kittle, we found your skin under Scott's fingernails. Can you explain how it got there?"

Kittle shrugged, his lips twitching slightly.

Nick tried to hold his temper by telling himself that the twitch wasn't necessarily a smile. Just to be sure, he pushed forward a picture that documented the worst of the wounds. "How did your DNA get under that boy's fingernails?" he asked more forcefully.

Kittle leaned forward to get a better look, almost as though Nick was demonstrating a card trick. "Brat," was all he said, but there was a smug, gloating note to his voice that immediately conjured up a smug, gloating, recorded voice for Nick.

When Kittle reached for the photograph, Nick's hand shot forward and he grabbed Kittle's wrist, finally making him jump slightly. Nick twisted his hand so it was palm up, revealing several nicks and cuts. "Little warm for long sleeves, isn't it?" he asked, pushing it up to reveal several scratches on his forearms.

Kittle yanked his arm free.

Brass had stood the moment Nick reached from Kittle's hand, but still managed to look unhurried. "Where'd you get those scratches, Bryan?" His voice was as calm as ever as he strolled around the table to stand behind Kittle, but he gave Nick a deadly look once he was out of the suspect's line of sight.

Nick sat back down. He didn't know where the interview was going to go, but he knew he'd be hearing from Brass when it was over.

Right now, though, Brass was still working Kittle. "Scratches like that could make people suspicious, especially when you try to cover 'em up by wearing long sleeves in hundred-degree heat."

Instead of pulling his sleeve back down, Kittle pushed the other one up, almost as if showing off the scratches. He'd regained his composure--he'd barely lost it--and was once again smirking at the photos.

Brass had completed his circuit and was facing Kittle again. "Something funny, Bryan?"

"Yeah," Kittle snorted. "You guys. Trying all these interrogation tactics when I know you're both convinced I did it. You could've saved a lot of trouble if you'd just asked straight out."

Nick remained silent, even though he wanted to punch that look of the punk's face. He'd already done enough to jeopardize the case.

"Okay, I'll bite," Brass said, although he looked dubious. "Did you kill Scott McLure?"

"Yep. Took my sweet time doing it, too."

He sounded so satisfied with himself that Nick's fury disappeared under a wave of sick disbelief. Nick began gathering up the photos and reassembling his folder. All he wanted now was to get out of there and away from this situation.

"No more questions?" Kittle taunted, looking from one man to the other. "Didn't you want to know why a few minutes ago?"

Nick kept his head down. There was no denying Kittle had gotten to him. Nick knew it.

"What about details? I can give you those, too." Kittle knew it.

"You'll get your chance." Brass opened the door and waved in the uniforms waiting just outside. "Get him out of here."

And Brass knew it.

Nick started toward the door, despite the fact that Brass was blocking it.

"Okay, we can probably get away with saying you had just cause to check under his sleeves, but what the hell, Nick?"

"Yeah, uh...I apologize for that." It had worked on Sara, after all.

"Yeah, fine. What are you doing putting your hands on a suspect?"

Obviously, it didn't work on Brass. "I guess he just--what he did...the way he was acting, it just got to me."

"Kittle isn't the only one who's got to you in the past year," Brass pointed out, then raised his eyebrows in response to Nick's surprised look. "You think what patrol sees doesn't get back to me?"

Nick looked down, not knowing what to say and wondering how hard the hammer was going to fall.

"Nicky, I'm trying to look out for you here and I'm telling you to do something about this while it's still your choice."

---

Warrick decided to swing by the police station on his way home, to check if Nick was still in interrogation or when he'd left. They'd both been working a couple hours of overtime and were supposed to meet up for breakfast when they were done. If it turned out to be more than breakfast...well, it wasn't the plan, but whatever happened, happened.

Just as he was pulling into the parking lot, his phone buzzed with a text message.

Can't make breakfast today. N.

Warrick frowned. Why wouldn't Nick call instead of texting? The answer came to him immediately. Because Warrick would be able to tell something was up.

Well, guess what, Nicky. Warrick can still tell something is up.

He parked his jeep and went inside, going in search of Brass--he knew that's who Nick was working his latest homicide with. He found the Captain in his office and knocked on the open door. "Was Nick here?" he asked when Brass looked up. "We were supposed to catch up for breakfast, but he just cancelled."

Brass waved him inside.

Warrick went in with a sinking heart.

"Nick got a little carried away during interrogation," Brass said.

Oh, hell. "How bad?"

"Twisted the guy's arm--not behind his back or anything, just to..." Brass sighed. "You know the case Nicky's been working, right?"

"The little boy in Pueblo Park?"

"Yeah, well, we were questioning his stepbrother, and let me tell you, this guy is a piece of work. I've seen cold-hearted in my day, but he's something else," Brass shook his head. "He was getting his kicks out of everything, from the killing to the interrogation, and that just set Nick off."

Warrick noticed Brass watching him closely and quickly schooled his face into a concerned but bland expression.

"Y'know, at one time I would have just mentioned this to Grissom and not worried about it again," Brass continued. "Gil would have spoken to Nick and that would have been the end of it, but I don't think that works anymore."

Warrick nodded in agreement. It was difficult to believe that at one time he used to wish that Nick wouldn't take what Grissom said so much to heart.

"I told him he needed to do something about it. I can't let it go another time, Rick."

Warrick nodded again. "Did he go home?"

"That, I don't know."

"Okay. Thanks, Jim."

As he left the station and got into his jeep, Warrick wondered what in the world he was supposed to do next. He smiled when the idea finally came to him. It was lame as hell, but if it got him inside to talk to Nick, it would be worth it.

So he stopped at his apartment before going on to Nick's place, where he wheeled the borrowed dolly up the walk and rang the doorbell.

Nick answered and Warrick couldn't tell if he was dismayed or glad to see him. "You didn't get my text?" Nick asked.

Despite the unwelcoming greeting, Warrick gamely went through with his farce. "Yeah, I did, so I decided to run a few errands instead. Thought I should get this back to you."

Nick looked at him doubtfully, then sighed and walked back into his house, leaving the door open behind him.

It wasn't exactly a gilt-edged invitation, but Warrick was glad to take it. He wheeled in the dolly and closed the door.

"I'm guessin' you talked to Brass," Nick said, leaning against the breakfast counter.

"I was on my way to the station when I got your text. Nick..."

Nick held up his hand. "Don't turn this into a big deal, Rick."

"Not a big deal? This is the third time you've assaulted someone without any reasonable provocation."

"I just grabbed his wrist. I didn't assault him."

"Because Brass was there to stop you."

"The guy sliced up an eight year old kid," Nick growled as he pushed away from the counter.

"I know," Warrick said, trying to keep his voice even. "I know, but you've dealt with crimes like that before without crossing the line."

"You weren't there, okay?" Nick began pacing. "This punk, he carved up his stepbrother and he doesn't care. I mean, really just doesn't care. Doesn't care what it'll do to his parents. He's going to jail for the rest of his life or even getting the needle and he's proud of himself! He was sitting there grinning about it."

Warrick was concerned to see Nick getting so worked up just talking about it. "Nick, it's just that you never had such a short fuse before."

Nick spun around, looking ready to yell, then abruptly shut his mouth and resumed his pacing.

"Nick--"

"Look," Nick finally stopped directly in front of him. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"One of these times you're gonna go too far and get yourself in serious trouble."

"That's not your problem! This is my business."

Now that pissed Warrick off. Even discounting what had happened between them recently, even if Nick hadn't been his best friend for years, they were still colleagues, and as a co-worker--"This is my business! I'm not gonna let this go anymore. It's gotten out of hand."

"Get the hell off my back!"

Warrick lost his tenuous hold on his temper. "You didn't mind me there the other day!"

"Oh, you wanna turn it into that, huh?" Nick grabbed Warrick's collar and pulled him down for a bruising kiss.

That was all it took to ignite what was continually smoldering between them nowadays. Somehow they were naked by the time they got to Nick's bed room and managed to find what the needed. Warrick's plan about being more careful went right out the window. Once again it was hot, hard, fast and fantastic.

They sprawled, panting, on the bed afterward, their anger exhausted along with their bodies.

Warrick's mind was still a little fuzzy. That was the only reason he could think of for saying what he said next.

"Look, Nicky, I can get on board with us doing this a couple times a week, but all the fighting beforehand has got to stop."

To his surprise, Nick let out a laugh. Then a yawn. "Go to sleep, Rick."

So he did.

---

It didn't take long for a couple of times a week to turn into every second day, and just as Warrick wanted, there had been no fights for the past few weeks, either. Whether Nick's efforts at maintaining his temper were paying off or whether there were just no situations that sparked it, he'd managed to remain on an even keel since the mess with Bryan Kittle.

There was also the possibility that what was going between him and Warrick was having some effect, but Nick couldn't see it being a major factor. It wasn't like it was anything serious--he didn't think. Yeah, the sex was great, and sure, it was nice waking up next to another person, but other than that, their friendship was pretty much the same. It wasn't as if they were going to go out for romantic dinners or sleep in each other's arms, and they were both content with things that way.

That is, Warrick seemed to like things the way they were and if so, then Nick was fine with that.

Today, they were supposed to go to his place after work, but Nick was late getting back from a home invasion he was working with Greg so he told Warrick to let himself in and he'd be there soon. When he got back to the lab, though, Ecklie wanted to talk to him, and when that was over and Nick could finally head home, he was struggling to hold his temper once again.

Warrick was drowsing on the couch, but jumped up when Nick slammed his door. "Hey," he said, blinking. "What's up?"

"Ecklie," Nick kicked off his shoes.

"That'd do it," Warrick agreed. "What is it now?"

"He wants us to drop the little Jane Doe case." Originally, Nick had started called her "little" Jane Doe to differentiate her from another Jane Doe he'd been working. Even though the older Jane Doe had since been identified, the child's name stuck.

"Oh," Warrick sighed and nodded. "Yeah."

Nick's frown deepened. Warrick didn't sound upset or even surprised. "You knew?"

"Yeah. Ecklie got in just before graveyard ended and he told me then."

"And you're fine with that?"

"I wouldn't say I was fine with it, but what else is there to do?" Warrick rubbed his eyes. "We've gone back six months in missing persons, and not just Nevada, but surrounding states, too. We've run her prints and DNA through every possible database without a hit. What else is there, really?"

"So we're supposed to abandon her just like everybody else did." Nick headed for the kitchen, knowing he needed to cool off and hoping that doing so literally would help diffuse his anger. Opening the fridge, he almost went for the beer, but decided on a bottle of juice instead.

Warrick followed him up to the breakfast counter. "We're not abandoning her. There's just nothing else we can do for her. At least now her prints and DNA are in the system so she won't be forgotten."

It sounded like Warrick was just humoring him. Nick took a sip of juice to keep from saying something he might regret and ended up slamming back half the bottle.

"Nick, we did everything we could." Warrick seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "You did everything that could be done for her. You've gotta learn to let some things go."

It's over. Let it go. It's over. Let it go. Like it was his choice. Like he wanted the constant choking sensation that only disintegrated when it was burned away by rage. Like he enjoyed being unable to keep a handle on his temper anymore. Lite he wanted to hear Walter Gordon's voice every time some suspect got an attitude.

What the hell did any of them know about it?

Warrick jumped when Nick hurled his bottle into the sink with such force it shattered.

"Stop telling me that! Who the hell do you think you are?"

Warrick had never seen Nick get so angry so quickly and cautiously moved around the counter to approach him. "Nicky--"

"Don't," Nick snarled. "Don't you dare start with the Nicky and the buddy and the bro like we're rock solid."

Warrick hesitated, Nick looked like he could easily start throwing punches this time instead of just shoving. "Look, I know we--I know things haven't been that great between us since--" Jesus, just how long had things been off-kilter, anyway? He at least had some idea why it had happened, though. "Nick, you...it was like you kept everybody at arm's length."

That didn't work, in fact, it only seemed to anger Nick further. "You're putting this on me? You're saying this is my fault?"

"Not fault," Warrick hastened to assure him. "But you just--you've been going from one extreme to another."

"Me? Me?!" Nick's voice rose in outrage. "I'm not the one who never left your side in the hospital and then turned around and got married a week after you got back to work."

He was an idiot. How could he have not realized the root of the problem all along? Of course this somehow led back to that horrible May night two years before. "Oh, God...Nicky..."

Abruptly, Nick's angry expression dissolved into one of panic. "Get out," he ordered flatly.

"No," Warrick shook his head, knowing not that was the worst thing he could do. He'd done it once too often. "Nicky, I'm not going anywhere."

Several expressions flickered over Nick's face. "Fine. Then I'm outta here."

Quickly, Warrick moved to block him. "No. Not until you tell me what exactly you're so mad about. Because I got married?" He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted that to be the reason. It was something he still didn't like looking at too closely. "Tell me what's got you so riled and I'll see what I can do about it. Is this--" A shudder ran through him just at the thought, "Is this about the coin toss?"

Nick actually took a step toward him, fists raised, before catching himself. "You..." he voice was choked and shaking. "You think I'd rather it had been you in there? You son of a bitch! You think I'd wish that on anyone? Let alone someone--"

"Okay," Warrick raised his hands. "Okay, I should have known better than that, but this is still about what Gordon did. Jesus, Nicky, I had no idea. I thought you--"

"Should have let it go by now?" Nick finished bitterly.

Where was all this coming from? Christ, if Nick had two years of this bottled up inside, no wonder he'd been wound up in so many knots. "Nick, you seemed...I should have known better, but when you came back to work it looked like you were handling everything so well." And now Warrick could see that Nick had kept up that facade just long enough for everyone to stop worrying.

"Yeah," Nick seemed to be struggling to get a hold of himself. "I know. I know. Look, I guess I let that little girl's case get to me more than I should have."

Then Warrick recognized something else that Nick had been doing for the past two years. Retreating when someone got too close to the actual problem, putting up that wall of professionalism and control that would inevitably make everyone back off. And part of Warrick wanted to do just that, but knew letting Nick get away with that tactic now was unforgivable. "No way. You can't pull that on me anymore, Nicky. We're gonna talk about this."

"Now you want to get into it. Why? Because now you're worried it'll affect the job?"

"No, I'm worried about you."

"Two years later? After what happened to Greg six months ago, you were checking on him every night, asking if he's okay. And when his case was up, how long did you spend working up that simulation?"

Warrick wasn't sure how Greg had suddenly become an issue. The only thing he could think was that Nick felt cornered and was throwing out any accusation that came to mind. It was especially strange, considering--"You did the same thing. You were more upset about what happened to him than nearly anyone. And you were the one who told me Greg's case was in trouble. You kept checking to see how he was doing."

"Of course I did! Greg's my friend and I was worried about him. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel like--" Nick stopped and pressed his lips together.

He'd already said enough, though. "Like you did?" Warrick finished. Nick looked away and Warrick knew he was right. And even though this wasn't about excuses or explanations, Warrick still felt the need to defend his behavior. "Nick, whenever anyone asked, you said you were okay--that you were fine." Even though now he knew that if his own head hadn't been a mess, he never would have accepted such trite answers.

Warrick half-expected Nick to lash out at him again for offering such a lame excuse, but Nick seemed to have finally spent all his anger. Now he stood with his head bowed, looking embarrassed and ashamed of himself. "I know," his voice was low. "I did and said whatever I had to to make you guys think everything was fine. I didn't want anyone to think..." he sighed. "I don't know."

He should have never bought it--Warrick knew that now. He had been so relieved not to have to deal with what happened that he'd accepted answers he should have known weren't true. It was time to--as Nick put it--man up. "You're right. Okay?"

Nick didn't look up, but Warrick could see him frowning.

"I don't know about anyone else, but I...I let you down, Nicky. Big time. I couldn't handle what happened to you--I still don't know how you managed, because I couldn't. And I more or less backed out on you."

"No, wait. Rick, I never meant you..." Whereas just a few minutes ago, Nick had been right in Warrick's face, now he couldn't seem to meet his eyes. "I just want--you were there for me in the hospital. Hell, you helped get me out of that hole. I know you refused to climb out of there even after they told you about the semtex. I have no right--"

Warrick shook his head, the last thing he wanted was for Nick to see his actions as heroic. He had been so high on adrenaline and fear that the reality of the explosives hadn't even registered. They had found Nick after over twenty-four hours of searching and nothing else had mattered. "No, Nick, you're right. I bailed on you afterward. I didn't stick it out because I couldn't handle it. I still can't figure out how you've handled it for this long."

"Except that I haven't," Nick sighed. "I really thought I had, but I guess..."

"How long did you see someone afterward?"

Nick shifted uncomfortably. "The required amount."

"Jesus, Nicky. Even I went more times than Ecklie ordered me to. How many visits were your required amount, anyway?"

"Six."

Warrick wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "Six?" That just wasn't possible. "Six. In two years? You expected to get through this with--I don't believe this."

"You know I'm not big on therapy and stuff," Nick frowned.

"I know, but..." Warrick didn't know what to say. Something like this had never occurred to him. He almost asked if Nick knew what had happened to him. It was a ridiculous question, but he couldn't imagine how anyone would ever dream of tackling something so horrendous with stubbornness and nothing else.

"What?" Nick broke the silence that was beginning to stretch on, and sounded a bit defensive.

Wiping a hand down his face, Warrick tried to organize his thoughts. "I'm trying to figure out why you aren't curled up in a corner, drooling."

Nick finally looked at him, his expression both puzzled and vaguely disgusted.

Now that Nick was calmer, Warrick began moving closer. "Nick, man, who do you think you are?" Nick blinked, then looked indignant. Okay, that didn't come out right. "What the hell do you think you're made of? I hate to be the one to break this to you, pal, but you're human."

Nick let out a small sound that could have been a laugh.

Warrick decided to take it as one. "No one can get through what happened to you without getting some sort of help. Look, you know I'm not one for spilling my guts to some doctor, either, but Nicky, no one, no one..." He still couldn't even begin to describe the myriad of emotions that still overtook him whenever he thought about what Nick had gone through. That Nick had managed to deal with it alone this long was unfathomable. "Nick...man, I don't know what else to say."

"Good," Nick sighed. "Because I don't really feel like talking about it anymore." He moved back to the counter and began cleaning up the broken glass.

Warrick was about to say he wasn't going to let it go this time, but hesitated. Studying the slumped shoulders, he decided it might be better to leave it for the rest of the day. They had talked about it more this morning than they had in the past two years and Warrick doubted it would help anything to push further right now. If he did, Nick could either get angry again or shut down, and Warrick didn't want to see either of those things happen. Now that he had some idea what was going on with Nick, he would be able to broach the subject again at a better time. "Hey, why don't I run out and grab us some breakfast? You should eat something before you go to bed."

Nick finished cleaning up before he replied. "Thanks, but--look, I know we usually..." He shifted, looking uncomfortable again, "Rick, I'm sorry, but I don't really feel like it today."

There wasn't usually a whole lot of touching between them lately that wasn't directly related to sex, but Warrick didn't think twice before putting his hands on Nick's shoulders. "Hey, I don't expect anything to happen after all this." Almost of its own accord, one hand slid up to cup Nick's neck, "I can just get breakfast and then go."

Nick leaned into his grip slightly. "I'm not really that hungry."

"Oh." He was concerned about leaving Nick alone, not disappointed that Nick wanted him out of there. "Okay." That's what he told himself as he took his hands away. "I'll get going."

"Well, no," Nick said quickly. "I mean, aren't you hungry? Because I've got plenty of stuff for sandwiches if you want something to eat."

"Sure," Warrick agreed before Nick could change his mind about the offer. "Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Nah. And...y'know, you might as well crash here. You were going to, anyway."

Never mind that he lived only fifteen minutes away.

Warrick had crashed at Nick's plenty of times before they'd started sleeping together--on the couch after one too many beers. He knew without asking, though, that he wouldn't be on the couch. It would mean a shift in whatever was going on between them--one that would be impossible to take back. "Sounds good," he nodded.

It couldn't make that big of a difference.

---

Nick had endured plenty of nightmares over the years--his first homicide, his worst homicide, Amy Hendler, Nigel Crane--and he'd learned that they usually followed a certain pattern for him. They were frequent immediately following the event and then would taper off over the course of months, only reappearing when he was stressed or upset. That was the way it had always been.

Before.

Since getting out of the ground, there had been nothing predictable about his nightmares, except that they were worse than any he'd experienced before. It had taken nearly a year before the tapering-off began and "tapering off" was a generous term for it at best. He sometimes had them after a bad shift, but just as often they would occur when he was relaxed enough to fall into a deep sleep. He hated those kind, because they were more difficult for him to climb out from.

Sometimes he'd wake up screaming, but more often it was just like today, when he awakened with a gasp, unable to move and barely able to breathe. As always, it took five or ten minutes for him to shake off the paralysis and by then he'd broken out into a cold sweat.

As he sloughed off the last of the clamminess under the spray of a warm shower, he wondered if sheer luck or something else was the reason he'd never before had a nightmare while sleeping next to Warrick.

Going by the law of averages, it was bound to have happened sooner or later, and Nick was just thankful it hadn't been one of the screaming ones. That would have been all he needed after last week, he smiled ruefully at the thought as he got out of the shower.

It had been a relief to get everything out that day--there had even been some things he realized that he'd never realized before. That didn't mean he was ready to stretch out on some shrink's sofa, despite Warrick's less-than-subtle suggestions. Thus far, Warrick hadn't mentioned it again, but Nick knew it was only a matter of time.

Nick padded back to the bedroom and was relieved to see that Warrick hadn't been awakened by all his moving around. Normally he would turn the lights on or open the blinds for about fifteen minutes or so to further dispel the memory of being underground, but that definitely would have awakened his bedmate. According to the clock, he'd only been asleep for a couple of hours, so Nick carefully slid back under the covers, hoping he'd be able to get a few more hours.

"Did you go take a shower?" Warrick rumbled.

So much for being quiet. "Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you?"

"S'okay. Why? Usually you sleep longer."

Nick tried to think of a plausible reason, but knew he'd taken too long about it when he felt Warrick shift in bed.

"Nick?"

"Don't make a big deal out of this, okay?"

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Warrick shifted again, "What's no big deal?"

Sighing, Nick decided he might as well be honest. "Nightmare. I still get them."

"Oh." Warrick didn't sound very surprised. "Bad one?"

Nick settled into his pillow. "Well..."

"Dumb question. They're all bad."

It was comforting to know that Warrick got it. "You have them too?"

At the same time, Warrick asked, "What was it about?" and they wound up cancelling each other out.

"Answer my question and I'll answer yours," Nick offered. "You have nightmares about... that...too?"

"Yeah. Not as often anymore, but yeah."

Nick nodded, even though Warrick couldn't see him.

"Nicky?" Warrick prompted.

Oddly, Nick found he didn't mind talking about it. The same darkness he usually hated after a nightmare somehow made it easier to speak. "There's different ones. This was the one where the box kept cracking until dirt started to fill up the box. It's getting harder and harder to breathe and I know any second the whole thing is going to collapse and crush me."

Warrick was silent for a while, which didn't bother Nick as much as it might have at one time. He knew now that much of the time Warrick simply didn't know what to say when confronted with his burial. That had made it a bit easier to come to terms with what had appeared to be Warrick's avoidance when he'd returned to work.

"You said this one," Warrick's voice was husky. "Are there a lot of them?"

Nick felt compelled to answer by the pain he heard in Warrick's voice. It wasn't easy--he'd always worked hard to not think about the nightmares. "They're all different, but there's...y'know, the basic similarities. The one where the ants just--" he shuddered, even talking about it conjured the sensation of hundreds of tiny legs. "Or the one where I know I'm going to suffocate and I try to--" he couldn't bring himself to say. "Except my gun doesn't work and I run out of air--" he stopped when Warrick made a choking sound. "What?"

"Sorry." The pain was more apparent than ever. "It's just that in my nightmares, your gun always works." Nick couldn't suppress another shiver. "Sorry," Warrick said again.

"You mean...what are yours about?"

"Don't worry about it. Mine aren't even based on any sort of reality."

Nick wasn't sure why he wanted to know. Whether it was some strange morbid fascination or just another means of avoiding his own nightmares, he couldn't say, but he wanted to know. "What are yours about?" he asked once more.

"Just...usually that we found you a few minutes too late. Sometimes I hear the gun go off while I'm still digging and I know that when I brush the dirt away I'll see..." Warrick's voice trailed off, but there was no need for him to elaborate. They both knew what a gunshot wound to the head at close range looked like.

"Jeez, Rick, I'm sorry," Nick said, because he didn't know what else to say.

"You're sorry," Warrick let out a rough laugh. Nick heard him move and the next thing he knew, Warrick had rolled on top of him. "You had the nightmare, dumbass. What the hell are you worried about mine for?"

Automatically, Nick wrapped his arms around Warrick's neck. "Who you callin' dumbass?" was all he had time for before Warrick's mouth descended on his.

The sudden halt to the conversation was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. In fact, it was probably just what he needed to shake off the last remnants of his nightmare. It was odd, considering the contents of his nightmare, that being in the dark with 200 pounds of weight on him would actually be comforting. It probably had something to do with the way Warrick's lips were leaving a trail of heat down the column of his throat, or the way Warrick's hands eagerly roamed his body.

They'd started fooling around earlier that morning, but had decided to turn in after Warrick let loose a gaping yawn at exactly the wrong moment. Obviously the two hours sleep had rejuvenated him completely.

Definitely rejuvenated. Nick grinned as he worked his hand between their bodies to grasp Warrick's erection. With a little maneuvering, he was able to line both their cocks up in a loose grip and began stroking.

"Nicky..." Warrick moaned against his skin. "Unless you want it this way, you're gonna have to stop that."

"Stop what?" Nick asked as innocently as he knew how, continuing to stroke.

Warrick growled something else and bit at his collarbone.

Then Nick heard him flailing for the night stand, so he reached over with his free hand to help. He got the drawer open and Warrick reached inside for the lube, meeting Nick's lips briefly before beginning to work his way down.

Nick released their cocks and reached for the box of condoms, only to knock it over when Warrick began pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down his sternum and stomach and stopping to nuzzle at his bellybutton. Meanwhile, one of Warrick's hands trailed down his ribs to his hips and then his thighs before sliding underneath.

Nick bent his leg to make it easier for Warrick to insinuate a hand between his buttocks, then made himself relax as Warrick slid a finger inside him. After their initial few times together, Warrick was always careful to fully prepare him--sometimes torturously careful.

Not today, fortunately. After two fingers and some scissoring, Warrick finally took the condom Nick kept trying to shove into his hand. Hearing the sound of the wrapper, Nick then felt Warrick's hands under his knees, urging his legs up. He pulled them as close to his body as he could, and took a deep breath when he felt Warrick nudging against him, seeking entrance.

Once Warrick was in all the way up to his balls, Nick wound his legs around his hips, holding him still for a few moments before they began moving.

"Fuck yeah, Nicky..." was all Nick let Warrick get out before grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling his head up to devour those full lips. As they moved faster, but still in harmony, Nick released Warrick's hair and ran his hands down his back to grip Warrick's ass, urging him on.

Warrick tore his mouth free and pushed himself up, bracing his arms so he could drive harder and deeper.

Nearly every thrust hit that intense bundle of nerves deep inside and made sparks ricochet behind Nick's eyes. "Rick, come on...come on!" That was all he had time to say before the ability for coherent speech completely left him. Arching up against Warrick, Nick used the friction to push himself completely over the edge. Just seconds later, Warrick collapsed on top of him.

Nick stroked Warrick's sweaty back, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal.

After a few minutes, Warrick shifted, slipping free. Nick grabbed a towel to clean himself off, then handed it to Warrick and settled back against his pillow. He closed his eyes, knowing it wouldn't be difficult to go back to sleep now.

He wasn't sure what to make of it when he felt Warrick's arms around him, pulling him close and throwing one leg across both of his. They'd always kept to their own sides of the bed and although they would occasionally wake up with one arm thrown across the other's body, that was it.

Nick certainly didn't mind, though. It was more comforting than he'd ever imagined--not that he'd imagined it too often--but it was also...odd. "Rick? What're you doin'?"

"S'matter?" Warrick murmured, his breath warm against Nick's neck. "You'll be able to sleep like this, won't you?"

He sounded so nonchalant about it that Nick was happy to go along. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Cool," Warrick let his lips rest against Nick's temple.

Nick listened as Warrick's breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep. He knew he should be doing the same. But if he stayed awake for a while longer just to soak up the sensation, that wasn't hurting anything, was it?

Despite how rough the past six months had been, Greg Sanders rarely regretted his decision to become a CSI. He certainly didn't miss being stuck in the DNA lab.

Except on shifts like this.

It would have been nice to just be able to give the results to a CSI and consider himself out of it. Wendy definitely seemed anxious to do just that when she handed over the results in a rape case he was working with Sara.

Even Sara seemed to balk a little when she read them, but then pursed her lips with a determined expression that never failed to worry Greg.

From the moment the DNA of their suspect in the rape case they had pulled got a hit in CODIS linking it to an unsolved rape years before, Greg had known that Sara was on a mission. Even worse, according to the file from five years ago, the unknown suspect was also wanted in connection with rapes in Arizona and New Mexico. When comparing the files, it had become obvious that the guy was escalating--their current victim had barely survived her attack.

Sara had stepped things up, asking Wendy to run the DNA in every available database in the hopes of some sort of hit and that's what they were holding in their hands right now. The hit was a moderate stringency match, with their suspect having seven alleles in common with a reference sample kept on file to eliminate possible contamination by personnel.

Greg wanted the rapist put behind bars as much as anyone, but as far as he was concerned those results meant it was time to slow down, not charge ahead. Time to go to Grissom, or even Ecklie. He knew that Sara would never willingly discuss a case with Ecklie, but hoped she might go to Grissom with it.

It wasn't like the suspect was the relative of some cop they barely knew or even someone from dayshift.

"He's back from the scene he was working, isn't he?" Sara asked, walking through the hallways and looking into labs as she passed. "I'm pretty sure I saw him."

Hurrying to keep up with her purposeful stride, Greg was overcome by a feeling that was becoming far too familiar--that of being in way over his head. Not with the job, but with his co-workers. "He's probably in his office."

"His office?" Sara paused with a perplexed frown.

"Aren't you looking for Grissom?" Greg asked, hoping she would take the hint.

"Why would I be looking for Grissom?" Sara's frown deepened as she handed him the paper. "Didn't you see the results? Come on."

"Look, shift's almost over. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow night."

"And risk this guy doing it again? No way. Once I have a name, I'm working a double and getting Cavaliere to haul him in. There he is!" she exclaimed, hurrying toward the break room.

What Greg really wanted to do was hurry in the other direction, but he dutifully followed.

With a sense of impending doom.

Sara actually hesitated in the doorway for a minute and Greg had a moment of fleeting hope that she might back out after all.

Then she squared her shoulders and walked in. "Hey."

Her quarry looked up from his paperwork. "Hey."

"I need a name from you."

"Yeah?"

"Your father. I need to contact him."

Warrick appeared dumbstruck. "What?"

"I need to reach your father," Sara reiterated.

"Is this some kind of a joke?" Warrick frowned.

"Absolutely not," Sara's voice was taking on an edge as well.

"Good, because it's not funny." Warrick whipped the papers he'd been working on back into their file and stood up.

"Warrick, I need that name," Sara wasn't giving an inch. "Unless there's a reason you don't want to give it to me."

Greg kept his mouth shut.

"What the hell is this about?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I can't get into that."

"Then we're done here." Warrick grabbed the rest of his things and stalked to the door, the look on his face so dangerous that Sara didn't even try to block him.

Greg watched him disappear down the hallway. "That went better than I expected," he said honestly.

---

Nick looked over the list of names Dr. Kane had given him with a vague sense of disappointment. He'd been hoping that after making his decision and talking to Kane, he would feel like some sort of weight had been lifted from his shoulders, but instead there was a burgeoning panic at the thought of discussing that with a complete stranger.

The list included several doctors who specialized in "delayed PTSD"--a term Nick knew he was going to be very tired of before very long. According to Kane, Nick would likely have better results one-on-one with a professional that in a support group. That was a suggestion Nick agreed with wholeheartedly. The only thing worse than spilling his guts to a shrink would be spilling his guts to a room full of people.

Folding the list up, Nick put it in with his bills where he'd be sure to come across it in a week or so.

He wasn't avoiding, he assured himself. He'd already taken a step by going to Kane and that was enough for now. After all, that decision had only come after spending most of his night off thinking about it.

Kane hadn't asked about his reasons for finally seeking help, which Nick found reassuring. Although Nick was certain that why he finally decided to deal with this wasn't nearly as important as how hard he worked at it, he knew that others might not see it that way.

The first hint that maybe it would be okay to see someone about this was soon after he and Warrick had it out. He knew how difficult it had been for Warrick to talk about that and his actions afterward. As far as Nick could recall, they never had before, not even in the hospital. If Warrick was willing to level the way he had, then Nick was willing to believe what Warrick was telling him.

Nick's faith in Grissom had been irrevocably damaged by his boss' concealment of Walter Gordon's tape, just as his faith in Catherine had by reverse forensics. His faith in Warrick had been shaken, but never broken and hadn't been difficult to restore. So when Warrick said Nick needed more help than just a friend could provide, Nick trusted that.

What really pushed his decision, though, was the possibility that what was between he and Warrick could become permanent. If there was any chance of that happening, Nick didn't want to risk screwing it up with his own issues.

Ever since Nick's most recent nightmare, Warrick had been more physical, even when sex wasn't on the agenda. Nick would have been happy to return such affection wholeheartedly, but couldn't bring himself to when that tension, anger, darkness, something still lurked deep within him and there was the chance of another outburst. Although the outburst was no longer likely to happen between him and Warrick, wherever it happened, it wouldn't be good for the two of them or for what was between them.

Whatever was between them.

And whatever was between them, it had progressed to the point that if it went down in flames, there would be no salvaging their friendship from the ashes. It had gone too far without either of them really noticing, and there was no backing out now. The only way left to go was forward, and that's exactly what Nick was going to do.

He was just going to do it in his own time.

With a satisfied nod at his desk, Nick headed out to the gym. He spent the rest of the day running errands and taking care of chores and even had enough time for a few extra hours of sleep. He hadn't heard from Warrick that day, but that didn't bother him. They hadn't made any plans together--when one of them had the night off they rarely did--and for all Nick knew Warrick had ended up working a double. He would catch up with Warrick at work.

But when he got to the lab, Nick found out that Warrick had snapped up a solo scene just outside of Caliente and wasn't expected back until morning. He also wasn't answering his phone, according to what Nick heard Greg cautiously telling a very angry Sara.

"I can't believe he'd do this!" Sara sounded astonished and angry. "This is obstruction."

Obstruction? Warrick? Nick decided to find out what was going on and walked into the conference room just as Greg was saying--

"But he doesn't know why we were asking."

"Hey," Nick greeted them. "What's going on?"

"Hey," Greg looked relieved to see him. "Did you talk to Warrick before he went out to his scene?"

"No. Why?"

Greg looked at Sara, who shifted and tucked her hair behind one ear. "Why wouldn't he want to give us his father's name?"

That was probably the last thing Nick expected to hear. "Excuse me?"

Sara's brows drew together. "What's going on here? Is there some sort of secret about Warrick's father?"

This was not going to turn out well, whatever it was. Nick already knew that, and although he didn't want to talk about something that was really Warrick's business, he also couldn't let Sara think Warrick was hiding something. "Sara, he can't tell you who his father is. He's never known."

Sara's mouth fell open and Greg's eyebrows shot up until they disappeared into his bangs. "Oh. My god." She exchanged another look with Greg, then tried unnecessarily to push her hair behind her ear again. "Oh, no."

"What's going on?" Nick asked.

"Umm..." Sara glanced around the room before meeting his eyes. "Y'know, I think I'd better talk to Warrick. First. Before anyone else. Get this straightened out."

Nick nodded his agreement, even though he was itching to know what was going on. Still, whatever it was, Warrick deserved to know about it first.

---

When he saw Sara's car was still in the parking lot, Warrick was tempted to turn around and drive back to Caliente. He'd hoped after three hours overtime that most of graveyard would have been cleared out, but he should have known better. Sara wasn't going to let go of something she wanted to know so easily.

It wasn't that Warrick had minded the question so much as he'd been caught off guard by it. The question itself hadn't pissed him off--much. What had was that Sara had actually looked suspicious when he hadn't answered immediately--as though she automatically assumed he was hiding something.

Warrick had put any issues about his father--or lack thereof--to rest many years ago. Growing up, it wasn't that big a deal. He was teased for his eyes and his bookishness, but his parental situation wasn't an uncommon one in the neighborhood. It was only when he got older that people seemed to find it unusual.

Might as well get this over with. Warrick gathered up the evidence bags and walked into the lab. He was curious why Sara needed to know at all, but at the time, his irritation had outweighed his curiosity.

He didn't see Sara as he made his was to the evidence locker, so he began logging everything he'd brought back from his scene.

"Hey."

Warrick looked up and saw Sara standing in the doorway. "Hey."

"I wanted to clear up what happened yesterday," Sara said as she walked in.

She was much calmer than Warrick had expected, so he decided to meet her halfway. "Yeah, I might have been a little defensive."

"It's okay," Sara assured him quickly. "I didn't realize you couldn't tell me. I just thought you wouldn't."

So she knew now. That was fine by him. Even if it wasn't that big a deal for him, he still didn't like having to tell people. He did wonder, though--"Who told you?"

"Nick. He overheard me talking to Greg and I was getting...well..."

Warrick nodded. He knew how Sara could get.

"Anyway, he didn't want me to think you were hiding anything, so he told me."

"Oh. Okay." Wasn't like it was a secret. "Why did you want to know?"

Sara's eyes went to the evidence on the table, and she straightened some of the bindles. "We got a hit in the reference samples--DNA from...from a case Greg and I are working."

"Oh." Warrick's world shifted slightly. He had assumed this all had something to do with paperwork, not DNA, not anything so real. He'd ceased thinking of his father as an actual person years ago and to be presented with hard evidence of his existence was jarring. "Which case?"

Sara stared at him in silence. There seemed to sympathy in her expression along with a myriad of other things Warrick couldn't identify. "Yeah, uh...Warrick, this is kind of a weird situation. Unless we manage to identify him, I don't know if it's a good idea to..."

Now he was really wondering. "So this is part of a case."

"An ongoing case. Jeez, Warrick, I...I'm not sure what to do here..."

Warrick knew it couldn't be easy for Sara to admit that. He'd gone his whole life without knowing anything about his father, did he really need to learn now? This very moment? A big part of him wanted to drop the whole thing and never mention it again, even once the case was closed. "Hey, don't worry about it. If you can't say, that's cool." And it would be cool, just as soon as he put it back in that little box where it belonged.

Sara gave him a long, searching look before she nodded. "Okay. I just wanted to--so we're good?"

"We're good."

"Okay. Okay, good."

Warrick watched her leave before going back to logging his evidence. By concentrating entirely on the case as he worked, he was able to finish without thinking about this new development.

Much.

It was nearly noon before he finally left the lab, and he briefly debated going to Nick's. He's probably sleeping by this time.

After sitting in his jeep for a few minutes, Warrick got out his cell and dialed Nick's number.

It was answered on the first ring. "Rick?"

"Whoa. What? You waiting by the phone now?" he teased.

"Well, I knew Sara wanted to talk to you and I was...well..."

Worried. Warrick knew that was it, even though Nick would never say so. "Everything's fine. I was just calling to check if you were still awake."

"You coming over?"

"I was, yeah. That okay?"

"'Course. I stopped by Siempre on my home. Felt like having their chorizo. There's some left if you want."

"Hell, yeah," his stomach started growling at the thought. "I'll be there in a few."

Warrick hung up and started his vehicle. It was about ten minute more from the lab to Nick's than to his place, but Warrick knew he would have driven three times that.

Rarely did Warrick think about what was going on between them. He was just glad he no longer felt like his loyalties were being divided. That had probably been a major contribution to the failure of his marriage, even though he hadn't been able to see it at the time. He'd thought that spending less time with Nick and concentrating more on Tina would help, but it had actually had the opposite effect.

"It's open!" Nick called in response to his knock.

Nick was just coming out of the bathroom, clad only in a robe and toweling his hair. It was a sight guaranteed to improve Warrick's mood.

"I just jumped into the shower after you called," Nick explained. "I didn't get the chance before."

"So you were waiting by the phone." Warrick used the robe's belt to pull Nick in for a quick, hard kiss.

Laughing, Nick freed himself, then went back to drying his hair. "I knew Sara would be talking to you. That, and I didn't know how you'd feel about me telling her--"

"Nah, don't worry about that." Warrick found the leftovers and popped them in the microwave. "If Sara was on a roll, it was probably the best thing to do."

Nick didn't say anything else until Warrick had his plate and was sitting at the dining table. Then he sat at one of the stools at the breakfast counter and draped the towel around his neck.

Warrick could feel the dark eyes on him as he dug into his eggs. "What?" he asked around a mouthful.

"You okay? What happened?"

"Yeah. We cleared the air. No problem."

"Warrick," Nick frowned. "What about your father?"

"What about him?" Warrick returned. "I don't know anything about him, and neither does Sara. If she had, she wouldn't have been bugging me."

"Didn't she say why she wanted to know?"

"She didn't want to. Ongoing case." He took a swig of soda and saw Nick was still watching him with concern. "What?"

"That's it, then?"

Warrick sighed. "What else do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Something."

"Okay. How about I don't give a shit if I ever find out or not?"

"Warrick..."

"Look, I know it's hard for you to believe, but it's really not a big deal. You always had your dad around so you can't imagine being raised without one. I never had a father around, so I can't--" Warrick laughed, because this much was definitely true, "--I can't imagine anyone but Gran raising me."

"Well, she did a good job," Nick said quietly.

Warrick looked at him. It was hard to tell if the flush to Nick's skin was leftover from the hot shower or due to something else. "Thanks. She worked hard at it. But that's life." He hoped Nick would get the hint.

He seemed to, maintaining his silence until Warrick finished eating and brought his empty plates to the kitchen. Then--"I went to see Dr. Kane yesterday."

"What?" If it was about what Warrick thought it was, then this was pretty major. He leaned on the counter across from Nick.

"Yeah. I decided to...maybe...start seeing someone."

"What did Kane say?"

"He gave me the names of some shrinks who specialize in delayed post-traumatic stress disorder. He thinks that what I'm exhibiting signs of."

Nick didn't sound like he believed it, so Warrick didn't say that he wholeheartedly agreed with Kane's assessment. "What're you going to do?"

"I'll give a couple of them a call, I guess," Nick obviously was not enthusiastic about the prospect.

Even if he dragged his feet about it, though, Warrick was relieved to know he was doing something. Although Nick had been more his old self these past few weeks, Warrick knew by now that that could change at any time. "Are you going to--"

Nick shifted on his stool. "I don't know about anything else yet."

In other words, he wanted the subject dropped. Warrick decided that was fair. "I just have one more question," he said as he moved around the counter to stand next to Nick's stool.

"What?" Nick sighed.

"Whatcha got on under the robe, Nicky?" he grinned, reaching for the belt again.

Nick returned the grin with a wicked one of his own. "Why don't you check and see?"

---

Three murder scenes, two of them very messy and one a double, meant that everyone was teamed up that night. Warrick never minded being paired with Greg, but he was glad and a bit relieved to be working with him tonight. Working with Sara would have been painfully awkward and Warrick knew that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't have been able to stop thinking about the DNA.

Working with Nick would have been fine, but he was glad Nick was working with Catherine while he was in good spirits and on a more even keel. It was a chance for things to improve between them. Warrick hoped so, because although Nick never talked about it, Warrick knew he missed the warm friendship he used to share with Catherine.

It was soon evident to Warrick that although it was very messy, the scene he and Greg had drawn was also fairly straightforward. Still, they'd be spending several hours in the urine-soaked alley off Sierra Vista where a man had been bludgeoned to death.

The body was still next to the dumpster where it had fallen when the police had apprehended the woman who had been trying to hoist it in. Not a big mystery, considering the woman was wild-eyed and covered in blood. She was definitely strung out on something, and Warrick thought it was most likely meth. They couldn't get anything coherent out of her at the scene, so Warrick let the officers haul her away with instructions to bag her clothes and send them to the lab.

Then Warrick pulled rank and sent Greg into the dumpster while he photographed the rest of their scene. He wasn't sure how Greg would be about working in an alley nearly identical to the one they'd found him in and figured he would be better off annoyed with Warrick than thinking too much about his surroundings. Ever since talking to Nick about how much the kidnaping still affected him, Warrick had been watching the Texan for things that could trigger bad memories, and some of that concern seemed to be extending to Greg as well.

That, and who the hell wanted to root around a funky dumpster if they didn't have too?

"Tire iron," Greg's voice echoed up from inside. Then a rumpled head popped over the edge. "Blood and hair on it." He held out the iron and shone his mag on it.

Warrick snapped open a large paper bag and walked over to collect it, taking a moment to inspect the likely weapon. Blood gleamed wetly in the light of Greg's mag and Warrick could make out what appeared to be brain matter and slivers of bones amidst bits of rotten food. "Oh, yeah. Plenty on there for a match."

"So I can get out of here now?"

"You find everything?" Warrick asked as he sealed the bag.

With an aggravated sigh, Greg disappeared again. About a half-hour later, he finally climbed out. "Okay, I don't think there's anything left to find in there."

"I finished photographing and the sketch, so we just have the processing. You want to take the right?"

"Sure. Just let me lose the jumpsuit."

As they worked, Warrick noticed that Greg kept glancing in his direction. He couldn't help wondering if Greg was feeling nervous and wanted to make sure someone was nearby. There were three uniforms still on the scene and two high-powered lamps were flooding the alley with light, but if it made Greg feel better to know where he was, so be it.

They made good time, considering what the scene was, and were back at the lab with several hours remaining in their shift. If they didn't get called to another scene, they would be able to put most of the case to bed and still have time left over.

It wasn't until they had finished logging the evidence and began collecting samples to send to Wendy that Warrick realized Greg was still watching him. So it wasn't about the alley, after all. He was about to ask what was wrong, but Greg beat him to it.

"Sara said she talked to you about our rape case."

Warrick shook his head, figuring it must have slipped her mind with everything else that had been going on. "No, what about it?"

Greg frowned, obviously confused. "She said you guys had cleared things up."

"We did. What's that got to do with--" Oh. Suddenly everything clicked into place. A rape case. Male DNA in a rape case. That pointed in only one direction. It certainly explained why Sara had been so determined to get a name from him initially and why she hadn't wanted to tell him about the case later. "He's your suspect."

"Oh, shit," Greg swallowed hard. "I thought you were dealing a little too well."

Warrick felt his lips twist into a parody of a smile. "I'm dealing. Fill me in on the case. Was it spousal--no." It couldn't have been. If the suspect had been known, Sara never would have needed a name from him. "The victim didn't know who attacked her." Random or a stalker--those were always worse.

"Warrick, maybe--"

"Greg," Warrick straightened to his full height and stared the younger man down. "The case."

Greg glanced at the doorway. Warrick couldn't tell if he was hoping for rescue or judging his chances for escape.

Warrick could tell it this was even worse than the usual rape case--if there was such a thing. "How bad is it?"

Greg gave the door one last look, then met Warrick's eyes briefly before fastening his gaze on the table. "The first time we ran the DNA through CODIS, we got a hit on a suspect in a rape from five years ago. When we dug deeper, we found that he was also wanted for the same thing in two other states."

"Serial." Warrick barely got the word past the dryness of his mouth.

Greg cleared his throat. "There were signs that he was escalating and that's when Sara had Wendy run it in every database she could access."

Warrick rubbed his eyes as he tried to absorb what Greg was telling him. A rapist. A serial rapist. An escalating serial rapist.

The few occasions that Warrick had allowed himself to speculate about his father, he'd tried to be realistic about it. He'd never imagined a hero, but he'd never imagined anything like this either. Christ, no wonder Sara had been so fired up about this case.

"Warrick?" Greg sounded almost timid.

Warrick shook himself mentally. He hadn't thought about his father--and suddenly Warrick couldn't even stand the term father anymore--in years, and this was no time to start obsessing. "Okay, you get those samples to Wendy. I'm gonna see if Doc Robbins has posted our vic yet."

He tried to keep his mind off it with work again, but it didn't work nearly as well this time. In the morgue, in the trace lab, checking in with Grissom, in the locker room, it kept prowling through his thoughts.

His father was a rapist.

One time it didn't intrude was when he met up with Nick for a few minutes. That was a good sign, so Warrick was even happier than usual to agree to meet at Nick's for breakfast--hopefully being with Nick would help keep his mind off it.

And it did. At least most of the time. Which was surprising because Nick knew something was bothering him and kept trying to find out what was wrong. It actually helped, because Warrick's mind was occupied with trying to divert the subject and keep Nick from finding out what was going on.

Warrick knew Nick would find out eventually. Warrick planned on being the one to tell him. Just not today. Not until he'd had the chance to wrap his own head around it.

Sighing, he took his coffee and moved from the dining table to the sofa. He noticed Nick watching him with concern and mustered up a smile. Nick crooked a half-smile at him in return, obviously not completely convinced, but not calling him on it, either.

"I'm just gonna grab another cup," Nick said. "You want some more?"

"Nah, I'm good." Warrick set his coffee aside before leaning back and closing his eyes.

His father was a serial rapist.

Warrick didn't know if he'd ever be able to believe that. How in the world did his mother ever get involved with--oh.

Oh, Jesus, no.

His guts twisted inside out and he barely made it to the bathroom before he lost his breakfast.

"Rick?"

Warrick could hear Nick approaching and straightened enough to shut the door before another wave of nausea swept over him. When there was finally nothing left in his stomach, he flushed the toilet and moved to the sink.

"Warrick, are you okay?"

He knew by Nick's voice that it would only be a minute before the Texan came in. "Yeah, I'll be out in a sec," he called before bending to splash cold water on his face.

It wasn't possible. That was something the neighborhood would have talked about. That was something he would have heard.

"Warrick."

After drying his face and rinsing out his mouth one last time, Warrick finally left the bathroom.

"How you doin'?" Nick met him just outside the door.

"I'm okay," Warrick said, then to explain the hoarse croak in his voice--"I must have caught some sort of bug."

Nick had taken his arm and was steering him toward a chair. "I'll see if I've got anything for it, and then you can crash."

Warrick deftly side-stepped and continued on to the door. His only goal now was getting the hell out of there. "Nah, man, I think I'd better go home."

"Warrick, you can stay here. It's no problem."

"It will be if you catch whatever I've got." His hand was on the door knob. Almost there. "I'll call you later." And he was out. He walked quickly to his jeep, glancing once at Nick standing in the doorway, worry evident on his face. He waved to Nick before getting in, but no longer had the wherewithal for even the tiniest smile.

---

After not hearing from Warrick all day, Nick expected him to call in sick to work. The stomach flu was not something you wanted around a crime scene--if that's what was wrong with him.

Warrick was already at work, looking like hell, when Nick arrived. Questions about how he was went nowhere. In fact, Warrick barely spoke two words to anyone that wasn't directly related to work. Then he left the minute shift was over, still without speaking.

Grissom and Catherine seemed to assume Warrick was just having a bad day, but Sara looked a bit worried and Greg looked...guilty. So it was Greg Nick went to, asking if anything had happened during the previous night's shift.

Although obviously torn about it, Greg finally told Nick what he had inadvertently told Warrick. It was possibly the last thing Nick ever expected to hear, but it certainly explained Warrick's behavior. Nick didn't know yet how he was going to handle it, but he at least needed to let Warrick know he was there for him.

After doing his best to reassure Greg that Warrick wouldn't be angry at him, Nick went home. He'd originally planned to go straight to Warrick's, but decided it would be better to give him more time--after all, Warrick had only known for twenty-four hours. Instead, he called and left Warrick a message letting him know and telling him to call if he needed anything.

But the next night at work, it was the same thing. Warrick didn't look any worse, but he spoke even less, which Nick wouldn't have thought possible until he saw it. Again, Warrick went home right after work, but this time Nick followed.

Seeing Warrick's jeep in its spot, Nick pulled into a visitor spot and went up to Warrick's unit. He knocked twice, then listened. There was the sound of someone moving inside, even though no one came to the door. "Rick?" he knocked again. "Warrick, it's me."

After a few seconds, the door opened. "What are the odds of you turning around a going home?"

"Pretty much zip," Nick refused to be discouraged.

It worked. Warrick stood aside to let him in. "What do you want?" he asked after he closed the door behind them.

"How you doin'?"

"I'm fine," Warrick's hand was still on the doorknob. He looked ready to usher Nick back out at any moment. "That all you wanted to know?"

"Rick, look, I know--"

"No. You don't."

Nick reminded himself to be patient. "Not how you feel. I wasn't going to say that. Just that I know this must be--" What? Rough? A shock? Strange? They all sounded trite and pretty stupid. "You're right. I don't really know at all. But I want to help, if I can."

"How?"

"I don't know. However I can."

"You can't. Nothing to do about it."

"No, but you need to--"

"What? I need to...One visit to Kane and you're gonna fix everybody?"

That stung, especially since visiting Kane had more or less been Warrick's suggestion, but Nick tried to keep his temper in check. "Rick, I just want to help. It's not gonna be good for you to let things just--"

"What is this?" Warrick demanded. "Some sort of payback for the way I was on you about getting out of line?"

It was getting really hard to stay calm. "You know that's not true." But now that Warrick had mentioned it--"Why was it okay for you to come to my place and give me crap until I spilled my guts, but when I--"

"Oh, is that what I was doing? Giving you crap?"

"No. You were trying to help," Nick replied, hoping Warrick got the point.

He did. Sort of. "Except I don't need help."

"Like hell."

"Hey, I'm not attacking suspects. I'm not biting co-workers' heads off."

"What the hell do you call this?" Nick gestured around them.

"This is different," Warrick moved as close as he could get without actually touching. "You know that."

Nick's body never failed to react when Warrick's voice dropped to that low purr, and he struggled to maintain his composure. "Rick, we're not done talking."

"Wanna bet?" Moving swiftly, Warrick pinned him against the wall and brought his mouth down in a crushing kiss.

Nick had started kissing him back before he remembered. With a great effort, he tore his mouth away. "I thought you said you didn't want any more fighting beforehand."

"So who's fighting?"

Warrick knew damn well what he meant, and Nick was about to say so, but then Warrick's lips found that spot just below his ear and at the same time, Warrick's hands found their way under his polo and Nick couldn't quite remember what his point was. Almost instinctively, he sought the hem of Warrick's t-shirt, sliding it up and seeking out Warrick's nipples.

That made Warrick growl against his throat before moving away just enough to yank Nick's shirt up and off. Before Nick had the chance to return the favor, Warrick's fingers were already deftly working on his belt and jeans. Nick left him to it, but grabbed a handful of Warrick's hair to keep that mouth close enough to latch onto.

Warrick plunged his tongue into Nick's mouth just as he freed Nick's erection. When he felt Warrick's hand around him, stroking him, Nick began sucking frantically on Warrick's lips, his tongue, the skin of his throat, anything he could reach. Sliding the other arm around Nick's waist, Warrick maneuvered him toward the love seat nearest the door, pushing Nick's jeans down to his knees as they went.

Nick didn't care that he was only half-undressed when Warrick turned him to bend over the arm. Nor did he care that Warrick wasn't undressed at all when he heard the sound of a zipper, then a condom wrapper behind him. At some point Warrick's seething emotions had inflamed him as well, and now all he wanted was release. "Come on, dammit!" he growled.

Almost immediately, he felt Warrick's cock probing between his cheeks, and braced himself against the love seat. Nick knew Warrick was trying to go slow to make up for the lack of lube, and also knew that today Warrick wanted just the opposite. Warrick wanted it fast and rough and nasty to echo the mood he was in.

So did Nick, and he pushed back, impaling himself on Warrick's cock in a single movement and letting out a yelp at the sudden burning. But in the next moment, Warrick's length was sliding along his prostate and any discomfort vanished. Warrick was gripping his hips hard enough that Nick would have bruises the next day, but that hardly mattered when every stroke slid against that magic gland and shook another moan from him.

Nick didn't need Warrick's hand to help him this time. He grasped himself, coming faster and harder than he had since they'd started together. Either his incoherent vocalizations or the shudders that wracked his body or both soon pushed Warrick to completion as well.

The arm of the love seat was digging into his stomach, and his ass was going to be sore for days, but Nick could have cared less as he let his upper body fall against the cushions. He let out a hiss of pain even though Warrick withdrew carefully. "Nick..." Warrick's voice was ragged.

Nick felt fingers between his buttocks and realized what Warrick was checking for. "I'm okay," he said, and instead of crawling onto the love seat to relax like he wanted to, he stood up. "I'm a little sore, but nothing major." He turned around as saw Warrick, still fully dressed, staring at him with a stricken expression.

"Oh, Jesus, Nick...I'm sorry..."

Nick knew in an instant what Warrick was thinking. "No. Rick, no."

"I'm so sorry...I didn't--"

"Warrick, listen to me," Nick said, as forcefully as he knew how. "No, no, no. You hear that?"

Warrick nodded mutely.

"You didn't hear it before, so don't."

Warrick nodded again, but Nick doubted it sank in. "I...uh...I gotta go..." Warrick muttered, fastening his jeans.

"What?" Nick quickly began setting his clothes to rights as well. "Rick, you live here."

"I just can't...not right now, Nicky..."

He looked so miserable that Nick couldn't bring himself to push the subject further. "Okay. Okay, I can go. I'll see you ton--"

"No, you can stay. Why should you--I'll go."

Before Nick could protest, Warrick was out the door. Nick knew there was no point in following, so after tidying up, he left and returned home.

---

Warrick spent the rest of the day doing something he hadn't done since before he was married. He just wandered through the city, prowling in and out of stores, hotels, casinos and bars without stopping and without any particular destination. It was still midmorning and most of the city was moving slowly--for Vegas. The partiers were headed home and the tourists weren't out in full force yet. Most of the people moving around were Vegas natives going to and from work. He stayed off the Strip, sticking to Fremont and the older, slightly seedier part of town.

It was where he felt he belonged right now.

He knew, logically, that he hadn't really hurt Nick. He certainly hadn't raped Nick--something that Nick tried to make perfectly clear--but none of it meant a damn thing at the moment.

The scientist in him coolly debated which characteristics might possibly be passed on genetically while the rest of him tried to recall if there was ever a time he'd forced or coerced another person into having sex with him. He didn't think so. Once he'd passed the awkwardness of puberty, it had never taken that much effort on his part. That had been a matter of pride with him--after spending most of high school ignored or teased, much of Warrick's turn-on was about women--or, once he started college, men--pursuing him, and he'd learned every trick toward that end.

Except Nick, who he'd never really pursued or been pursued by, but whom he wanted more than anyone in memory. That was the person he got rough with.

So was that nature or nurture?

His phone vibrated and Warrick flipped it open to see a text message.

Back at my place. You can go home now. N.

He sighed and put it back in his pocket. He'd made an ass of himself by running out of his own apartment, but he knew if he'd stayed, Nick would have tried to talk to him about this again.

Nick seemed to think that their situations were somehow comparable, but to Warrick, his situation was as far from Nick's as a situation could get. Nick had been buried alive and nearly suffocated, while in Warrick's case, nothing had actually happened to him. There was just no comparison.

Besides, what the hell was there to talk about? Right now Nick knew as much about his father as he did. So did Sara and Greg, for that matter.

Nick was just starting to work on his own problems and didn't need to deal with all the questions that kept going through Warrick's mind. Especially since none of those questions could ever really be answered.

The worst one still swamped him with nausea. Had his mother been raped? Was that the reason she'd never mentioned his father? Because she hadn't known who he was? Warrick had gone through all the memories he had of his mother for some sign that he had ever been anything to her other than the most important thing in her life. He couldn't recall any whispered secrets or strange looks that his child's mind wouldn't have been able to comprehend at the time.

Of course, he'd only been seven when she died, so who knows what he might have learned as he'd gotten older. And at seven, what would he have known about it? His biggest concern at that time had been that the other kids constantly teased him about being a nerd because he always carried at least one book with him. His mother had managed to fix that, though. She had just gone back to school herself the year before and made the biggest fuss about the two of them going to school together, dropping him off at his elementary school before catching a bus to her college. All the taunts from classmates were forgotten when he and his mom would sit down at the kitchen table to do their homework together.

That just didn't seem like a woman who had conflicting emotions about her child.

And Gran had been strict, sure, but would she really have made his mother keep a baby conceived under such circumstances? But then, those were very different times. Maybe they hadn't really had a choice.

Then another memory surfaced--about a conversation between his grandmother and one of her cronies, Angeline Seldon. They had been talking about a young woman who had terminated her pregnancy and Angeline had been saying something about how she shouldn't be allowed in the church. His grandmother had simply said, "Judge not." Sixteen at the time, Warrick had been surprised to hear such a view from his grandmother.

Was that a sign that she wouldn't have made his mother if she hadn't wanted to, or did it mean that she understood because she'd gone through such an experience with his mother?

Gran had certainly left no doubt as to how she felt about him. Whenever she'd referred to her "work-in-progress," it had always been with pride in her voice.

But why hadn't they ever mentioned his father?

The really lousy thing was that he knew, he knew that none of it changed who he was now. He was 37 years old and his character had long since been formed. Obsessing over who or what his father had been wouldn't change a damn thing.

That didn't keep him from wondering.

After hours of just roaming around Fremont, Warrick decided he'd better go home and get some sleep before work. It took him another hour to ramble back to where he'd parked, mostly because he'd stopped for a burger along the way.

I really gotta start working out again, he thought as he finished eating.

That's it, he snorted softly. Think about anything except what's going on.

---

Nick set his cordless back in its nest and stared at the time and address scrawled on the notepad. Then he sighed and moved to the couch. So there it was. Next week at this time he'd be in Dr. Lyndon Demarest's office, spilling his guts. He wasn't looking forward to it, but was determined to keep the appointment.

This decision to take yet another step came a few days after the argument about how Warrick was taking the discovery of his father. Since then Nick had only seen Warrick at work, so he hadn't had the chance to talk much, but Warrick seemed to be handling it better. At the very least he looked like he was getting enough sleep.

Court, first a day for Nick, then two for Warrick, meant that there just wasn't time for them to meet up, so Nick had no way of knowing if Warrick was just maintaining his poker face at work. Certainly Warrick was quieter than usual, but other than that, not much was different. Nick didn't feel right about bringing it up when Warrick's work wasn't being affected--at least not in the way Nick's issues had affected his.

Maybe he had been trying to turn the tables, just like Warrick said. Maybe he was so interested in Warrick's situation because it was easier than dealing with his own. After all, he'd had two years to deal with his problems, but still hadn't. Warrick had barely had a week to deal with such a huge shock. Maybe he just needed to lay off and let his friend adjust.

Maybe Nick needed to handle his own business instead of worrying so much about Warrick's.

That was the thought that prompted Nick to get out the list of names Dr. Kane had given him. Dr. Demarest was the fifth name on the list, and one of the reasons Nick chose him was because he'd suggested a sort of interview to determine whether they'd be suited as doctor and patient instead of trying to convince Nick he was the only one who could help. The first four doctors he'd phoned seemed to do their best to give Nick that impression.

Two of the therapists had stressed a holistic approach, which Nick doubted would work for him, while another had heard about his kidnaping and was eager to work with him. A little too eager for Nick's liking. He did experiments, he didn't want to end up someone else's. There were a few more names on the list, but Nick decided to wait and see how things went with Demarest. If it didn't work out, then at least he had more options.

Nick gave himself a mental shake. No more thinking about it until next week. He got up and got ready to go to the gym. A good workout was what he needed to take his mind off this.

And Warrick.

---

It wasn't until he got home from work that the most important thing about this whole mess finally hit Warrick.

He had spent two days on a bench outside of a courtroom waiting to testify. It would have been the ultimate irony if the trial had been a rape case, but it wasn't. It was a very messy double shooting and the defense was taking much more time-cross examining each witness that the prosecution had ever expected, which led to the two days of waiting. There was only so much work he could bring along, so most of the time he had nothing to do but think. That was the last thing he wanted to be doing right now.

He tried to keep his thoughts focused on work. Even trying to figure out just what was going on between he and Nick would have been preferable. Inevitably, though, his thoughts would focus again on his father. On whom his father was. On what his father was.

Once he finally got to testify, he only had time to go home for a quick nap and a meal before heading back for his usual shift. That night he managed to bring down a guy for vehicular manslaughter. The real satisfaction was that the punk had two rape charges that he'd manage to get out of, but there was too much evidence for him to slither out of a prison sentence this time.

It had been four days since he and Nick had been together and more than anything, Warrick wanted to see him again. What he didn't want to do was fight any more and he knew that was the most likely outcome, considering where his mind was at.

So he went home after shift without talking to Nick and still feeling unsettled. Once he got inside, he realized what had been nagging at him.

For the past few days, all he'd thought about was his father. About whether there was a chance of him inheriting some sort of inclination to criminal behavior. About whether his mother had been raped and what he might have really meant to her. Even about what other people would think if they found out.

He'd been so worried about how the case affected him that he'd forgotten the most important thing.

There was a serial rapist on the loose.

A serial rapist was out there. By all accounts his crimes were escalating. Warrick was the only link to his identity. It didn't matter if this man had contributed half of his genetic make-up. It didn't matter that it was actually Sara's case. It didn't matter that Warrick still had dozens of questions.

There was a rapist on the loose and it was Warrick's job to help put people like that away. Other than a random DNA hit, Warrick knew he was the mostly likely lead they had to finding the guy.

He'd never before tried to find out anything about his father. Looking back, he could only suppose he'd never felt there was a reason. Now he had a reason--a damn good one.

So where did he start? He had to find out for certain if his mother had been raped. Who would know about something like that besides his mother and grandmother? Most of his Gran's closest friends had passed away as well--the few friends still living wouldn't have been close enough to know.

A memory stirred. His godmother. Not his Aunt Bertha, but someone else. He remembered hearing one time that his mother had wanted her best friend as his godmother, but she was moving out-of-state, so Bertha had been asked instead. She had moved back to Vegas not long before his mother died.

What was her name?

Warrick went out to the storage closet off his balcony and found the box of mementos he had of his mother. He spotted a pale blue book and pulled it out, flipping through pages filled with his mother's rounded handwriting. He turned to the family tree page, not really expecting to see his father's name there when it hadn't been on his birth certificate. It wasn't in the book, although his mother's side was filled out up to his great-grandparents. The box for father was filled out, however.

N/A.

It wasn't left blank. It didn't say unknown. It said N/A.

That struck Warrick as odd and he filed the information away for later.

In the section for "Gifts," the first entry was for the baby book itself along with a mobile and crib set from "Aunty Judith."

Judith. Judith...Leslie.

She might not even live in Vegas anymore. She might have a different name. It was a long shot, but it was also the only shot Warrick had.

He went to his laptop and looked up the name "Judith Leslie" in Las Vegas. He got two Judy Leslies and one Judith. Taking a deep breath, he dialed her number, then hung up when he realized he had no idea what to say. He took a few moments to compose himself and dialed again, then waited for her machine. "Ms. Leslie," he said after the beep. "My name is Warrick Brown and I'm trying to contact any friends of my mother, Lena Brown. I came across your name and--"

Suddenly the phone was picked up. "Hello?"

"Ms. Leslie?" Warrick was thrown off balance.

"Yes. This is Warrick? Lena's son?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good Lord. It's been...what? Thirty years since your mother passed?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What...what can I do for you, Warrick?"

Warrick thought he'd planned what he was going to say, but found himself floundering. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about my Mom. You were around when she had me, weren't you?"

"Yes, for the first few months, but I had received a scholarship to CalState and only moved back to Vegas a few months before she passed."

"Ms. Leslie--"

"Judith."

"Judith," he amended. God he hated having to ask this. "Would you know anything about my father?"

There was a long silence. "Don't you?"

Warrick tried not to grit his teeth. "No, ma'am."

"So she probably never told your grandmother."

Warrick had to remind himself to breathe. "Told her what?"

"Who he was."

Warrick sat down hard. "You...you know?"

"Well...Lena never said for sure, but I always figured...Warrick, I'm not sure I want to get into this..."

This is a lead. It's a case. This is a lead in a case. "Ms. Les--Judith, it's very important I talk to you about this as soon as possible. Can I meet you somewhere?"

"Now?" she sounded uncertain.

"As soon as possible," he repeated.

"I don't know..."

He had to pull out his last card. "I work for the Las Vegas Crime Lab. It's part of an investigation."

Another long silence, then--"I don't have much more than an hour before I go to work. Can you meet me at the Boyar Café in the Romanov? I can be there in about twenty minutes."

"I'm on my way," Warrick promised, and hung up.

---

Warrick ordered a cup of French Roast, but declined the pastry menu offered by the perky waitress. His mouth was too dry for him to choke down anything other than coffee. He scanned the café as he tried to collect his scattered thoughts and calm his hammering heart.

From the moment he took out the box of his mother's things until he sat down at in the café, Warrick hadn't allowed himself to think about anything except working the case. All that he had focused on was finding a source of information. He thought that would be the most difficult part.

He tried to tell himself that he had nothing to lose. After all, it wasn't like things could get any worse.

He hoped.

Today--in just a few minutes--he might learn the answers to questions that he'd wondered about in childhood and eventually left behind him. Questions that had begun to plague his every waking minute for the last several days. He was finally going to find out his father's name after 37 years, only to try to put him in jail.

What sort of man did that make him?

"Warrick Brown?"

Warrick stood when he saw the smartly dressed woman standing by his table. "Judith Leslie." He held out his hand.

"I recognized those eyes of yours," Judith smiled as she shook his hand. "You were the prettiest baby."

Oddly, the first thing that popped into Warrick's mind was that Nick would laugh his ass off if he heard that. It helped him return her smile as they both took their seats.

The perky waitress was there instantly and served Warrick his coffee. "Your usual, Ms. Leslie?" she asked anxiously.

"Thank you, Marni."

"You must be a regular," Warrick commented, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Or a manager," Judith replied.

"Of the café?"

"Of food services for the Romanov."

"That would explain why Marni was quaking in her boots." Now that the time had come, Warrick found himself casting around for something else to talk about.

"I'm glad to meet you again, but I'm sorry it's not under better circumstances." Judith paused when Marni brought her coffee. "You said this was part of an investigation?"

"Yes, ma'am. I work for the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and although I can't discuss any details of the case--" Jesus, how the hell was he going to explain without giving away any confidential information? Warrick ran a hand absently over his chin as he tried to think of some way to explain.

"You don't need to make an excuse for wanting to know who your father is."

Warrick nodded. Let her think it was an excuse. "I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice."

"Well, on the phone you said as soon as possible, and you sounded..." Judith's sentence trailed off and she studied him.

"There is some urgency involved."

"You have to understand that Lena never actually told me. This is just based on what was going on at the time. I'm pretty sure, though, because Lena didn't run around."

Warrick stared into the dark depths of his coffee. "Would you know if..." How the hell could he ask this? "If she was..." He couldn't, and merely shook his head.

Judith was staring at him now. "If she was what?"

A case. It's a case. It's a case. It's a case. "Assaulted."

He risked a glance up. Judith was frowning, but then suddenly her eyes widened. "You mean...you think that's why no one ever told you--" She reached across to touch his hand fleetingly before drawing back. "I can't imagine...if something that bad had happened to her I'm sure I would have--of course, it's always possible, but I'm sure I would have noticed. Even if Lena didn't tell me, I would have noticed something."

Warrick felt a knot in his chest loosen. It wasn't definite, but then nothing about this was. At least this was something.

"No. No, those eyes of yours are so much like Anthony's that it can't be a coincidence."

"Anthony?"

"Anthony Tyndall. He was a few years older than we were and one good-looking man. Lena was head over heels for him even though he wandered--a lot. He always came back to her, though, and she always took him back. She was heartbroken when he was killed in that car accident."

And the knot was back again. If Anthony Tyndall was dead, then--"He can't be my father."

"I know, he died at least a year before you were born. I just wanted to explain how--" Judith sighed and her gaze turned distant. "After Anthony died, his family was devastated, Lena was devastated and she spent a lot of time with them. Especially with Earle. Anthony's brother," she clarified before Warrick could ask.

Warrick nodded, beginning to understand where this was going.

"It only lasted a few months before Lena broke it off--she never would have had anything to do with Earle if Anthony had lived. Anthony might have been a dog, but Earle was...bad. Everyone could tell he had nothing but trouble in his future." Judith paused to study Warrick again. "You don't look a thing like Earle, but you sure look like you're from the same family as Anthony. I always supposed Lena just didn't want you to have anything to do with Earle. Lord knows your grandma didn't have any use for him."

"When my mother broke it off with him, how did he take it? Do you remember?"

"Mmm...not really. He took off not long after--L.A., I think. I don't think I saw him more than once or twice after that." She looked intently into Warrick's eyes. "Your mother and grandmother did what they thought was best for you. That I know for sure."

Warrick was able to hold her gaze as he said, "I never doubted that for a minute."

"Are you going to try to contact--" Judith stopped and shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

" I'm not sure what I'm going to do," he said honestly.

---

Nick was changing his boots before heading out to his assigned crime scene when Sara caught up with him. "Nick, can you take this solo?"

They had been assigned to a drowning in Arden. "Sure. What's up?"

"I just got a break in an open case. Grissom should be able to give you a hand if you need it."

"Nah, I should be fine." He couldn't help noticing that Sara didn't look nearly as jazzed as she usually did when she got a major break. "Something wrong?"

Sara moved closer. "It's a rape case. The DNA--"

Nick winced. "Warrick's father?"

"Yeah. We've finally got a name."

Oh, God. "Does Warrick know?"

"He gave me the name."

"What?!"

Sara nodded, her expression somber. "He tracked me down before shift started and told me the name. Said it wasn't 100%, but was as close as he could get."

"How did he find out?" Nick was still trying to process the news.

"He didn't say. He just told me that and left. I didn't want to ask."

Nick knew Warrick had to have been giving off a very bad vibe for Sara to not satisfy her curiosity. "Where is he now?"

"He went with Catherine. Suspicious circs in Vegas Heights." Sara opened her phone, "I've gotta go find Brass. Thanks for taking the case."

"No problem," Nick replied. Once she left, he finished changing and kicked his locker door shut. It had been five days since he'd seen Warrick and Nick was determined to track him down as soon as shift ended, but first he had a crime scene to process.

Three hours later, he was almost done, and was convinced he had a homicide, not an accidental drowning as it had first appeared. He'd have to wait for Doc Robbins' post to know for certain, and he didn't want to tip off the wife who was his number one suspect.

Robbins confirmed his suspicions, and Nick handed off the case to Vartann to make an arrest while he went out to his second scene of the night. It was a nasty home invasion that led to several hours of overtime, and when he finally got back to the lab, the only other person from graveyard left was Sara, who was working at one of the general computers.

Nick knocked softly on the door and waited until she looked up. "Everyone else take off?"

"Grissom might still be around, but I think everyone is gone."

He wanted to ask how the case was going, but doubted she would tell him. He could live with that, because Sara remaining tight-lipped meant less chance of the case running through the lab's gossip mill. "Okay, see you tomorrow."

"See ya," Sara was already focused on the monitor again.

Nick decided to call Warrick, but wasn't sure how to let him know he wasn't going to try making him talk about his father. What was he supposed to say? "Come on over, I promise not to nag"?

He sat in his truck until an idea occurred to him. With a smile, he dialed Warrick's cell. It rang several times and just when Nick had resigned himself to voice mail, Warrick answered. "Hey."

"Hi. Uh...you busy?"

"Nah, what's up?" Warrick sounded wary.

Nick suspected Warrick knew he knew. "Well, I just...it's the first time neither of us has had court this week and--" He was going to start sounding like some kid with a crush any minute. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I recorded the Rangers-Cubs game last night, so I thought you might want to come over and catch it." Baseball wasn't usually Warrick's favorite sport to watch, but maybe...

"Sure," Warrick replied immediately, and Nick could hear much of the tension leave his voice. "I'll grab the pizza if you get the beer."

"Deal." Nick closed his cell and started his truck. He got home first, and Warrick arrived about five minutes later, carrying two large pizza boxes. "Christ, how much are you planning to eat?"

"That a trick question?" Warrick returned, although it didn't sound quite as suggestive as it normally would. It almost seemed automatic.

They settled on the couch and Nick started the game. They made their way through six innings, three-quarters of a pizza and two beers each before Warrick leaned back with a sigh and stared at the ceiling.

They weren't sitting at either end of the couch as they would have at one time, and although they weren't snuggled up together, either, Nick didn't have to shift much for their shoulders and legs to touch. "Rick." He watched Warrick's profile and saw his eyes close in resignation. "I don't want to ask a bunch of questions."

Warrick sighed. "But..."

"You gave the name to Sara, but you're hands off for the rest of it, right?"

Warrick's expression darkened. "What're you sayin'?"

"I'm not saying anything, I'm just askin'."

"I don't know."

"Look, I've done some stupid things that could have hurt cases and you called me on it. I'm just trying to do the same."

"I did what I was supposed to do. You want to just drop it?"

Nick took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Okay. I just--okay."

"I know," Warrick didn't sound angry anymore, just tired.

Nick reached up to massage Warrick's neck and the base of his skull with one hand. Warrick groaned and let his head fall forward. Eventually, Nick moved his hand so that his fingers were twined in Warrick's hair, and he tilted Warrick's head back before leaning in for a kiss. Warrick parted his lips so Nick could explore his mouth, but made no other move.

That was somewhat unusual, and Nick drew back slightly. When Warrick didn't follow, Nick knew he wasn't really in the mood.

"Sorry," Warrick muttered.

"Dumbass." Nick wasn't able to keep the affection out of his voice. He let his hand slip back to Warrick's neck and continued the gentle kneading, not sure what else to do. It seemed to him that at one time he knew how to deal with Warrick better, just as at one time he'd been more likely to accept Warrick's questions without getting angry. Had that changed because they were sleeping together?

No, Nick quickly decided. It went back further than that. It was another thing that had been different before. Before, it seemed to Nick, he never had to think so much about how to act around Warrick when he was troubled. He was probably thinking about it too much, when before he never worried so much what Warrick would think about what he said or did.

It took a conscious effort to shut of the questions--Would Warrick think he was being a sap? Would he think Nick was trying to push things somewhere he didn't want it to go? Where did Warrick want this thing to go, anyway?--and follow his instincts. He leaned in enough to rest his chin on Warrick's shoulder, "How 'bout we just go get some sleep?"

Warrick didn't reply, and after a few minutes of silence, the pizza and beer in Nick's stomach began to sour. Then Warrick turned so he could rest his forehead against Nick's. "That sounds like the best thing I've heard for days."

---

Sometimes it seemed to Catherine that even though the team had been back together for nearly two years, it was still split along graveyard and swing lines. Grissom usually teamed himself with Sara or Greg, while Catherine worked with Warrick and Nick. It wasn't a problem, or at least it hadn't been before she'd decided to fake a crime scene. She'd tried to keep to her motto of "never doubt and never look back," but that wasn't easy when she missed her guys.

Having Sara angry with her didn't phase Catherine much--she didn't like it that way, but she could deal with it. Greg shrugged the whole thing off with relative ease. Nick, though, had been hurt--she'd seen it and knew he'd felt betrayed.

He remained professional when they worked together, but that was as far as it went for a long time. Catherine had seen him do the same thing with Grissom after Kelly Gordon's suicide--she still wasn't sure Grissom had noticed--and it had taken nearly a year before Nick began to thaw toward the entomologist. Catherine didn't want it to take that long for things to get better between she and Nick. She wasn't normally the type to tiptoe around people, but she willingly did it and to her relief, Nick began to respond to her tentative overtures after only a few weeks. It wasn't the same Nick she had been close to for so many years, but then, that Nick hadn't been around for some time.

She'd noticed it, suspected Warrick had too, but Grissom either didn't notice, chose to ignore it or didn't think it was important. Catherine had always meant to talk to Grissom about Nick, but things always seemed to come up to prevent it. Nick was too edgy and Catherine hadn't wanted Grissom to blunder and make things worse, then Nick seemed more like his old self and there was no problem. When Catherine finally realized that something needed to be done, it was just one thing after another--Brass getting shot; Lindsey's kidnaping, afterward Catherine worked as little overtime as possible; Sam's death; the miniature killer that Grissom seemed obsessed with; then Grissom seemed too disturbed, too weary and finally took a sabbatical; then Keppler arrived and everything went to hell. Before she knew it, more than a year had gone by.

So when Nick, while they stopped to have breakfast, told her he'd had his first appointment with a therapist, Catherine inexplicably found herself tearing up.

That wasn't like her.

She had been satisfied when Nick agreed to grab something to eat together on their way back from tracking down a car rental. Now she didn't know what made her happier, that Nick was seeking help or that he was willing to confide in her again.

She knew how Nick felt about therapists and felt like she needed to let him know she was proud of him for making that decision, but she also knew he wouldn't want her to get sappy about it. Since he'd mentioned work in the same breath, that gave her a good angle to work with. "If your sessions are in the afternoon, they probably won't interfere with your shift, but let me know any time there's a problem. It takes a lot of guts for someone in our line of work to start seeing someone and anything I can do to make it easier..." she let her voice trail off as she returned the first genuine smile Nick had given her in a long time.

She was ready to put many of her concerns about Nick aside, because he seemed much steadier after that. Then, only a few days later, she noticed he started to seem a bit down. It wasn't a big deal, it happened to everyone, but had been over a week now. Catherine resolved to keep a close eye on him.

And then there was Warrick.

His marriage and subsequent divorce had cooled any feelings she'd had for him back to the comfortable friendship that had always existed. He'd been there for her and Lindsey after Lindsey's kidnaping and Sam's death despite the fact that his marriage was on the rocks at the time.

His divorce a few months later barely made a ripple in his work.

She was surprised, but grateful, when Warrick was willing to forgive and forget the false crime scene, especially since he was the one who'd had to waste his time processing it. Through all the turmoil over the past year or so, he had remained rock solid. That was probably the reason his actions now bothered her so much.

For several years, Warrick had been one of the most reliable CSIs on the team, and that was saying something. He'd always been available to pick-up overtime or on-calls. Catherine couldn't remember him ever being unreachable when called upon, even if it was his day off.

So when he started turning down overtime and not answering his cell on his time off, Catherine let it go. By that time she knew, as did most of the lab, that Warrick's father was wanted in a series of rapes. It wasn't discussed too much in the lab, considering what a juicy piece of gossip it was. Catherine suspected no one wanted to caught talking about it by any of the CSIs--especially not Warrick.

If anyone knew about paternal problems, it was Catherine, so when Warrick started trading off his on-calls, she let that go, too. She was just relieved to learn from Sara that after giving her the name, Warrick had remained completely hands-off the case, not even asking for updates.

Unfortunately, despite how hard they were working it, Sara and Brass still hadn't located Earle Tyndall.

Catherine hoped they made progress soon, because recently Warrick had started switching off shifts as well. Luckily for him, there were several people who owed him shifts, so thus far there was nothing he could be called on. Until then, there wasn't really much she could say to him, because Warrick was acting as though nothing significant was going on. He was as laid-back as ever, strolling through the lab with that innate style of his that all of the lab techs--and quite a few cops--would have killed for. On the rare occasion that anyone got anywhere near the taboo subject, a dangerous glint would appear in the green eyes that convinced them not to pursue it.

The only time Warrick seemed unable to maintain it was around Nick. Either he lost his cool completely or turned ice cold. Thus far, Nick had simply rolled with it, but Catherine had a feeling that wouldn't go on much longer.

For the life of her, she couldn't think of what might happen when it did stop.

---

Nick was just on his way out to the parking lot when his cell rang. Checking it, he recognized Sofia's number. "Stokes."

"You up for a little overtime?"

"Sure," Nick answered immediately. It wasn't like he had anything else to do. It wasn't like he had anyone to meet. He and Warrick got together the day after their non-discussion about Sara's case, but that had been more than two weeks ago. Since then Nick had asked Warrick over twice and Warrick always had something else to do. Nick stopped asking after the second time. "What've you got?"

"A possible lead on your Jane Doe."

"Little Jane Doe?" Nick blurted before he thought.

"The one found out by Goodsprings," Sofia replied. If she thought there was anything strange about Nick's reference, she didn't let on. "I got a call from a woman there who runs the local grocery store. I was going to drive out to talk to her and wondered if you wanted to come along for the ride. I can swing by and get you on my way."

"Absolutely," Nick said. "I'll grab the file and meet you out front." He closed his phone and hurried back inside. It didn't take him long to find the file--he'd never relegated it quite as far back as Ecklie wanted--and he was waiting outside for Sofia as promised.

"I just tried Warrick to let him know," Sofia said as Nick got in. "But he's not answering."

"I'll fill him in when I see him at work." Nick buckled himself in, knowing there was no real need to elaborate. He knew Sofia had to have heard about Warrick's father by now, just like everyone else, and like everyone else, she probably assumed that was why Warrick had been making himself scarce lately.

Nick wasn't sure that was it, exactly, but he hadn't had the chance to actually talk to Warrick in order to find out what was going on. Even at work, Warrick managed to avoid situations where they were alone. When he couldn't avoid them, he went from cool to cold, shrugging off any overtures. Nick knew Warrick had to be sorting through tough issues and tried to be understanding, but whenever Warrick brushed him off, a flicker of anger would ignite again, and it was a little brighter each time.

"So what did we have on her?" Sofia asked.

Nick opened the folder. "Caucasian female, approximately ten years of age. COD was renal failure due to dehydration. Ligature marks on wrists and ankles, but no other signs of physical trauma. All vomit on her nightgown was her own, as was all DNA under her fingernails."

"Strange," Sofia mused.

"There was no one in missing persons who matched up."

"But she'd been healthy, right?" Sofia maneuvered through the interchange and onto I-15.

"Right. Doc Robbins guessed up until about four months before she died."

"How far did you extend the search?"

"We went back a year for Nevada and the surrounding states. We were going to go national when Ecklie told us to set the case aside."

"But she's in the system."

"Yeah, of course. But no hits so far. What've you got?"

"Vina Strazisar called the department. Police had canvassed her when we found the body, but she claimed not to know anything about it. Now she's saying differently."

"Does it sound suspicious to you?"

"She sounded uncertain to me. Kept saying she didn't know if it was anything, but she was worried about one of her customers. When I asked for a name, she said it was probably nothing."

Nick frowned, that didn't sound like a whole lot to go on, but it was the only outside lead they'd had in the case.

Sofia glanced his way and interpreted his expression correctly. "I checked her out. She's a widow, owned the store with her husband, now the sole owner. One son who lives in Reno, married, but no kids."

"So nothing that jumps out."

"Nothing. Not for the husband or son, either. Daughter-in-law has an outstanding parking ticket," she added dryly.

"Make sure you get an APB out on her," Nick replied in the same tone, making Sofia chuckle.

They continued to speculate over the case as well as a shooting they were working together for the rest of the thirty minute drive.

It didn't take long to find the Goodsprings Grocery, since it was one of only three businesses in town besides the Gold Strike Casino. Once inside, Nick decided that "grocery" was a generous term for a place that was an odd cross between a convenience and an old-fashioned general store. A round, but tidy-looking woman was behind the counter going over a ledger. Nick couldn't remember the last time he saw someone keeping their books by hand. She looked up and smiled when they walked in, then closed the ledger and set it aside when they approached the counter. "Can I help you?"

"Vina Strazisar?"

"Yes."

"Sofia Curtis, LVPD," Sofia displayed her badge. "This is Nick Stokes from the Las Vegas Crime Lab. You and I spoke on the phone."

The woman's eyes widened behind her glasses. "Oh. I--I said that I wasn't sure it meant anything. I don't want to get anyone in trouble when I'm not even sure there's anything wrong."

"You were concerned enough to call the police, ma'am," Nick pointed out. "Is there something you've learned about the little girl we found?"

"Well, there was--look, for all I know they moved, or started going to a different store."

"Who?" Sofia asked.

Vina sighed. "Ben," she said reluctantly. "He usually comes in about once a month for supplies."

"Ben?"

"Ben Sweeting," Vina replied, shifting uncomfortably. "He lives--well, I'm not sure exactly where he lives--out in the desert somewhere."

"And you think he might have abducted a girl?"

"No!" She looked horrified at the thought. "He--he has a daughter, Joanie. Most of the time she'd come in with him."

"Can you describe her?" Nick asked.

"She's ten. Light brown--almost blond--hair. Blue eyes. Freckles. Very cheerful little girl. Always smiling."

Nick couldn't confirm the last two facts, but everything else matched little Jane Doe. He took a photograph from the folder and held it out. "Is this her?"

Vina's eyes barely focused on the picture before she gulped and looked away. "Oh, I can't...I can't..."

Nick exchanged a look with Sofia, who nodded. He felt bad, but was willing to push if it meant identifying little Jane Doe. "Ma'am, please?"

Sneaking another look, Vina quickly turned away again. "Oh, I--I don't know. Joanie was always so nice and neat and that--that...I can't tell...I might be, I don't know."

"Ma'am?"

"I can't look at it again."

"When did you last see Joanie?" Nick asked, putting the photo away.

"Oh," Vina relaxed a bit now that the picture was no longer in front of her. "January, I think. Ben didn't bring her along every time."

"When was the last time you saw Ben?" Sofia took her turn.

"About...three months ago? That's why I started to think something might be wrong."

"Where did Joanie go to school, do you know?" Sofia was busy writing on her notepad.

"Ben home schooled her. But she was very happy," she stressed. "She seemed well-adjusted."

"Do you know how to contact Ben Sweeting?" Sofia asked.

"No, I...I never had to."

Sofia looked at Nick questioningly, and he nodded. They had a new lead to chase. "Thank you, Mrs. Strazisar."

"Ben's a very nice man," Vina looked truly distressed now. "I can't imagine--"

"We'll be checking to see that he's all right," Sofia reassured her, although Nick knew that probably wasn't her first conclusion.

Vina's eyes widened, "You think something might have happened to Ben...of course. That makes sense."

After a few more pleasantries, they went back to the car. Nick was almost positive that they had finally ID'd little Jane Doe, and left Warrick a text message to tell him.

"So what do you think?" Sofia asked when she saw he was finished.

"I suppose it's possible that something happened to both of them, and Joanie's body is the only one that's been found."

"But not likely," Sofia finished.

"Not as likely," Nick clarified.

"I'll run the name as soon as I get back, see what I can get on him."

"Call with what you've got?" Nick asked.

"Sure, I figured you'd want in on it."

Warrick hadn't returned his text message by the time Nick got back to the lab. Annoyed, he dialed Warrick's number as he walked into the building, but it just rang until he had to hang up so he could put the file away. Now he was starting to get pissed off. He knew Warrick wasn't likely to be asleep at this time and the guy should have gotten the point from the text that this was about work, not Nick chasing him like a lovesick fool. Why the hell hadn't he picked up?

He climbed into his truck and dialed one more time. When he got voice mail, he left Warrick a message.

And then some.

"For the third time, Sofia got a lead on the little Jane Doe case. We've already been out to Goodsprings and have a possible ID. Sofia is checking it out and will get back to me, since you don't give a good goddamn."

When the message ended, Warrick snapped his phone shut and went straight out to his jeep. Twenty minutes later, he was pounding on Nick's door. Nick answered, a blank, vaguely questioning expression on his face.

"What the hell kind of message was that?" Warrick demanded.

"Hey," Nick feigned bewilderment. "Warrick Brown, right?"

"Very funny," Warrick shouldered past Nick and into his house.

"Come on in," Nick commented dryly.

"Drop the sarcasm. You sound like you've been spending too much time with Hodges."

"What difference would that make to you?"

That sparked something else inside Warrick. Was Nick saying he had been spending time with Hodges? He couldn't tell, and that only pissed him off more. "What the hell is your problem?"

Nick slammed the door and turned around. "My problem?" he asked incredulously.

"Hey, when you were having trouble, I didn't give you attitude."

"No," Nick let out a derisive laugh. "You either ignored me or accused me of stuff. Hey! Whaddya know? You do the same thing when you're having trouble."

"Yeah, because I really want to spend time with you when you're being an asshole," Warrick injected a little sarcasm of his own.

It had no effect on Nick. "Don't try pulling that crap! You know damn well there was no attitude before you started acting like a jerk!"

"You ever think I didn't want you to have to deal with my problems?"

"You ever think that's for me to decide?"

"The hell it is!" Warrick couldn't figure out how, even though he was shorter, Nick seemed able to get right in his face. He barely knew what they were arguing about any more, but he was determined not to let Nick have the last word.

"The hell it is!" Nick fired back. "You can handle my problems, but I can't handle yours?"

Now this was starting to go somewhere Warrick didn't care for. "Hell with this." He started for the door, only to have Nick block him.

"You keep showing up at my place, getting on my case, and the minute I say something you don't like you think you can turn around and leave? No way, man!"

Warrick moved left and Nick countered. They bumped chests and Warrick grabbed Nick's shoulders to move him out of the way.

That was a mistake.

Touching Nick, feeling those muscles flex under his hands again, made Warrick forget everything else.

Nick froze, as if sensing the sudden change, then he surged forward, grabbing fistfuls of Warrick's shirt. Warrick moved one hand to the back of Nick's head, pulling him in for a kiss. While he was busy devouring Nick's mouth, he was vaguely aware of the sound of fabric tearing and when he felt Nick's hands on his skin, realized it was his own shirt.

The sound let Warrick know without a doubt that Nick wanted this as much as he did. He broke off the kiss long enough to yank Nick's shirt up and off before latching onto his collarbone. Nick was just as busy, quickly removing Warrick's shirt completely and tearing it again in the process. As soon as his shirt was gone, Warrick felt Nick's hand at his belt and sought to return the favor. Then it was a struggle to see who would unfasten the other's jeans first.

They wrestled their way into Nick's bedroom and Warrick couldn't have said who threw whom down on the bed. Warrick kicked his jeans the rest of the way off, his socks going with them. He had no idea at what point he'd gotten rid of his shoes.

Nick was reaching for the night stand even as Warrick finished pulling his jeans off. Arms and legs on either side of Nick, Warrick crawled up the length of his body and took the lube from him. He shifted so he was kneeling beside Nick, trying to give him at least some preparation despite the demands from his body. Even that was difficult with the way Nick was moving around.

Then Nick flipped over onto his back, the condom wrapper between his teeth. Warrick quickly took that as well, and put it on with shaking hands. Nick got onto his knees, then shifted to straddle Warrick's hips and almost before Warrick knew it had happened, Nick was impaled on him.

Mutual groans were swallowed as their mouth locked again, then Warrick eagerly followed the pace Nick was setting. After only a few minutes, though, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out nearly as long as he'd hoped.

Warrick slid his hands under Nick's legs to the backs of his knees and abruptly yanked Nick's feet out from under him, throwing his weight forward at the same time. Nick's back hit the mattress and he let out a yelp of surprise that quickly turned into a groan as Warrick thrust deep inside again.

"Oh, hell yeah, Nicky..." Warrick panted into Nick's neck. "You wanna go for a ride, baby? Huh?"

"You know I do, Rick," Nick gasped hitching his legs higher up around Warrick's hips. "Come on...you know I do."

Warrick increased the pace, but was still surprised when Nick stiffened and let out a sharp cry. He felt the wet warmth against his stomach only seconds before he felt Nick's muscles tighten around him, pulling him over the edge.

Warrick lay with his face pressed into the crook between Nick's neck and shoulder, breathing deeply. Eventually he moved just enough to discard the condom and clean up before resuming his position as Nick threw a sheet over them. Warrick felt like he could have stayed there forever, breathing in Nick's scent, but he didn't want to deal with the subject that he knew would come up again. After a brief debate, he decided to compromise.

He waited until Nick fell asleep before he left.

---

Nick awoke to the sound of his cell ringing and an empty bed. He found his cell on his night stand and supposed Warrick put it there before he left. Picking it up, he saw Sofia's number and answered immediately. "Have you gotten any sleep?"

Sofia chuckled. "Did I wake you?"

"Yeah, but you're forgiven if this is about the case."

"It is. Some interesting history on Mr. Ben Sweeting, along with an address--of sorts. I'm taking a black-and-white with me for--well, a welfare check. If you care to join me, I can fill you in on the way there."

"Sure I can meet you in front of the lab in..?"

"Forty-five minutes?" Sofia suggested. "I've got another case I've got to deal with first."

"I'll be there," Nick assured her.

He had plenty of time to shower and even time to grab something to eat. He called Grissom to let him know he might be late for his shift and why, but didn't bother calling Warrick, figuring that leaving without waking him up was a pretty blatant hint.

Obviously he and Warrick had moved on to just fucking. No big deal. At least the sex was great. Nick knew he'd get used to things this way.

Eventually.

Seeing he had a few extra minutes on the way to the lab, he stopped for a couple of iced espressos. He'd need the extra jolt of caffeine since he was starting his shift several hours early, and didn't feel like drinking hot coffee now that the temperature had shot up again over the past few days. He pulled up at the lab only a few minutes before Sofia, so he double-checked his kit. There was no way to know if he'd need it, but he wanted to bring it just in case. Sofia wouldn't be going out to check at this hour unless she was fairly certain they had something.

When Sofia pulled up, Nick put his kit and camera in the backseat before grabbing the coffees and getting in the passenger side. "Here. I'm not sure if you like these..."

"I do," Sofia said, taking one. "Thank you. I did manage to get some sleep, though."

"Figured the caffeine couldn't hurt," Nick smiled. "So where are we going?" he asked as Sofia headed down Tropicana, just like they had that morning.

"About twenty miles west of Goodsprings," she replied after taking a sip of coffee. "Ben Sweeting lives right in the middle of nowhere."

"And what else about Ben Sweeting?" Nick asked, settling comfortably into his seat.

"He's a Presbyterian minister, widowed five years ago. Has a ten year old daughter, just like Mrs. Strazisar said. Know where I got most of my info on him?"

"Where?"

"From the Southern Nevada Correctional Center in Jean."

"What was he in for?"

Sofia threw a little smirk his way. "It's a women's prison. He was a chaplain there for three years. He resigned just over six months ago."

"Well, that's an interesting time frame."

"I thought so."

"So when you say 'resigned,'" Nick said. "Exactly whose decision was that?"

"By all indications, it was his." Sofia had a thoughtful frown as she sipped at her coffee. "If our Jane Doe is Joanie Sweeting, what could have turned this guy from--by all accounts--a decent, hard-working father into someone who either didn't care that his daughter went missing or turned on her himself?"

"Yeah, that is strange. It's possible that someone abducted them both or killed the father and took the girl." Those seemed like the most likely scenarios to Nick, barring the father being guilty. Good thing he had at least some equipment along, they could be walking into the scene of a struggle if the father wasn't there, or a murder scene if he was.

There was only so much they could speculate about, and there were stretches of silence in between the little spates of conversation or banter. Nick knew he wasn't the best company tonight even though he tried to keep his mind on anything except Warrick. Even the case wasn't proving sufficient distraction.

They arrived at Goodsprings and Sofia turned west on a secondary road. "There's supposed to be a dirt road about 20 miles down."

After about fifteen miles, a lone light in the distance signaled that the turnoff was near. Once they had gone a few miles down the dirt road, the darkness seemed to close in even closer around them, and Nick found the headlights of the squad car behind them reassuring.

"If he's home," Sofia said. "He knows someone's coming."

"Not easy to sneak up on someone out here," Nick agreed.

As they got closer, another light appeared, shining from the window of a small, adobe-styled house. That light remained the only sign of life in the house as they pulled up next to a car--Nick guessed it was a Monte Carlo from the late eighties. As he reached for the door handle, it occurred to Nick that if Sweeting had seen them coming, he could be inside with a shotgun, just waiting to pick them off.

"Hang back," Sofia told him, obviously thinking along the same lines.

Nick wasn't crazy about that plan, either, but dutifully waited until the uniforms had moved into position before getting out of the car. Drawing his weapon, he followed Sofia onto the small front porch without incident.

Sofia stood off to the side of the door, and although she didn't pound on it, she knocked hard enough to be heard throughout the house unless Ben Sweeting was an exceptionally deep sleeper.

Or dead.

"Mr. Sweeting!" she called for good measure. "Las Vegas Police!"

The door opened to reveal a slender man whose thick, dark hair was brushed off his high forehead and whose narrow, intelligent face was partially obscured by a beard.

"Ben Sweeting?"

"Yes. Can I help you?"

His calm demeanor immediately set off warning bells for Nick. If cops pulled up at a person's door after dark, they were bound to be agitated unless they already knew what was going on.

"I'm Sofia Curtis from the Las Vegas Police Department and this is Nick Stokes from the Crime Lab. We'd like to talk to you about your daughter, Joanie."

"Come in," Sweeting stepped aside.

Since no immediate threat was visible, Sofia signaled for the uniforms to wait in the doorway as she stepped inside. Nick followed, looking around the room that was obviously the main living area. It was sparsely decorated, but the mostly wooden furnishings looked sturdy and appeared to be of very high quality. On a sideboard accented by beautiful carvings, was a framed picture of a bright-eyed, smiling girl and Nick's heart sank when he saw it. He picked it up and handed it to Sofia before he cleared his throat. "Mr. Sweeting, I'm sorry to have to tell you this," he said, just in case by some chance the man was innocent. "But we've found your daughter--"

"No, you haven't," Sweeting replied with certainty.

"Sir, we--"

"You found her shell."

So Sweeting knew his daughter was dead. He probably knew how and why as well.

"What happened to her, Mr. Sweeting?"

"That's not important. Joan is safe. That's all that matters."

Nick exchanged a look with Sofia. Oddly enough, none of the anger he usually felt when dealing with uncooperative suspects was surfacing. Perhaps it was because Sweeting wasn't being defensive or cocky like so many suspects were. There was an air of sadness and quiet pride about the man along with another quality Nick couldn't pin down. Whether this house was the primary crime scene or not, it needed to be processed. "I'll get my kit," he told Sofia quietly.

She nodded. "Mr. Sweeting, you'll have to step outside."

Nick went to the car to get his equipment and once he had, he saw Sweeting being handcuffed and led to the squad car.

Sofia stepped closer. "He just admitted to leaving her body next to the bypass. It's enough to bring him in and to give you access to the house."

"I want to process the car, too," Nick said. "It's going to take a while. How do you want to work this?"

"I thought I'd ride back with Wolz and Sweeting in the squad car. Osbourne can wait out here with you and the unmarked. I'll call Warrick and let him know what's going on and he can drive out with a Denali so you can process properly. I'll call for a tow for the car, as well."

"Sounds good," Nick said. And it did. Most of it. He wasn't sure how well that Warrick part was going to work out. "I'll get started."

"Just a sec," Sofia said, and hurried to the squad car. She spoke briefly to Sweeting, then Wolz and returned, holding out a small, bulky envelope. "Keys to his car. They were in his pocket when we patted him down."

"Thanks." Tucking the envelope into one of his vest pockets, Nick walked toward the Monte Carlo as Sofia returned to squad car.

Osbourne, a big, buff rookie, followed him--obviously he'd gotten the don't-let-the-CSI-out-of-your-sight chat from somebody. As he pulled on his gloves, Nick watched the taillights of the squad car disappear into the night. It was an eerie quiet, but Nick shook off any uneasiness with a determined effort and got to work.

Nick started with the trunk of the car, since finding signs of Joanie in the passenger or back seat wouldn't mean much. He went over every inch, finding several hairs and a small piece of material that could match the nightgown they'd found Joanie in. After nearly an hour, he locked it up again and headed for the house, Osbourne dogging his heels.

A flicker at the corner of his eye made him turn, and he saw headlights moving along the gravel road. "Someone's coming."

"Good," Osbourne said emphatically.

Nick shot him a commiserating grin. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one a bit unnerved by their remote surroundings. Once inside, he started with all over shots of the premises--with no specific scene, it was all he could do unless he spotted something unusual. Opening the drawers at the top of the sideboard, he found several documents and records for home-schooling, all of them meticulously kept. Nick photographed but didn't bag them.

When he heard the door open, he adopted his most professional mien before turning to face--"Greg?"

"Hey," Greg set down his kit and held out his hands with a shrug. "Warrick called in sick, so Grissom sent me out to give you a hand."

Warrick had called in sick? That was almost unfathomable to Nick, especially since he knew Warrick was not. It was so unlike him that Nick found he wasn't even angry--he just didn't know what to think.

Neither did Greg, apparently. "So do you need a hand, or..?"

Nick realized he'd been staring at the younger man in bewilderment. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks."

He briefed Greg on the case and sent him to check the kitchen and bathroom while he took Joanie's room. There was no telling what was relevant, nor did anything seem out of place, except perhaps the lack of toys. A doll, a teddy bear and a stuffed dog were all he saw. Old edition, hardcover children's books filled the shelves, which were painted white, just like the rest of the old-fashioned furniture. He ran his mag over the bed and was debating whether to ALS when he noticed the paint on one bedpost was scraped off. He checked the other posts and found paint worn away on all four of them--all at approximately the same height.

After photographing the post, he added the filter to his flashlight, but as he bent over the bed, he caught a whiff of something foul. He stripped the bed and stared at the stained mattress. There were no visible blood stains, but he noticed vomit, urine and fecal stains and took a sample of each. Remembering the ligature marks on the small wrists and that Robbins had said there was no sign of illness, Nick hated to think what could have caused such a mess.

Another ninety-minutes that included a fruitless search of Sweeting's room convinced Nick that he wasn't going to find anything else without talking to Sweeting to get more of a perspective. He and Greg were back in the main room discussing what they'd found--and hadn't found--when Nick realized he hadn't finished looking through the sideboard after Greg arrived.

He hunched down and opened the doors at the bottom, revealing a stack of text books and a cardboard box with a heavy crucifix on top of it. Nick photographed it, then set the crucifix aside so he could open the box.

"What the hell?" Greg crouched down beside him.

Nick stared for a few seconds before snapping pictures. Then he took out the set of restraints and handed them to Greg to be bagged. They were medical restraints, designed to injure as little as possible. Underneath, were several books--"The Book of Occasional Services," "The Strange Case of Annelise Michel," "Rituale Romanum," and "The Web of Destiny"--and from their titles, Nick knew that most of them were religious in nature. The fact that they were under the restraints made them important enough to bag and tag.

"Rituale Romanum?" Greg frowned. "The Roman Ritual? But this guy wasn't Catholic."

"You know about these books?" Nick asked, a bit surprised.

"Well, I've heard of this one," Greg held up the Roman Ritual. "Isn't it what they use for exorcism?"

"Exorcism?" As far as Nick was concerned, that only belonged in the movies or the Middle Ages. Still, it wouldn't be the strangest thing they had seen on the job.

It would be right up there, though.

Nick was mulling over the possibility as they packed up the Denali for the trip back and didn't even bother arguing with Greg over who would drive. The tow truck driver was already gone, and Osbourne was only too happy to hop into Sofia's car and head back to Vegas.

"How do you know about the Roman Ritual?" he asked once they were underway.

"I don't really know about it," Greg replied. "I've just heard that...y'know, that's the book they use."

"Exorcism." Although Nick knew very well that there were probably people who believed such things--somewhere. "Like the movie."

"Well, wasn't the movie based on a true story?"

"The movie was based on a novel." That much, at least, Nick knew for certain.

"Okay, then the novel was based on a true story. In the forties, I think."

"The nineteen-forties?"

"Yeah, I saw a documentary about it. Same with that movie 'The Exorcism of Emily Rose,' it's based on a case somewhere in Europe. In the sixties or seventies."

It would put some things in context, particularly Sweeting's "Joan is safe" statement, but Nick had a difficult time making himself believe it. Of course, it didn't matter if he believed in it, it only mattered if Sweeting did.

"You think that's what this is?"

"I don't know," Nick admitted, resolving to check through the books and look up the subject online.

When he got back to the lab, he called Sofia only to find that she was out on a scene. So he settled himself into one of the quieter evidence rooms and began looking through the books they had brought back. With fresh pair of gloves on, he started with "The Strange Case of Annelise Michel." A quick skim was enough to reveal it was indeed about the possession and exorcism of a woman in Germany in the mid-seventies and the court case that followed. The pages marked in "The Web of Destiny" also dealt with casting out demons.

Checking online, Nick discovered that Annelise Michel was the basis for the "Emily Rose" movie Greg had mentioned and that exorcisms were still sanctioned by many mainstream religions. Most of them required extensive medical and psychological testing before sanctioning an exorcism, but some religions claimed that anyone with sufficient faith could cast out demons.

Had Sweeting truly thought his daughter was possessed? Or had he read these so he could stage an exorcism and hide a murder? Why would anyone use something so bizarre in an attempt to cover up a murder? That angle didn't make sense, but that only left Sweeting's belief in an actual possession. The more he read about it, the more it fit the case. The only thing that didn't fit was the dump site--why leave the body exposed?

He left a message for Sofia to call him whenever she was ready to interview Sweeting, then went to check in with Grissom. He didn't share his new theory, he merely told the entomologist that they were making progress on the case.

Fortunately, it had been a relatively slow night, so despite the fact that Warrick was off and Nick had been out, the graveyard crew hadn't gotten too bogged down. Nick was able to go back to processing the rest of the evidence in his case. Depending on how things went in the interrogation, there was the very real possibility of wrapping this case up by the end of shift.

The evidence didn't keep his mind occupied enough. Before long, Warrick began to invade his thoughts again, swamping Nick with anger and worry. What in the world could have made Warrick call in sick tonight? Nick knew better than anyone that Warrick didn't let anything get in the way of the job. It was just one of the things Nick always admired and envied about him. Warrick had to be even more pissed off than Nick originally thought if he'd call in sick just to avoid him.

With a mental shake, Nick told himself not to be so self-centered. Warrick's absence didn't necessarily have anything to do with him. If anything, the past week had demonstrated that being with Nick was not Warrick's top priority. And really, why should it be? Just because Nick wanted to help didn't mean Warrick was obligated to let him. Considering his own track record for dealing with issues, who could blame Warrick for thinking he could do better tackling this alone?

So Warrick called in sick. Being best friends--or whatever they were--didn't mean everything Warrick did was Nick's business. It certainly wasn't like he didn't have things of his own to deal with, Nick reminded himself. Maybe he was only worrying so much about Warrick's problems so he wouldn't have to deal with his own.

Nick sighed, Great. Two visits to a shrink and I'm already analyzing everything.

It was almost a relief when Sofia called to say she was back at police headquarters. She sounded a little frazzled--very unusual for her--so Nick assured her he'd get there right away. He dropped off several swabs with Wendy and headed for the station.

Sofia was waiting for him outside an interview room. "Had a call on North Rancho. Nasty. Still haven't ID'd the vic. And then a hold-up off Industrial that I have to get back to." Obviously she was in a hurry, because she walked into the room without giving Nick a chance to explain what else he'd found.

Likely Sofia just wanted to make sure they had enough to keep Sweeting in custody for a few days. It wasn't uncommon when detectives got swamped and apparently Sofia was feeling that way at the moment. It wasn't absolutely necessary for Nick to brief her on what he'd found--it wasn't even policy for the CSIs to be present during interrogations at all. That was just the way they did things in Vegas, having found it to be more effective most of the time.

"Mr. Sweeting," Sofia began after she and Nick were seated. "You know why you're here, don't you?"

"I'm here about Joan."

"What happened to her?"

Sweeting sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. She's safe now."

Sofia was silent. Normally avoidance would make her ask tougher questions, but Sweeting's quiet, sad demeanor suggested it might not work. "Was she a difficult child?"

"Joanie? She was wonderful. After Anne died, she was my reason for living. She was so bright. She loved reading--learning." For the first time since Nick had met him, Sweeting was animated. His eyes were shining with pride. "She loved Bible stories. She loved all stories, but especially old ones. She said she wanted to write them when--" he abruptly stopped with a choked sound, unable to continue.

"Mr. Sweeting," Sofia's voice remained low, but Nick could tell she wasn't about to play softball with the guy. "Our autopsy showed that Joanie starved to death. How did that happen?"

"Her body was starved," Sweeting corrected, composing himself once more. It was the second time he'd emphasized that Joanie's body was separate from her. Nick put that as a possible checkmark for his exorcism theory.

"Yes, and that's what killed her. Ligature marks were found on her wrists and ankles."

"I had no choice," Sweeting said firmly. "The restraints I bought were too big and she kept getting free."

"Why were you restraining your daughter?" Sofia's voice got a bit colder.

"She was hurting herself."

That explained the DNA under Joanie's fingernails.

"Hurting herself?" Sofia asked. "Why?"

"She tried to fight them off," Sweeting said softly. "She tried so hard."

"Who?" Sofia demanded.

Sweeting just closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Nick was more certain of his theory everytime Sweeting spoke. His question was a huge risk, but the interview was stalling big time. "How did you find out Joanie was possessed?" he asked, aware of Sofia staring at him as if he were. He slid the open folder in front of her.

Sweeting stared at him, so Nick was careful to keep his expression calm, but interested. After a moment, the man sagged, almost in relief. "I suspected it just after her birthday. She was saying things that were...then sh--she defiled every bible and prayer book in the house. She started--" he swallowed hard and shook his head. "I took her to doctors, of course, but I could tell after only a few visits that they wouldn't be able to help her. Everywhere I went, they wanted tests before they would help, but there was no time...it was getting worse and worse...the things she was doing..." He was rambling now, but neither Nick nor Sofia tried to stop him. Sofia's eyes were wide with disbelief. "There were three...three of them--an unholy Trinity. She fought so hard and she won, but by then her body was too weak..."

Nick did not expect to feel sympathy for the man, didn't want to, but he did. What he did was horrible, unforgivable, but he either thought he'd been saving her or couldn't face what he'd done and had concocted this to escape it. Either way, it was painfully obvious he loved his daughter. "Why leave the body in the desert? Why not a proper burial?"

"Didn't you see it?" Sweeting demanded, tears in his eyes. "Didn't you see how they'd ravaged her? It had been their battlefield and I wasn't about to attempt to consecrate it. Joanie had already left...and won, she was free...what did that body matter?" His eyes glazed as he stared off in the distance, "She was such a little thing. Such a strong little thing to fight them all off."

A heavy silence descended on the home until Sofia said, "Would you excuse us, Mr. Sweeting?" When she got up and left the room, Nick followed. Closing the door behind them, she leaned against the jamb. "Do you buy any of this?"

"That the girl was possessed? Course not. That he thought she was possessed? Yeah, maybe."

Crossing her arms, Sofia looked in through a small window. Nick followed her gaze. Sweeting was holding his head in his cuffed hands, his shoulders shaking. "Strange. He's remorseful and yet...not. I'll call the DA. We'll have to get him a psych eval, but we'll be able to officially charge and hold him for some degree of homicide. Maybe--" she broke of when her phone rang. She flipped it open, "Curtis. Hi, Catherine, any ID on the vic? Earle Tyndall?"

Nick's stomach dropped at the sound of the name.

"Why?" Sofia sounded confused. "Is that import--oh. Oh."

Oh, god.

Nick barely remembered driving back to the lab. He was constantly hitting Warrick's number on speed dial the entire way, but never got an answer. In the lab, he went straight to Grissom's office only to find the door closed and the blinds drawn, a sure sign that no one was welcome inside at the moment. Sighing, he headed back down the hall, noticing that all the techs were in little knots of two or three--word had already gotten around.

It was a relief to find Sara and Greg in the break room, even though Sara looked thoroughly pissed off. "Have you guys heard anything?" he asked, knowing there was no need to say about what.

"I was with Grissom with Catherine called," Sara said with a frown. "He asked me for the case file and then shut himself in his office."

"Is the ID definite?" Nick continued, feeling the need to have as much information as possible. "The DNA's a match?"

Greg nodded. "Catherine had it rushed over here. She probably didn't want to tell anyone until she was absolutely sure."

"Warrick's not answering his phone," Nick said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Sara and Greg both gaped. "No way," Greg shook his head. "You can't think--"

"Of course not," Nick said as firmly as he knew how. "But if he doesn't know yet...someone's going to have to tell him about this." And while part of him felt obligated to be the one to break the news, another part was glad that duty belonged to someone else.

"Catherine will keep trying until she--" Sara stopped when Ecklie walked by and turned toward Grissom's office. Sara checked her watch. "It's not even five. What's he doing here?"

That it was a bad, bad sign went without saying.

Moments later, Catherine appeared, heading in the same direction. Nick immediately got up and followed her, Sara right on his heels, only to have Catherine disappear into Grissom's office as well. Exchanging glances, they went back to the break room.

As he sat back down, Nick dialed Warrick's number again. Still no answer.

"If he has heard about it," Sara offered. "Maybe he just doesn't want to answer right now."

Or he's just ignoring Nick's number.

"We can't be sure that's what they're talking about. I mean, it is possible that something else is going on," Greg said, then shrugged when Nick and Sara both looked at him. "I didn't say it was likely, just possible."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Greg got up and wandered out into the hallway, just far enough to see Grissom's door.

"Still closed?" Sara asked.

"Yeah," Greg shoved his hands in his pockets and remained standing.

"Well, we probably should get back to work," Nick said.

"Yeah," Sara agreed half-heartedly.

Neither of them moved.

Greg strolled off to take another look, and suddenly came scurrying back like a kid escaping the principal. "They're done," he said, quickly taking a seat.

Ecklie, Grissom and Catherine walked into the break room, but it was Grissom who did the talking. "I'm sure you've all heard by now that Earle Tyndall, the man responsible for a series of rapes was found beaten to death tonight. He was also proven to be Warrick's biological father."

"Does Warrick know?" Nick asked.

"He does," Catherine said. "I managed to reach him just before I got here."

So Warrick was ignoring Nick's calls. Nick tried to shrug it off, telling himself that Warrick had every reason not to want to talk to him, or anybody.

"As of tonight, both cases will be handled by day shift," Grissom said.

"That's my case!" Sara objected. "All that has to be done now is to close it, anyway."

"Yes, and days will be doing that," Grissom reiterated. "As well as handling Tyndall's murder. I know none of you like the decision, but in this case, it's probably for the best."

Nick wasn't sure how to take that. Grissom's disdain for day shift had been apparent ever since Ecklie was in charge years ago.

"Although I'm hands off, I'll be overseeing the cases," Catherine added.

Nick noticed he wasn't the only one to relax slightly when she said that. That explained why Grissom was willing to turn the case over to days at all.

Why the hell did Warrick have to decide to ditch work tonight of all nights? If he'd been at work, there'd be not question about his whereabouts and Tyndall's time of--"What was the TOD?" If the man had been dead more than six hours, then there might not be a problem.

"Coroner said TOD was between midnight and one," Catherine replied.

Fuck. Nick's stomach began to twist uncomfortably. But maybe Warrick hadn't been at home alone at that time. Maybe he'd gone out to run errands. Maybe he'd gone out to a club. That would look bad job-wise, but at least it would be a solid alibi. Normally, Nick wouldn't wish such a thing on anyone, but he hoped that Warrick had suddenly taken sick. Sick enough to have spent some of the night in the ER. Otherwise, it could be difficult to prove his innocence.

It was probably for the best that he had nothing to do with this case, Nick decided, because it would have been difficult to remain focused on the top priority--finding Tyndall's killer. Nick knew his only concern would be to make certain Warrick was in the clear.

"I need everyone except Catherine to keep their distance from this case," Grissom said. "And not just for propriety's sake, all right?"

Nick nodded automatically, since he frankly didn't care who had killed Tyndall. That was another sign that he shouldn't be on the case. A CSI's only concern was supposed to be to find the killer, no matter who the victim was, no matter what the victim might have done and Nick didn't care who had killed Tyndall or why, he only cared about how this case would affect Warrick.

"I know this is not the only case you have," Ecklie finally spoke. It had been a wise move on his part to have Grissom deliver the bad news. "So why don't we all get back to work?"

The rest of the shift passed in a blur for Nick. He processed evidence, worked results and filled out reports, all the while hoping that a last minute call didn't come in. As soon as shift ended, he sped over to Warrick's, even though he still hadn't reached him by phone. He knocked on the door and waited. Just as he was about to knock again, the door opened.

To Nick's surprise, Warrick didn't look much different than usual. "Can I come in?" Nick asked when Warrick didn't say anything.

"If you promise not to try talking," Warrick returned.

"At all?" Nick raised his eyebrows.

Sighing, Warrick stepped aside.

Once inside, Nick wasn't sure how to proceed. Did he treat Warrick the way he would have when they were still just best friends? He went with the basic question-- "How're you doing?"

"Aw hell," Warrick sighed, closing the door and sitting on the couch.

Nick wasn't sure if the meant he should leave or sit down as well, so he stayed where he was.

Warrick looked over at him, "You just gonna stand there?"

Nick sat down, although not as closely as he usually would. "So..." he began.

"So..."

"So we pretty much wrapped up the little Jane Doe--well, Joanie Sweeting case," Nick said. Much of the tension left Warrick's body when he realized Nick wasn't going to bring up the obvious subject. Somewhat encouraged, Nick went on to outline the night's work.

"So is this guy for real?"

"Either he believes what he's saying or he's one of the best cons we've ever had in interrogation. Sofia's going to get a psych eval for him, so maybe they'll be able to find out where his head is at."

"He's already admitted to murder, though."

"Technically, I'm not sure he has. Although he's more or less admitted responsibility for her death. This is one time I'm really glad our job stops where it does."

"Seriously?" Warrick asked. "You're buying what he's selling?"

There was that little frisson of anger again. Sofia had asked him the same thing. Did people really think he was that gullible? That stupid? "No, I don't believe in it, but I do think it's possible that he believes it. I think that he did love his daughter."

"Good," Warrick muttered. "One less suspect you'll be smacking around."

That one came out of nowhere. Nick hadn't expected Warrick to be in the best of moods today, but he didn't show up for this, either. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked. "Just say so."

"No," Warrick sounded reluctant to admit it.

"Then what the hell do you want?"

It was ridiculous that the air would suddenly become charged even though that was not at all what Nick meant.

Nick knew they couldn't go on like this. Every time one of them got too close to a subject the other didn't like, it inevitably turned into an argument which inevitably led to sex. No matter how great the sex was, it didn't make up for the fact that not only did it not settle the argument, but it was also eroding their friendship. One of them had to step up and put a stop to it. If Warrick wasn't going to do it, then it was up to Nick.

Just not today.

Nick's mouth locked onto Warrick's when he lunged forward, meeting Warrick halfway between the distance that separated them. Immediately, he grabbed fistfuls of Warrick's t-shirt.

"Try not to tear this one," Warrick gasped between kisses.

"Then get rid of it," Nick countered, finding the hem and pulling it up.

Warrick tried to pull off Nick's shirt at the same time and they were momentarily tangled. Just a few weeks ago, it would have started them laughing, but now it only prompted frustrated growls. Finally the shirts were off and Warrick stood up, drawing Nick with him. "Bed," he growled in Nick's ear before biting down on the skin just below it.

Nick allowed Warrick to lead him toward the bedroom, trying to unfasten Warrick's belt as they went. It wasn't easy, especially since Nick also wanted to continued exploring Warrick's chest with his lips and tongue as they went.

Grabbing the waistband of Nick's jeans, Warrick half-threw him down on the bed. Nick deftly rolled across and rummaged through the night stand until he found what he was looking for.

"Toss it here," Warrick said, stripping off his jeans.

Nick tossed the lube onto the bed, but put the condom wrapper in his mouth as his took off his own jeans.

Warrick climbed onto the bed, "I'll take that."

Taking the condom from his mouth, Nick held it out of Warrick's reach. "Nah, I'm gonna be needing it." He was glad his voice sounded normal even though he was nervous as hell. He had no idea what suddenly prompted his desire to switch up--it certainly wasn't because he hadn't been enjoying himself before. Maybe part of him just wanted to see how Warrick would react.

Warrick's eyebrows shot up and the green eyes gleamed. "Oh hell, yeah." He grabbed a handful of Nick's hair and pulled him down for a hard kiss. "Bring it on."

Nick got on the bed on his knees, intending to shove Warrick down and get to it, but Warrick braced himself and shoved back. After a few minutes of grappling--interspersed with kisses, licks and bites--they both lost their balance and fell over onto their sides.

"What's the matter?" Nick taunted as he quickly rose to straddle Warrick. "You a little nervous? Not your first time, is it?"

Warrick didn't reply and was quiet for so long that Nick began to wonder. It must have shown in his expression, because Warrick snorted, "Hook, line and sinker."

At one time Nick would have just called him a jerk and started laughing, but not today. Today it just seemed like another shot Warrick was taking at him for being gullible. Instead of replying, Nick moved down Warrick's body, taking almost half of Warrick's leaking cock into his mouth without warning and turning Warrick chuckles into moans and then to gasps when he skimmed his teeth along it with just enough pressure to be worrisome.

"Nick..." Warrick sounded a little uncertain.

His point made, Nick eased off with his teeth and returned to sucking while his sought out the lube with his free hand. He slicked his fingers and insinuated his hand under Warrick's body. After a moment, Warrick bent one leg to make it easier.

Nick was careful and took his time, initially because he knew that although it might not have been Warrick's first time, it had definitely been a while for him, but after a few moments because he was enjoying the way he could play Warrick's body. He kept it up until the groans became pleas which became curses, then he knelt between Warrick's legs and put the condom on his own weeping cock with shaking fingers. He hooked Warrick's bent knee over his elbow and slid in slowly, perhaps more slowly than necessary, but he liked hearing Warrick beg.

"Nicky..." Warrick choked out.

Warrick hadn't called him that for a long time, it seemed, and its effect was immediate. Nick plunged hard into Warrick's body and set a fast pace, wrapping his fingers around Warrick's cock to stroke him in time with his thrusts. In no time at all, he was spilling himself into that silky heat and collapsing on the big, solid body beneath him.

Nick withdrew carefully, relieved that Warrick showed no sign of pain. He disposed of the condom while Warrick cleaned himself off with a corner of the sheet. Nick considered leaving, just like Warrick had the last time, but decided he wasn't going to be the one to start some new game of one-upmanship. Besides, he felt damn good and far too comfortable to move. So he stayed where he was, not touching and not speaking to his bedmate.

He was a bit surprised when Warrick fell asleep first and was just about to follow suit when he remembered his appointment with Dr. Demarest was today. Moving carefully so he didn't wake the sleeping man next to him, Nick got up and got dressed.

It looked like he was going to play the game whether he wanted to or not.

---

Wasn't a visit to your therapist supposed to make you feel better?

Nick was pondering that question as he slammed his door shut behind him and kicked off his shoes. He'd hoped that his session with Dr. Demarest would have allowed him to vent his anger about everything, and he had vented, but Demarest's reaction hadn't been what he'd expected.

Demarest hadn't been as interested in what had made Nick angry as he had been in why these things had made Nick angry. After many questions, Nick had reluctantly admitted that at one time he would have shrugged off many of the things that now seemed to push his buttons and that anger was becoming his most common reaction to any stressful situation.

The rest of the session had focused on the source of that anger. Nick hadn't liked the direction of the conversation, especially when he recognized many of the things Demarest had said as true.

Grabbing a jug of juice from the fridge, he poured himself a large glass. Even though he wasn't crazy about the implications, it was definitely something he had to think about.

---

It had been bad enough when people first found out what his father was. Warrick soon learned to put up with the looks, the whispers and the sudden halts in conversation whenever he entered a room. At least no one had wanted to haul him into the police station for interrogation.

Not that he'd been hauled in. Sofia had awakened him with a call asking him to come down to the station for an interview. Not an interrogation, Warrick reminded himself. The call wasn't surprising, considering the circumstances of the case, and Warrick had agreed to be there in a couple of hours.

He arrived to find Sofia waiting for him along with Hal Westbrook. That threw Warrick off a little, because as far as he knew, Catherine was the CSI working the case.

"Conrad decided it would probably be better if someone from days handled this case," Westbrook explained, anticipating Warrick's question.

Warrick nodded but didn't say anything. Like the rest of Grissom's team, he'd always regarded dayshift with a certain level of disdain, which dated back to when Ecklie ran that shift. It wasn't that dayshift CSIs were incompetent--Warrick knew that--it was just that graveyard usually managed to set a higher standard. Everyone knew that Dr. Grissom and his graveyard shift were largely responsible for the lab's number two ranking in the country. That had been the source of much of Ecklie's ill-will toward Grissom, although that situation had changed now that Ecklie was the assistant director of the entire lab.

Warrick knew Westbrook was a good guy and a good CSI, but old habits died hard. Still, there was no reason for anyone else to know he felt that way, so he kept his expression neutral as they walked into interrogation.

"Okay, uh..." Westbrook cleared his throat. "Your involvement with this case is kind of unconventional, so we should go over that again."

"Right." Warrick hated the idea of anyone getting into his business, but better a CSI than someone from the IAB. "I heard about it when Sara asked for my father's name because she got a moderate stringency hit on my DNA in a case she was working."

Westbrook checked his notes. "And did you tell her?"

Warrick knew Westbrook already knew the answers to his questions and was mostly checking that everything matched, so he explained everything, including the initial misunderstanding with Sara and how he actually found out his father was a suspect.

"So you never knew who you father was before this?" Sofia asked.

"No." Warrick was grateful to her for keeping her tone so bland.

"But you gave Sidle Earle Tyndall's name," Westbrook pointed out.

"Yes, as a possibility," Warrick clarified. "I contacted one of my mother's old friends, and that was the only name she could think of. I didn't know for sure until the DNA results came back last night."

"I'm sorry."

Warrick couldn't tell if Westbrook was offering condolences on the death, expressing sympathy at what Tyndall had been or apologizing for the current situation. To be safe, he simply nodded in return.

"You wouldn't happen to have a nice tidy alibi you could give us," Sofia arched an eyebrow.

"Nope. Sorry."

"You called in sick last night," Westbrook stated.

"I did."

"And you live alone."

"I do."

"Okay," Westbrook sighed heavily. "Well, that's all for now, but--"

"Don't leave town?" Warrick suggested.

Westbrook winced, "Look, I know this is--"

"You're doin' your job, man," Warrick said, making sure it came out nice and easy. He knew he was successful when both Westbrook and Sofia relaxed minutely before standing up.

Warrick was extremely relieved that the interview had ended, not only because he hated discussing it, but because sitting was a bit uncomfortable for him right now. It was definitely worth it in his mind, though, because even though he was a little sore, his nerves still thrummed pleasurably whenever he thought about it. Oddly enough, as much as he'd enjoyed it, it only made him even more eager to take Nick again, only this time he would make Nick beg and plead the way Nick had made him. If he could think of a way to do it without having to talk to much first, it would be even better.

Okay, he really needed to stop thinking about that right now. He needed to stop thinking about nearly everything going on his life. Work, he finally thought desperately. Work was something safe to think about.

With that in mind, Warrick headed for the crime lab instead of going home even though it was still several hours before his shift actually began. He could catch up on anything he might have missed, clear the decks for the next shift and hopefully rid himself of the sickening ache that had begun to develop in the pit of his insides.

There were some test results waiting in his inbox, but Warrick knew that the techs would have likely pushed his stuff back when they heard he wouldn't be in. It was fairly common when the techs were busy.

As he walked down the hall with an armful of casefile folders, there were more looks and a couple of wary heys. Warrick ignored the looks and replied to the greetings as closely to his usual manner as possible, not wanting to give people any more reason to whisper. He had just about made it to the empty conference room when he heard someone say his name.

Warrick recognized the voice and reluctantly turned around to face Conrad Ecklie. "I was just going to catch up on some cases."

"Good," Ecklie nodded. "That's good. I'd like to talk to you first, though."

And the hits just keep on coming. "Sure."

"Have a seat," Ecklie said once they were in his office.

Warrick complied.

Ecklie walked around his desk and sat as well. "This situation," he said, steepling his fingers.

Warrick waited, but Ecklie didn't say anything else. He couldn't imagine what Ecklie expected him to say, so he met Ecklie's gaze until the assistant director cleared his throat and looked away.

"This is a delicate situation, as I'm sure you understand. Anytime a relative is a victim or a suspect, precautions have to be taken. Since this time the deceased is a victim and a suspect, we have to be extra careful, and considering your relationship with Mr. Tyndall--"

"Whoa," Warrick stopped him. "There was no relationship. He was my biological father, but I never met the man."

"Ah...yes. Well, considering the unusual circumstances of this case, I believe it would be best if you were confined to the lab for the time being."

Ecklie's words weren't exactly a surprise, but they still managed to feel like a shock to Warrick's system. There was really nothing to say to that, so Warrick didn't bother trying.

Ecklie seemed to be expecting some sort of protest because his tone was placating even though Warrick hadn't spoken. "Understand that this is not anything that will reflect negatively on your record. It's just a precaution until the case is solved."

Warrick decided not to ask what would happen if the case wasn't solved. He really didn't want to know. "I understand that."

"Good. And it goes without saying that you're hands off any evidence from either case."

"Absolutely." Warrick wondered if maybe he was sounding too calm. Ecklie was looking at him oddly. "Is that it?"

"Yes," Ecklie said slowly.

"Okay."

Warrick didn't release the sigh he'd been holding until he was well out of Ecklie's office. Instead of returning to his casefiles, Warrick filed them away again and headed to the locker room. As he walked, he noticed that people weren't just looking at him, they were watching. People were obviously expecting more from him than they were getting. More what, though? More anger? More sadness? More guilt?

He got to the--thankfully empty--locker room and sank down onto a bench. Well, if they were all waiting for some sort of reaction, they were just going to have to keep on waiting. They should all know better, anyway. Warrick always made a point to stay cool and collected at work no matter what. Sure there were times when he had lost it, but those were extreme situations.

Of course, most people might consider this an extreme situation, but Warrick found he wasn't feeling much of anything. If possible, he'd been feeling even less since hearing of Tyndall's death than he had when he'd learned his father was a rapist. Comfortably numb was the phrase that sprang to mind.

Now that he was going to be stuck in the lab all night, Warrick figured he'd have plenty of time catch up on his casework then. Might as well kill those few hours somewhere else.

It seemed like there were only two things that made him feel anything anymore. Pulling out his cell, Warrick hit speed dial for the number than would bring him into contact with one of them.

When he got Nick's voice mail, he couldn't help feeling disappointed and even a bit irritated, and hung up instead of leaving a message. He knew he didn't really have the right to feel either, not when he hadn't been answering any calls from Nick lately. How could he blame Nick for returning the favor?

Standing, he grabbed his jacket from his locker. At least he still had that second option.

---

Nick checked his watch before he fastened it. He still had plenty of time to go home and grab some dinner before he had to be at work.

"Hey."

Nick looked up from looping his belt. "Hey," he said, recognizing the guy as Andrew somebody. The guy was something of a gym rat, but decent enough. He'd spotted for Nick a few times, and Nick had returned the favor.

"You've been working out more often lately," Andrew observed.

That brought an immediate shiver of concern which Nick shook off with determination. It wasn't like the guy knew his every move--he'd just noticed that Nick had been to the gym more often. Which was true, Nick had been working out more in the past month and especially in the past couple of weeks. Any gym regular probably would have noticed. You've got too many weird issues, man, he told himself. Good thing you're seeing a shrink. To Andrew he said, "Been trying to get back into a routine."

"Cool," Andrew nodded. He stepped closer, not enough to actually invade Nick's space, but...closer. "I was just wondering if you wanted to get a drink or something."

"Oh." Nick had just finished packing up his bag and was checking his cell for messages when Andrew's words registered. Oh. "Thanks, um..." He glanced down and noticed Warrick's number was one of those he'd missed during his workout, and was surprised at the jolt seeing it gave him. "I actually...I have to get going."

Andrew nodded, "Some other time," he said easily. "Here," he handed Nick a card.

"Thanks." Nick took it automatically and put it in his pocket as he picked up his bag. "I'll catch you later."

"Later."

Nick hit Warrick's number on speed dial and listened to it ring as he walked out to his truck. He hung up when he got voice mail and tossed his phone into the passenger seat. It served him right for dropping everything just because Warrick called--like some lovesick teenager. What he really should do was go back inside and take Andrew up on his offer.

With a sigh, Nick started his truck. Who was he trying to kid? He didn't want Andrew. He didn't want anyone else. He hadn't wanted anyone except Warrick Brown for more years than he cared to admit.

---

Catherine knew when she agreed to oversee the Tyndall case that it would be difficult, but she wasn't willing to allow anyone to do it, not even Grissom. What she hadn't expected was to be this furious only three days into the investigation.

She had worked with two of the three CSIs who were handling the case at one time or another. Hal Westbrook was a bit stuffy, but a solid CSI. Valerie Hammond was extremely talented and liked to crack jokes. Brad Vanallen had worked in Vegas years ago, then moved to Reno and had returned just last year. He struck Catherine as a little too slick, but basically competent.

That was two days ago.

Now, Westbrook was slow, Hammond was a flaky idiot and she wanted nothing more than to scratch the smug look off Vanallen's face.

All they had established so far was that it was an incredibly brutal beating, that Tyndall's was the only blood found at the scene and that his injuries were all made by the same weapon--probably a baseball bat.

The beating was the work of someone with a lot of strength and a lot of rage. Thus far they had no suspects. A check of Tyndall's past revealed plenty of enemies, but none that hated him to such a degree. The families of his victims in Las Vegas had been questioned, but according to Westbrook, all the likeliest candidates had alibis and no judge was going to give them warrants to search the homes of Tyndall's victims.

That left Warrick, who had given them permission to search his apartment and his jeep. Valerie Hammond had conducted the searches just the day before, and despite Vanallen's assertion that "Brown would have gotten rid of anything incriminating," she found a baseball bat. There was no reaction when it was sprayed with luminol, however.

Vanallen's comment of "if anyone would know how to get rid of blood it's a CSI" in a snide tone was what nearly set Catherine off. She managed to keep her composure, though, and told them to keep her updated.

It was Hodges of all people who clued her in later that night when she returned for her usual shift. Catherine always thought she was pretty good at figuring out people and knowing if they were hiding something, but when it came to digging up dirt, she had nothing on David Hodges.

She had gone in to get results on another case, and as Hodges handed them over, he said, "So does Vanallen have Warrick on the ropes yet?"

Catherine decided to give him a minute while she decided where to tear the strip off him. "What?"

Obviously sensing danger, Hodges toned down the smugness a little. "I'm just saying...Vanallen must be just praying he finds a way to pin this on Warrick."

"What? Why?"

The chemist feigned surprise. "I thought you would know about it, since it happened back when they both started here."

Catherine thought back to when Warrick had started, but she hadn't really paid much attention to any rookies then. She had just become a CSI-III herself and her marriage had been starting to hit the skids. One thing she knew for sure, though, "You weren't even working here then."

"I hear things," Hodges replied airily. "Like the fact that they both applied for a spot on the famous Dr. Grissom's team, which Warrick got. Vanallen transferred to Reno, probably thinking he'd be able to move up faster there." He was obviously enjoying having a captive audience. "Instead, he wound up back here five years later with no commendations, no presentations and no published papers to his name while Warrick Brown had plenty of all those things. He must be loving the chance for a little payback."

Catherine stared at him while she digested this information. If it was true, it explained a lot about Vanallen's attitude. "Thanks," she smiled, holding up the printout.

For once that full-of-himself, know-it-all smile didn't bother her. She even vowed to give Hodges a pass the next time his gossiping pissed her off.

The more she thought about it, the more probable it seemed. She didn't think Vanallen would cross the line into anything illegal, but there were plenty of things within the rules he could do to make life very difficult for Warrick.

She wondered if Warrick was aware of Vanallen's enmity. If he was, he certainly had never shown it. By and large, that just wasn't Warrick's way. Anyone who didn't know him would think he also had no problem being stuck in the lab.

Catherine knew better and suspected the rest of the team did, as well. She knew Nick knew, although Nick didn't quite seem to know what to do about it--whether to press Warrick or keep his distance. But for those who didn't know how to look past that cool façade Warrick presented, it would look as though nothing unusual was going on in his life. They certainly wouldn't guess he was a "person of interest" in the murder of a serial rapist.

While Catherine could respect that he didn't want everyone knowing how he felt, she was also worried, moreso now than ever. Warrick wasn't really doing anything he needed to do to look out for himself, probably because that would mean acknowledging there was anything wrong. There wasn't a whole lot she could do to because Warrick simply wouldn't discuss the situation with her--or with anyone else as far as she could tell. Still, Catherine was determined to do what little she could to help him since he wasn't willing to help himself. Right now the best way to do that was to keep a close eye on Brad Vanallen.

---

Nick hurried into the police station, Sweeting casefile clutched in his hand. He had an appointment with Sofia and the ADA about the Sweeting case at nine-thirty--an appointment that he was twenty minutes late for. He hated being late, but with his job it was often unavoidable, particularly when the team was one member short. Normally Valerie Nichols was fairly understanding about such things and willing to wait, so he was somewhat bewildered when he couldn't find her anywhere. He was relieved when he saw Sofia hurrying toward him.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you," she said.

"I know. I got here as soon as I could. I got called to a scene right at the end of my shift and no one was available to--" Nick stopped and shrugged, not wanting to sound like he was making excuses. "Sorry. Was Nichols very pissed?"

"That's why I was trying to reach you. Sweeting is going to plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter and is going to get the max for that, although he's probably going to spend some of it in the psychiatric facility."

Nick couldn't believe that either side had settled for such a deal.

Sofia noticed his expression. "The ADA didn't want to risk a media circus and when the psych eval couldn't give a definite diagnosis..."

"What were the results of the evaluation?"

"Sweeting doesn't qualify under the M'Naughten rules, but he is suffering from some sort of religious mania. Obviously," she added dryly.

"And Sweeting agreed to the plea?"

"Yeah, otherwise he would have been charged with murder one."

"You really think they would have been able to make murder one stick?" Nick asked.

"I don't know, but I guess Sweeting didn't want to risk it, either. Case closed."

"Case closed," Nick repeated. "Well, at least I'll get home before noon for once. Thanks."

As he drove back to the crime lab to drop off the casefile, Nick tried to remain focused on his upbeat words to Sofia, but it bothered him that the case had been closed in such a manner. He knew it shouldn't, because he'd done his job and once the DA's office made their decision, it was out of his hands.

He couldn't shake it, though. He'd thought for certain that Sweeting would want to tell his--Joanie's--story in court. He'd thought the man's faith and love for his daughter had been real. Had Sweeting just been stringing him along? Was he really just as gullible as everyone seemed to think?

Nick steeled himself against the anger he knew was bound to begin building at any moment. Oddly, it didn't happen. The anger didn't appear when he filed away the case or when he stopped at his locker in preparation for going home. Maybe he was just too damn tired to be angry.

Almost as if knowing graveyard was short-handed, the criminal element of Las Vegas had been out in full force lately. In the past four days, Nick had worked two doubles and a triple, going home for a few hours sleep and a shower if he was lucky and only getting the chance to eat while driving to and from scenes. Nick just wanted to go home and crash--he really didn't have the energy to get riled up.

Walking out to his truck, Nick found himself dialing Warrick's number--it had become a habit as soon as he got a moment free despite the fact that he always got voice mail. Sometimes he'd leave a message and later at work, Warrick would apologize for not getting back to him. Always, Warrick managed to do so when it was impossible for them to really stop and talk.

On fourth ring, Nick debated whether or not to bother leaving a message.

"Hey."

That was so unexpected that Nick floundered for a moment. "Hey...I'm a little surprised I caught you," he admitted.

"Well, you did. What's up?"

Now that Nick had Warrick on the line, he couldn't think of anything to say. "I just--uh...I'm just finishing up and heading home."

"And you called me--why? Because you want me to meet you there?"

Nick swallowed hard and tried to sound casual. "Well, y'know...if you're not busy..."

"Nah, sounds good. I'll see you in a few."

When Nick started his truck, he found he wasn't the least bit tired anymore.

---

Warrick's nerves were twitching with both anticipation and trepidation as he parked behind Nick's truck. He hadn't been alone with Nick for nearly five days and he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in that gorgeous body again, but he knew that Nick would definitely want to talk about what was going on. There'd be no getting around it this time.

That didn't mean he couldn't try.

He knocked, and walked in when Nick called for him to do so. Nick was in the kitchen and turned when Warrick walked up behind him. Before Nick could say a word, Warrick caught his face in both hands and bent for a deep kiss. Nick stilled for a split-second, then his lips parted and his hands slid up Warrick's back to pull him closer.

This, Warrick decided, was ten times better than what had been happening between them lately. There were no grappling hands, no bites, no shoving or tearing, just a long, slow kiss and tongues lazily jousting and hands tracing mindless patterns. This was why Warrick was never a big fan of talking and usually avoided it when possible. Strangely, Nick was one of the few lovers with whom he'd ever truly enjoyed the conversations beforehand.

He knew he wouldn't enjoy today's conversation, though, and was determined to avoid it if at all possible. Nick seemed equally determined not to be distracted from it and after another moment, he firmly broke off the clinch. It was small consolation to Warrick that Nick was breathing just as hard as he was. Nick's flushed cheeks, bright eyes and swollen lips only made Warrick want to dive back in, uncomfortable subject or no.

"I was going to ask if you were hungry," Nick said with a breathless laugh. "But I guess I already know the answer."

Warrick couldn't help smirking.

"Chicken salad," Nick showed him the bowl. "I still have plenty left over from yesterday."

Warrick felt his stomach growl. "Sure," he said. He knew eating would also mean talking, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd sat down for an actual meal.

"You want a sandwich or a wrap?"

"I'll make my own." Warrick grabbed the bread. He stood as close as possible to Nick while making his sandwich, hoping to distract Nick but only torturing himself in the process.

Nick didn't say anything except to ask what Warrick wanted to drink.

After only a few bites into his sandwich, Warrick couldn't take it anymore. "Let's get this over with."

"Yeah? Well, I really don't know what to say," Nick shrugged. "Rick, you gotta know you're in trouble here, but you haven't done a thing to help yourself."

"Like what?" Damn, this was good chicken salad. What did Nick put in it, anyway?

"I don't know--something. Tell Westbrook what you did when you called it sick--what show you watched that night, what book you read, how much you slept--something. You haven't even flat out told them you had nothing to do with it."

"How do you know I didn't?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Rick, I'm serious, here."

It was somewhat heartening that Nick wouldn't even consider the possibility, but it left Warrick without anything to say.

"Why would you want anyone to suspect you?" Nick asked, then stopped and put down his sandwich. "Do you feel bad because you never met him? Guilty because he's dead? Responsible because you identified him?"

"What's with all the questions, man?"

"I'm just trying to figure out where your head is at, because it's not on your job."

Now those were fighting words. "Hey, you think because I'm in the lab that I'm slacking? It wasn't my idea to--"

"That's not what I meant," Nick interrupted. "I meant that you don't seem worried about protecting it. You know that an arrest, even if they drop the charges later, means your career is over. It's like you aren't doing anything to protect it. It's like you think you should lose your job."

"Jesus, here we go with the psychobabble again." A similar statement had set Nick off last time.

Not this time, Nick seemed irritated, but not actually angry. "The psychobabble was your idea in the first place," he pointed out. "And I took your advice because I trusted you wanted to help me."

The implication was obvious, but Warrick only felt stifled by it. "Enough."

"No, Rick. This is too important to let it go."

The fact that Nick was staying calm only made Warrick angrier. "What do you want to hear? That it's a giant weight off my shoulders? Because it is. I'm glad I don't have to meet him. I never wanted to before Sara's case and I sure as hell didn't want to after. Okay? I liked it a whole helluva lot better when my father was nobody and I can't wait until it gets back to that again. Happy now?"

Nick looked anything but and in fact, seemed saddened. "Warrick, it doesn't just go away when the case does. Trust me."

Suddenly Warrick couldn't breathe. "I didn't show up for this," he dropped his sandwich and headed for the door.

"Yeah, I know," Nick said, following. "You only showed up to fuck me. Thanks."

Nick finally sounded angry, but even more, he sounded hurt and that made Warrick pause.

"Christ, Rick, is it so much to ask to know what the hell is going on with you?"

"Nothing's going on with me."

Nick sighed, looking unhappier than ever. "If you're not going to level, then you might as well leave."

Well, when he put it like that..."Fair enough," Warrick said, and left.

---

"Sara? Did you forget something?" Nick had to yell to be sure she heard him over the crackling on the line. Reception wasn't so great out by the northwest shore of Lake Las Vegas. "Let me get to the Denali and I'll call you back."

He snapped the phone shut, picked up his kit and headed over the slight rise to where they had parked the Denali and found--nothing. What the hell?

He'd been searching an area a few hundred yards away, but he'd been close enough to hear Sara call out that she was getting a ride back in the squad car. Nick had hollered back that he would be done in about fifteen more minutes. Those extra minutes proved to be very fruitful--during that time, Nick found a bullet that might very well be their victim's through-and-through. That made it worth staying for hours after the coroner had hauled the body away.

His phone chirped again. "Sara? Did you move the Denali?"

"...told you I took it back to...lab...supposed to get a ride back with Akers."

"You were supposed to get a ride back with Akers," Nick protested.

"...had to...soil samples back...lab."

Nick sighed. He could see how the mix-up would have occurred when they were shouting across to each other, but that didn't explain--"Where's Akers?"

"...thought...were with..."

"You're breaking up! What?"

"...coming out...get you...twenty minu--stay put..."

Nick couldn't tell if she meant she'd left twenty minutes ago or would be there in twenty more minutes. Either way, at least someone was on the way out to get him. The static was getting worse. "Okay, catch you later."

Sara might have said goodbye, but Nick couldn't tell for sure. He closed his phone. So he was out in the middle of nowhere again, this time alone. At least it wasn't dark--the sun had been up for over an hour, although the sky was very overcast. That was something Nick was actually grateful for, it wouldn't have been much fun waiting out where there was no shade or shelter from the scorching sun for miles. So better overcast than having the sun beat down on him like--

Was that thunder?

Nick barely had time to check the sky before the heavens opened up and rain started to pour. Oh, hell. Scrambling, Nick quickly packed up his camera in his kit. Within moments, his hair was plastered to his head and his sleeves to his arms. It hadn't soaked through his vest yet, but Nick knew that it was only a matter of time--probably minutes.

Picking up his kit again, he headed for the only thing vaguely resembling shelter, a large boulder. Sorry shelter at best, since the rain was rushing straight down, but at least it was something. He crouched down next to the rock and bowed his head against the rain, which only made it drip down the back of his neck.

Wonderful. The perfect way to cap off a lousy week.

As if what had happened to Warrick wasn't bad enough, now Nick had the aching knowledge that he had made a mess of things with his stupid ultimatum. It was his own damn fault for trying to bluff. For trying to bluff Warrick, of all people. He still didn't know if Warrick had actually seen through the bluff, but he certainly never expected Warrick to call him on it.

The worst part was that he knew Warrick was in trouble and would have given anything to be able to help, but couldn't if he didn't know what was going on. Nick had his suspicions, but hadn't wanted to make a move until he knew for certain, fearing that going in blindly would only make things worse.

Great plan, dumbass.

He'd thought that staying calm and refusing to argue would help the situation, but he should have known it would only make Warrick angrier.

That had been two days ago, and since then, Nick had avoided Warrick whenever possible. It might be cowardly, but Nick just wasn't ready to deal with the fallout of his actions. He managed to remain professional when he had to deal with Warrick at work--Warrick did the same, of course--but he hadn't called Warrick's number since then. What was the point when he knew Warrick wouldn't answer?

His instincts had told him to take a stand, and he had. But his instincts had failed him this time and by pushing too hard, he'd ruined the potential for a relationship and probably their friendship as well.

Nick shifted, his soaked jeans and boots squishing as his did. It was summer, so he wasn't that cold, just chilled and wet enough to feel as miserable on the outside as he did on the inside. He didn't bother to check his watch as he leaned against the boulder, not wanting to know how slowly time was crawling by.

With the rain coming down the way it was, Nick didn't see the vehicle approaching until it was almost right in front of him. To his surprise, it wasn't a Denali or even a squad car, but Warrick's jeep. Nick didn't take the time to wonder or worry about it, he grabbed his kit and made a dash for honest-to-God shelter. Quickly, he put the kit in the back and jumped into the passenger side, barely noting that Warrick had put down a blanket to protect his seat. As soon as he was buckled in, a towel hit him in the face.

"Sorry," Warrick said with a chuckle.

"S'okay," he said as he dried his face and started on his hair. The slight laugh surprised and warmed Nick more than anything else. Maybe, maybe, that stupid ultimatum hadn't completely driven Warrick away. "What are you doing out here?"

"You complainin'?"

"Hell, no," Nick was quick to assure him. "I know how you drive--you probably made in here in half the time anyone else would have." He wanted to keep the conversation as upbeat as possible.

"Sara got called to a scene five seconds after she finished with you. Since I don't work doubles or even overtime right now," Warrick sounded disgruntled. "I said I'd come out and get you."

"Thanks." Nick hated to ask what he was about to ask. He knew that although too many doubles and too much overtime could be a pain, not being allowed to work them was maddening. He didn't want to sound as if he was rubbing in Warrick's predicament. "Do they need me at the scene?"

"Nah. You're supposed to drop off any evidence and then go home because with your luck, you'll probably develop summer pneumonia."

"Grissom said that?"

"Catherine."

"Okay, that makes sense," Nick nodded.

A silence fell over the cab, and Warrick turned up the music. Nick was grateful for the action, otherwise he might have felt compelled to say something that could have ruined the companionable atmosphere.

They drove past the golf club on the west shore of Lake Las Vegas, and just before they got to the Parkway, Warrick turned off and pulled up at a Starbucks. "I'll grab us some coffee."

"I can go in," Nick protested.

"Lookin' like a drowned rat? Stay put, man, I got it."

Nick decided to acquiesce. "I'm gonna put some different music on, okay?"

Warrick paused, his hand on the door handle. "Yeah, I guess you can't do too bad, since it's all my music."

"Funny," Nick said dryly.

"You know where they are."

Alone in the jeep, Nick decided he wasn't going to bring up any of his concerns and ruin Warrick's lighter mood. He was just glad to have some semblance of their banter back. Nick opened the center console where Warrick always kept a few CDs. Normally he didn't mind the hip-hop Warrick was playing, but he wanted something a little mellower right now.

There was a stack of papers on top of the CDs, and Nick moved them with the barest glance, but that glance was enough for the logo from Binion's to catch his eye. With a sinking feeling, Nick read the rest of the slip, which turned out to be a credit marker for two grand. The stack of slips was alarmingly thick and without really thinking about it, Nick began going through them, checking the dates and the amounts automatically.

Some of them showed visits to four different casinos in one day and totaled up to nine thousand dollars, but what really made Nick stop and stare was a marker for the day Earle Tyndall died. The time on it was eleven-thirty--that meant Warrick was probably at the Tangier's at the time of Tyndall's death. Surveillance cameras could put him in the clear. The door opened, making Nick jump.

"Here," Warrick said. "I got you a--" he stopped, his eyes going from the markers to Nick's face before closing.

Suddenly, Nick felt horribly guilty. "Rick, I didn't--I wasn't..."

"I forgot I shoved them in there," Warrick said dully. "Here," he handed Nick a cup of coffee and got in.

"Warrick..."

"Don't." Warrick didn't sound angry, but weary. "Just--just drink your coffee, okay?" He set his cup in the holder and started the engine. Immediately, the music started again. Warrick switched it off with a snarl, as if Lil' Boosie was to blame for the entire situation.

Fifteen minutes passed in silence before Nick ventured to speak. "You have an alibi for--"

"Do you have to stop at the lab?"

"I have a bullet and a couple other things to drop off, yeah."

Warrick grunted in response, then silence fell over them again.

Nick waited a few minutes before giving it another shot. "You have an alibi."

"No, I don't," Warrick said through clenched teeth.

"I kinda figured you were hitting the tables," Nick said frankly. "But I thought it was only since Tyndall was killed. It's been since you found out about him, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," Warrick muttered.

Nick wanted to keep going, but didn't want to make the same mistake as last time. At least Warrick was responding right now. "Rick, it's evidence that could clear you."

Warrick didn't respond to that, and Nick, worried that he'd gone too far again, fell silent. They remained quiet as they turned onto East Tropicana and headed toward the crime lab. It wasn't until they had pulled into the parking lot that Warrick spoke again. "Go bring your stuff in."

Nick hesitated. He definitely didn't want to leave things the way they were. "Well, maybe I..."

"Go on. I'll wait."

"Wait? I've got dry clothes in my locker..."

"Don't bother. You can change once I bring you home."

"My truck is here, I can--" Shut up, stupid! Nick mind railed at him and he quickly switched gears. "You're gonna take me home?"

"That a problem?"

Was he kidding? "Nope, no problem. I'll be right back." Nick got his kit out of the back and hurried inside, thankful for the covered parking. He quickly logged in the evidence, unloaded his weapon and put it his locker, then hung his vest in the locker room to dry before jogging back out to the jeep.

Nick was content to sit quietly as Warrick navigated through the morning traffic. Just the fact that Warrick was taking him home meant that he was at least willing to consider talking about it. Or did Warrick really think that Nick was going to ignore everything he'd just discovered? Part of Nick was happy to do just that, at least for today. He was that glad to be with Warrick again. Besides, at least today he would know where Warrick was, or more importantly, where Warrick wasn't.

Talking to Warrick about his gambling problem was something Nick had never attempted, not even when he'd tried to help Warrick through the occasional stumble. Warrick knew he had a problem, and hearing it again from Nick wasn't necessarily going to help anything. Nick was more concerned with Warrick's refusal to use his alibi, anyway.

Nick knew he could always just go check the surveillance cameras himself if he had to. Of course Warrick didn't want anyone knowing about this particular alibi, but it wasn't like he could be fired for it. Gambling wasn't illegal, and Warrick certainly wouldn't be the first guy to call in sick when he wasn't. It might have been different if Warrick had been gambling while on the clock, but he hadn't been.

The whole idea of going behind Warrick's back--even if it meant helping--didn't sit well with Nick. That would have to be a last resort, only if an arrest was imminent. First, Nick would try to convince Warrick to reveal the alibi himself.

Before any of that, though, Nick wanted to change out of his wet clothes and take a shower.

Warrick parked in the driveway and Nick got out. It took a few minutes for him to fish his keys out of his wet jeans, but finally he was able to let them in.

Once inside, Nick suddenly felt awkward and wasn't entirely sure why. Not so long ago, they would have been in a clinch the moment the door closed behind them. "I'm gonna take a quick shower," he said. "Why don't you grab yourself something to eat?"

Warrick nodded, a bit of a smirk on his face.

Nick grimaced, apparently he still looked like a drowned rat. It went well with the fact that he was thoroughly uncomfortable and chilled by this point. That shower was sounding better all the time. In the bathroom, he quickly stripped and turned on the shower, letting out a sigh as he stepped under the water. He turned toward the spray, content to just let the hot water flow over him.

He felt a draft of cold air seconds before a big, warm body pressed against him from behind. Without a second thought, Nick leaned back against the solid form, smiling as Warrick's arms encircled him. "What are you doing?" he asked, even though he knew.

One of Warrick's hands wandered lower and wrapped around Nick's cock. "I'm grabbing myself something to eat," he murmured against Nick's ear.

Nick laughed, but it came out a groan. Those words, as much as the deft strokes of Warrick's hand, were what brought Nick to full hardness almost immediately.

Warrick released his now-erect cock, and turned Nick around, moving in for a kiss. Nick brought his arms up around Warrick's neck and held on as Warrick began moving down from his jaw to his neck. "So this is the real reason you're here," Nick said, knowing he should be angry, annoyed, something by the knowledge.

Warrick's lips moved up to his ear. "I'm here because I missed you, Nicky," he murmured. "Isn't that enough?"

Nick wondered who he was fooling with his half-hearted protest. Obviously not Warrick, who had begun to move further down to Nick's collarbone and then his chest. He suckled and bit gently each nipple and then continued downward, pausing briefly to nuzzle along Nick's navel and hip bone before licking along the length of Nick's straining erection.

The sensation of Warrick's agile tongue laving the head of his cock and teasing the slit, robbed Nick of words. By the time Warrick finally took him into his mouth, Nick was moaning helplessly and thrusting mindlessly. Warrick's hands on his hips kept him from ending it too soon and Nick knew those hands and the shower wall were the only reason he was still upright.

"Warrick..." Nick knew he was close and gripped a handful of Warrick's hair.

Instead of releasing him, Warrick took even more into his mouth and increased the suction. Nick tried to hold back and prolong the pleasure, but couldn't. Desperately, he pumped himself into Warrick's mouth. Warrick swallowed every drop and continued to suck gently until Nick's tremors finally ceased.

When Warrick released him, Nick's legs gave way and he slid down the shower wall. Warrick leaned forward onto his hands and knees to kissed Nick as he sat on the tiled floor. Still floating, Nick was content to let Warrick do most of the exploring and reveled in the taste of himself on Warrick's tongue.

Warrick reached to turn the water off and stood up. When Nick moved to return the favor, Warrick pulled him to his feet. "Don't worry about it, I'm not done yet."

Nick wouldn't have thought it possible so soon afterward, but his cock twitched with interest. It certainly helped that Warrick grabbed a couple of towels and dried him off as thoroughly as Nick had ever been dried off in his life. How Warrick managed to dry himself off at the same time was a mystery to Nick, but somehow he did.

Deciding enough was enough, Nick reached for Warrick's leaking erection, but Warrick grabbed both his hands and tugged him along to the bedroom. Nick wasn't sure what was going on--Warrick was like a man on a mission. Maybe it was all only to avoid talking, but Nick found it difficult to care when Warrick's hands and mouth roamed over his body, stopping to give extra attention to any area that got a reaction from him.

Almost before Nick realized it was happening, Warrick had urged him face down onto the bed. During the time it took for Nick to adjust his growing erection, Warrick had got the lube out and coated up his fingers, as Nick discovered when he felt them slickly probing between his buttocks. He started to push himself up, but stopped when a hand pressed gently but firmly down on his back.

"Rest up," Warrick advised, his voice full of promise.

Oh, hell. Nick took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around his pillow, using it to muffle his moans while Warrick slid one, then two fingers deep inside. Those fingers found the intense bundle of nerves and alternately prodded, stroked and massaged until Nick found himself whining--whining--for some sort of release.

Even worse was when those fingers withdrew and Nick let out a groan until Warrick flipped him onto his back. Lifting Nick's legs onto his shoulders, Warrick positioned himself and then drove home with a single thrust.

Nick would have the feeling the next day that he'd been embarrassingly loud, but at the moment he didn't know or care what he was shouting. All that mattered was Warrick pounding into him, filling him up, and exploding inside of him.

He was barely aware of Warrick cleaning him up and pulling back the covers on the bed. Two mind-shattering orgasms in such close succession left him feeling as if he'd been drugged. There was only one thing preventing Nick from drifting off into a deep sleep. "Are y'stayin'?"

Warrick kissed him softly before wrapping arms and legs around him. "Take a wild guess."

The next morning after shift, Nick more or less cornered Warrick and invited himself over by saying he'd bring breakfast from Amigo's. Warrick looked relieved, then wary, but he agreed.

Nick tried to discuss the situation while they ate, but Warrick seemed just as determined to avoid it. He'd thought that Warrick being on "home turf" might make it easier to talk, but it didn't seem to make much difference.

Warrick did seem to be making more of an effort to keep his temper in the face of Nick's prodding, but didn't give up anything else, either. When Nick offered to check the surveillance tape for him, Warrick flat out refused.

Even the possibility of losing his job didn't produce much reaction. That was something that really bothered Nick because he knew how much the job meant to Warrick. Nick still hadn't gotten around to mentioning the gambling, partly because he wasn't sure how to bring it up, but mostly because he thought the threat of arrest was the more immediate problem. And it certainly was, if the conversation he had overheard between Hodges and Mandy about Brad Vanallen was anything to go by.

Almost as soon as they finished eating, Warrick began another campaign of distraction. It was especially difficult for Nick to resist with the memories of the previous day still fresh in his mind. In not time at all, they were in Warrick's bedroom, and not much longer after that, they had collapsed on Warrick's bed, limbs still wrapped around each other.

As he drifted off to sleep, Nick took some consolation in the fact that they were no longer fighting before sex.

---

"You want to what?" Catherine couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I can't do that."

"C'mon, Cath."

He was hitting her with the puppy dog eyes. He hadn't used those on her since--Catherine couldn't remember the last time he'd used them on her. That alone made them difficult to ignore, but she gave it her best shot. "I can give you an update--"

"That's not going to work."

Those earnest brown eyes were really getting to her. "Well, what is it you want to know?"

"That's just it. I'll probably only know it when I see it."

"Nicky, you know I want to help you, but this is a really touchy thing and I don't want to do anything that could make it worse for Warrick."

Nick nodded his understanding. "It's just that I heard Hodges and Mandy talking about--"

"Vanallen?" Catherine interrupted. Nick looked at her in surprise. "Hodges already told me about him."

"I remember him bad-mouthing Warrick a lot back before he left for Reno."

"I've been keeping an eye on him, but he's pretty much third-string on this case. Westbrook is heading it up the investigation and Hammond is shotgun."

"And they're really working it?"

"They're doing everything they're supposed to," Catherine hedged. When Nick's eyebrows rose dubiously, she continued, "You know as well as I do that although we aren't supposed to care what the victim might have done while alive, it doesn't always work that way. Tyndall brutally raped several women and plenty of people just don't care who killed him."

"I know. I'm one of them."

Catherine blinked in surprise. She'd never heard that sentiment from Nick before--never expected to hear it.

"I only care that Warrick is in the clear. Are there any other suspects?"

Catherine grimaced. "Not so far. Everyone we've investigated has had an alibi--"

"--except Warrick," Nick finished.

"Except Warrick. Nick, you know I'm doing everything I can."

"I know," he assured her, and for a moment Catherine thought the conversation was finished. "Just a quick look, Catherine. Off the record, I swear."

Realization hit. "You know something."

The puppy dog eyes abruptly disappeared when Nick looked away from her.

Catherine stood and walked around her desk, sitting on the edge directly in front of Nick. The closer she was, the easier it was to stare him down. "Nicky, what's going on? If you know something that can help solve the case..."

"No. That is, it won't solve the case, but if I look at the file..."

Catherine couldn't help wondering if Nick would have felt comfortable confiding in her just six months before. Partly because he had never given her a reason to mistrust him and partly because she wanted to further reestablish his trust in her, she picked up the casefile from the corner of her desk. "You have to look at it here."

His face lit up with gratitude. "Absolutely," he agreed, taking it from her.

She sat down behind the desk again as Nick looked through the file, a frown of concentration on his face. She only saw his expression change once, briefly, during his perusal. After several long minutes, he closed it and handed it back.

"Thank you."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I will," he assured her. "Just as soon as I can."

---

"What would it take?"

"What would it take to what?"

"For you to let Westbrook know you have an alibi."

Warrick heaved an aggravated sigh.

Nick didn't know why Warrick was acting as if it was the hundredth time he'd asked the question. He hadn't mentioned the case at all when they were out at breakfast or once they got back to his place. They had even made out for a little while, not with any of their usual immediate heat, but slowly and luxuriously. When Nick spoke, they were taking a bit of a breather while they caught the sports highlights. Considering how important the subject was, Nick thought he was showing a great deal of patience by not bringing every five minutes.

"Rick, just listen. I asked Catherine to let me take a look at the casefile."

"You what?" Warrick pulled away from him.

"There's some things that dayshift isn't going to know to check out because--well, because they just don't know. And I'm not sure Catherine would know it's something significant, either."

"Like what?"

"Like one of the victims--Aube, I think her name is--lives in your old neighborhood. That would be Tyndall's old neighborhood, too, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah," Warrick agreed reluctantly.

"Well, I went back and checked and found nine unsolved rapes over the past five years that match Tyndall's MO and--"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Warrick surged off the couch. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm trying to save your ass!" Nick said, struggling to stay calm. "Because you sure as hell don't seem interested in trying!" He watched Warrick pace the room. "Just listen, okay? Of the nine unsolveds that matched with Tyndall's MO and when he was known to be in Vegas, six of them were in your old neighborhood."

Warrick stopped pacing. "So that was his main hunting ground."

"Right. Now they haven't gotten around to comparing the DNA in any of the cold cases..."

"And Tyndall was killed in a completely different part of town."

"Right, and the judge wouldn't sign a warrant when--"

"So stop wasting your time," Warrick cut him off. "It's not your case. It's not your business."

"Well, I don't have much choice, do I? What I'd like is for you to let someone know you have an alibi so they can take you off the suspect list."

"You know I can't do that," Warrick glowered at him.

"No, I don't know it. I know you won't do anything about it, but I don't know why."

"Goddamn it, you do know!" Warrick's voice rose again. "You saw the damn slips!"

"Yes, I saw the damn slips!" Nick returned. "I saw the damn slips that could save your ass!" By taking deep breaths and remembering some of Demarest's words, he was able to calm down a bit. "Warrick, you would get a reprimand, if that--they can't fire you for gambling, even if you called in sick to do it, even if you have a problem. But if you get arrested, that's it. Even if the charges are dropped later, you're done. You can't get your job back."

Warrick didn't say anything.

Nick found himself continuing to push. Even Warrick angry and shouting was preferable to stone cold silence. "Or are you so far gone that you're gambling on this, too? Just roll the dice and hope for the best?"

Warrick shot another glare in his direction before continuing to pace without replying. Obviously, he'd caught onto the fact that he was being baited.

"Okay, fine," Nick sighed. "I'll just go to Catherine with the other stuff I found today. Maybe if I talk to some of the victims--"

"You know you can't do that," Warrick stopped again. "You can't go injecting yourself into someone else's investigation--especially not this one. Not without something more than you've got. If you try it, you could get into trouble."

"I could get into trouble?" Nick got off the couch and blocked Warrick's path. "Are you even listening to yourself? Warrick, you could Lose. Your. Job."

"You don't know that will happen."

"I don't care! I'm not willing to take that chance. There's no way I'm going to lose you!"

Warrick's eyes widened, and Nick belatedly realized what he'd said.

"As a colleague," he amended hastily, feeling his face heat up. "I mean, you're too damn good a CSI to risk your career like this." He knew by the gleam in the green eyes that Warrick wasn't even listening anymore. "Rick..." He felt helpless to prevent what he knew was about to happen. Of course, he probably would have been better at preventing it if he wasn't looking forward to it so much.

Oddly, instead of trying to capture his lips, Warrick's head dipped and he nuzzled Nick's throat. "You just go on and keep talking as long as you want, Nicky," he murmured against Nick's skin.

Very funny, Nick thought, but didn't say so out loud. Instead, he gripped a handful of Warrick's hair and lifted his head so their lips could meet.

Warrick's hands were at his waist, but soon slid around and lower, raising Nick's hips slightly and pressing their groins together. Nick moaned into Warrick's mouth, wondering distantly if he would ever get used to the multitude of sensations Warrick could send ricocheting through him.

At least he'd gotten Warrick to talk a little more this time. Maybe at some point he'd figure out enough to be able to help. He just hoped it happened before charges were actually brought.

* * * "I'm here! Hey...I'm here...I'm here!"

Warrick jolted awake to the sound of Nick's voice cracking with panic and despair. For a few seconds, he panicked as well, unable to tell where he was or what was going on. Then he registered someone thrashing next to him. Quickly, he sat up, "Nick...Nicky..." he shook Nick's shoulder. "Nicky, wake up..."

Nick gasped, then jumped, his eyes flying open. He sat up almost immediately.

"Hey," Warrick put a hand on the sweat slick back. "Just breathe."

Nick drew his knees up and, resting his arms on them, hung his head.

Warrick shifted closer, gently massaging Nick's shoulder. "What was this one about?"

Running both hands through his hair, Nick took a deep breath. "Just--the same...the box."

Warrick waited for him to go into more detail, but instead, Nick sat up straighter.

"Time is it?" he muttered, looking at the bedside clock. Then he yawned and stretched and swung both legs out of bed.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, just checking the time." Nick reached around until he found his short and pulled them on.

"Why?"

"I've had enough sleep. I'm going to the gym."

"What? Now?" Warrick reached over to turn on the bedside lamp.

"Yeah. If I've had at least five hours sleep when I wake up from a nightmare now, I go to the gym and work it off." Nick got up and started getting dressed. "Makes it easier to shake them. Been going pretty good so far."

"Are you okay, though?" Warrick watched as Nick checked his gym bag. "You look a little...shaky."

"Well, yeah," Nick said with a self-conscious laugh. "I usually am until I start working out." He returned to the bed and bent to give Warrick a quick kiss. "I'll be about an hour, so it if you want to go back to sleep or whatever..."

Warrick nodded, mostly because he wasn't sure what else to do. Moments later, he heard Nick's front door open and close.

What the hell was that?

Did Nick think he had a problem with the nightmares? What would make him think that?

Warrick considered what had just happened. True, Nick had seemed shaken, but that was to be expected. Nick had also been eager to get going, but it didn't seem to be because he was anxious to get away from Warrick. Hell, he'd taken the time to explain where he was going and give Warrick a good-bye kiss.

Besides, Warrick knew Nick well enough to know that he was lousy at coming up with spur-of-the-moment lies--at least with people that knew him well. He'd be even worse at it if he'd just awakened from a nightmare, so if Nick said he'd started working off the nightmares, that's probably exactly what was going on. Strange that Nick hadn't mentioned it, but then when would it have come up?

Warrick couldn't help feeling a little bereft, not necessarily because he was alone in the bed, but because Nick obviously hadn't needed or wanted his help. There had only been a handful of nightmares during the times that they had shared a bed, but Warrick had liked being there for Nick.

Of course, it was a good thing that Nick seemed to have a handle on the nightmares. Apparently the shrink he was seeing was doing some good. They'd never talked about how Nick was doing, mostly because every time Nick mentioned his therapist, Warrick bit his head off.

Still, there had been plenty of opportunities for Nick to talk about what was going on with him--why wouldn't he?

That little voice inside him, the one that was always brutally honest about his gambling and he told him his marriage was a mistake, spoke up again.

Why should he?

---

Nick quickly agreed when Warrick invited him over after work, but the job ended up changing their plans. A half-hour before his shift ended, he got called to a drowning in Seven Hills.

It didn't take long for it to become obvious the COD was basic stupidity--one too many jell-O shots combined with one too many Jackass-inspired stunts. The only good thing about the tragically ridiculous case was that Nick was able to wrap it up just before noon.

He called Warrick's number as soon as he left the lab and was relieved when Warrick answered on the second ring. At least he knew Warrick hadn't gone to a casino. That had been one of his fears when he got back from the gym and found Warrick gone, even though there was a note saying "catch you at work."

Nick didn't ask Warrick if he'd gone to the casino. He knew the gambling was serious, but it was also something Warrick had gotten himself out from under before, with very little help from Nick. The fallout from a murder charge, on the other hand, there was no getting away from that.

He didn't mention any of his concerns when Warrick answered, he just offered to bring lunch and asked if Warrick had any beer. The answer was a negative, so Nick picked up a six-pack while he waited for the pizzas.

Warrick had definitely skipped breakfast, Nick decided, judging by the way he tore through the first pizza in no time. Nick almost made a comment about the gut, but didn't want to put Warrick in a bad mood when he was getting ready to bring up the alibi again. Besides, the gut wasn't nearly as noticeable lately.

Nick was trying to think of a new way to broach the subject, but Warrick brought it up first. "Heard anything about the case lately?"

Nick blinked in surprise, "Haven't you?"

"Nah," Warrick leaned back on the couch, beer in hand. "No one's going to say anything to me unless I ask, and I haven't asked."

That might explained why Warrick hadn't been more concerned about the possibility of arrest. "You're the only person they've got whose whereabouts aren't accounted for. And Vanallen is lovin' every minute of it."

"Vanallen," Warrick snorted with contempt. "You really think he's got the balls to try anything?"

"The way things stand right now, he doesn't have to do much."

"Mm," Warrick took a swig of beer.

"You can put this whole thing to rest in no time," Nick pointed out. "Why don't you?"

With a deep sigh, Warrick put his free hand over his eyes. "I fucked up, Nicky. Big time."

A little jolt of fear ran through Nick. "What?"

Warrick didn't speak for some time and Nick didn't press him. He was still amazed that Warrick was willing to talk at all and didn't want to throw him off. "What's it been?" Warrick finally said, "A month since I found out about my father?"

"About that," Nick agreed. "Maybe a little more."

"I've blown over thirty G's."

There was no way he heard that right. "Thirty grand?" Nick tried to sound normal, but his voice squeaked a little.

"I fell off the wagon pretty hard," Warrick added unnecessarily.

"You don't have that kind of money," Nick said. He knew it was a stupid thing to say, but he was still trying to wrap his head around the number.

"Y'know...maxed out my cards, borrowed against my paycheck." Warrick's voice dropped, "Hocked a few things."

Nick automatically scanned Warrick's living room. The television was still there, but it was a very old model. Warrick's DVD player and high-end stereo were usually behind the dark glass doors of his entertainment unit, so Nick couldn't tell if they were there or not. He did notice that Warrick's beloved Martin acoustic was missing from its usual corner.

Nick felt as if he'd stepped off the edge of a kiddie pool only to find that it was actually the deep end. "Okay, but--" Somehow he just knew he was going to end up saying the wrong thing before he even said it. "That still wouldn't be enough to fire you. Man, if everyone who had money problems got in trouble at work..." he stopped when Warrick let out another sigh, wishing he could figure out what he was missing.

After a few more minutes of silence, Warrick spoke again. "You know what Grissom told me before he left for his sabbatical?"

"What?"

"He told me I was the rock of the team."

"He's called you that before." Nick recalled how envious he'd been when he first found out Grissom referred to Warrick as that.

"Right. So now I'm supposed to walk in and tell him that his rock has sunk so far so fast that I can't even pay my damn rent."

Nick immediately latched onto the only thing that he could do something about. "Look, Rick, if you--"

"Don't," Warrick cut him off.

"Don't? You don't even know what--"

"You were gonna offer to help me with my rent," Warrick turned to him with a slight smile.

Well, hell. He gave Warrick a sheepish smile of his own. "Sorry."

"Nah, man."

"Okay, look, it seems to me that the arrest is the biggest problem--" Nick stopped again, because he knew things probably seemed very different to Warrick. "Let's work on the arrest first, because it's the most important--" That wasn't necessarily true, either. "The arrest is the worst thing that--" He decided to level, "Can we start with the arrest? It's the only problem I know how to do anything about."

Warrick chuckled and slung an arm around Nick's neck, pulling him over and planting a kiss on top of his head. "And you absolutely have to help, doncha, Nicky?"

Nick didn't know what to make of that. Was he supposed to believe that if their situations were reversed, that Warrick wouldn't be doing the exact same thing? "Rick, seriously, it could be your job. Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"I guess I just can't see it," Warrick replied, which was about as close an admission of denial as Nick had ever heard from him. "They don't have any evidence to put me at the scene."

"They have motive--that is, they think they have probable motive--and lack of an alibi. Sometimes that's enough for an arrest. Vanallen may not have the stones to try any risky, but you can be damn sure he'll be pushing for those charges."

"But Westbrook and Hammond won't. I don't have a beef with either of them. And I should have some sort of cushion, time wise. Catherine would definitely let me know an arrest was coming. Depending on who the detective working the case is--"

"Sofia," Nick said.

"Then she'd probably give me a head's up, too. That's when I can pull out the alibi."

When he said it the day before, Nick had been trying to provoke Warrick, but now it appeared he may have been right. "So you're just going to cross your fingers and hope for the best?"

Warrick fell silent, and stayed quiet for so long that Nick began to worry he'd gone too far. "I know," Warrick said heavily. "I know I'm not--" he shook his head, unable or unwilling to finish.

Nick wondered if that was it--if that was all Warrick was going to say about the matter. He'd already decided he wouldn't press if it was. Warrick had talked about it more today than he had since it happened. Even though he didn't seem happy or relieved to be getting it off his chest, at least he was talking about it. Nick couldn't help being curious as to what brought about this change of heart.

"I haven't done it since you found those slips," Warrick said.

Nick had no idea if that warranted praise or not.

"I'll have to get out my book again and start at the beginning. I should have taken it out when this whole mess with Tyndall went down--hell, I never should have put it away."

"When did you put it away?"

"When Tina and I moved in together. The day after the wedding."

"What about during the divorce?"

"Nope. I mean, I thought about it...I had the urge, but no. This time...Jesus, I barely even remember how I got to the table. But I won five Gs in the first hour, so hell."

Something about that just didn't sit right with Nick. "What if you'd lost?"

"What?" Warrick frowned.

"If you'd lost five Gs in the first hour."

Warrick didn't answer immediately, instead taking another sip of his beer. "Then I'd have tried to chase it back," he said reluctantly. "You're right. It's an excuse, and a piss-poor one, at that."

Nick had been half-leaning against Warrick since the unexpected buss on the head, and he shifted slightly, then settled so he was more comfortable. When saw a smile tug at Warrick's lips and felt Warrick's arm curl around him, Nick decided to keep going while Warrick was in a good mood. "Did you go to Gamblers Anonymous when you quit before?"

"Shit," Warrick let out a sigh. "I thought we were done."

"Oh." Damn. He knew he'd end up going too far. "Sorry."

"I went to a few," Warrick said. "But mostly I just got the book and worked it on my own."

"And Grissom helped." Strange that it hurt to say that, when it had been his own decision not to mention gambling to Warrick after Holly Gribbs died. At the time, he hadn't wanted to damage their developing friendship. But this time, more than six years later, it wasn't something he could ignore or avoid.

"Yeah, he did. Mostly just by talking--well, not actually talking," a note of wry humor entered Warrick's voice. "I'd talk. Most of the time Gris would just let me keep talking until I'd talked myself around to what I knew I was supposed to do in the first place."

Nick nodded, he knew what that was like. He used to hate being on the receiving end of that look of Grissom's. It inevitably made him feel stupid, like he wasn't getting to the right conclusion quickly enough, or he should have been able to reach it without bothering his supervisor. Oddly enough, Demarest used a similar tactic, yet it never made him feel as though he should have known the answer all along. "Warrick, I want to help, but I'm not equipped to be helpful--not the way Grissom was."

"Are you kidding?" Warrick laughed. "It's not like he was a counselor. He was just there as a friend. You've got that down. And then some," he added, grinning when Nick snorted. "Of course, it's different with you than with Grissom."

"I sure as hell hope so."

"Smartass," Warrick jostled him slightly. "I mean, mostly I would go to Grissom with a problem, usually only when I was at the end of my rope. Doesn't work that way with you, does it? If you think there's a problem, you're right there after it."

"You didn't seem too thrilled by that before."

"I wasn't. But you kept at it."

"Even when you were being an asshole," Nick couldn't resist adding.

Warrick bobbed his head in acknowledgment. "And you call me on any bullshit I try to dish out."

"Another thing that pisses you off."

"Yeah, well, it pissed you off when I finally called you on all that I'm fine crap you were throwing out."

"Yeah, it did," Nick admitted.

"But you don't anymore," Warrick said, almost to himself.

"Don't what?"

"Fly off the handle. Never knew what was going to set you off, but it doesn't happen anymore. You're going to have to tell me how you did that."

"Every time I mention therapy you get in my face."

"Yeah, well, now I'm askin'."

"I don't know," Nick said, looking to lighten the mood. "If I give away all my secrets..."

"C'mon, Nicky," Warrick said, his voice turning teasing as well. "Give me a break here. I spill my guts and get nothing for it?"

"That's what you're askin' for?" Nick sat up straighter. "That's just sad, Rick. You must be losing your touch."

"Oh, really?" Warrick's smile turned wicked. "All right, smart boy, what do you think I should ask for?"

Instead of answering, Nick moved so he was straddling Warrick's lap and grinned.

"Aw, Nicky," Warrick purred, sliding his hands over Nick's thighs. "Do I really gotta ask for that? Do either of us?"

Nick felt his grin widen, and he bent to kiss Warrick. Almost immediately, one of Warrick's hands slid around to cup his ass while the other slipped under his shirt.

As he mapped the interior of Warrick's mouth, Nick let his fingers trail down Warrick's face and neck to the buttons of his shirt. Then he broke off the kiss to press lighter kisses on Warrick's cheeks, forehead, eyes and nose before following his fingers downward. He paused to lick and suck at one nipple and then the other while he hands continued down to unfasten Warrick's double-punched belt.

As he moved off the couch so he could kneel between Warrick's legs, Warrick held onto his shirt and Nick ended up wriggling out of it on his way down.

Before he under Warrick's jeans, Nick snuck a quick glance up. The sight of Warrick, his head thrown back, his lips parted, his breathing shallow, made Nick even harder. As if sensing his gaze, Warrick lifted his head and looked down, green eyes alight with desire. Nick held that gaze as his finished undoing Warrick's jeans and pushed them and the boxers aside to free Warrick's hard, leaking cock.

When Warrick's eyes slid shut and his head fell back again, Nick bent and licked drops of precum away before running his tongue along the entire length. He took Warrick into his mouth slowly, using his tongue generously until he was more than half way up, and then began to work his way back down. He was just getting into a faster rhythm when he felt Warrick's hand in his hair, tugging his head away.

"Bedroom. Now." There was a hint of desperation in Warrick's growl.

Nick got to his feet, more than happy to comply. He unfastened his jeans--which were becoming painfully tight--as he walked to the bedroom. Before he could shed them, he felt hands at the waistband, doing the job for him.

Losing his balance, Nick fell onto the bed. "I'll finish with them," he laughed breathlessly. "You've got your own clothes to get rid of."

Once rid of his jeans, Nick rolled onto his stomach and reached for the night stand, only to have a very naked Warrick come down on top of him. Nick fumbled for the drawer and managed to find the lube while Warrick nuzzled his neck and nipped at his ear.

"Gimme," Warrick murmured, and Nick tossed his over his shoulder. Warrick rolled off him, so Nick got back on his hands and knees to find the condom. "That's right..." Warrick's voice seemed to slide over Nick's skin, followed by Warrick's hand smoothing up the back of Nick's thigh, over his ass and along his spine.

"Hey, I need to get--whoa..." The sensation of Warrick's stubbled jaw rasping along his hips, followed by the moist heat of Warrick's lips robbed Nick of his voice. He felt slick fingers nudging between his buttocks and scrambled to find the condom before--oh, God.

Warrick's finger had slid inside and almost immediately zeroed in on that tiny gland. Nick pushed back hard against him, condoms--and everything else--forgotten. Warrick added a second finger and then a third and Nick pushed back even harder, at the same time trying to arch into the hand running up and down his back.

Nick was vaguely aware of Warrick leaning over and across him, but he was more concerned with what those fingers were doing to his inside that sent sparks and shivers through his every nerve. When the fingers withdrew, Nick wasn't capable of more than a whimper of protest, and Warrick whispered reassurances as he put on the condom he'd retrieved at some point. Then Nick felt something larger and much more substantial nudging at his entrance, and before Warrick could grab onto his hips to steady him, Nick pushed back again, taking nearly half of Warrick inside him.

Warrick got it. He held onto Nick's hip with one hand and grasped Nick's shoulder with the other, setting a hard, fast pace from the very start.

Nick ignored his own cock, knowing as soon as he touched himself it would be all over. Instead he followed Warrick's rhythm, until there was nothing, no gambling, no charges, no job, no bed... nothing but the feel of Warrick's skin against his, of Warrick's cock inside him.

Finally, Nick couldn't stand it any longer and grasped his cock. As he'd expected, it only took a few strokes to take him over the edge and as his entire body tightened and jerked, he felt Warrick thrust even harder and cry out his name.

Nick collapsed onto the bed, barely noticing when Warrick eased free and rolled off of him. He roused enough to clean himself off and slip under the covers, then threw one arm across Warrick's chest and drifted off into a satisfied sleep.

---

"So tell me how you finally stopped getting so mad all the time."

Nick laughed but didn't lift his head from where it was resting on Warrick's check. "Are you still thinking about that?"

It had been two days since he had told Nick everything and Warrick still got a little queasy at the memory. It had been even more difficult that he'd expected, but he was glad he'd done it, if for no other reason than to no longer have it hanging over them. Now he could actually enjoy being with Nick instead of constantly being on guard for when and how Nick might try to bring the subject up.

He hadn't gambled during these past two days, which brought his current total to four. These last two had been easier than the first two, probably because he'd been spending every free moment in Nick's company. At the moment, they were lying in Nick's bed after some great wake-up sex and still had hours before they had to start getting ready for work.

"Yeah, I'm still wondering about it. For a while there it seemed like every day, and there was no telling what would set you off. Now, I can tell when something gets to you, but you don't blow up...you're more like--"

"I was before?" Nick finished.

At one time that would have been an angry question, and while there was a slight edge to Nick's voice, there was no real heat to it. "Well, yeah." Warrick didn't say that if there was some sort of trick Nick was implementing--breathing, thought processes, whatever--he wanted to know about it. It was bound to come in handy, the way things had been going lately. Hell, maybe there was a way to apply it to the tables. "It's a big change, man."

"You won't like it," Nick warned.

"Tell me anyway."

"It's from my shrink. From therapy."

Okay, now the guy was just playing. This time when he ran his hand up Nick's back, Warrick stopped at the neck and shook it slightly. "Nicky..."

Nick let out a soft laugh, "Okay." He moved so that instead of lying half-on Warrick, he was next to him and propped his chin on Warrick's shoulder. "Well, it was just a matter of knowing what was making me so mad."

"That must have taken a while. There were so many things that could set you off."

"No, that's kinda the point--it all came from the same place. According to Dr. Demarest, most anger does--fear."

"What?"

"Fear," Nick repeated.

"Fear."

"Toldja you wouldn't like it. I sure as hell didn't."

He was right, that didn't sit well with Warrick. Fear was not something he could apply to his own situation. He had no reason to be motivated by fear--no traumatic experience hanging over him the way Nick did. "So how does that stop you from getting mad?"

"It didn't at first," Nick admitted. "It only made me angrier, but once I started working on...y'know, the fear--my fears."

"Like what?" Warrick asked, and felt Nick turn and bury his face in the pillow.

After a minute, he said, "I don't--most of them sound dumb when I say them out loud. That's something else Demarest has me working on."

Instead of asking anything else about that, Warrick turned to another subject he'd been wondering about, even though he knew he had no right to question Nick about it. "So...what else--I mean, are there other things you talk to him about?" More silence. "Nick?"

"You mean have I told him about us?"

Oh, man, he was really losing his touch if Nick could read him that well in a darkened room. "Or that, yeah."

"What exactly would I tell him?"

Warrick should have known he'd regret asking.

"It's okay, Rick. He knows I prefer men. He knows a friend from work convinced me to start seeing a shrink and he knows that now that friend and I are...involved."

Nick sounded a little uncertain himself, so Warrick quickly reassured him. "Hey, it's fine by me. You tell him names--whatever you want to."

"Thanks," Nick said with dry amusement.

Almost as if to make up for being so nosy, Warrick began running his fingers through Nick's hair, something his knew Nick loved.

Sure enough, after a moment, Nick moved his head back onto Warrick's chest to make it easier to do. "Rick?"

"Hmm?"

"Alibi?"

Of course. Nick had spilled a little bit of his guts, so now Warrick had to spill more of his. "Right. Alibi. It's kind of a weird thing. Normally, admitting to Grissom I've done something wrong like calling in sick to gamble would be one of the steps in recovery. Y'know, accepting responsibility, the consequences of my actions, but in this case, doing that would be a benefit to me. It kind of defeats the purpose, know what I mean?"

Nick lifted his head, "Am I supposed to buy that?"

Well, it had been worth a shot. "You don't?"

"Call you on your bullshit, remember?"

"Okay, okay. I don't want to tell Gris if I don't have to, okay?" Warrick admitted, trying not to be too irritated that Nick had seen right through him again. "And I'm starting to think maybe I'm out of the woods on an arrest. They would have pressed charges by now."

"How do you figure that?"

"I dunno. Just a feeling."

"Feeling like it would be easier to just forget the whole damn thing?" Nick asked.

The guy was getting a little too good at this "no bullshit" thing. "You're not going to give up on this, are you?"

"I can't," Nick said firmly. "Not while I know your job is still on the line."

There were a few things Warrick wanted to say to that, but all of them sounded sappy.

"Do you want out of the job, Rick? Because if you do, then take a leave or resign, but if you have to resign because of charges, you'll never be able to--"

"I don't want out of the job," Warrick assured him, and felt Nick sigh with relief.

"About your rent..."

Oh, hell. "What about it?"

"Will you at least let me lend you enough to cover it? Just for the next month."

He did not want to have this discussion. "Nicky..."

"Hey, whose gonna get stuck helping you move again? And with my luck it'll probably be in the middle of another heat wave."

Warrick couldn't help chuckling. Trust it to Nick to find a way to make it easier for him to accept. "Okay, but just one month. I'm going to see about a loan next week. Things'll be tight for a while, but it'll be good for me. Plus, I'll probably be able to pick up extra shifts."

"Okay, then."

"Speaking of work, we'd better hit the shower soon," Warrick sat up.

"We've got at least two hours before we have to start getting ready," Nick protested, looking disappointed to be losing his pillow.

"Yeah," Warrick got out of bed, then pulled Nick along with him. "But I plan on taking a pretty long shower."

---

No one liked being a third wheel, and Catherine was no exception. She hated the feeling. What's more, she wasn't exactly used to it. She'd always been able to garner her fair share--some might say more than her fair share--of attention in any social situation. She certainly wasn't used to it at work. Whether as Grissom's right hand, swing shift supervisor or graveyard co-supervisor, she had always been in the thick of things.

Of course, she'd felt left out after Keppler's death, but that had been different. That was more a matter of being shunned than overlooked, and anyway, to a certain extent she'd probably deserved it. But rarely did she feel left out because the other people in her presence were so concerned with each other that they practically forgot she was there.

Certainly she'd never felt that way around Warrick and Nick--her "two favorite guys," her team. One or the other was always teasing or flirting with her--Nick with that 500-megawatt smile and boyish charm, or Warrick with sultry heat and deadly green eyes.

Right now, though, Catherine felt as though she could waltz out of the layout room and the case they were working on and neither of them would notice or care. She didn't know how long this had been going on between them, but she guessed it wasn't more than a few months. She was certain she would have noticed this before.

Even stranger, Catherine found she wasn't terribly bothered by being the third wheel. How could she be when watching the two of them interact was so damn adorable? To anyone listening, it would just sound like two friends, two colleagues, working the evidence together. It might even look that way to the casual observer, but not to Catherine. She noticed how often they invaded each other's personal space, how often they reached for the same piece of evidence, how a faint blush would hit Nick's cheeks or an extra gleam would appear in Warrick's eye whenever it happened. She saw that whenever green eyes met brown, there was so much intensity there that the air between them fairly crackled.

Also surprising to Catherine was that she barely felt the slightest twinge over "losing" Warrick to Nick. Probably because now that she looked back at the constant teasing, the competition, Warrick's agony during Nick's abduction, she could see that Warrick had never really been hers to lose. Obviously, he'd really never been Tina's either.

Catherine had wondered from time to time over the years just how interested in women Nick really was. Despite the fact that if he wanted to, Nick could have a string of women at his fingertips, Catherine had never known him to have a long term relationship or even very many dates. It didn't take much to make her believe he preferred being with men.

Warrick, on the other hand, was walking sex, just oozing sensuality from every pore. Catherine could imagine him getting with anyone as long as they were hot enough to meet his--admittedly high--standards. He'd always remained uncatchable, however. Even when he was married, he had seemed uninvolved, but uninvolved was not the vibe she got when she watched him with Nick.

She could definitely see the two of them together. In fact, it was a shame Nick and Warrick were both too professional to even consider getting into it in the locker room or staff shower, because she really wouldn't mind seeing them together.

She wasn't normally much of a voyeur, but she wasn't dead, either.

"Where's the canary, Cat?"

Catherine looked up at the sound of Warrick's voice. Both men were staring at her quizzically and Catherine realized she was, indeed, grinning like the proverbial bird-catching feline. "Sorry." Suddenly, she pictured their expressions if they knew what she'd been thinking and started laughing, which only increased their confusion. "Sorry," she said again, clearing her throat. "I just got... distracted for a moment." Another giggle escaped and Catherine had to make a determined effort to bring herself under control. She took a deep breath and shook her hair back, before bending over the table again. "So where was all the evidence in the suspect's office found?"

Nick and Warrick exchanged another glance and Catherine had to bite her lip.

Whoever thought that the idea of them both off the market would be more distracting than the idea of either of them on the market?

---

It wasn't the threat of charges that finally made Warrick decide to tell Grissom about his alibi. It wasn't the fact that Nick brought it up nearly every day. It wasn't even to comply with the steps in recovery.

It was the idea of being stuck in the lab any longer, let alone indefinitely.

While there was a chance of Ecklie confining him to the lab as punishment when he found out, at least it would end at some point. The way Tyndall's case was going, there was no telling how long Ecklie would want him to stay out of the field.

At least when he went to Grissom, he'd be able to say that he was back on track. He hadn't placed a bet in over a week and had his finances under control. He tracked Nick down in the locker room to let him know.

"Hey," Nick smiled when Warrick entered. "I was just going to go looking for you. I've got a scene to work, so it's overtime for me."

"Okay," Warrick nodded. "I'm gonna be talking to Grissom, anyway. Y'know."

The dark eyes widened. "Now?"

"Yeah, I figured--"

"Don't."

"Don't?"

"Don't."

Wasn't this the same guy that had been after him to tell someone for the past nine days? "What the hell..?"

"I know, I know. Just hold off for one more day, okay?"

Warrick didn't know what was going on, but it was fine by him. It wasn't like he wanted to tell Grissom, so if Nick asked him not to, that was as good an excuse as any. It also gave him a little more time to prepare, because it had been a spur of the moment decision, reached after he'd been subject to another argument between Archie, Henry and Mandy over SG-1, SGA and Farscape. "Okay," he agreed.

"Good. I gotta go." Nick leaned in, then caught himself at the last minute. Warrick grinned, as the blush hit Nick's cheeks. "I'll catch you later," he murmured, and left.

* * * Nick still wasn't sure he'd done the right thing by asking Warrick to wait another day before going to Grissom. It really wasn't up to him when or if Warrick told anyone about his gambling. He hadn't even been able to explain to Warrick why he wanted him to wait--he didn't want to get Warrick's hopes up.

He'd been called to a burglary on North 30^th Street. Actually, he'd heard about the burglary on North 30^th Street and volunteered--normally such a case would be given to the low man on dayshift's totem pole. North 30^th just happened to be in Warrick's old neighborhood, which also made it Tyndall's old neighborhood. The scene was a block away from one of Tyndall's known victims, and a couple of streets over from two of the unsolveds Nick had checked into. Nick knew dayshift hadn't investigated the area much because Tyndall had been killed across town, but Nick's instinct kept pointing him back there.

Nick was also beginning to suspect that, despite Catherine's overseeing of the case, it simply wasn't a high priority any longer. Tyndall was a known criminal--one of the worst--and he had no family pressing for results. Vanallen was probably the only one who really wanted results, but only if they pointed toward Warrick. Westbrook and Hammond might have thought they were doing Warrick a favor by not looking too closely.

If Nick was going to be thorough about the burglary he was investigating, it wouldn't hurt to scout the surrounding area as well.

Nick was glad to see Officer Mitchell was on the scene with him. Mitch was more easy-going than most uniforms when it came to CSIs. He watched over them without being intrusive and had much more patience. He also, Nick knew from experience, was willing to go along when a CSI had an unusual idea or lead.

The burglary itself was sloppy, which meant it would be especially easy or especially difficult to solve. As he worked his way through the scene, Nick changed his mind about the job being sloppy. It was messy, but the more Nick looked around, the more it seemed the mess was deliberate. That meant the burglar might very well have been looking for something specific.

Nick's first thought would have been drugs, but the 29-year-old who rented the house was an up-and-comer at the Mirage and didn't really seem the type that would keep a large stash in his home. What's more, the guy probably wouldn't have called the police if the burglary had something to do with drugs.

So what didn't fit? The guy's jewelry, DVD player, laptop and iPod had all been stolen and all of those items were relatively easy to transport and hock. The computer tower of the guy's PC was also missing. Not so simple to unhook and haul and not really worth the trouble, money-wise. Maybe the tower had been the burglar's real target and the rest had just been gravy.

Nick shared his theory with Mitch, who amazed him by saying, "So they might have just dumped the other stuff."

"Maybe," Nick agreed. "I was thinking about checking a few places."

"Ready when you are."

Nick gathered up the evidence he'd collected in the house and locked it in the Denali before hitting the streets.

It took ninety minutes and several dumpster dives to prove the theory, but eventually Nick found the DVD player and some of the jewelry. By that point he'd also decided he would come back later to check the alleys in the opposite direction. He had no right to make Mitch tag along when it wouldn't really be part of an official investigation.

"Maybe one more street and we'll call it a day," Nick said as he bagged the jewelry he'd found. "If the burglar was interested in the CPU, he'd probably want the laptop, too."

They walked to the next alley, and Nick spent fifteen minutes in that dumpster only to come up empty-handed.

"You might not find the iPod, either," Mitch offered. "Depending on the files, the burglar might have wanted it, too."

"You buckin' to be a CSI, Mitch?" Nick teased.

"No way," Mitch laughed. "I'll leave the dumpster diving to you guys."

"Thanks," Nick chuckled, climbing out. His maglite slipped from his grasp and fell with a clatter. "Dammit." He crouched down to grab it from where it had rolled half-under the dumpster. "C'mere, you..." he muttered. A long, oddly-colored object further back caught his eye. "Whoa. We got something else here." He turned on the maglite, which thankfully still worked, and scanned the area under the dumpster. "Let's see what we've got," he said, pulling out a piece of wooden about a yard long and streaked with black. "What do you figure?" he looked up at Mitch. "Handle of something? An axe maybe?"

"Pick axe, maybe," Mitch nodded.

Nick hefted it slightly. It was similar in weight to a baseball bat. He concentrated on getting out his phenol kit, not wanting to get ahead of himself.

"You think that has something to do with the burglary?" Mitch asked.

Nick never thought he'd be so glad to see something test positive for blood. "I think it's got something to do with something." He stood and held out the handle so Mitch could see all the blood.

"There was no blood at the scene," Mitch pointed out.

"No, not something on this case," Nick replied absently, searching his kit for the largest evidence bag he could find. Usually he had at least one folded--aha!

"So now you've got another case?" Even Mitch's patience could wear thin.

"We'll see." Nick bagged that handle. "I'd better get back to the lab and get all this stuff logged in." He didn't want any questions about the handle's chain of custody--just in case.

Mitch drove away once Nick was safely in his Denali, but before Nick left, he called Catherine and asked her to meet him at the lab.

* * * "It's open!" Warrick called in response to Nick's knock. Nick had phoned not long before to say he was coming over and bringing barbecue from Duffy's for lunch. Warrick assumed Nick would tell him the reason for not wanting him to go to Grissom, but curiosity hadn't been plaguing him about it like it normally might. He knew Nick must have had a good reason, and there was no doubt in his mind Nick had his best interests at heart.

It was a strange feeling, to say the least, to be in a relationship with someone where there was no real wondering involved. Even if Nick had been angry at him for one thing or another, Warrick wouldn't have worried about his motives. It was a trust he'd become accustomed to in their friendship, a trust he almost took for granted. He'd never before felt this level of trust in a relationship though. It wasn't just a strange feeling, it was heady, intoxicating in many ways.

When Nick walked in, Warrick found he no longer cared about Nick's reasons for wanting him to wait a day, any more than he cared about the delicious aroma wafting up from the bag Nick was carrying. Instead of speaking, he put his hands on Nick's hips, pulling the Texan in close. Nick looked momentarily startled, but then smiled and wrapped his free arm around Warrick's neck.

It was several minutes before they parted.

"That's one helluva a hello," Nick laughed. "You must be anxious for some barbecued chicken."

"Not really," Warrick nuzzled along Nick's jaw.

"Then what?" Nick's voice turned playful. "You figure you're gonna get me all wound up and then interrogate me about why I asked you to hold off talking to Grissom?"

"Nah," Warrick murmured into Nick's neck. "Can't I just be glad to see you?"

"I guess," Nick said, but pulled back slightly to study Warrick's face.

Warrick kept quiet, knowing if he tried to explain himself he'd end up sounding like the worst kind of sappy greeting card.

Nick's smile faded at Warrick's continued silence. "Are you okay?" One corner of his mouth was tucked down with worry, "Rick, did you go...did you hit the tables?"

Any anger Warrick might have felt at the question was erased by Nick's obvious concern. "No, I didn't hit the tables--or the sports' book."

"Sorry," the brown eyes were earnest. "I'm sorry, Rick, I had no right to--"

"Yeah, you do," Warrick assured him with another kiss. "You have every right." He took the bag from Nick's grasp, "C'mon, let's eat."

Warrick knew Nick was waiting for the other shoe to drop the entire time that they were eating and that Nick probably became even more confused when instead of bringing up Grissom, Warrick asked about the case he'd worked that morning.

It was Nick who finally brought up the subject, by saying, "I'm sorry I asked you to wait this morning. It's not up to me."

"Why did you?"

"I thought...well, the burglary was in your old neighborhood, near three of the victims."

Oh, no. "Nicky...you were investigating one of dayshift's cases on overtime? Talk about risking your career on a longshot."

Nick's sigh sounded a bit impatient. "It's not a risk to my career. At most, it'll get dayshift a little ticked off. And anyway, I was still working the burglary when I found it."

Warrick tried to ignore the little shot of hope that went through him when Nick said I found it. "So you were planning to go looking on your own."

"The point is I didn't have to," Nick said, although Warrick didn't see that as the point at all. "I was still investigating the burglary when I came across it. The odds of it being anything are--"

"Never tell me the odds, Nicky."

Nick looked disconcerted until Warrick grinned at him. "You ass."

"What did you find?" Warrick asked, his curiosity truly engaged now.

"An axe handle. Or pickaxe. Under a dumpster. There was a lot of blood on it. I called Cath--"

"You called Catherine in?"

"Yeah, I figured I'd better let her know, just in case." Nick leaned forward briefly to put his empty plate on the coffee table. "We tested the blood and it's human, so she sent it to DNA and said she'd talk to Westbrook."

"Nick..."

"Even if it's got nothing to do with Tyndall's case, that bat was definitely used for something bad. Anyway, I asked you to wait because...well, I guess I really didn't have a reason--"

A chuckle escaped Warrick. This was exactly why he hadn't thought twice about agreeing to Nick's request. He'd known that whatever Nick's reasons had been, they were nothing that would ever hurt him and would probably benefit him.

"I know it was kind of a dumb idea," Nick muttered.

"Naw, baby," Warrick assured him. "That's not why I laughed."

"Okay," Nick gave him another quizzical look.

Warrick knew there was no point in trying to explain. "C'mere," he leaned back on his couch and pulled Nick forward so the smaller man was half-lying on top of him.

"Y'know, I don't think I ever noticed before," Nick said, staring at him intently.

"Noticed what?" Was Nick going to try some romantic line about his eyes? Warrick decided he wouldn't mind if he did.

"Sometimes, you're just plain weird."

He probably deserved that for laughing and not telling Nick why. "Smart ass," Warrick grinned before he pulled Nick's head down for a kiss.

Nick responded wholeheartedly, just as he always did. No matter how angry Nick was; no matter what they had just finished saying to each other; no matter whether Warrick had packed on a few pounds or was looking his best, Nick was always eager to be with him. That response was something Warrick had begun to count on, something he didn't think he could ever give up. It was something else about Nick that Warrick wanted to never take for granted.

He hummed happily into Nick's mouth as he slid his hands under Nick's shirt to trace patterns on the smooth, warm skin. Suddenly, Nick broke off the kiss and, snickering, buried his face in Warrick's neck.

That wasn't exactly encouraging. "What the hell, Nicky?"

"Sorry," Nick chuckled. Warrick could feel it against his skin. "But you sound like you're purring. Like some big ol' cat."

Warrick couldn't help smiling. He ran short, well-kept nails along Nick's sides, making Nick jump. "Just be happy I can't actually scratch you. Besides, you're the one who shreds clothes, remember?" His smiled turned to a grin when he felt Nick laugh harder. "Good thing that wasn't my lucky shirt."

Nick lifted his head. "I beg to differ," he said in mock indignation.

"You're a regular comedian today, aren't you?" Warrick let his fingers rest lightly at Nick's ribs. "Whatcha gonna do with this, funny boy?" he asked and began wiggling his fingertips against the bared skin.

"Rick!" Nick squawked, laughing even while he tried to push Warrick's hands away. "Come on, man, quit it!"

Warrick kept at it, "Look at that, you really are a funny guy."

Nick tried to push himself up, but was nearly helpless with laughter. Warrick moved with him as he squirmed and wriggled until their positions were reversed. "Rick!" Nick said again, although he barely had the breath to get the name out.

Finally, Warrick let up and let his hands slid underneath Nick's body, holding him close.

"Y'know," Nick said, still panting. "If you wanted to be on top, you could have just asked."

"Still funny..." Warrick mused, moving toward the ribs again.

"Okay, okay!" Nick laughed, grabbing onto Warrick's wrists.

"Okay," Warrick kissed him.

Nick released his wrists and wrapped both arms around his neck. It didn't take long for the kiss to become heated. They parted only long enough to shed their clothing, and Nick grabbed a condom from the pocket of his jeans before tossing them aside.

"Always prepared, like any good Boy Scout," Warrick teased.

"So I don't feel like moving anywhere else. Sue me," Nick pulled him down for another hard kiss. "It's lubed. Should be enough."

"Just in case it's not..." Warrick reached between the sofa cushion and brought out a bottle of lube.

"Aw, Rick, I always knew you had a secret hankerin' to be a Scout."

The only response to that was more tickling, over Nick's ribs and sides and stomach until Nick was weak with laughter. Then while the tremors from that laughter still shook the Texan, Warrick prepared him, sliding one, then two fingers inside and stroking until tremors of a different sort were shaking Nick's body. Quickly, Warrick put on the condom and when Nick wrapped both legs around his hips, easily slid home.

Neither of them lasted very long, and almost before he knew it, Warrick's climax was upon him. He emptied himself into Nick's tight, welcoming heat and moments later felt a similar warmth against his stomach as Nick found his own release.

Warrick lay on top of Nick while he caught his breath, then carefully eased himself free. Nick mumbled an inarticulate protest, holding on tighter with his arms and legs. "I'm just cleaning up, baby," Warrick murmured, and Nick relaxed his grip.

The couch wasn't the best fit for both of them, but if Nick didn't want to move, then Warrick wasn't going anywhere, either. He shifted them slightly so he wasn't lying completely on the smaller man and settled in so Nick could have his post-coital doze.

As he studied the handsome features, relaxed and content at the moment, Warrick wondered how in the world he'd ever managed to convince himself that Tina--that anyone other than Nick--was the person he belonged with.

The person he belonged to.

---

Nick knew something was wrong when he met up with two officers on his way into the lab and instead of returning his greeting, they gave him a hard look and then ignored him. Once inside, his confusion increased when he ran in Lee Travis, who sneered at him, "Nice work, Stokes."

Oh, hell. What happened? He'd gone home a couple of hours before shift started so he could run a few errands before he showered and changed for work. Now he went in search of Warrick to see if he knew what was going on.

Warrick was nowhere to be found, however, and he found out from Greg that Warrick had come in a little earlier than usual and was now out on a scene with Grissom. It was the first Nick heard that Warrick was back in the field, but before he could ask about it, Catherine beckoned to him from her office doorway.

Although there were several reasons Warrick could have been sent back into the field, Nick knew there was something he was missing. Quickly, he walked into Catherine's office and closed the door behind him.

"So you've heard?" Catherine asked.

"Not really. I just know something's up."

Catherine's smile was more of a grimace as she sat on the edge of her desk. "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Nick decided he wanted to be sitting down for this. "You tell me," he said as he sank into a chair.

"The blood on the axe handle you found was Earle Tyndall's. It also had prints on it belonging to Wayne Mosley. When police brought him in, he admitted to the murder, so Warrick's in the clear."

Nick jubilation was tempered by the knowledge that there was still--"Bad news?"

"Wayne Mosley is a cop."

Oh, fuck.

Catherine continued, obviously she hadn't expected much of a response. "One with a good rep, too. He took early retirement ten years ago after being shot saving a fellow officer. He says Tyndall raped his daughter."

Nick began to feel slightly ill.

"He lives on Valley Street, not far from where you found the handle. When his daughter told him what had happened, instead of reporting it, Mosley tracked Tyndall down to where we found him."

"He knew Tyndall."

"Not very well. Just by sight from what I understand. Angela was just getting home from work when it happened--she recognized Tyndall."

That certainly explained the reaction from the uniforms. Nick knew he'd probably be getting that sort of treatment for a while.

"Look, Nicky, you know I think you did the right thing. You did do the right thing. You didn't even step outside the bounds of your investigation. You were working a burglary and discovered something that appeared to have been used in the commission of a crime, so you turned it over to a supervisor. You did everything you were supposed to do."

"But..." Nick knew there was a but in there.

"But you know as well as I do that not everyone is going to see it that way."

Wasn't that the truth? "All they'll see is that I put a cop away."

"For a murder a lot of people think we shouldn't have bothered investigating at all."

"Well, it'll be rough," Nick agreed with a sigh. "But it's not the first time we've butted heads with the cops."

"It's the first time we've put one of them in jail."

"So things will be touchy for a while," Nick said, mentally gearing himself up. "I get it."

"So far, it's a slow night, so I don't have an assignment for you. If something comes up later tonight, or in the next couple of nights, I'll be accompanying you to the scene."

Nick frowned. This after she'd just finished saying he hadn't done anything wrong?

Catherine read his expression correctly. "It's got nothing to do with your job. I just want to make sure no one--look, if I send you out with Warrick and a cop mouths off, then we'll probably have an incident. It's only for a few days, until the worst of it is over."

Nick knew that if he really argued about, she would probably back down. He could also point out that she could assign him to work with Greg or Sara, who weren't as likely as Warrick to give back attitude--well, maybe Sara. He did neither, recognizing that Catherine wanted to look out for him herself. Even if he wasn't crazy about the semi-hovering, he wasn't going to argue with her for caring enough to do it. Besides, if anyone could keep the uniforms off his back, it was Catherine. So he simply said, "Thanks, Cath."

"Thanks for letting me," she replied, surprising him. "I'll let you know if a scene comes up. I think Mandy might have got something on the prints from you burglary."

"Great," Nick got up and headed for the print lab.

He didn't mind being in the lab for part of the shift. It wasn't like he was looking forward to the cold shoulder and snide remarks he'd be receiving from most of the uniforms and probably a few of the detectives. The lab techs didn't concern themselves much with the workings of that branch of the LVPD, so all he really got from then were curious questions and teasing about doing dayshift's job.

The fingerprints from the burglary came back to Corrie Wilson, a blackjack dealer at the Mirage. When Nick went to talk to her at work, he got a lot more than a confession. She told him that the victim, Adam Crane--or as she called him, "that creepy piece of shit,"--could have his computer and laptop back now that she'd erased the files he'd made of the two of them together without her knowledge, but that she was keeping the iPod, because he'd broken hers and if he tried to fire her, she'd go over his head to the labor board and then to his mother. Nick knew he was in way over his head, so he found Adam Crane in his office and passed the message along. Adam quickly backtracked and asked that the charges be dropped.

That was one less case for him to work on. He went back to the lab to fill out the necessary paperwork only to be met by Catherine who told him they had suspicious circs in Summerlin.

The detective on the case was Vartann, and he had a poker face that rivaled Warrick's, so whatever he thought, he didn't treat Nick any differently that usual. The uniforms on the scene limited themselves to cold stares and Nick knew it was probably only due to Catherine's presence that there was no verbal abuse. It wasn't so much in deference to her gender as it was the knowledge that she wouldn't hesitate to report them after a toe-curling verbal assault of her own.

Julie Fernandez, their victim, had no outward signs of injury, but a woman in her early thirties didn't normally pass away in her sleep, especially when she had no pre-existing condition. The latter information came from Julie's distraught sister, who had found the body and called it in. Anything else would have to wait until the autopsy.

The room showed nothing out of the ordinary and after a few hours, they were back at the lab. Two hours after that, they got word from Dr. Robbins that their "victim" had actually died of natural causes--an undiagnosed brain aneurism.

By the time shift ended, Nick had closed two cases and yet didn't feel like he'd really accomplished anything. He went home without getting the chance to talk to Warrick, who was back out in the field on a second case--probably making up for lost time.

Although he felt a bit down as he made himself some breakfast, it was nothing compared to the strangling frustration he'd become accustomed to carrying home after work. He didn't know if it had more to do with his relationship with Warrick--because now he was pretty sure it was a relationship--or his therapy. He knew it was a combination of both, but he didn't know to what ratio. Nick decided it didn't really matter, it was just a relief not to have that tense gnawing in his chest and not to have to worry that it could erupt into choking, uncontrollable anger at the slightest provocation.

He still wasn't crazy about talking to Demarest, hated it a lot of the time, but there was no denying it was helping. Nick knew it would probably be even more helpful if he wasn't so grudging about discussing some things, but he was content with the way things were going. And he was more than content with the way things were going with Warrick. He finally felt as though he was on stable footing again and hoped the day's events hadn't changed that.

Almost as if on cue, Nick heard a familiar vehicle in his driveway. He stopped chopping vegetables and wiped his hands before heading to the door and arriving just in time to open it in response to Warrick's knock.

Before Nick could say a word, he found himself pulled against a hard body while Warrick's tongue inspected every part of his mouth. Yesterday, Nick thought that Warrick's enthusiastic greeting had been unusual, but now he was beginning to think it might be the norm.

It wouldn't be too hard to get used to.

Even once they broke off the kiss, Warrick's arms stayed around him, holding him as close as possible. "Go get changed, baby, I'm taking you to Le Matin."

Nick blinked in surprise. Le Matin was the only gourmet breakfast restaurant in Vegas. When he finally got a look at Warrick, Nick realized he must have changed before coming over. In a moss-colored silk t-shirt and crisp black pants, he looked--"Damn, you look good."

"Thanks," Warrick grinned. "C'mon, I'm taking you out for breakfast."

"To Le Matin?" The place wasn't really his style. He'd never figured it for Warrick's, either.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Why? I can't believe you have to ask. You cleared me, Nicky."

Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing, either. Did Warrick actually think he expected a reward for what he'd done? Didn't the guy have a clue? He tried to think of a way to get that point across without sounding like a romance novel, but couldn't, so instead he said, "So I save your ass and for that I get overpriced Belgian waffles?"

Warrick pulled back with a frown. "You want to go somewhere else?"

"No, I don't want to go somewhere else. I don't want to go anywhere. You don't have to do anything like that."

After staring at him quizzically for several minutes, a smile tugged at Warrick's lips. "Then I got all dressed up for nothing?"

Nick couldn't resist running his hands over the soft fabric, "Aw, darlin'," he drawled. "I thought you got all dressed up for me."

Warrick stepped back, preening slightly, "You like that, huh?"

Such blatant conceit shouldn't have appealed to Nick, but it did. "Yeah, but I think I'd like it off even more."

"So why don't I think of another way to make it up to you?"

Nick sought out the hem of Warrick's shirt, "Now that's something I can get into."

Warrick's hands were already on his ass, and he gave it a quick squeeze. "I'm gonna be the one getting into it."

Nick started to laugh and was cut off by another deep kiss. Warrick hadn't been kidding about doing something to make it up to him, Nick quickly realized. He did everything and refused to let Nick do anything in return. It got to the point that Nick wondered if this was more about making it up to him or being in control.

By the time they got to the bedroom, Nick no longer cared what Warrick's motives were. Warrick had already gotten him off once with a blowjob that left his entire body weak and shuddering, then half-dragged, half-carried him to the bedroom to continue the onslaught.

Later on, Nick would wish he could remember half of the things Warrick did, but he was completely lost in sensation. There was nothing else in the world except desperate gasps, burning green eyes, straining muscle and Warrick filling him, pushing him to the edge and then sending him sailing over.

Nick had no memory of Warrick withdrawing or cleaning them up, and the next time he opened his eyes, he had the feeling he'd been out for quite a while. Warrick was propped up on one elbow, looking down at him with a smug expression. "Better than Belgian waffles?"

"Did I..?" Had he passed out? He'd never passed out after sex before. "Damn."

Warrick laid back and pulled Nick close again. Nick went along, his limbs still not fully cooperating. It was a simple matter, though, to settle into his favorite position, with his head on Warrick's chest. After a moment, he felt Warrick let out a huge sigh.

"Wow. Was it that much of a chore?"

Warrick's fingers skimmed his ribs, almost in warning, then Nick felt them in his hair. "Just having a hard time believing this mess with Tyndall is finished."

Nick didn't want to ruin their contentment, but he couldn't help himself. "Is it?"

Silence descended and stayed until Nick began to worry. Then, to his relief, Warrick said, "I'm going to tell Gris about the gambling. Now it'll just be a straight-out step in recovery."

"That ought to be fun."

"Is that really what you want to know about, Nicky?"

Part of Nick wanted to completely change the subject, but another part of him really wanted to know. "The other thing..."

"The other thing," Warrick repeated.

"Rick, it sent you back to the tables, it put you thirty grand in the hole. You can't tell me this whole thing with your father isn't affecting you."

"Okay, first of all, that's not the way it works. I went back to the tables because that's the fucked up way I decided to deal with it, and I'm thirty grand in the whole because I have a gambling problem. None of it is because of him."

That was more than Nick expected to hear. He wondered if Warrick found it easier to talk because they weren't facing each other or if he was just the aftereffect of incredible sex.

"That's not what you really wanted to know, either, is it?" Warrick asked. "I know it's tough to believe, but I'm glad...Jesus, not that I'm glad he's dead, but I'm glad I won't ever have to meet up with him. I never wanted to. I guess...I guess I figured if I met him, there was a bigger chance I'd turn out like him."

Now that Nick couldn't just let go. "Rick..."

"I know, I know. I know it doesn't make sense."

Nick knew from experience that just saying so wouldn't change the way Warrick was feeling, but he still had to say it. "That's not going to happen. I think any signs would have manifested themselves by now."

"I know that, too. It'll just take a little while to sink in."

That had been surprisingly simple.

Nick moved up so he was no longer curled onto Warrick's chest, instead stretching out beside him. He nuzzled Warrick's cheek briefly before letting his head fall to the pillow. They lay in contented silence.

"Hey," Warrick said.

"Mm?" Nick's eyes had begun to drift shut.

"What do you say, maybe after a year or so--once I'm all caught up...we find ourselves a place? Y'know, get old and cranky together."

Nick felt a grin spread across his face. "You're getting soft in your old age, Rick." Then, unable to resist, he patted Warrick's stomach, although it had gotten a bit smaller. "In more ways than one."

"Is that a yes?" Warrick sounded mildly irritated.

"Of course. I'll get you back in shape in no time."

"Like hell. I've had enough of people trying to put me on a diet."

"Nevermind diet. I was thinking along the lines of a lot more exercise."

Fin.

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