Title: Loving a Ghost
By: Valerie
Disclaimer: The concept and the people in the story are fictional and the property of several production companies. I only borrow them and return them unharmed and unmarked. No money is made of the story and no infringement is meant.
Warning: character death
Pairing: Nick/Warrick

Du hast jeden Raum
Mit Sonne geflutet
Hast jeden Verdruss
Ins Gegenteil verkehrt

Unglaublich nobel
Deine sanftmütige Güte
Dein unbändiger Stolz
Das Leben ist nicht fair...

(Excerpt from Herbert Grönemeyer's song 'Der Weg' from the album Mensch)

It was the feeling of soft hands caressing his face that woke him, of gentle lips meeting his, of a strong body against his own. In his dream Nick had looked at him with love and passion, had touched him with the same fever that he felt, but now as Warrick slowly woke to reality, the face of his beloved seemed to fade more and more and the passion in those dark eyes was replaced by sadness and longing. The feeling of touch lingered on, yet the passion had disappeared leaving an aching gentleness behind. Still half asleep Warrick reached out to hold Nick back from leaving, but his hands touched only air and the emptiness of his arms made his heart clench, his body shiver.

It was dark in the room; the heavy blinds shutting the sun out, keeping the darkness in. It was normal for Warrick to sleep during the day and work night and he didn't miss the blaring heat of the sun. Slowly he got the shivers under control and got up. It was freezing cold and he felt goose bumps on his skin, felt the shivers starting again yet this time from the cold. He stumbled as he walked to the bathroom, caught himself before he fell and at the same time wondered why he even bothered. Sighing lightly he leaned over the tub and stared at the face in the mirror.

Even without light he could see the lines that shouldn't be there, lines that belied his age and made him look older than he was. Some of his friends had told him that they made him look distinguished, that they spoke of a life lived. He had never corrected them, but he knew that they were wrong, these lines didn't speak of a life lived but of another life lost.

Almost shaking with cold now, Warrick went back to the bedroom and grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt. A quick glance in the mirror showed him, that the colours didn't match, but he couldn't be bothered, almost running he left the building and got into the car. For a moment he just sat there, once again behind dark glasses, once again surrounded by air-conditioned air. His hands trembled, but he forced his emotions back, reined them in and started to drive.

How many times had he driven here in the last six months?

How many times had he come here since it had happened?

He didn't know and didn't care, but the fact that no one paid any attention to him as he got out of the car told him that it had been enough times for everyone here to get used to him. Not wanting company he walked away from the main starting rock towards the more secluded, more private part. For a long time he just stood there staring over the red rocks, over the endless stretch of desert glimmering in the sun until his eyes fell on the hazy images of downtown Las Vegas.

It had been a sunny day too, six months ago and it had felt wrong. It wasn't supposed to be beautiful on a funeral, the sun wasn't supposed to shine when he buried the one he loved. Feeling the tremors start again, Warrick sat down on one of the rocks, his hands jerking back as the hot stones almost burned him.

Six months ago he hadn't sat on the ground. They had brought chairs up for the occasion and flowers. He had sat there listening to the words the pastor had spoken but he hadn't been able to reconcile the person he spoke of to the man he had known. He had wanted to shout, tell the priest that he had no idea, when the other man had spoken of the immense loss Nick's death had caused. But he had felt too numb even to move.

It had been Nick's wish that his ashes were to be spread over the mountains where he used to paraglide. Warrick knew that Nick had written his will long before it had happened, knew that Nick had never felt comfortable with the thought of being buried.

The memory of Nick's face contorted with terror on the live feed made him shiver and forcefully he replaced the mental image with the joyful, happy Nick he had known.

Tears came out of nowhere, sliding over his face, stinging in his eyes but he didn't bother to wipe them away. He was alone, they all knew why he was here and again his mind went back six months.

One of Nick's paragliding friends had spoken, his voice tight, his grief palpable. He had spoken of how Nick had loved to fly, how he had always said that it gave him a feeling of freedom. Warrick had been glad then, that he was sitting because he had known that his legs wouldn't have supported him anymore. His mind had kept flashing to Nick imprisoned in the cage, buried underground and he had almost cried out loud.

Life wasn't fair, he had always known that. The sun would soon start to burn his skin, but still he felt cold and numb and Warrick knew that it had nothing to do with the temperature. He had come here almost every day in the last six months sitting in the sun and crying, mourning.

His parents had asked if anyone in the team wanted to say a few words. They had declined. To this day Warrick didn't know if Nick's parents had understood why no one had been able to speak to the mourners. He knew that they had been disappointed, had heard some not so nice comments from Nick's siblings, but what should they have said? That they were sorry? That they too had lost someone precious, that they too were grieving?

So they had sat apart from family and friends, almost as if they were strangers that just happened to be there too. They had gone back to work the same night.

Still looking over the desert, Warrick cried silently, his body not moving apart from his hands that clutched at a red stone as if it was a lifeline.

At work he was acting normal or as normal as they all were after what had happened. Only once in the six months had he lost his temper and he still felt bad about it.

They had just found a missing girl unharmed and alive gambling away in one of the Casinos. Sara had asked the young woman if she had any idea what her disappearance had done to her parents. At the flippant answer, he had lost it.

'You have no idea how it is to lose someone, no idea what it means to know that he is out there somewhere fighting for his life, praying for you to find him. You have no idea how it feels if you realize that you run out of time. Do you know how it is if you finally find him, only to realize that you have come too late?'

It had been Grissom who had led him away from the shocked girl, away from the questioning looks and into an empty room. Grissom, who had never been a people person, had stood next to him as he trembled and cried over the unfairness of a life that took Nick from him. His old and new supervisor had not known what to say but finally he had mumbled that he had never known how good friends he and Nick had been. Warrick had lost it then for the second time within minutes.

'I love him Gil; I have loved him for years but never said anything. I always thought I would have time until it was too late.'

Throwing a stone over the ridge down into the desert, Warrick repeated the last two words.

"Too late."

They had been too late, though not by much, if the warmth of Nick's body when they had lifted him out of his grave was an indicator. But in the end it didn't matter whether they had been one minute or one year late.

Nick was dead.

They had been too late.

Again silent sobs shook Warrick making his body tremble.

Sometimes at work or at home he could feel him close. Sometimes while working a crime scene, he would feel a brush of wind and turn around with a smile waiting for a stupid joke or comment. Sometimes when he found something particularly weird, he would look up and search for Nick in order to show it to him. Or sometimes when he lay in bed he would feel as if fingers touched his tears, as if a voice would whisper to him. That's when the loss hurt the most. It was when it almost felt as if he was near him, as if he was touching him and that's when he left the house and came here to cry.

Shortly after the funeral someone had told him that with time his memories would fade and he would forget what he looked like, how his voice had always sounded as if he had just realized how great life was, how his hand had felt in his or how his eyes had shone with that special light, but he hadn't forgotten yet.

He never wanted to forget.

Warrick knew that he loved a thought, a ghost and yet he couldn't turn away from that love.

Softly his fingers brushed over Nick's badge, cleaning the shiny surface from the tears that had fallen on it. Silently he conjured his image from his memories, saw his smile, imagined seeing love in his eyes, and imagined being in the focus of his passion and his fierceness.

"I love you."

Slowly he got up and walked back to his car. Warrick knew that he would return tomorrow to mourn, to cry and to remember. He had to remember Nick, didn't want to let go of the love he felt even if it meant the he was loving a ghost.

Because in the end loving a ghost was better than accepting the loss of his heart.

The End

Translation of the song lines:

Du hast jeden Raum
Mit Sonne geflutet
Hast jeden Verdruss
Ins Gegenteil verkehrt

Atemberaubend ehrlich
Deine sanftmütige Güte
Dein unbändiger Stolz
Das Leben ist nicht fair...

You flooded every room
With sunlight
You changed every annoyance
Into pleasure

Breathtakingly honest
was your gentle goodness
Your overwhelming pride...
Life isn't fair.