Title: Chasing Ghosts
Author: *bright
Rating: R
Spoilers: Grave Danger and season 6. And my fic, Just This Once that fed this beast.
Pairing: Nick/Warrick
Characters: Pretty much all. Warrick's POV
Category: Case-file, angst, romance (slash) and h/c
Summary: Nick gets unwillingly entangled in a case and Warrick is forced to watch how control slips out of his hands.
Author's Note: Thank you to my wonderful beta hobbesaholic who sorted me out and got the story readable. And a special Thank You to kristen999 for prodding me very gently but firmly. Hope you're not too disappointed - see there's a huge difference between your talent and my very modest trials at scribbling.
Disclaimer: Me own zip and nada, 'cept an overactive imagination. The characters in this fic that do not belong to Bruckenheimer are mine and are totally fictional, with no ties to any living or dead namesakes.

He never thought it would end like this, never. Dead in one of his old neighborhood seedy alleys, meeting his fate next to a young LVPD officer and an overfilled dumpster reeking from the usual negligence in this forgotten part of town; a routine call with Brass and two other officers just behind the corner from where loud radio traffic had drenched the sound of the silencer of the gun now pointing at him. The officer at his feet whimpered and Warrick knew without looking that the raspy exhale was his last. And his would come next, there was no debating with this perp; the eyes of the young man were wild and pupils pinprick small and cold sweat streamed down his temples and desperation not of this world shone from his eyes.

"Where's my stash," the perp asked again in a hoarse low voice. The barrel of the gun making a small forward movement in demand of a prompt answer, the metal reflecting the dim streetlight behind them.

Warrick found he had lost his voice and his entire attention was focused on the finger shivering on the trigger.

"Hey! Drop the gun!"

Warrick wanted to close his eyes the moment he heard Nick's voice because he knew what would happen. And he stood there frozen and watched while it did.

The young man turned and his finger pulled the trigger. The sound was almost soft as the bullet took its intended trajectory toward Nick. Warrick's gun was already out but not in time to stop the second pull of the trigger before the perp was slugged back from the bullet hitting him square in the chest. The gun making a scrambling noise as it hit the asphalt and slid until it was stopped by the dead officer's forever stilled feet.

The ruckus was immediate; officers swarmed the scene and angry hollering filled the air while there were multiple calls for backup and ambulances made with frantic voices.

Warrick heard it behind the roaring echo of the gunshots that sung a sickly tune in his ears while he pushed his way to Nick. Nick who was lying slumped up against the tile wall with dirt falling over his inert form. Nick whose eyes were shut and whose chest was covered in sticky red, Nick who suddenly became obscured from his view when a blue uniform blocked his path. Warrick growled, the first sound that had come over his lips since he found himself eye to eye with his imminent death. He gripped the uniform with both hands, shoved its bearer to the side and then sank to his knees at Nick's side.

Warrick felt cold and oddly void when he cradled Nick into his lap. This must be a new nightmare, he thought as his fingers searched for a pulse on Nick's neck. Not happening, not happening repeated endlessly in his head while his hands touched the skin of his best friend and the one time lover he'd tried to avoid this last month. The one he had been working up the nerve to straighten things out with. Not happening! his mind screamed but his eyes took in the small rivulet of blood forming at the corner of Nick's mouth and as his fingers cradled Nick's face, the warm stickiness of it made it all too real. Someone shone a stark beam of light on Nick's face and swore. The image of pallor and blood and stillness etched itself on Warrick's retinas and he closed his eyes and pulled Nick closer to keep him warm.

"Fuck you Nicky," he heard himself whimper, "I'll fucking kill you if you die on me now bro. I'll whop your skinny ass so you can't sit for a fucking month if you leave me. I'll tie you to the bed and never let you out of the house Nicky, I fucking promise! I'll - "

"You need to let go of him Warrick!"

He recognized Brass' voice, the grip on his shoulder was of steel but he just shook his head and cradled Nick closer. "Ain't leaving him."

"Warrick, you have to let the paramedics work on him!" Strong hands forced him to let go and he opened his eyes and saw paramedics hovering over Nick, shining lights in his eyes and talking amongst each other. Hurried but precise movements blurred Warrick's field of vision, voices uttering orders and words like 'critical', 'massive hemorrhage' and 'weak sinus rhythm' floated into his mind and the nausea that attacked him had the bile in his throat competing with the increasing tremors in his limbs.

When the ambulance doors shut and the sirens ripped him out of his dulled haze he, Warrick Brown, unceremoniously disturbed the crime scene by emptying his stomach into the pool of blood around his bended knees.

***

"What happened?"

Grissom's voice cut clear through his jumbled thoughts where he sat on a plastic chair right by the ER doors. He had never managed to get any further inside as Brass pushed him into the chair and hurried inside, leaving Warrick by the swinging doors. He didn't even have a clear memory of the ride to the hospital or what had happened at the crime scene after they loaded Nick into the ambulance. He remembered losing the content of his stomach, Brass' cursing as he dragged him away and sat him on the passenger seat of his patrol car. Asking him if he needed an ambulance, if he was hurt? He was sure he had protested rather harshly and denied any kind of help. But the scent of Nick's blood had lingered in his nostrils, the picture of his bud lying is a pool of his own blood and that sound, raspy labored breathing that slowed with every passing moment had more or less taken up his entire concentration. He wan't able to shake the terror that had gripped him and held him captive with flashes of mental images combined with smells and sounds assaulting him totally out of his control.

Brass had called Griss and said he'd get in contact with Tina as soon as he got her number. Because Warrick couldn't remember it for the life of him, it seemed so trivial right now. Phone numbers, wife; he wasn't quite capable of grasping anything. He had been offered something to drink while Brass discussed the situation with Vega that had appeared seemingly out of the blue. It all came to him like snippets of a scene from a black and white movie as he sat there, trying to gauge what really had happened.

"Nicky," was all he got out at Grissom's question.

"All right," his boss said, looking at him with a concerned face. "Warrick, I need you to pay attention," he spoke firmly and pulled him up from the chair by gripping his elbow, dragging him further inside. "I need them to look you over Warrick, I've phoned your wife, she's on her way in."

"Nicky," he repeated, his legs oddly numb when he walked with Grissom's hand steering him onwards.

"I don't know Warrick, Cath's trying to get some info. Just sit here, I'll get someone to come take a look at you."

And suddenly he found himself sitting on a gurney, still not capable of collecting himself.

"No need, just – just lemme know about Nick. He was –oh shit, he was bleeding dry Griss!"

The sweet irony smell of fresh blood invaded his senses again, suffocating him with its intensity and closing his eyes all he saw was the white letters on Nick's vest turning a rusty red. His body started shivering again, and he groaned at the lightheadedness that swept through him. If he'd only get rid of the picture of Nick's pale face and blood everywhere he'd be able to fight the nausea and collect himself.

"Hold on Warrick," Grissom said, "you look like you're about to faint."

"All that blood," was all he managed before his field of vision got fuzzier around the edges and he felt Grissom's hand on his neck, forcing his head down. There was a strange deafening sound in his ears, a sound of gunshot, frazzle and over it all, labored slow breaths dying out.

He came to slowly, the voices seeping into his consciousness at first, sounds more than words. But one word made him open his eyes and grit his teeth.

COD.

"Hey Rick," His wife's face swam into his field of vision and he struggled to get up to a sitting position, shaking his head to clear it.

"You got a little low on blood sugar there after the adrenaline rush," Tina said,"forgot to eat?" Her voice was sympathetic and her hand reached out to feel his brow. "It happens after an emotional shock like that, Rick, nothing to be ashamed of."

Warrick blinked twice, wanting to slide under the tiled floor. He fainted? A grown man like him fainted? If Nick ever got wind of this he'd -. The thought brought reality back with full force and he rose to a sitting position, dread filling him anew.

"Nick?" he asked and Tina looked over his shoulder to the woman standing there, watching them. "I'll go get you something to eat," she spoke softly. "Catherine will fill you in."

He followed her gaze and his landed on Cath's drawn face.

"Oh God," he groaned at the sight, "please no."

"Rick no," she said, gripping his wrist to ground him. "We don't know anything yet, he was rushed to the OR and all they've told us is that it's going to be a long procedure."

Warrick bowed his head and massaged the bridge of his nose, "I thought he was dead. He was bleeding all over the place, was he hit in the heart?"

"No, his spleen, lung and probably a vein took the worst. He's – he's hanging on last I heard Rick." She swallowed audibly and her voice was thick when she continued; "it's the bleeding from the liver that's causing them the most trouble. It won't stop."

Warrick shuddered and Cath came to sit right by his side. "He's a fighter, we know that."

"Enough is enough, Cath. He's been fighting a lot already, how much can a man take?"

Cath slid her arm around his waist and rocked him quietly, like he were a child. And Warrick knew he was a substitute for Nicky, that Cath wanted to do this to Nick. Rock him slowly into peace and calm. "I don't know Rick, I just don't know," she spoke when Warrick laid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, acknowledging her need.

"And I faint from low blood sugar" he said, "Christ! Shoot me now and lemme out of my misery. This is embarrassing." He looked up in anger and found his wife standing there, a sandwich and a cup of coffee in her hands. She was looking at the two of them curled up in joint agony and Warrick knew she'd never be part of his life like a wife should. He read it in Tina's eyes, the knowledge of not belonging entirely as she handed him the steaming coffee and plastic packed sandwiches. He knew he should say something but he was too wiped out to talk. He reached for her hand but she avoided his touch.

"I'll go home and get you some clean clothes," she said, "my shift starts in an hour and I can't be late. It's this flu going around, there's already too few of us. I can't find anyone to replace me. Will you be all right? Promise?"

He nodded, "l'll be fine."

Tina laid a hand on his wrist, squeezing lightly. "I'm sorry Rick, call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

Warrick knew why she was sorry and it had nothing to do with her shift starting. It tore at his heart but he'd known for some while now this was coming. He had made one mistake after another and now this? Why hadn't he pulled the gun and shot before the perp had time to turn and shoot Nick? Why the hell hadn't he yelled a warning? Why hadn't he moved and pushed the perpetrator to the side, making him miss Nicky? Why hadn't he done anything instead of standing there, staring at the barrel, frozen.

A nurse walked up to them, a questioning expression on her face. "You CSIs?"

Catherine nodded and the nurse handed her a transparent plastic sachet. All Warrick saw was the letters forming Stokes smeared in rust red pressed up against the side. Sliding down from the movement as the nurse extended the bag to Catherine. The letters left a red trail on the inside of the bag. The smell invaded him instantly and the coffee in the mug splashed over the edge and burned as it hit his leg. His hand shivered like in a fit of a seizure and he just stared at the display, frozen.

Twelve hours. That's how long they had waited without much news at all. Twelve hours of wandering the corridors, of Greg drinking hospital coffee and not even smirking, of Sara sitting still with hands clamped together and shoulders slumping and of Grissom constantly walking up to the nurses and asking for news. Twelve goddamned hours of pure hell. Warrick watched them all, needing something to occupy his mind after he had showered and gotten out of the clothes drenched with Nick's blood. Clothes that Cath had bagged as evidence while her hands shook before she went home to check on Lindsey. Seven hours since Nick's folks showed up, pale and drawn, not understanding how this could happen. His mother's 'that's why I begged him to quit the police force' rang in his ears. 'Wasn't there any back-up?' Warrick wanted to wail at the question; yes there had been a swarm of officers but Nick was the one who took the shot because he, Warrick, had frozen. He'd never be able to meet their eyes. Never. Holly, Nick and now Nick again. One of these days he would get Nicky killed, maybe today?

He rose and started pacing again, up and down the corridor, unseeing; just fleeing the tightness in his chest and the shivers creeping up on him again.

Six hours since Brass had him write down a report, one that came out filled with huge gaps because however he tried he couldn't remember. All he remembered was the finger squeezing and the pale face with darkening blood on the front of the vest, covering the name on the pocket. He'd forgotten how the other officer was killed, had no recollection of what happened before that soft sound of the bullet leaving the silenced barrel. He was able to describe the hand that had held the gun in detail; bitten dirty fingernails, a slightly infected sore on the knuckle of the middle finger, edges irritated and red. Nicotine yellowed tips of the fingers, skin almost grayish in tone. Nervous flicker of the finger as it rested on the trigger, the muscles reacting in the same instance it turned towards Nick and pulled.

Brass had looked at him with concern while he described the few things he remembered. The hand, the shot and Nick's face.

He followed the white line of the tiled floor, down to the end of the corridor where the rest of the team sat, turned and walked up to the entrance again. Nick's face following his every step, the memory getting more and more vivid. He remembered the coolness of his skin now, the barely there breathing, the dampness of his skin and the lips slowly turning a tinge of faint blue.

Someone stepped in his path, effectively blocking him. Lifting his eyes from the white line on the floor he saw Grissom's face, his lips moving.

"Huh?"

"He's out of surgery Warrick, he's being taken to the ICU. He'll be on a vent for a day or two but he's still with us. They took his spleen out and repaired the injuries to the left lung, they finally stopped the bleeding from the liver and patched up the ribcage. It's not over yet, he's still very weak but he's still with us."

Grissom must have sensed the shiver running through him but he didn't comment.

"Can I – can I see him?"

"Just through the window," Grissom said. "We can't go in, we're not family." 'The hell I'm not', Warrick wanted to scream, 'I fucking love him!' But he just nodded instead, "I just need to see him."

"Follow me."

Then all of a sudden he found himself in his own bed, doped up on sedatives. Tina told him he'd almost fainted, again. She was in the kitchen now, making him something to eat while his world seemed fuzzy and padded. He didn't remember seeing Nick after surgery, he had no recollection and his mind kept making up pictures of the worst case scenario despite the dullness provided by the medication. All he had some memory of was the lightheadedness and the nausea assaulting him full force and Grissom taking him home while he had to curl his fingers into fists not to give in to the need to kick and scream and puke.

"Warrick," his wife called softly and he sat up, shaking his head to get it clear from the cobwebs invading it.

"Not hungry," he protested, "I need to get back. How long has it been?"

"You've been asleep for five hours only Warrick, you need more rest and you need some food or you're going to get dizzy and nauseated because of low blood sugar all over again. Your boss promised to call if anything happened. You need to eat and sleep, you look awful."

He looked down on the tray containing various packages from his favorite Chinese take-out being gently placed on his lap and still he felt like puking his guts out.

He shook his head, "I'm not bagging z's while my bro is fighting for his life.

"Warrick, please listen to me. I know this is killing you but you getting sick is not going to help anybody. It's all coming back to you isn't it? All that happened to Nick before, you're just not over that and I had no idea it still bothered you to this extent. I'm so sorry Warrick, if I had known I would have done something. I didn't realize, until I saw you at Palms, how much about what happened to him you've kept bottled up. And not just that, there's other things you can't tell me, isn't that right? Because you can't even tell yourself, can you?"

With a glance at his wife's glazed eyes he ate, just to appease her and not get into a discussion. She had been crying, he could tell and he felt guilty.

She didn't sit down by his side, she instead waited standing, her breath a tad uneven; handing him a pill when he was through.

"So you can sleep."

"No, Tina, no more."

"No discussion, just take it." Her eyes flickered with pure anger at his refusal so he caved.

"We'll discuss things later Warrick, when you're up to it."

And he nodded; things had been going downhill since the night he'd spent with Nick. He'd been expecting this for a while because he wasn't able to go back and was drifting away slowly. It was all his fault, from the beginning to the end. Tina was a saint to have been putting up with him for this long. It wasn't fair to her; the marriage had been another of his famous fleeing attempts. Run and nothing will get to you. It always did catch up with him at last. Like with the judge, with his gambling and now with Tina. She deserved so much more than his half hearted presence, she was worth to have it all and he was unable to give her that. "Yeah, we'll sort it out later."

She looked at him, sadness in her eyes. Looked long and hard and her hand cupped his chin. "I wish I could say I wish I were him, but the way he's now -. "

Warrick swallowed and gripped her wrist. "Tina, don't."

"I'm sorry," she spoke softy before she turned and left the room.

In that instance Warrick realized what had attracted him to Tina. She had that same tenor to her voice as Nick did; it hit him like a ton of bricks. He had been looking for someone like Nick all this time, without realizing that what he craved was right besides him all along. No one would become Nick to him, no one would be able to replace him and he had searched and searched and Tina was paying for his failure to understand that it had been right there.

"Nicky!" The name escaped him like a soft groan as he lay down on the pillows again. The claws of medically induced sleep dragging him down to an artificial rest.

The room appeared sterile and cold in the morning light and Nick seemed so small on the bed, and so still. There was a multitude of monitors by his bed, but the sound did not leak out. Warrick wasn't able to see Nick's face behind the mask but the heart monitor was showing a steady, comforting rhythm. His mother sitting on a chair by the window, head bent and hands clasped like in silent prayer. He looked at her, wondering how she felt this, the second time, she'd been called for an emergency. How's she even able to cope? He felt like falling apart and couldn't even begin to imagine how it would feel to lose your child. Nick would, Nick would understand and say the right words.

Grissom walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "How are you doing Warrick?"

"Better than Nicky," he replied and it came out in anger. "Griss, if that punk wasn't already dead I'd like to rip him apart piece by bleeding piece."

"Nick wouldn't want you to," Grissom remarked soberly and Warrick shuddered again.

"He saved my life Griss, I don't much care what he would want right now. I need him to come back to me, to us - and I need to have someone pay for what happened. It shouldn't have gone down that way. What the hell went wrong? Where did that punk come from? Why didn't anybody see him?"

"Nick saw him."

Warrick swallowed hard. "Yeah, he did."

"Warrick, the one you want revenge on is already dead. There's nothing more you can do. We ran his prints; he has a rap sheet raging from robbery to rape. He was let out four days ago, payoff for crucial testimony. But Shaun Mallow might just have signed his own death certificate by testifying. We can't get information on that since it is an ongoing case."

"They let the bastard out?" Warrick said seething, "they made this possible?"

"That's our system, you know that Warrick. A major player on the drug scene may get life instead, that's all I have been able to dig up. But the trial is not even in this state, nor do any of the indicted have any ties to either Nevada, Rohypnol or our legal system."

"And the punk knew it was just a matter of time before he bought it himself?"

"Probably." Grissom's voice was calm and rational.

"The system Nick works for did this to him? Someone's gotta pay Griss. The DA that let this man loose might just as well have pulled the trigger."

"You know it's not true. That man was high on Rohypnol and heroin, he was already dying and you just happened to be in his way."

Warrick turned to look at Grissom. The man's eyes were fixed on their friend in the hospital bed. No emotions revealed on the face of his boss. It seemed he simply stated the fact and moved on.

"But Nick's the one paying."

"And that is eating you alive isn't it?"

He chose not to respond but let his eyes wander back to the room. Nick's mother's eyes bore into his and she rose from her seat and walked towards them. For a moment Warrick feared what she would say; did she know that the bullets slammed into Nick were intended for him? Did she know he had frozen and been useless?

"Grissom, Warrick, you want to see him?"

"If you allow us to, Mrs. Stokes." Grissom spoke, "we don't want to intrude."

"It's Jillian, you know that," she replied, voice sounding oddly worn out and quavering. "You're his family too, I've learned that."

Warrick moved hesitantly to the side to let Grissom pass, not knowing if he really wanted to get a better look, chances were that the truth was after all worse than his imagination. But Grissom's presence behind him urged him forward slowly, until he came to a stop at the railing of the bed. Not before that he lifted his eyes and took a look while his jaws clenched from trying to compose himself.

He let out the breath he'd been holding; his bud was clearly still alive and breathing, if not on his own. He still looked small on that bed, small and vulnerable in a way Warrick had never seen him before. He knew Nick's strength was amazing but still, seeing him this still and pale in contrast to his usual expressive self was enough to jar Warrick's intestines. Nick's eyes were closed with transparent tape, his lashes damp from a thick clear substance protecting his eyes. One IV hooked to his arm, another line fastened under a white compress over his clavical bone. A number of colored cables running from under the blanket to the machines that beeped and wheezed as air was pressed inside of him.

"Oh God, Bro," escaped Warrick and his fingers searched for Nick's. He felt warm to his touch and without thinking Warrick let his fingers move slowly over Nick's slender ones that were bent in a loose and totally relaxed half grip on the sheet, to then wander up his wrist to the soft skin on the inside of the elbow where the palm of Warrick's hand finally came to a rest.

Grissom moved at his side and Warrick's gaze flew from Nick's face to Grissom's. His boss's eyes locked with his and Warrick knew that Griss had seen what Cath already knew; his feelings ran deeper than brotherhood. And it seemed to make the pieces fall in place for Grissom and he smiled sadly while turning his eyes back to Nick.

"Warrick, want to stay here for a while?" Grissom asked.

Warrick looked to Nick's mother, afraid she's refuse but she nodded and Warrick saw fresh tears in her eyes. It sent dampness to his own.

"Yeah." The one word came out garbled and strange sounding.

"I'll find you a chair and leave you be. I'll come by later. Brass needs to speak with you Warrick, I'll send him by. Anything you need?"

He shook his head, content to feel the warmth of Nick's skin against his palm.

"How is he, really?" Warrick asked after Grissom finally left. "They won't tell me anything and I need to know."

He turned to watch Jillian at the sound of a strangled sob. She stood at the window, back to them and Warrick could see her shoulder's trembling. But he didn't want to let go of Nick's arm.

"They're afraid of blood clots, an operation like this always carries risk of an embolus and if it reaches his brain, heart or lungs it's all over. The medication to stop the clotting makes hemorrhage more likely. He had episodes of tachycardia in the ambulance, his blood volume was just too low to let his heart function properly and it might have affected his brain. The EEG is not conclusive, they don't know if there's some minor brain damage due to the disturbed circulation. The transfusions carry a risk and they probably changed his blood twice during surgery. Kidneys are working overtime right now, and his splenectomy makes it harder for him to regenerate the anti-bodies and the red blood cells he so desperately needs right now. He'll always have to remember that, he'll always be in greater risk if hemorrhaging. And he'll probably have to have injections of B12, for the rest of his life. "

Her voice broke and Warrick's head had sunken down to rest on the railing of his bud's bed, his nausea increasing with every word she uttered.

"That is if he survives."

Warrick had to let go and turn to Jillian who was now crying aloud. Crumpled by the window, holding herself with arms tightly pressed around her diaphragm she cried with short pained sobs pressing out of her lungs. Warrick draped his arms around her, gripping the chair she had placed by the window, dragging it along while steering her to sit by her son's bed and holding on to her while he sat down on the stool beside her.

"He had some kind of episode when Catherine was here, his heartbeat rose alarmingly but they don't know why. My son might die any minute and they won't even know what ultimately caused it."

Her voice was low, words coming out punctuated with sobs and to his surprise he felt tears roll down his cheeks and his own voice was raw and garbled when he answered; "No way in hell we're losing Nicky, ain't gonna let that happen. No way in hell." His hand came to rest right below Jillian's on the soft skin of Nick's wrist.

He rose when the door creaked and Nick's father appeared with a doctor in tow. The doctor cleared her throat and looked at him questioningly. "Mr. Brown?"

"Yes." He affirmed, his hand still on Nick's arm.

"Some detectives are asking for you, they are waiting right outside."

"All right." He let his eyes sweep over Nick's face once more; hoping to see some flutter of the eyelids, some movement but there was none. "See ya Nicky," he said and stroked the matted hair that had fallen over the brow to the side.

"Let me know if – if something changes, all right?" He asked without directing it to anybody specific in the room.

"I will, I'll find your number on Nick's cell, right?" Jillian said and her hand came to rest on his arm in a consoling gesture.

"You will, thank you," Warrick mumbled, still not sure if his voice would hold. "I truly appreciate that."

"I know you do," she said and their eyes met for a moment in complete understanding before he rolled his aching shoulders and walked out.

He hadn't taken more than two steps outside the door before he was met by Jim Brass and Nestor Ortega, IAB. The latter looked grim as he spoke with a voice full of disdain.

"CSI Warrick Brown, we have a problem."

"I told you, I went into the alley because I thought some of the shots may have ended up there. We found casings all over the place and it was a shootout so chances were there were more than the ones dead at the scene. The DBs on the street are what's called evidence that the perps stepped out of the cars at some point. The angle in which they were shot is impossible from a car. That is if you're not stupid enough to expose yourself by hanging out of the window and getting up real close. We still don't know how many participated in the showdown, we don't know anything except that there was a kilo of China white and some unidentified pills in the trunk of the car. Nick popped the trunk and decided that the drugs and the car be sent back to the lab with police escort. Then he proceeded to mark the shells and dig out the bullets and I went into the alley."

"So you weren't told to check it out?" Ortega asked.

"I'm CSI 3 – I know what to do on a crime scene." Warrick replied tiredly. This was the second time he had to retell the story and Ortega's fingers still tapped impatiently at the worn surface of the table between them.

"I went in there and Officer Henderson followed, while the rest of the officers, Brass, Michaels and Orlovski radioed in for more help because of the escort situation at hand. I checked the street for shells but couldn't see any but I noticed the dumpster being overfilled and decided to check it out. If in a haste perps throw things and hope they can come get it later, no one in their sound mind goes through a dumpster that stinks like it's infested with the black plague. Henderson started lifting the sacks by the side and I told him to leave everything as it was, in fact I had to tell him three times. The man was constantly yapping about the neighborhood and the hoodlums that needed the chair for polluting the city. I photographed; beginning from the main crime scene and wandering inside. I noticed something reflecting in the flashlight and it seemed metallic, right behind a plastic sack so I photographed and then removed the bag and investigated up close. My head was pretty far inside the litter so I did not have peripheral vision all the time, I needed to leave the possible evidence as undisturbed as possible. Henderson had stopped his endless litany by then and was just muttering. That's when I heard a heavy thumping sound and I told Henderson again to leave the bags alone. The man was constantly lifting them and checking. I got no answer so I rose to see what he was up to and that's when I saw him lying on the other side of the dumpster. I took one step closer and saw that he had been shot point blank in the face and in that exact moment the perp was right behind me, asking me where his stash was."

Warrick felt sweat forming on his brow, the next part was hard. He tried to suppress the image of Nick lying in a pool of blood but that was the most vivid memory he had of the entire incident. The rest was sketchy and he was probably leaving details out. He just wasn't able to recall everything.

"I found myself staring into a Magnum 375 with something that looked like a high-class silencer. Not the thing you expect to find in the hands of a doped up punk that looked like he was about to keel over any time. He was trembling all over but his hand was still and he held the barrel pointed right between my eyes. I didn't really look too closely at his face but I noticed the pinprick pupils, the cold sweat and the shivers and I knew the man was high on a heavy cocktail."

"You deduced that only by looking?" Ortega smirked.

"I deduced as much from the victim's behavior," Warrick continued, shooting Ortega an annoyed glance. "I was looking right into the barrel of a Magnum that was so close I could smell the oil used to clean it. Then I heard Nick yell: 'Drop that gun, lose it' or something to that effect. I can't remember the exact words he used because I saw the perp's finger shiver over the trigger and then he turned and shot. There was no sound at all and he shot once almost simultaneously getting hit in the chest and falling backwards. I think Nick got him right in the heart because he went down like a Douglas fir. I remember the gun falling and skidding over to stop at Henderson's feet. I turned and – and then I saw that Nick was badly hit and bleeding heavily. Officers were all over the place by then, calling for more back-up I think. I didn't hear much at that point. I can't recall anything but sitting with Nick, I remember checking for a pulse and watching him almost bleed dry."

He had to swallow. "I can't remember much after that."

"Well, you say the perp shot once. What I can't understand the is the bullet in the tile wall and the second one the surgeons at Palms dug out of Stokes."

Warrick's head jerked up and he stared dumbfounded at Ortega.

"What I have enormous difficulties in comprehending is that the shot had to have been fired from further down the alley to end up in the angle it was found. And that no one on the scene saw this shooter. Nor can I comprehend that the caliber was what LVPD uses. It gets even more odd as the China white and the unidentified pills were missing from the car as it reached the lab, what was found was a bag of baking flour instead. Driving around with a bag of baking flour is not a crime in this jurisdiction. And how did the tow-truck end up making the voyage without escort and via the impounding lot instead of straight to the lab? What I have even more trouble understanding is that CSI 3, Warrick Brown, watched his partner being shot and never even unholstered his own gun. Or that CSI 3 Nicholas Stokes walked into an alley without checking the status of the crime scene with an officer in situ.

"Hold on a minute," Warrick lifted his hand, "lay it out for me again because I fell off the curb after the 'second shot' comment. I know Nick's mother mentioned it but I thought she had gotten it wrong somehow, the shock and all."

He looked at Ortega, all business but what he was hearing sounded like the tale of a prep boy trying to impress a player. It was simply too out there to be true.

Ortega leaned back and his face was momentarily obscured as the light from the low hanging lamp in the small precinct room they had arrived at over half an hour ago painted a sharp line of contrast between light and darkness on the man's sardonic smile. Then he came back into the light, pinning Warrick to his seat with sharp eyes that registered every emotion in the room.

"CSI Stokes was shot twice and a third round was fired at him on the scene, the bullet was dug out from the wall. The angle indicates a shooter at the back of the alley."

"And it was a department issued caliber?"

"Yes."

Warrick looked over at Brass flanking him while gripping a coffee mug and seeming about to explode himself. "Is he saying that someone took a deliberate shot at Nick? Someone from the force?"

"What I am saying is that there had to have been another officer on scene, further down the alley or these shots would not have been possible. That or it was you that fired, CSI Brown? Maybe in self-defense? Or to stop CSI Stokes picking up on something he wasn't supposed to?"

"Now hold on there Ortega," Brass interrupted, "if you're jumping the gun I'm getting Warrick a lawyer so fast your badge will flap. What's the deal here? You accusing Warrick of something? I told you I want a full investigation on how the tow-truck got mixed orders but I can guarantee you those orders did not stem from either Brown or Stokes. I was with Stokes when he made the call and dispatch has the copy and Brown was - "

"With Henderson in the alley at that time, I know," Ortega made an impatient gesture to stop Brass, as if he were totally disinterested in hearing the detective.

"I just find it odd that he has a self-professed 'sketchy' recollection of the incident. Want to hear my theory? Brown was in on it, his partner just happened to walk in at the wrong time. With his private gun, a gun he got rid f in the commotion. Maybe be caught Brown with the perp, spilling vital information? You might not want to remember such things."

Warrick felt a wave of red-hot rage take his breath away.

"That's because you went from the academy straight behind a desk. You've never been in a situation like this, add to that that Brown worked a double shift and saw his partner getting shot up close and personal."

"He has training."

"Nobody has training for seeing your partner get slugged in the chest," Brass growled, leaning in over the desk and having Ortega retreat slightly in his seat.

Warrick's knuckles were whitening as he struggled to keep his temper in check and not deck the man in front of him.

"Be it as it may, we need CSI Warrick's concise report of what went down in that alley and we need it asap. CSI Warrick Brown is suspended for the time being and is not to have any contact with CSI Stokes." Ortega added while gathering his papers into a binder.

"Nick's unconscious," Warrick protested through gritted teeth, "he's hovering between life and death as we speak. And you're telling me -"

"You are not to visit CSI Stokes, understand?" Ortega clarified.

Something snapped in Warrick and the odd haze he'd found himself in since Ortega spilled about the second shooter turned to an uncontrollable rage and he rose to grip Ortega's collar and pulled him up from his chair. "You can suspend me. You can kick me to the curb but you ain't telling me what to do when Nick's concerned, you hear that you twit?"

Then he let go, turned around and marched out the door while the red fog before his eyes got thicker and thicker. His breath came in short puffs and he had to stop at the end of the corridor, gripping the doorway hard so as not to fall down. He felt Brass's hand on his elbow but shook himself loose and started for the lab, walking half blind and shivering. Next thing he recognized was the locker room and he stumbled inside to lean his head up against the cool metal, banging the door with his fist over and over again.

"Warrick!"

Brass' voice rang as a shot.

"What the hell were you thinking in there? Going off on an IAB agent is not the best course of action, ever."

His fist stopped hammering the door and he turned, the rage having muted into a pain radiating from his knuckles to somewhere deep in his guts.

"Am I suspected of something? Didn't hear no allegations in there, only vague insinuations. If I'm a suspect, dish it out and let me deal with it."

"Sit down," Brass ordered, "I'll fill you in on the rest. You think what you heard was bad? Wait until I paint the whole scene for you and you won't believe it. I'll go get us some coffee 'cause we're gonna need it."

Warrick slumped down on the hard bench, keeping his eye to the floor and shaking his head in disbelief. So there was more? What the fuck was going on and why wasn't he filled in? That was his Nick fighting for his life and he had been on the scene, he might have been where Nick was right now or on Doc Robbins' table and they didn't tell him all they knew? This was his case dammit, he needed this case. What the fuck was really happening here?

"Warrick?"

Grissom voice had him look up. "Griss."

Grissom's voice made him look up

"How's Nicky?"

"You sure you really wanna know?" Warrick replied bitterly.

"Of course. Cath went over there but I can't call her since all cell traffic is off in the ward." Grissom lingered in the doorway.

"Still hanging on," Warrick replied, "just like he would, right?".

"You're gonna have to get you own coffee Gil, my hands are full at the moment. And your protégé here is not making my job any easier." Brass muttered as he squeezed his way past Grissom.

Grissom merely looked over the brim of his glasses at the detective.

"Now," Brass sat himself down at Warrick's side. "It's about time I give you the rundown of the events." He offered the steaming coffee mug and Warrick obliged, not entirely sure he really wanted the full story.

"What Ortega failed to inform you is that all evidence, except for the bullets that Nick provided us with, is gone. "

"Huh?" Warrick almost choked on the hot beverage at the statement.

"The SUV Nick ordered to be towed directly, and under escort, to the lab somehow ended up at the impound. Where it was promptly cleaned out. No one knows how and the security cameras had been taped or moved. Conclusion; they know what they are doing."

"How the -,"

"It doesn't stop there; dispatch received a contra-order, from Nick Stokes, we have it on tape but we can't recognize the voice, probably scrambled enough to be unrecognizable, line was very bad. But dispatch could only recognize it as an order from CSI Nick Stokes and follow it."

"From Nick?" Grissom asked, "why would he-?"

"Someone pretending to be Nick because at that time he was being wheeled to the ER, I checked the time every five seconds while waiting for the ambulance." Brass smirked.

"This really is an inside job then?" Warrick noted a tad shakily. "But why would someone take a shot at Nick?"

"Because he probably saw something he should not have," Grissom pointed out.

Warrick turned hot and cold at the same time.

Brass's cup had halted halfway to his mouth; "And that means Nick can probably identify the perp in question."

"And Nick will need protection," Grissom spoke quietly, "he might still be in danger."

"Thing is," Brass spoke laconically, "we don't know from what or who."

Warrick had gone from cold shivers to downright fear from the tale. "Maybe from someone inside the force? How the hell will we be able to protect him?"

"Got that covered," Brass interrupted, "I'll have Vega, Vartann, Curtis or me constantly sitting by the door and Gil's arranged that someone of you will always be there as extra back-up."

"I gotta get there!" Warrick rose so fast that coffee splashed over the rim of the mug.

"You're suspended," Brass pointed out.

"And under orders not to go near Nick," Grissom added.

"So arrest me," Warrick sneered and walked out of the room.

"They might!" He heard Brass call out after him but he swiftly closed the door on the two men and was out of earshot.

Catherine smirked when she saw him, "Saturn would be envious of those rings."

"Well thank you." Warrick couldn't help but grin at the woman sitting on one of the plastic chairs that Warrick was sure had won awards for the lack of ergonomic features. "Any news?" He nodded to the window where the blinds were closed. "Why are the blinds down?"

"Doctor's in with him," Catherine said, "been there a while now."

"Something happen?"

"Checking his neurological status, I hear it's not so good. Either they have him too heavily anaesthetized or - " she let her voice trail off.

"Shhh," Warrick laid his arm around her drooping shoulders and pulled Catherine closer. "That's Nicky in there. Most stubborn man I've ever met and he's gonna come through this and then he'll kick my ass for not being careful on the crime scene. Wanna bet on it?"

Catherine shook her head, a sad smile forming on her tired face.

"Nicky would," Warrick said, "cos the man can't pick a winner for his life."

The sound of footsteps inside, nearing the door made them rise from their seats and turn expectantly towards the creaking door but they were forced to step back as trolleys of medical equipment were wheeled out of the room.

Warrick shot Catherine a worried glance but she was focused on Jillian talking sotto voce with one of the doctors.

"I wish I knew how to read lips." She remarked, "would come in handy now. Or that Gil was here."

Jillian spotted them and made a gesture in their direction.The physician looked over and nodded. With a last word to Jillian he strode over while the rest of the team hurried to other waiting cases.

"Mr. Brown, Ms. Willows, I guess you want the news too?"

"Please," Catherine breathed but Warrick felt the twinge of insecurity for a brief moment, before nodding. Any news was always better than no news. The physician looked at them both as if gauging how much they could stand. Warrick thought for a moment and felt a cold shill run down his spine. "We're bringing Mr. Stokes out from under total anaesthesia sooner than estimated, he's sensitive to the barbiturates and his pulse is slowing a little too much for our liking. So we will discontinue it and move to A-morphine, better known as Dilaudid. That will allow him to awaken but he'll be relatively pain free."

"But not totally?" Catherine asked.

"Ideally we would have kept him under total anaesthesia for another 24 hours before slowly bringing him to consciousness, to spare him pain. But that can't be done without risks."

"Is there neurological damage?" Warrick asked, his mouth as dry as sandpaper.

"We can't be totally sure before he's conscious and checked by a neurologist but the EEG looked much more promising when we stopped administering barbiturates. His CT was always clean, not indicating any lesions from the asphyxia. But he will be very disoriented when he wakes up."

"It's promising then?" Catherine asked and blinked as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "He will be all right?"

"Mr. Stokes has a lot of healing to do but his prognosis is 80% better than when he was first brought in." The physician smiled at them, "I've read his chart and he's a fighter."

"He is," Catherine whispered, drying her eyes with the heel of her hand. "That's our Nicky. Thank you doctor."

"You're welcome," he replied, "I'd suggest you go take a coffee break meanwhile. A specialist will stay with Mr. Stokes and disconnect him from the vent when he's conscious enough for his own breathing to work to our satisfaction. It may take hours so I suggest you get some rest. Mr. Stokes won't be lucid enough to recognize anybody today but you can always check in on him later."

"We will," Catherine hiccuped, "thank you." The physician left and Catherine sank to sit on the chair, sighing in relief. "He's gonna make it, Rick. He's gonna make it."

Warrick's throat was too tight for him to talk. Catherine craned her neck to look at him and her lips curled into a smile before she reached out and let her thumb run tenderly over his cheek. "Rick, you're crying," she whispered. "it's gonna be all right, everything's gonna be fine," she crooned.

To his astonishment he felt hot dampness slowly trickle down his face.

"Heard you went off on Ortega," Catherine chided him over the coffee. "Not a good move Rick. I really don't know what to do with you men, you have no sense of how to play the game."

"Game?" Warrick replied tersely, "the man was so out of line the field wasn't even in sight any longer."

"You and Gil are politically blind," she sighed, "you just don't know when to shut up do you?"

Warrick glared but decided to take the advice this time and shut up. He let his eyes take in the surroundings of the over-filled cafeteria. People in scrubs replying to beepers and darting out with half-eaten meals left behind on the tables. Families with grumpy toddlers clutched tight, trying to convince them to eat, while occasional tugs of war over spoons and food ended in wails of refusal. Elderly people hovering over a cup of coffee, their tired eyes fleetingly observing the chaos to then sink down to their meals. It seemed such a normal day. Warrick idly wondered how many had loved ones fighting for their lives while downing the same brew he was trying to swallow, with little success.

"What I just don't get is why Gil doesn't demand to get this case. It was ours to begin with and after hearing how dayshift is handling this, I just don't get it" she continued, poking around aimlessly at her salad.

"What ya mean?" Warrick looked at the plate with the bread roll in the plastic wrap and literally saw the myriad of bacteria roiling therein.

"Jillian told me O'Connor from dayshift came around asking for Nick's cell but didn't have either identification or a warrant with him. Jillian refused to hand it over, I would have done the same. It just isn't professional to forget your ID when you're on a case."

"What?" Warrick's head started pounding, "why didn't they take it at the scene if they needed it?"

"Nick had it in his vest pocket and it was the paramedics that retrieved it and gave it to Jillian." Catherine said. "You know what a mess that scene was. I don't think anybody was functioning on a rationally after Nick went down. I heard even Brass was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Rumor has it he didn't even take your gun at the scene, did he?"

Warrick glared, "I don't remember and you're starting to sound and awful lot like IAB. Career change?"

"Hell no," Catherine shook her head. "Just looking out for my favorite guys and this case isn't making any sense. Why would O'Connor come barging into the ICU causing a ruckus and not leave word at the nurses' desk?"

"That don't sound like O'Connor," Warrick pointed out, "sure it really was him?" His paranoia had started to work big time by now. "Did you know someone called from a disposable cell, pretending to be Nick, giving counter- orders for the tow-truck? Said an escort wasn't needed after all. Voice unrecognizable."

"What?" Catherine's fork fell into the bowl of salad. Her eyes narrowed and her hand fished for something under his line of vision.

"Uhm-mm," Warrick nodded before swallowing the mouthful of bleak and bitter concoction described as coffee on the price list, "how much do you know?"

Catherine wasn't listening, holding her cell to her ear she looked impatient, drumming her fingers against the table. "O'Connor. It's Willows, I need some information. – About Nick's case – yes, I know you're handling it but stay with me, did you come over to Desert Palms looking for his cell?" Catherine's face tensed as she lifted her gaze to meet Warrick's. "Ok, that's all I need – No, I'll take care of it." She stared at the phone in her hand while closing it. Her voice was just above a whisper when she spoke. "O'Connor was never here."

Warrick stared at her for a moment, incomprehension shadowing the green eyes and making his hand tremble slightly as they held on to the edge of the table. Then, without a word they both rose and half ran to the ICU. Warrick casting a glance over his shoulder in a spout of paranoia. They rounded the corner to the ICU simultaneously, stopping dead in their tracks at the sight of the empty chair that should hold a detective.

"What the hell?" Warrick spat at the sight but Catherine was already on her way to Nick's room. She yanked the door open with force, hand on her weapon and breath running unevenly, Warrick taking three long strides to catch up. Three pairs of startled eyes met them as they burst in.

Vega was the first to regain his bearing. "What's the big rush?" he asked, taking in their air of full-fledged anxiety.

"Change of the guards?" Catherine asked and Vega nodded. Warrick leaned against the doorway, trying to gather himself.

"Is something wrong?" Jillian asked and Catherine took the opportunity to ask for Nick's cell phone.

"Sure I still have it, but the battery died. I don't have his PIN code," she said, walking to her purse and rummaging for it. "Why do you need it? Did that other CSI tell you why they are looking for it?" she asked, handing it over to Catherine.

Catherine threw Warrick a glance over her shoulder, unsure about how much to tell Nick's mother. The woman had enough on her mind anyway.

"I need a moment with the two of you," Vega interrupted and with a smile in the direction of the baffled nurse and Mrs. Stokes he ushered them out of the room. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked as the door shut behind them.

Vega looked anything but pleased at their tale. "I thought you were suspended," he grumbled in Warrick's direction.

Warrick pretended not to hear.

"You take that cell to day shift Willows, understand?" he turned to Catherine and she nodded, making Warrick's heart sink.

"Sure thing," Catherine replied, "I better be going, have to check if I still have a daughter. Haven't seen her in days. I'll swing by the lab before I go home and get some sleep. Sara should be here any minute now and I'll take off when she arrives."

"You look like hell, Warrick," Vega remarked, "shouldn't you be getting some shut-eye too?"

"Later." Warrick promised, his eyes on Catherine who was making signs behind Vega's back. Signs that said she was going nowhere near day shift with Nick's phone, Archie was the one that would process it with Catherine right at his side. Warrick sent a look of pure gratitude Catherine's way when Sara rounded the corner and stopped in her tracks. "Something wrong?" she asked, echoing a question that had somehow become standard among the CSIs. "How's Nick? Can I see him?"

Nick. Warrick turned and looked into the room. Somehow he had forgotten about the man inside the room in all the commotion. "I don't know," he said, guilt washing over him at the instant he realized he hadn't even asked, just barged in demanding his cell phone. What fucking kind of a friend was he?

"I'm taking off," Catherine said, waving her hand as she walked out with a last look at Warrick.

"You don't know?" Sara asked baffled, "where have you been these past hours?"

"Investigating," Vega smirked.

"Investigating what?" Sara's eyes narrowed, "it's not our case Warrick."

"But he's our Nick," Warrick retorted, "I'm just looking out for him, that's all."

"You're suspended," Sara reminded him.

"You never get suspended from being a friend." Warrick felt his anger starting to rise at Sara. She was about to respond when the door opened and the nurse followed by Jillian stepped out.

Jillian laid a hand on Warrick's arm; "Can I ask a favor?" Her voice sounded pleading and Warrick replied by nodding. "My husband can't get a continuance in his case. He needs to get back today and I'm going to drive him to the airport. Can you stay with Nick until I get back?"

"I will," he promised, "Mrs. Stokes, you should get some sleep, you look exhausted."

Jillian looked into the room she'd just left, "I don't think I can."

"I'll be here , I'll call if something happens. Not that I'd let anything happen to Nick on my watch." He forced a smile.

"Thank you Warrick," Jillian smiled tiredly, squeezing his arm gently. "Ms. Sidle," she acknowledged and with a last glance and a sigh walked away.

"What a relief," Sara let out.

"Huh?"

"I thought I was invisible there for a while." She said, following Warrick into Nick's room. She stopped just inside the door and tears welled in her eyes when she watched Nick surrounded by all the equipment and the monitors beeping. "He looks so small." She blurted out, voice trembling. "God, Nicky." Walking up to the bed she laid a hand on Nick's shoulder, murmuring something Warrick couldn't make out. Warrick felt a pang of jealousy at the tone of Sara's voice. No one should say Nicky like that, no one except him. As that thought flew through his mind he had to sit down on the stool beside Nick's bed. His protective nature where it concerned Nicky startled him and he shook his head at his out of control thought processes. Truth be told; he felt like hovering over Nick and growling at anybody touching him. The need to protect Nick wasn't new; he had always felt that deep inside but right now it pushed away everything else.

He laid his hand over Nick's where it still lay limp on the crisp white sheet. The tubes were gone but an oxygen mask covered his face, a strand of hair had gotten caught under the band keeping the mask in place and Warrick reached out to free it. His skin was warm but the pallor was still alarming. "You're scaring me, bro." No reaction. "Blink if you hear me man. Just flutter your lashes if nothing else. I know you can do that. Bro, just lemme see something."

Nothing.

He closed his eyes and squeezed the hand under his. "Shit, bro, I want you back." His voice failed him and his throat felt thick and sore. There was a lot he wanted to tell Nick but right now he was unable to get the words out without crumpling under their weight.

Sara looked long and hard at him but Warrick didn't care. They sat in silence for what seemed like ages. Nick was unmoving but his breath ran evenly. Warrick never let go of his hand and Sara's hand rested protectively on the opposite shoulder. A nurse wandered in every ten minutes, checking on his vitals and nodding at them as she left again and the silence underneath the beeping and buzzing of technology was stifling.

"You know," Sara broke the silence. "He gave me this lecture once about not being indestructible. You think he forgot that?"

"That's just Nick. He reacted to save me and look where it got him."

"Sometimes he pisses me off to no end but when you need something, he's always there, you know. Like a brother of sorts. He even tried to set me up on a date with one of his friend once." Sara giggled. "Hey Nicky, I can get my own dates, you hear?"

"He was just looking out for you, save you from that one sided marriage to the lab you're sporting."

"And who's gonna save him?" Sara asked, her giggle getting suspiciously thick and garbled. When Warrick lifted his eyes he saw that Sara wasn't giggling anymore, she was choking back sobs and failing miserably at sounding chipper. "You think he's cold?" she wondered shakily, hand moving to Nick's bare skin, "he's shivering."

Warrick grasped Nick's hand tighter as he waited, talking to him, reciting old scores and ribbing him about bets lost. He talked for what seemed like hours and suddenly, so unexpectedly that he wasn't sure it was real, he felt a tiny movement and was up on his feet

"Nick? Bud? Open your eyes. That's it Nicky, you'll be fine. Call the doc Sara!" Warrick saw the fluttering of his eyelids, sensed the slight tremor in the hand under his own. "Hey bro, it's all right. You're safe." He gripped the hand, clasping it in his like he was trying to physically lift Nick out of unconsciousness.

Warrick grinned like a fool when Nick's eyes opened to narrow slits, pupils dancing under the partly closed lids, trying to focus. "That's it bro, I'm right here," he said when cloudy brown eyes focused on his. "Shit Nicky, love you man!" The brown eyes searched for his and locked with his own, where tears had started to form again. "That's it Nicky, that's my main man."

When Nick's fingers squeezed his in reply he actually chuckled. His mirth was cut short at the look in the brown eyes starting to lose focus on him; they changed expression from relief to fear before long lashes started to obscure the depth of the emotion. Warrick held on to the hand, trying to gauge if Nick was coherent or not. "Hey bro, it's all right," he crooned.

Sara's finger was still on the alert button and her eyes darted between the two men.

Nick made an attempt to move his hand to the mask covering his face, but the effort was too much and he closed his eyes with a pained groan.

"Stay still, stay still." Warrick crooned, alarmed at the obvious discomfort he was able to read on his friend's face. Tears pooled in Nick's eyes, breath beginning to run unevenly . The heart monitor had picked up speed and Warrick glanced desperately at the door, mentally screaming for medical personnel to come in and offer aid.

Nick tried to move and Warrick looked back trying to keep him calm but Nick seemed desperate to say something. His lips moved under the mask, hand feebly squeezing Warrick's and sweat was forming on his temples.

"What's wrong?" Warrick asked, his own heartbeat rising at the sight of Nick's struggle to form words. When Nick's lips moved again he lifted the mask to hear the faint whisper behind the sound of oxygen streaming into Nick's lungs.

"Ce-" was all he heard but that was enough.

"Your cell-phone? We got it man, Catherine's on it, no worries."

Nick closed his eyes just as the horde of medical personnel Warrick had been praying for finally made their appearance and Warrick was more or less pushed outside with a frantic Sara to meet up with a slightly pissed off Vega.

"What's up?" the latter asked with a frown.

"What was he trying to say Warrick?" Sara demanded, gripping his arm. "What's going on?"

"Nick may know too much for his own good," Warrick replied, "stay here, don't let anybody without an ID into that room and call me if something happens."

"Where are you going?" she called out after him but received no answer. "Exactly what's going on?" he heard the detective ask as he ran down the hallway.

He wished he knew.

He had to get out of there before he broke down and started bawling his eyes out in front of Sara. He'd made enough of a freak show of himself the last couple of days as was. This emotional roller-coaster of a life was really not up his alley, it wasn't even in his neighborhood. He had to keep going, if he stopped his thoughts continually turned to the emotional knock-out that was Nick's current situation. Keep your mind off Nicky you dumb-ass, mind off of him and on the case.

He glanced at the clock on the wall before exiting the hospital and heading for his SUV, finger on the re-dial button for the third time. It was four hours until the start of graveyard shift and Catherine wasn't answering. He decided to change strategy and go directly to the source. One eye on the road ahead and the other on his cell he searched for Archie's number, hoping to get to him before he got to work. Easing out of the parking spot he grumbled a low curse when nobody picked up at the first ring. Where the hell was everybody?

"Johnson."

"Archie!" He drove with one hand on the wheel, nearly ramming a parked car at the sudden answer. He was seeing double by now and really shouldn't be behind the wheel. "Hey, it's Warrick, look when you get to work Cath's gonna give you Nick's cell and I need you to -?"

"Yeah, oh it's you. Well, Grissom's here and I can't get to your case before I've checked out this B and E."

"Oh, you at the lab already?" he had to stomp on the brake to keep from running a red light and cursed himself for his lack of concentration. "I'll come over and help –"

"No Catherine, no need. I'm on it. I just got here, Grissom called me in, he's here helping me with the B and E so I really don't need you, I'm handling it just fine."

"Oh, I see; that B and E is really Nick's case isn't it? And Griss has given you orders to keep me out of the lab?"

"Uh, something like that, yeah."

"And you can't talk right now."

"That's right."

"Ok, Archie, I get the message. Just phone me when you've processed it and have some answers for me, will ya?"

"I will, simmer down, you sound stressed out."

"Gee, thanks, I had no idea you could tell that from a brief conversation like this." Warrick smirked. "Cath's been yapping?"

"Yeah."

"Night." He closed the phone and took the next left to head home. Home? The thought hit him. He hadn't phoned Tina in days and he vaguely remembered promising to sort things out. Most of the time his cell phone had been off anyway – ICU regulations were explicit on that subject. Great, he was shutting out his wife and right now he had no energy to straighten anything out. What he really wanted was some shut eye, Nick back on his feet and in his bed.

"Shit," he gave the steering wheel a slap. However hard he tried he wasn't able to block Nick out of his mind. No wonder his wife was leaving him; even now in the midst of chaos all he could think about was getting his best friend into bed. He needed his head examined, that little embarrassing fact was practically written on the wall. "You do not miss five of your wife's calls," he chided himself out loud while turning into his driveway and noticing forlornly that the apartment was dark and seemingly empty.

He gathered himself and dialed Tina's number while still in the car and was promptly informed that 'this phone cannot currently be reached'.

Tina had turned her phone off.

Warrick leaned back and closed his eyes. Right now everything seemed to be tumbling down like his Gram's tuna soufflé on Christmas Eve. Happened every time and still Gram had never given up and it had become a yearly tradition; seeing it slowly sinking into a heap of sogginess in approximately 10 minutes after leaving the oven. It was a memory he held tight to his heart. Silly little things like that always stuck with him. Like what Gram had said about Nick the first time she'd met him so many years ago; "One hunk of a man with all the right toppings". He smiled to himself remembering, Gram had such a way with words. A very odd way at times but they succeeded in painting pictures he'd never forget. He missed her terribly.

With a sigh he exited the car and walked up to the apartment he shared with his wife. And his lousy conscience tagged right along behind him, a companion he had become very used to as of late.

A beeline to the fridge had him scarfing down the rest of a casserole before his jacket was off. He couldn't even remember when he had eaten last and hunger was making his insides rejoice at the sight of leftovers. What he needed was some food, a shower and a nap and he'd be fit to go again.

The kitchen looked tidy, letting him know that Tina had been here to pick up his slack and his conscience knocked on his shoulder once again. He wasn't even surprised when he found the envelope on the kitchen table, never batted an eyelash as he took in the header on the official sounding papers therein. He had been served the papers for a speedy divorce. After barely a year of marriage; Gram would be so proud, he groaned. Tina wasn't asking for anything other than her apartment back and freedom. It would be over fast. If he didn't make a fuss about it and why would he? He knew it was all his fault and that his bond with Nick had somehow taken over even this relationship. And yet, he'd been unable to get his head out of his ass and do something about it. But it still left a bitter taste in his mouth, he had failed at something he had hated his own parents for failing at. He'd be willing to try again, he truly would. But another characteristic Tina shared with Nick was stubbornness, an un-yielding trait he himself had been accused of harboring at times. They had tried, but they kept drifting apart and it was all his fault, he wasn't the open-minded person he thought he was. When he loved someone he wanted it all, mind, body and heart and it had turned out to be Nick he wanted that way.

It was the yellow post-it attached to the envelope that threw him.

'I'll be staying with a friend for a week.
Please evacuate by that time.
Call if you need anything,

Tina.

Neat and concise.

'Evacuate'.What a word, he thought to himself as he walked into the bathroom, feeling oddly numb. Like he was some kind of foreign force occupying disputed terrain. Did she want him to beg? Crawl on his knees and ask for forgiveness? That just was not in him. And it wasn't in Tina either. She had made up her mind and was ready to deal with the consequences. A notion he was still battling with.

He looked in the mirror over the sink and barely recognized himself. The rings under his eyes truly would make Saturn glow green with envy.

Then he emptied the bathroom of all signs of him into a bag and finally took the shower he had been needing for what seemed like days. He'd pack a bag, find a place to stay and deal with the consequences. One at a time. But first, a night's sleep and then he'd be able to see things much clearer.

The cell phone shrilled and he wasn't even fully awake before he had it at his ear. "Brown."

"You better get here Warrick, now!" The frantic voice raised over loud, panicked voices and screeching sounds on the other end had his eyes open wide but taking in nothing but foggy surroundings. Trying desperately to shake the veils of sleep he shook his head and focused on the bright red spots to his right. When the spots finally materialized into digits he realized that the alarm showed 4:07 a.m.

"Sara?"

There was a cacophony of sounds and orders; Sara must have moved the cell just enough to let the pandemonium she apparently was surrendered by leak in. "Step away," she barked, "LVPD, this patient needs oxygen!"

Warrick was already running for the door while trying to get his clothes on.

The scene was a mess, fire trucks blocking the entrance; lights still blinking and casting bluish jolts of light over the asphalt. Security guards trying to stop him at the entrance, looking skeptically at his CSI tag. He simply glared and pushed his way through. Stepping inside he felt like the smell of smoke hit him square in the face, but there was no actual smoke seeping from under the doors. The ICU was on the second floor right above the ER and he made his way to the stairwells and was promptly stopped by a fireman yanking hard at his arm.

"Step away!"

Flashing his ID he tried to gain access again.

"Listen, the fire is not under control yet, we're checking out the electrical system. You won't be safe."

"Anybody up there still? Got 'em all out?"

"All out, this ER is closed and the patients have either been moved to ordinary wards or right here in the ER. It'll take us a couple of days to clear this mess."

"Arson?" Warrick asked.

"You betcha," the fireman responded grimly before his intercom signaled and he left Warrick standing there, with a thousand questions unanswered.

Turning he watched the frantic scurrying of personnel at the end of the hall that led into the wing that held the ER. He approached holding his ID visible, looking for someone in charge. At the front desk he found a nurse with frazzled hair trying to cope with multiple phone calls all at once. Looking around he found a rack of charts and went directly for the letter S. Nick's wasn't there.

"Hey!" The nurse held the phone from her ear and cast daggers in his direction.

"CSI Brown, I'm looking for Nicholas Stokes."

The nurse peered to get a better look at his ID before she looked at a paper in front of her.

"They're working on him exam room 2," she said, pointing further down the corridor and returning to her call.

Working on him? His mouth went dry and he remained staring at the nurse for a moment. Needing to know why they were working on him? Complications with the injuries? Injuries from the fire? Smoke inhalation? But the desk nurse didn't bestow him with another glance. With an increasing sense of alarm he maneuvered himself further down the aisle, trying not to block the path of medical equipment being pushed by stressed out personnel snapping at him.

He spotted Sara standing outside a room with the doors shut, her arms crossed over her chest and her face drawn.

"Sar!" He lunged to reach her and she looked at him, startled. There was an expression of rage and fear mixed in her eyes as they met his.

He steeled himself to look inside the room. Not really knowing what to expect. Nick was back on the vent, his face covered from the shunts pumping air into him and blood pressure cuffs on both his arms, a third IV line inserted.

"He was cramping all the way down," Sara spoke, "so hard the entire bed shook. It went on and on before they figured out what the cause was. He wasn't getting any air and ripped out his IV in the process. I thought we'd lose him right there and then. Doc says he probably injured his lung further during the seizures. The ribs snapped again and they don't know if the lungs punctured because his polsox keeps dropping. If it is he's gonna need another operation and he's so weak they don't know if he can take the strain. They're waiting on the equipment to assess him because he can't be moved in the state he is right now."

Warrick moved his hand to cup Sara's elbow, not entirely sure if he was steadying her on holding himself up.

"They keep pumping glucose into him with a rapid infuser but his level keeps sinking far too low, it was 30 when they found out why he was cramping. The dosage was huge. Another seizure and…." Her voice trailed off into a sob.

Warrick's head was reeling. Glucose level and seizures?

"Sara, what?"

"I didn't realize Warrick, I felt the smoke in the hallway and this male nurse came in and injected him, told me it was a sedative. I had to keep Nick down because he was getting agitated when the fire alarm went off, he nearly crawled off the bed. It was because he didn't use the IV line to administer it and the fact that he smelled of smoke that it finally dawned on me. I tried to stop him but I didn't dare shoot with everything that was going on and Vega was called away to get the portable 02 for Nick. It happened so fast and he slipped away. I didn't even see him clearly 'cos the lights went out."

"Sara, back up a step here, injected him with what?" Warrick realized Sara was close to a breakdown, her rambling was totally out of character and it seemed she kept up her litany of cold facts to avoid letting the fact that this was Nick get to her.

"Insulin." She stated curtly and a small shiver ran through her.

"Someone injected him with insulin?" Warrick asked incredulously. "They got to him right here?"

Sara nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. "Fast acting Humalog the doctor suspected. It takes around 10 minutes to take effect, Much faster of course in a person that doesn't suffer from diabetes and has a normal glucose level, peaks at approximately one hour and the duration is up to four hours. With the massive dosage he would have been dead in 20 minutes. I have the syringe."

"You what?"

"I picked it up off the floor but I didn't have gloves on. I think I might have destroyed all possible fingerprints."

She uncrossed her arms and brought a shaking hand forth for Warrick to see. In her hand, wrapped in a paper towel lay the 50 ml syringe used in the attempt to once again take Nick's life.

"Did you know they de-railed the ambulance?" she continued. "They would have been closer, by 10 minutes to the Sunrise but somebody called them en route and directed them to Desert Palms. Somebody wanted him here Warrick." Sara's voice had turned laconic and Warrick realized she was slowly unraveling.

He looked back inside the room, the blood pressure now alarmingly high and swift movements blurred his view as Nick's body cramped and medication was pushed into his IV line. Even from here Warrick was able to see the sweat gleaming on Nick's pale skin while his body seemed to be in a constant state of tremors.

"His liver has to work overtime, counteracting the insulin with glucagon, but with that massive dose it does very little anyhow," Sara continued in the same eerily emotionless voice. "They need to keep his epinephrine levels elevated and that takes a toll on his heart, add to that the risk of brain damage if the glucose level drops under 40 for any length of time. It's a hormone you know, artificially manufactured as early as in the 1920s, used primarily for the treatment of Diabetes type 1 but it was used instead of ECT's as late as in the 50s. Didn't do a very good work though so they stopped the use as soon as the revolutionary psych meds were approved in 1958. But before that they tried to cure depressions by inducing hypoglycemic shock, they give the entire nervous system a jolt and..."

"Sara," Warrick spoke with a raspy voice, desperate to get her mind off the track it seemed to have gotten stuck on.

She took a deep breath, her exhale quivering and rushed. The arms back around her chest, like holding herself together. Another deep breath and her voice came out in angered rushes as she spoke.

"He can't die on my watch, I won't allow it. It was all my fault Warrick. I just can't lose him like this. Not while I was supposed to watch over him, not ever!" Sara's voice finally broke and Warrick scooped her into his arms when huge sobs wracked her body.

Warrick was thrown off base by the outburst. He could handle the anger and the resentment oozing off Sara but he had no idea what to do with the tears, so he did nothing, except stood there in silence. It seemed they had been standing there for hours, Sara slowly gathering herself and his eyes glued to the scene behind the window pane. But the clock inside the exam room told him it had only been ten minutes. Ten ghastly minutes during which he had inwardly cursed, begged and tried to bribe what he expected was something akin to God. His thoughts were a complete jumble and a sickening lump was lodged in his throat.

A nurse came up, carrying IV bags and casting a glance at Sara hunched over, leaning on Warrick's shoulder. "Need any help?" she asked.

Still holding on to Sara, Warrick asked for a chair.

"You'd be better off in the waiting room," she remarked with her hand already on the door knob.

"No!" Sara spat, shaking her head.

With a last glance for guidance at Warrick she hollered for someone named Auriello to bring chairs before she slipped into the room, briefly letting the beeps and voices seep out before she closed the door.

Suddenly all lights flickered on and the green exit signs dimmed and the corridors were bathed in bright lights as if the entire hospital was jump started. Two rickety plastic chairs were pushed towards them and Warrick unceremoniously placed Sara in one of them.

When he looked up he saw Gil Grissom standing before him, visibly shaken. Catherine behind him, walking up and placing her palms on the window pane. "Nicky? What's happening?"

"Someone got to him," Warrick stated bitterly. "Right here, where you're supposed to be safe, someone got to him."

"Where's Vega?"

Warrick blinked at the question. Indeed where was the man and why hadn't he asked for that very pertinent information himself? And in the same moment he felt resentment; why would Grissom ask for Vega before wanting to know about Nick?

"Nick's hanging in there, by the way, if someone's vaguely interested." He grunted, his growing irritation heavily underlining the sarcasm.

"We know," Catherine said, her hands still on the window pane, her eyes never leaving the trauma room. "The nurse filled us in."

"He left to investigate as soon as we got Nicky down here and under care." Sara chimed in with a surprised glance at Warrick. "He's trying to find out how the fire started, and get a list of the personnel on duty. Not that I think it will do us any good but -."

"So what do we know?" Grissom asked, his eyes on Warrick, the air of logical investigator back on track.

"I found out that the ambulance was re-routed here, was closer to Sunset but dispatch ordered differently. I don't get that," Sara said, "Nick was bleeding dry and they take him to a hospital 10 minutes further away?"

"Needs to be investigated further," Grissom nodded. "Cath, you up to talking to the EMTs?"

Catherine simply nodded.

"Why insulin?" Warrick asked, "why on earth not take a more directly killing substance? It's a hospital and I know they have more potent drugs if you need to off somebody."

"Valid point," Grissom agreed, "there's actually two theories for that. Either it was the job of an amateur that was unable to get a hold of drugs that would kill in an instant, somebody with some familiarity with the routines of a hospital but not access to narcotics. Or somebody that wouldn't want to be traced so easily. Insulin is hard to trace in the body, it is a natural hormone after all and it takes complicated tests to pinpoint which brand was used."

Sara looked up, her laconic voice getting new life. "It could be anybody, insulin is not a narcotic, it's not lethal if not misused. You need a prescription but with the amount of insulin sold it will take us months to interrogate everybody with access to insulin. What if it was stolen? Oh God, we're nowhere at all."

Grissom looked at the woman slumping on the chair. "On the contrary, we know someone wants Nick dead and that already gives us the upper hand. We can deduce he saw something he shouldn't have. What the perp doesn't know is that he was resourceful enough to photograph what he found odd with his cell phone."

"What exactly?" Warrick asked, "what was there that is enough to kill for?"

"Nick probably recognized the man letting the former FBI agent that skipped ship out of a car at the scene, probably with his gun drawn considering the odd reflection from the streetlight. We were able to ID the man as a Timothy Welder, former FBI that went under cover to unveil how the mob's able to flood the streets with flunitrazepam. He jumped ship six months ago and FBI's been looking for him ever since."

"Rohypnol?" Warrick was stunned, "FBI?"

Grissom merely nodded. "Problem is that Nick's photo does not give us a clear enough picture of the man driving the rental car, but he probably recognized him and that's why he snapped that photo. It is very blurry and all zoomed in and the quality of a cell phone photo is never the same as with a digital camera. But there's a date and a time stamp on the picture so it will hold up in court and together with Nick's testimony it's bound to scare the man driving the SUV enough to want to get rid of Nick." He was silent for a moment, studying the man in the exam room pensively. Then he turned and met their stunned gazes. "I have to go call Jillian and let her know what is happening. They are not letting civilians in yet. Then I'll go find Vega and see what he's got for us. Catherine, you'll take care of the EMTs as soon as possible?"

"I'm on it," Cath nodded, turning away from the screen. "Sara; Sofia and Greg are coming in and somebody is gonna take you home for some rest."

"No way, I'm not leaving Nick."

"Sara, you're no use to the case if you're not rested and sharp." Cath protested. "You've been here –"

"This is not a case, it's Nick!" The look she bestowed Catherine was full of indignation and rebellion.

"Sara, Nick's involved in a case that we need to solve in order to keep him safe. The sooner we get leads that get us information on what the hell is going on the sooner Nick will be safe. Get it?"

Sara looked away but nodded in resignation and Catherine left with a determined stride.

Warrick's head was still reeling from the information and he sank down on the stool besides Sara. "The fucking FBI?" he groaned, rubbing his face with his palms.

"Don't go getting paranoid on me Warrick," Sara mumbled, "I'm already seeing ghosts behind every corner as is."

Warrick raised his eyes to meet Sara's, wondering idly if their current affliction was contagious.

Warrick had sat and risen about fifteen times before Greg and Sofia showed up. The scene inside the trauma room was not altering for the better evidently and his irritation kept growing. Nick was still laying there, BP elevated and occasional shudders rattling the gurney. No one had briefed them and Warrick had to steel himself not to rush into the room and demand some answers. When they hooked a pack of blood to Nick's IV he felt like imploding. The need to lash out coincided with Sofia's question how Nick was doing.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he heard himself wheeze and immediately sank back to the stool, shaking his head at himself. "I dunno, I just dunno!"

"Jesus Rick," Greg admonished, "was that necessary?"

"Sorry," Warrick sighed, " just took you guys long enough to get here."

"Greg, go get Warrick and Sara something to eat." Sofia ordered calmly, "I'll stay here and wait until you're back and then you can take Sara home to rest." Then she just walked into the room and left Warrick with his mouth slightly open. He witnessed her showing her badge and talking to one of the physicians. Then her hand reached to rest on Nick's trembling leg and she looked at him, nodding to encourage full debriefing.

Warrick berated himself for not doing the same, what was wrong with him? Here he sat, slowly going crazy and obviously not thinking very straight. It hit him like a baseball bat to his chest and he hitched for breath as Sofia stepped out and closed the door behind her.

"You okay Brown?" she inquired with a slight frown.

"Yeah, how's Nick?"

"Better, only approximately 20 minutes left till the insulin has lost it's full effect and one problem is solved. They won't have to use Glucagon or the rapid infuser to keep it up any longer, glucose in the IV will suffice. They've had to administer enormous amounts of Glucagon and epinephrine so he probably be kept under for an other hour or two. They don't want him to puke his guts out with the stitches and all."

"Do they know if it's caused him any injuries?" Sara asked, her hands fiddling nervously in her lap.

"Won't know until he wakes up and they can assess him properly. Good news is that the vein seems to have sustained the cramps but the liver is another story and they need to give him more blood to counteract the red cell loss. He's on heavy edication to stop the leaking from his liver right now."

"Why is he shivering?" Warrick asked, hearing his own voice petulant to his surprise.

"They're keeping his temperature down to aid in the combat of possible infection and neuro-cellular damage. He's probably just freezin' and they will bring his temperature up to normal with the transfusion."

"Sounds very high tech," Warrick grumbled and instantly felt his limbs go terribly cold and weak.

"Sit down before you keel over," Sofia ordered harshly, "you look like hell Warrick."

Warrick searched for a suitable comeback but found none and decided to keep his mouth shut in case his teeth would be chattering. That would make a very counter productive statement regardless of any fitting vocabulary.

"Sorry" Greg appeared with two cups of coffee and a bundle under his arm. "Had to go on a veritable hunt for any food in this place. So how's Nick?"

"Sara'll fill you in," Sofia ordered, "now scoot the two of you and Greg, before you turn back stop by the lab and fill them in on the situation."

Despite his trembling fingers Warrick managed to send a glare in Sofia's direction. A glare she blatantly ignored. "I'd love to be filled in myself," he let out, the irritation and anger still evident in his voice.

Sofia looked closely at him and Warrick got the sensation she was trying to sugarcoat something.

"Don't," he said shaking his head, "just tell me what's going on."

Sofia sank to the chair beside him and sighed, "you're suspended, I shouldn't –"

"Hey," Warrick barked, "that's my friend in there and I'm the one he told about the cell phone. If you have any consideration for Nick -"

"All right, all right," Sofia lifted a hand to stop the indignant litany. "All we know is that the fire was started with trash and a Molotov cocktail in a generic bottle, one partial fingerprinted miraculously saved off of one of the splinters; not much of leads to be found there. The important thing is that the surveillance cameras were effectively blackened out thanks to the very capable disconnection of the power feed for certain circuits, among them the circuits for the sprinkler system. Hence, the culprit, or somebody that works with him has knowledge about technology and this hospital. It was done in a very short time so the theory is that there has to be more than one involved."

"There's a pro involved," Warrick groaned.

"It's worse," Sofia interjected. "I suspect we have a leak in PD."

Warrick's head shot up, "Why?"

"Because when we contacted FBI they denied any involvement but they knew Nick's name. And that piece of information has not been given anywhere but this hospital and PD. And the attempt on Nick's life came after we logged his cell-phone with the photo as evidence. That piece of information is only accessible to anyone that can tap into our system."

Sofia was silent for a moment, twisting her hands while Warrick's head reeled.

"I think this is bigger than we imagine," she finished, letting her eyes rest on Warrick.

"So in fact, what you're saying is 'Trust no one'."

"Yes."

Warrick rose to look into the trauma room and the chill took a more insisting grip on him. "We know nothin'," he said with his eyes fixed on Nick on the stretcher. Still trembling and the nurse by the side of the gurney wiping the face Warrick was desperate to see and gauge his friend's true status. "All we know is that someone wants Nick dead and probably will try again. Where the next attempt will come from or how to stop it we seem to have no idea." He paused and felt the exhaustion tug at him with terror and exhausted resignation in its wake. "It's like chasing ghosts."

Sofia rose and laid a hand on his arm to calm him down.

"And I have this nasty feeling we'll lose this time around," he added and rested his brow up against the cool surface of the window pane. "You can't predict without a fucking theory on what's to come."

And the image of Nick's limp body with the blood soiled shirt covering a hole in his chest came back to haunt him till his breath ran uneven.

Vega appeared when Warrick was battling the tiredness that seemed to have crept into his very bone structure, making his spine feel alien and stiff to him where he sat slumped on the chair. Aching to lie down and close his eyes to escape for a while. Guilty for even thinking that when his bud still hadn't come out of the exam room and certainly was not resting peacefully. So he battled the weariness with bleak and lukewarm coffee, Styrofoam cup after Styrofoam cup until his intestines screamed in protest.

But detective Sam Vega looked even worse. His and Warrick's Saturn rings were now in serious competition regarding darkness and girth.

He stopped in front of them, Warrick dejectedly thrown on a chair and Sofia leaned up against the wall, her eyes scanning the ER methodically.

"Seen Grissom around?" Vega asked, even his voice sounding drawn and worn out.

"Thought he was with you," Warrick remarked, wondering idly if the boss had forgotten to inform Vega and went on some solitary fact finding mission.

"He was but he went back to the lab with Sanders and some evidence. Where'd you get that coffee from?"

Warrick rose and stretched his legs, "I'll get you some, but I'm warning you, this stuff might be lethal. Take a chair and I'll bring you a dose of this venom they have the balls to call coffee in this place."

"Do I detect some bitterness?" Vega asked, managing a weak smile.

"It's more like burnt rubber actually," Warrick leered when he turned to walk the short distance to the vending machine of the beverage that really should be equipped with warning labels.

Returning with two more cups he immediately picked up on a sense of increased tension and graveness that had descended on the two remaining.

"What?" he asked, handing the cup to Vega with an alarmed glance inside the examination room; nothing seemed to have changed in there.

"I think you need to sit down," Sofia prodded, "this is bad news."

"Spill," Warrick ordered, his eyes still taking in the unaltered scene behind the windows.

Vega took a sip of the coffee and made a telling grimace. "Here's what we got so far. We lifted a print off the shredded glass from the bottle, and we now know that the hit man had ties to the Russian mob."

"Had?" Warrick asked confused.

"Cath was called out on a 419 earlier tonight. The fingerprints matched and the vic was killed execution style; a shot to the back of the neck with his own gun, probably retaliation for not fulfilling his murdering duties. He was left in front of out very own impound lot, dumped there as a warning. And the gun used was stolen in an B&E in at an officer of the 4th squad two years ago. Same gun that was fired at Nick in the alley, bullets match but gun's still missing.."

"Maybe we found our leak?" Warrick pointed out, turning his eyes to Vega as something akin to hope energized him.

"Except said officer was killed execution style in that same B&E, needless to add - execution style."

"Shit, I remember, the Nelson case. Hell, that one went cold in a week but IAB still has the case open, right? Something about him possibly being on the take?"

Vega watched him intently. "Yeah, see why IAB's not gonna lift your suspension after this piece of information's getting to them."

Warrick went cold as realization hit. He was a suspect himself, or at least likely to become one, just because he'd survived the attempt in the alley. The irony had him snorting with disbelief.

"We're keeping this all in the dark," Vega continued, "no evidence concerning this case will be logged into the system. The only ones concerned will be the graveyard and Sofia, Vartann, me and Brass. We're breaking every rule. And two of us will always be wherever Nick is."

"I'm really startin' to sport some serious paranoia here," Warrick ventured and Vega sighed tiredly.

"Welcome to the club. You know all those overdoses with heroine and roofies we've had lately is all but normal."

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, almost like old times."

"Roofies are flooding Vegas and the Russian mob is more than likely behind it." Sofia added thoughtfully. "That's probably what the FBI is investigating. It's like a couple of years ago but now roofies are put to calm the crooks instead of date-rape. A pop before the heist and you're cool as cucumber and ready to do just about anything. Suspicion is that the mob is hooking their cronies on it and will not charge for the benefit but they've got you by the balls."

"But why the secrecy?" Vega mumbled, rubbing his temples. "The Feds was flatly denying any operation until we identified the perp off Nick's photo."

"And somebody getting wind of that evidence before we release it just doesn't add up," Sofia remarked, "something's very off with this case."

"If it is that piece of evidence that is the key," Warrick pointed out, "it was probably something or someone Nick actually saw and they know he did. That's why he needs to die apparently."

"Mr. Stokes is stabilized but he can't have more than one visitor at the time," a voice announced from the door making them all jump.

The nurse looked surprised at their reaction and backed as three pairs of eyes moved like virtual weapons in her direction.

"I hope you have orders not to let just anybody in?" Sofia pointed out and crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed and pinned the nurse to her place.

"I have the list of allowed visitors," the nurse informed, shrinking a little at their intense stares. "I'd need to see IDs before I let you in."

Warrick had already made his way to the door and stopped long enough to flag the requested item. The nurse took it and made annotations to a form before handing it back with an insecure smile.

The paranoia must be painted on their faces, Warrick pondered as he walked the few steps up to the gurney and laid a hand on Nick's leg, just to feel him and reassure himself his bud was still there. Nick was pale and the tape closing his eyes for protection was back, as was the vent and the wheezing sound mingling in with the beeping.

Warrick had to swallow to rid himself of the all too familiar lump in his throat. This was far from over yet and Nick looked worse for the wearing. When he touched the hand with the IV the skin was clammy and the veins swollen from all the medications that was running through them. He let his thumb run over the knuckles, wanting more than anything for Nick to jump out of bed and yell 'Gotcha!' and fire off one of those grins. But Nick was all still, a stark contrast to his usual expressive self. The slackness of Nick's face was the one thing Warrick found utterly alarming. There were no creases from laughter, no talkative glares or pleading and warm orbs to tell him anything at all. There was just this eerie stillness that scared the living daylight out of Warrick.

"Shit Bro, you look like hell," was all he mastered as he sank down onto the rickety plastic stool that was provided and gripped the cold fingers to warm them.

And when only one nurse, occupied with replenishing the medicine stock, was left in the room with her back to him he lifted the slack fingers to his lips and felt the pulse throbbing. "Love ya Bro."

Sounds from outside alerted him and he turned to see Jillian and Grissom standing there, the former with red-rimmed eyes, face pale with mark of immense sadness and fear and the latter's blank and unreadable.

Warrick held on to Nick's hand and met Grissom's eyes that suddenly expressed a totally new realization. With a last squeeze of the limp fingers he rose and made his way out to let Nick's mother take his place. Thing's being as they were he had no right to stay by Nick's side, family always came first and right now he resented that deeply.

He woke at someone poking his ribs. "Sir, you can't sleep here," an orderly with his trolley informed him while waiting patiently to clean under the couch Warrick had fallen asleep on.

"Uh?" Warrick let out, rubbing his eyes.

"You can't –"

"Yeah, yeah, I got your number," Warrick groaned and cast a look at the clock on the wall. He had to blink twice when he realized he had been asleep for eight hours straight. Disbelievingly he gazed over to the door he'd sworn to watch and saw Brass sitting there, pages of a newspaper partly hiding his face.

"What the -, " Warrick was on his feet in a second and by the door in two. "You let me fall asleep?" he asked Brass accusingly.

"Naw," the detective replied, "Catherine threatened to get me fixed if I woke you up and I think she was right, coz you still look like you've been dragged up a mountain and dropped to roll down."

Warrick's eyes were already taking in the scene in the emergency room. Nick's face was now covered with an ordinary oxygen mask, gone was the ventilator. But he still looked far too still and the monitors were still attached to various parts of his body. Besides him sat Sara, her hand on his arm and eyes fixed on the face. He saw her lips moving and was unsure if she actually was talking to Nick or saying a prayer. "How is he?"

"Hanging in there, the kid's tougher than most and you have orders from your boss to get home and get some rest." Brass continued turning pages like he wasn't really reading, just skimming through as if to occupy himself with anything handy.

"Well I'm suspended so he really can't tell me where to hang out." Warrick tapped his fingertips on the window to get Sara's attention.

"Actually you're not any longer, well officially you are but un-officially you can swing by Bobby and pick up your gun any time because we need you to watch Nick when he gets home. Mrs. Stokes found the condo broken into, can't let Nick outta our sight for a long time now. "

"Huh?" he turned confused to look at Brass.

"His Mom found the place ransacked and naturally freaked out. We moved her to a safe-house and Nick's apartment is now another crime scene. We'll try to get her home as soon as possible; we can't have anybody with any ties to Nick in this town or state right now, too damn dangerous. She agreed when we promised Nick would be shipped home as soon as he can be moved – in the meantime you're his un-official bodyguard. You'll have officers to aid you but we're currently looking for a place to hide Nick until this thing is settled. Have to keep this low profile until we get enough to move in. We have the fingerprints of the perpetrator and a hit in AEFIS. The perps are slacking off. But it seems this punk has vanished off the face of the earth."

Warrick's heart made a strange jolt. "To Texas?"

"Well it's not like Nick has anybody here to look after him the way he's gonna need with those injuries." Brass looked at him from under his brow, a smirk forming. "Only solution I see really, at this point."

"He has me," Warrick stated with conviction, "I'll always be on his court, as long as needed. Forever, if it comes to that."

"Well, depends on what Nick has to say and his Mom can be very persuasive, lemme tell you. And with all that's happening, I really don't think she'll let you have him Brown."

Warrick glared but caught himself in time before he let his mouth run off with him. "Where is she now?" Warrick asked instead while making signs to Sara that he wanted to trade places with her.

"Gil took her out for breakfast and will try to get her to rest. She'll be flying home tomorrow, probably kicking and screaming. You should get some rest yourself, your boy's not going anywhere."

Sara opened the door and Warrick slid inside with a frown in Brass' direction and a pleading look in Sara's. "I just need to see him."

Sara nodded. "But you have to promise to get something to eat before you swing by the lab. Grissom will be back there in an hour approximately and he'll fill you in on the latest, if there's any news that is."

Warrick simply nodded, his eyes already on his bud in the bed.

Nick was breathing on his own, a little too shallow for Warrick's liking but even the raspy inhales and steady exhales sounding like a jam-session of virtuosos letting it go in a smoky bar on the Strip. Music to send your synapses on overload by flooding your cortex with emotion. His fingers wrapping around the wrist of his bud, pulse steady and strong like a drumbeat, making him exhale deeply in relief.

Warrick gripped the lax hand on the sheet, squeezing it softly. "Yo Bro, glad you decided to hang around."

"He's very tired," Sara spoke in a soft whisper, "but he was awake briefly an hour ago, confused and weary but still all Nick. Told his mother very sternly to go home, that he was all right."

"And you didn't come get me?" Warrick glared.

"Didn't want to leave him," Sara's gaze fell back on Nick.

"So my bro is on the mend then," Warrick cracked his first smile in days, "odds finally in his favor?"

Sara smiled ruefully; "the odds have no say when it comes to Nick Stokes it seems."

"Nah," Warrick grinned, "my boy won't go down without a hell of a fight. I guess fate should have learned that by now. Don't mess with Nicky, he's gonna kick your ass even while lying down."

Sara nodded; "we're like cat and dog at times, but I'm so damned proud of him right now. I was just telling him that, how much he amazes me at times by just sticking through it all."

"Nicholas Stokes, lightweight champion of kicking ass." Warrick nodded before he had to let go of Nick's hand in order to keep his churning emotions under control. "I'll go get my gun. You watch over my bro while I'm gone. I'll be back in a jiff."

Sara smiled at the tightly reined in emotion in Warrick's voice when he turned abruptly and walked out.

Sitting down by Nick's bed she smiled at the man, taking his hand. "I don't know why I didn't see that before. Call myself a level 3, huh? Well you're right, there's evidence and then there's our interpretation of the evidence. You're gonna have to give me a crash course in the latter Nick. I never noticed that piece of evidence staring me in my face before. Makes me wonder what else I'm missing, y'know."

Warrick stretched his legs as he walked to the truck he'd left haphazardly parked when he rushed in. He was sure there'd be a citation for parking the SUV's front wheels on the elaborate flowerbeds. It seemed like it had happened a week ago and it was a mere 36 hours or so. Shaking his head he turned back to look at the entrance of the ER, catching the two heavily armed guards posted outside. Desert Palm apparently was not keen on getting the reputation of being the hospital with the highest mortality rate due to domestic terrorism. And still he wasn't entirely at ease with leaving Nick there. If the man ever found out how much he fretted over him he'd bust his chops from here to the Pacific.

With a sigh he turned to walk the few yards to his SUV, not even raising a brow as he plucked the folded paper with the citation off the windshield and climbed into the hotness of his sunbathed car.

He simply sat there for a moment, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. The case was still wide open and that left him with an uneasy gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. Russian mob, FBI and a hit man bestowed a bullet in the neck and dropped as a warning. A warning for what and to whom? It all seemed sketchy at best, what was the real reason for the shoot out in the alley? That must have been what started it all? But that crime scene had been compromised big time. Only chance to get something out of it was following the trails of the DBs at the scene and see if that would lead somewhere.

"The human side of it, Nick – man, I'd need you now." With a glance out the windshield he turned the key and drove off to the crime lab. He was almost sure he'd feel safer when he'd finally be able to strap some heat on. But then again, he didn't even know what to look out for at this point.

He found himself checking the rear view mirror repeatedly on his way to more familiar turfs.

Grissom extended Warrick his weapon without a word, sliding over a piece of paper where "We meet at my house in an hour – no talking about the case at the lab" was scribbled.

"Good thing you reported Warrick, you're on unpaid suspension for two weeks to begin with." His boss' eyes belied every word he was uttering.

To say he was stunned was an understatement but he nodded in acknowledgment. "This stinks like rattlesnake oil, man." He muttered indignantly just to keep the scene authentic.

"You are to see the department psychiatrist tomorrow and then again after you're reinstated. Ecklie will let you know the details. " Grissom continued calmly and this time he seemed dead serious.

"You yanking my chain, man?" Warrick asked in disbelief.

Grissom met his eyes and shook his head in a decisive 'no' before he turned the paper over to scribble more.

"Archie found a FBI-issued surveillance device in the A/V lab an hour ago."

Warrick stared at the piece of paper, his mind about to explode from all the questions forming at once and battling to get out.

"I understand Nicky's not woken up yet? And that they fear memory loss?"

The understanding hit him full force. "Yeah, with what he's been through they figure he'll be lucky if he remembers his name, if he wakes up that is."

Grissom took the piece of paper and balled it up before he slipped it into his pocket. "This case is getting colder and colder as we speak. We have nothing at all at this point so I am re-assigning people as we speak. No use chasing ghosts."

"It's gonna put a dent in our records."

"So is putting manpower on an unsolvable case. Have any plans for this vacation of yours?" Grissom articulated very clearly.

"Yeah, Tina and I hit a rough spot and I'm taking her on a vacation to Barbados, or someplace. Patching things up, so to speak." Warrick watched Grissom nod and suddenly understood that all this was for Tina's benefit as well as anybody else's. "Our place needs fumigation anyhow, met a coach roach last night that gave genetic enhancement a whole new perspective."

"Seen any fine ones?"

"Must be the wrong breed, they're fast but big enough to trample your specimens."

"What a pity."

"I'll go get my stuff and keep an eye open in case I spot a champion, then I'll pick up Tina and swing outta town for awhile."

"Come get that GPS of yours I borrowed last time I was out, I'll be home in an hour."

"I'll swing by," Warrick couldn't help but grin at the absurd discussion they were having. If this fooled anybody they'd nail the bastards in no time for sure.

He knocked on Grissom's door after having parked his car three blocks away, at a gas Station. The paranoia was still riding him like the proverbial monkey on his back, one of the many currently fighting for place on his shoulders.

He slid in without a word when Gil opened the door.

He found Brass, Cath, Sara and Greg already there with a bleary eyed Archie at the end of the table.

"Who's on watch?" Was the first thing that flew out of his mouth.

"Sofia and Hodges" Grissom informed him, and Warrick narrowed his eyes.

"And two armed guards at the entrance," Greg quipped. "I think you can wind yourself down a notch, Warrick."

"Yeah?" He inquired while pulling out a chair and sinking down on it. "Good news then?"

Cath shook her head as Grissom re-appeared with a mug of coffee for him and he sank gratefully down to the chair next to Brass.

"I can't make head or tails out of this whole thing." Cath complained. "Nothing leads anywhere!"

Brass sat stirring his coffee, letting the teaspoon clatter as he moved it round and round and round. "I'll go first. We know that FBI's mule is a turncoat. He skipped side and is now singing 'Kalinka' with the Russian mob. We need to get to him and tighten the screws."

Silence fell.

"A tall order since he's been underground for half a year," Grissom finally spoke up. "We have to find something else. We need to know what Nick knows, that's the bitter truth."

"Yeah, and the problem is that they seem a step ahead all the time. They know everything we know, and how we work," Archie mumbled. "Down to the last detail of what we can do."

"But we know our leak now; the outsourced cleaning crew from CAP has tapped in to our system." Catherine's voice was close to a growl.

"Hold on a goddamn minute," Warrick interrupted, "you know the leak? CAP?" He glared at the strawberry blonde woman, "then why not just stop it?"

Cath shook her head. "Clean And Pristine at your service, talk about imagination in picking company names. But knowing and proving who it was tapping in is easier said than done. Archie found out that people not even in the building were logged in on the intranet, probably with a wireless connection and a laptop. Since it's mobile, it's hard to pinpoint. They've upped the security but hey - it was said outside security was top notch, so go figure. And stopping them? We need proof they are acting with criminal intent. They have a contract and the personnel changes fast. We still can't prove it was ordered from CAP and wasn't just one of the employee's curiosity. The employees are employed day by day, hard to pinpoint the name or the culpability. We're waiting on a list of who worked when, but they are demanding a warrant and judge Derringer is unwilling to issue one; too little proof he says. Claims it could be anyone. He said he'll issue a warrant as soon as we can prove that there was intent from CAP to eavesdrop, that would be breech of contract but until then, our hands are tied. The fact that the surveillance equipment is FBI-issued muddies the waters further, it seems. Seems their local agency was broken into a year ago and plenty of hi-tech gadgets were stolen. Case still open." Cath smirked," Of all the stupid things to do, no one but Atwater would be as daft as to compromise the lab's security like that."

"Fingerprints?" Warrick asked. "Do we know who tapped in? Can we latch on to the creep and get some information?"

"It's a cleaning crew employees," Gregg pointed out. "Of course their fingerprints would be everywhere, it's the perfect alibi for a fact-finding mission."

"It'll take us weeks to check out all the names when we get the list, but we'll do it," Sara said tiredly, sucking in her lower lip between her teeth. "It takes time, too much time but there's no other option really."

"The same enterprise had both us, FBI's Field Agency and a lot of hospitals in the area on their customers list," Brass noted. "You know the amount of employees they have? I'll tell you – 2.134 at the moment. Owner Joseph Branning is currently out of state, cannot be reached and the acting manager, one Veronica Kapratsky is pleading the fifth until the owner comes back."

"My Kingdom for a cleaning crew CEO," Greg quipped and promptly looked into his coffee mug as five sets of eyes glared daggers at him. "Shakespeare's point of view, not mine," he mumbled.

Warrick frowned, tapping his fingers on the table and trying desperately to grip something lurking in the back of his mind. Something he believed to be important.

"How big is the Russian community?" Sara asked. "Can't be really large, now can it? Someone has to know something, or at least point us in some direction."

"I doubt Granny will hang her grandson out to dry," Cath replied. "Besides, most changed their names and we would spend years on digging out genealogies."

"What is the common denominator in all this? " Grissom asked quietly, "it might be very easy the moment we find out what is the one odd fact that stands out."

"Except Nicky being the target twice?" Greg pointed out, receiving a glare from Archie this time.

"Insulin," the lab-tech said. "Somebody that knows its effect and can get his hands on a vial without being noticed, someone that has knowledge of the hospital, solid and thorough knowledge."

"A MD or someone with a relative or friend that's diabetic or maybe he's diabetic himself?" Sara spoke, drawing patters on the table with her index finger. "It's still too large a sample to go through."

"Let's not forget Russian descent," Warrick added, finally latching onto the fleeing sensation nudging at him. "You know the perp in the alley, what's his name? Shaun? I remember now. I thought he looked Slavic, high cheek bones, slender built and there was some kind of accent as he spoke. I thought it was the drugs making his speech odd but maybe it was an accent I' just wasn't able to recognize at the time?" he felt hope for the first time in days, hope of something finally falling into place. "Maybe he at least had some ties to the community, maybe. The name doesn't indicate that but names can be changed, right? I know the clandestine roofies factory in Russia is said to be situated in Minsk, maybe we should start looking for geographical ties?"

"What if this man is MD from Russia that never got his license in the US?" Brass wondered. "What if this person still has ties to Russia, isn't that where all those Ciba-Geigy Rohypnol heists are prominent? What if this person is just bitter because he can't work as a physician here and has turned criminal as an act of revenge? A very lucrative revenge I might add."

This time six set of eyes turned to Brass.

"I think you have something there Jim," Grissom nodded. "I'll check out all revoked or non-approved licenses from the last year."

"Make it last five years," Brass said. "This has been going on for a long time, it's only just escalated and moved to Nevada. Roofies were on demand in Florida only a year ago. Same MO, feed roofies for free to the smalltime gangster and you have killer machines to use as you wish. FBI got them over there but did they get them all?"

"Check all the docs at Palm Springs while you're at it," Warrick pointed out. "Having a well-equipped hospital with dozens of lawyers watching your back must be heaven for any killer."

"A hospital where you intended victim is laid up and helpless," Greg spoke morosely.

"It just might be that the nurse mistook identities," Grissom said. "We can't be sure it was Nick that was the intended victim."

Warrick stared at his boss, not believing his ears. "Come again?"

"I just don't want us to assume anything at this point," Grissom declared. "I admit it's very likely that Nick truly was the intended victim but we have no facts at all to corroborate that thesis."

"Except that the 'nurse' in question was executed in a way most victims for the Russian mob have ever been," Sara pointed out.

"Yes, but was that because the identity was mistaken or because the intended victim was still alive?" Grissom said.

"You gotta be kiddin' Griss'" Warrick exploded. "Somebody tried to shoot him at the scene, we have a bullet to prove that, and from what I heard no diabetic needs that kind of a dose. It was purely intentional, aiming to kill without leaving a mark. What more do you need?"

"I need to know who Nick saw in that alley and in the SUV because I think the entire case boils down to that. Who was there and why? If there's a rational explanation for that the insulin might have been intended for somebody else. The two DBs at the original scene were nobodies, two small-time criminal with a reputation for B&E's on demand. Only common denominator was that they'd recently spent time in jail. The same prison Shayn Mallow spent his last year in, before he got released due to testifying. But so did a thousand other men, did they just together plan a heist that went wrong? And why did it go wrong? We know next to nothing and we're chasing ghosts. What we need is the names of the persons in the SUV and the alley." Grissom finished with his eyes on Warrick.

"Did you happen to see what kind of shape Nick is in?" Warrick spat wryly. "You just can't walk up and ask him if he remembers. Don't put that strain on him, not now."

"I already did," Grissom confessed, looking down at the coffee mug in his hand. "And he doesn't remember. He tried, I could tell but I wasn't able to give him any cues to trigger his memory. And we need those names to put faces on the ghosts."

Warrick stared at his boss, wondering how he was able to sit there and tell him how he had interrogated Nick. His Nick, a man that was barely conscious most of the time and under heavy medication. Still, Grissom had sat down and interrogated him; he was reminded of the cold, logical side of his boss. The side he sometimes admired but in this instance found downright cruel.

"Know what," Warrick said and rose. "I'm not gonna let Nick become another one of those ghosts, I'm off to see to it that it doesn't happen."

Cath rose with him, laying a calming hand on his arm. "I'll check on Mallow and the two DBs and see if I find anything else. Something's gotta give, sooner or later."

"Just don't let it be too late," Warrick mumbled as he headed for the door.

Arriving at the ER he almost had a heart attack finding Nick's curtain empty. There was no sign of Vartann or Hodges, no gurney in the room and his head reeled as his pulse rose to astronomical measurements, of that he was sure.

An orderly with his trolley in tow coughed behind him and Warrick exploded. "Where's Nick?"

The blue-clad man took a step backwards, eyes widening in shock. "Nick who?"

"The man that was in here only a couple of hours ago, you punk!" Warrick barked.

The orderly frowned, "Well Mister, a man of your apparent intelligence might have asked at the nurses' desk since all ICU-patients were transferred to the Observation ward, currently working as the ICU since a fire destroyed the earlier premises. But a punk like myself would not know that, now would he?"

"Shit," Warrick felt all the air he had been gathering to launch into a verbal fight vanish in one rushed curse. "I'm sorry man, long day, you say it's that door?" he pointed to a door at the end of the corridor with the letters OU on the green screen above it.

"Might be," the orderly said nonchalantly, not bestowing Warrick with another glance as he walked past him with the trolley, just a tad too close to be courteous.

Warrick cursed again and took aim on the door, heartbeat still hammering against his ribs.

Vartann saluted him with a nod of the head when he rounded the corner and spotted him, the detective's eyes peering over the edge of a newspaper.

"You could'a called!" Warrick growled.

"I did," Vartann replied calmly. "Your cell is off."

He dug for it in his pocket and realized the battery was dead. Humiliation was not even close to what he felt. With a look through the window into Nicky's room, he noticed Jillian sitting by her son's bed. She was leaning in towards him, lips moving and Nicky's head was tilted towards her, his one hand now lying over his chest, the other gripped tightly by his mother.

The room was smaller, all equipment still in place, but the picture he took in made his heart take another kind of jolt.

"He's awake?" he asked surprised.

"Your boy is up and running," Hodges said behind him and Warrick almost jumped. "Asked for a coffee and was pissed when the doc promised him only a sip. He's using the puppy dog eyes on everyone."

Warrick hated the flip-flopping in his chest and the silly grin he felt spreading over his face.

David Hodges, sarcasm personified, stood by his side with a Styrofoam cup and a soft expression in his eyes that made Warrick's world tilt a tad once again. Nick had gotten under Hodges skin somehow, peeling away the sarcasm and replacing it with that relieved expression.

"That for him?" Warrick grinned at the steaming mug with a straw clutched in the lab-tech's hand.

"The things I do," Hodges muttered. "The hottie at the counter looked at me like I was deranged when I asked for a straw for the coffee. Probably thinks I'm gonna caffeinate some toddler. An' I was just about to get her number."

Jillian had noticed Warrick and was waving for him to enter. Nick tilted his head and weakly lifted his hand in a salute. It was the most beautiful sight Warrick had witnessed in ages.

"Gimme that!" Reaching for the mug he grinned at Hodges's sigh as he reluctantly let go off it.

"You always take all the credit, Brown." The man complained.

Opening the door and sliding in, Warrick bestowed the lab-tech with a leer. "I'll tell Nick you blame him for missing out on that hottie."

"Hey!" The indignation was cut short as Warrick closed the door.

For a moment, he stood by the foot of the bed and took in the picture. Nick was still hooked up to an IV, EKG and an oximeter beeping away. Nasal cannula still in place and his pallor still evident but his eyes were open, sagging but open. A smile played around his lips and the hand on his chest wasn't slack anymore. Of all the things that struck Warrick at that moment, it was Nick's hand, the memory of his hand that jolted him the most.

"Hey bro," he cracked, voice horse from lack of use and tubes being put in and then yanked out. "Y'okay?"

Warrick didn't trust his voice at that moment so he simply nodded his reply.

"Tha' fo' me?" Nick asked, flicking his finger in the direction of the Styrofoam cup still clutched hard by Warrick's slightly shaking hand.

"Yeah." Warrick noticed how shaky his voice sounded and had to clear his throat while advancing and dragging the stool from the corner to Nick's bed. He seated himself and took a long good look at his bud. The head of the bed was slightly elevated and Nick met his gaze with a small smile. Warrick finally relaxed and got his mental functions back.

"Just a sip bro," he said and adjusted the straw and leaned over to enable Nick to taste the horrible concoction.

Nick glared and moved his hand to grip the cup himself.

"Uh uh," Warrick admonished, "don't even try it bro!"

Nick sent him another glare but did as told, tilting his head he closed his lips around the straw and sucked the liquid into his mouth. Then the skin on the base of his nose wrinkled in disgust and he let his head fall back onto the pillow.

"I could have told you so," Warrick grinned. "I'll have Greggo bring some of the real thing tomorrow. Don't worry, if I have to I'll swing by the lab and hijack some of the stack myself."

Jillian smiled.

"Ev'ryone ok?" Nick rasped, his eyelids sagging more and more, his voice getting weaker and weaker.

"Yeah, everyone's fine Nicky, don't you worry 'bout a thing." Too late he'd realized he'd let his hand fall to lay on Nick's chest. To cover up his embarrassment, he took a sip of the coffee and almost gagged at the lukewarm and horrid taste.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he groaned. "Hodges must have ogled the hottie for ages to get the coffee in this state. By the way, he blames you for not getting her number. I promised to tell you. Something about drinking coffee with a straw disturbed her according to our ever-charming ladies' man. For the record, I think something else scared her off, but don't tell Hodges that."

Nick smiled. "D's cool," he drawled, eyes falling closed.

"Yeah, right," Warrick groaned. "You're delirious, get some sleep man."

"That's right baby boy," Jillian spoke softly. "Get some sleep, I'll wake you up when Dr. Grissom swings by to drive me to the airport.

Nick opened his eyes to a crack. "Still calls me baby," he mumbled and made a feeble attempt to pout.

"You'll always be the baby of the family, honey," Jillian smiled and turned her eyes to the hand she was still holding as Nick settled and his breaths deepened and slowed.

Warrick met her eyes and saw the tears gathering. "Nicky's back," he said, hand still on the steadily rising chest as a tear rolled down Jillian's face and she wiped it away with her free hand.

His voice was raspy and he felt moist gather in the corner of his eyes so he rose. "I'll leave the two of you alone for a while," he said and walked out before his mask of cool would crumble and fall. He wasn't quite ready for that yet.

Hodges had opened up a laptop and was typing as Warrick stepped out. With a look in Vartann's direction, grinning at the peering eyes over the pages of the newspaper he approached the lab-tech. "What you doin'?"

"Some of us still have to work for a living," Hodges informed him, not looking too sad about the fact. "Grissom got a warrant for us to read the personnel files. Going through the MDs right now."

"Looking for what?"

David Hodges looked at him, snorting at his question. "Anything suspicious."

"You don't have a clue what you're looking for then?? Warrick grumbled.

"No? Well take a gander at the third article!" Hodges turned the laptop and pointed at the bottom of the screen.

Warrick raised his eyebrows slightly and skimmed over the page before his eyes stuck on:

Flunitrazepam and haloperidol, a study of the intramuscular use and toxicity.

"Oh!"

"That's right, 'oh'. This Kendelton worked a few years in Bern and obviously knows his way around the European drug-market." Hodges smirked. "And then, all of a sudden he left a promising research career and took to manage Palm Springs ER? Not a career move I'd make. Did something happen in Bern? Something that can be used as collateral?"

"Okay, I get your point, but -,"

"He also took a leave of absence two days ago, says here for 'personal reasons'."

"Shit," Warrick breathed. "That's right after the insulin fiasco."

"I'm having HR page him and I've told Brass to pick him up." Hodges said, googling the names of the co-authors. "Something's gotta give!"

Grissom appeared in front of them. "Kendelton is gone, fled the country yesterday but one interesting point is that his daughter is diabetic, on insulin for 10 years. Current medication Humalog and Lantus. She's attending UCLA and the LAPD is picking her up as we speak. Bad news is that Kendelton is in Cuba, no extradition. I think we've found and lost one of the players in this orchestra."

Warrick remained seated, rigid and tense, staring at Grissom, feeling the hope he'd nourished like a sick puppy suddenly twist and shudder inside of him. It shuttered into a million pieces and died, leaving only a muffled roar in his ears. Then he rose and paced, his body so tense his footsteps against the tiled floor hurt his knees and an acute headache rose to his temples. The rage was blinding him momentarily. Words failed him as he realized that yet again the perps had succeeded in slipping through their fingers unscathed. "We're getting fucking nowhere at all. No fucking where at all!"

Hodges cleared his throat. "Well, look at it this way. If the perp's in Cuba he can't harm Nick at least. I mean, that's gotta count for -"

Warrick turned to cast a death glare at the man, who paled slightly. Sometimes Warrick really wanted to pick the smaller man up and shake some decency into him.

"Hodges," Grissom ordered. "Go get us some coffee."

"Great," Hodges muttered as he rose and wandered off. "I'm demoted to a coffee dispenser."

Grissom pointed to a chair, demanding wordlessly that Warrick sit down and keep quiet. He did so.

"Now listen," Grissom spoke quietly, looking pensively to the floor. "Things are not as bad as they seem. Sara lifted a couple of fingerprints from the B&E at Nick's place. This one was actually in AFIS; a certain Ivan Petronov AKA Slicky Pete and he is currently employed by CAP."

"What he take? Can't it just be an under-paid disgruntled employee looking for an extra buck and if he knew Nicky was laid up - " Warrick protested.

"That's just it," Grissom turned to look at Warrick. "He didn't take anything. He planted high class, FBI-issued surveillance equipment. And he probably would have succeeded too, if Jillian hadn't decided to drop by at that precise moment. The perp had to leave the cleaning up and flee the scene."

Warrick just stared, trying to make any sense of what Grissom was saying. "Who exactly is it they think Nick saw that is worth all this?"

He woke the next morning with his feet propped up on a chair – a hospital issue blanket covering him and a nurse nudging his arm. "Sir?"

"What the - ? " His neck screamed when he straightened up and he had to groan out loud. And he was supposed to watch over Nick?

"I need to give Mr. Stokes a sponge bath, Mr. Brown. I ask you to step aside for a moment."

"Uh huh," Warrick shook his head. "Nick is never to be left alone."

"But it's against hospital policy to -,"

"See, I figured offing your patients with insulin was against hospital policy too." Warrick snapped.

"Rick? Wha'z going on 'ere? Insulin, what ya talkin' bout?`Someone got hurt?" Nick tried to rise from the bed but had to fall down back with a wince.

"Hey buddy," Warrick leaned in to catch Nick's eyes. "You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?" He looked confused, wrinkling his brow and narrowing his eyes. "And would somebody start telling why y'all look like I'm in grave danger or something? Does this all have something to do with Griss asking me if I remembered a man in the alley? I don't even remember the alley."

Nick's eyes pleaded with him.

"I'll fill you in, bro, first let's get you that sponge bath."

Nick groaned.

"Nick, Mr. Brown here says he has to stay in the room during the procedure," the nurse informed him and threw a reprimanding glare in Warrick's direction.

"What? Says who, Nell?" Nick had actually managed to get up on one elbow but his face was already showing signs of too much effort put into that simple move. "No way. 'Warr, get out, please!" Turning to the nurse he adopted the pleading look again: "Can't I just take a shower?"

"Maybe tomorrow, Nick," nurse Nell beamed at him.

"Oh," Warrick grinned, "so you two are one first name basis already? Well Nick, it's me or Vega, take you pick." He found Nick adorable when he blushed, and berated himself for even thinking that about his best bud; a grown man shouldn't be considered adorable and he'd kick butt down the entire length of the strip if anybody did the same to him.

"What?" Nick sank back into the bed. "Would you at least close your eyes and try not to have such a freaking good time with all this, boss?"

"Nope," Warrick smirked, "I'm gonna treasure this moment and use it as collateral next time you're about to laugh your head off at my misgivin's."

"And then you're gonna sing like a little canary or I'll spill who short-circuited the A/V lab," Nick mumbled.

"Take heed, nurse Nell. He actually is that evil."

Nurse Nell smiled at his Nicky and he didn't like the expression in her eyes one damned bit.

"Am not," Nicky pouted with his best hurt puppy look and looked down on his hands, fiddling with the cover.

Warrick picked up yesterday's newspaper from Nick's nightstand and feigned to read.

"You done gloating now?" Nick asked after nurse Nell left the room. "So's you can finally fill me in? Coz dammit, nobody's talking here." He glared under his brown, hand wiping nose in embarrassment.

Warrick grinned. "Not done yet but ok bro, what you need to know?"

"Everything, I've only managed to catch some pieces here and there, not enough to the the whole picture. Who wants me dead and why? You okay? Everyone else okay and why these strange faces every time one of you walks in?"

Warrick nodded, knowing he'd tried to shelter Nick and that must have pissed the man off. "The thing is Nicky, we don't know jackshit about what's going on. And that's what is driving us up the wall."

"Everyone okay?"

"Yeah," Warrick said, leaning back in his chair, looking everywhere but at Nick. He'd have to spill and he had nothing to tell. The second best lab in the country had come up with next to nothing.

"Good, so start talking!" Nick sounded tired but he wouldn't let up, Warrick knew him enough to lay his cards on the table in times like these.

He tried one last diversion. "Tina served me the papers for a speedy divorce, otherwise, everything is fine and dandy."

"What?" Nick turned to watch him, "You're not kiddin' ar'ya? Shit man, how you holding up? I'm so sorry man!"

"Not like I didn't see it comin', bro."

"Still, shit man. I'm sorry"

"You said that already," Warrick pointed out.

"Well, " Nick looked away, "if you were avoiding her the way you've been avoiding me I can't say I don't understand her."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nick threw him a tired glance, letting his eyes drop to his hands as soon as he'd spoken. "Y'know exactly what I mean, man."

Warrick was just not ready for this discussion now so he spilled about the rest. Casting glances at Nick every now and then, just to gauge his reactions. He hesitated just for a moment when he had to tell about the B& E and the surveillance equipment, noting Nick's eyes narrowing and his shoulders tensing. He told him about his fake suspension, their need to keep this low profile while they still were working the case night and day. He told him they felt they were chasing ghosts: faceless shadows and partial truths at best.

When he'd said everything he looked at Nick staring at his own hands, palm up on the white sheet.

"Bro?"

"So all this wouldn't be happening if I remembered who I spotted in that car?" His eyes were black when he turned to Warrick, "I'm putting you all in danger because I can't remember?"

"Hey," Warrick protested, "we don't know that."

"I do," Nick said quietly, his hand flexing around the rim of the bed and face contorting as he tried to find a more comfortable position in bed. His voice was drained and tired. "I gotta get out of here or I'll get somebody killed."

"What the hell are you thinking man?" A flash of fear tinged Warrick's voice. "Not your damned fault, bro."

Nick looked away, "Don't gimme that crap. This all is because I don't remember. Dammit! I mean it's all a mess and nobody was telling me anything."

"Well you weren't quite up to taking in any kind of information until now, bud."

"Sorry."

Warrick could see Nick was totally wiped out. The strain of everything was getting to his man. Sweat trickled down his temple and tremors made his hands twitch on the sheet.

"Sorry for what?" Warrick asked, "for being human?"

Nick looked at him and shook his head, wincing as he did so. "For messin' up."

Warrick moved his chair closer to the bed, ready to launch into a sermon but Nick's eyes were tightly closed against tears that escaped him anyway and Warrick found no words. On some level, Nick was right; all this would probably be over if he was able to name the people in the car or alley. He had resented Grissom pointing that out and now he resented the man even more for putting everything on Nick's shoulders. After all the shit he'd been through, it was a miracle he remembered his own name.

"I'm calling the nurse man, you need pain medication. You look like shit."

"Thanks," Nick mumbled with eyes still closed.

He remained looking at his bud until a nurse came in, excusing herself for the delay in the administering of the painkiller and telling Warrick that detective Jim Brass needed to see him outside. Warrick nodded but did not move, not until the hands slackened and the breathing deepened, telling him that Nick was asleep. His pallor was still evident, the fact that he still needed IVs and oxygen was indicative of how weak he really was still. But Nick was right about needing to get out of here, not to protect them but for them to better protect him. Too many people moved in and out of this hospital on a daily basis. Too many MDs, nurses and orderlies had perfect opportunities to take Nicky out. And still, he needed to be under medical supervision. He didn't move until Sara laid her hand on his shoulder.

"My turn."

He rose on stiff legs, eyes still on his man as Sara took position in the chair and cupped her hand over Nick's.

"I've got him Rick."

He found Brass in his usual seat, right outside the door to Nicky's room, newspaper in hand and eyes peering over the edge.

"Yo, what's up?" Massaging his still stiff neck, he slumped down to the chair besides the detective.

Without a word Brass produced an envelope and handed it to Warrick. He held it in his hand for a moment, sensing the weight and hesitating. There were photos in the envelope, this much he could make out by the solid papers and the size. With a look over at Brass' grim face, he opened it and watched a youngish man in a hospital bed. The photo was taken to include the BP readings of 0/0 and the flat line. With a glance over at the detective he flipped it to the back of the pack and watched the next one with growing discomfort. It was a close-up of the man's neck, thumbprints in blue visible on the white skin. The next one showed a zoom-in of a bracelet, similar to the one Nick was wearing right now and Warrick felt the world tilt as he read the name "Nicholas Stokes" and the social security number under it.

"What the fuck," he exhaled in a rush.

"That's the FBI turncoat, Timothy Welder," Brass said. "Got word from FBI that they're taking over the case and LVPD has to stay hands-off and divulge all information. Happened last night; he was dumped out in the famous alley, pictures taped to his chest. DOA and ID'd through his fingerprints. Autopsy still pending and Doc Robbins didn't touch the body before the Feds hauled it away."

"Where was he killed?" Warrick asked, eyes refusing to move from the name on the bracelet.

"Archie is trying to get some logo or brand name off the equipment and check it out. The feds are givin' us nothing. Claim they have a team led by Agent Culpepper on it. Remember him?" Brass smirked, "the dope wouldn't find his own thumb even if it was stuck in his ass."

"We gotta move Nick," Warrick said, sweat forming on his brow. "He's not safe here. The bracelet, was it on the vic or did someone get close up to Nicky here? This a fucking warning?"

"I don't think Nicky's safe anywhere anymore."

Warrick met the detective's eyes and saw something akin to fear for the first time ever.

He had been staring at the vending machine for at least ten minutes when Cath nudged his arm.

"Warrick? You all right?"

The damned truth was that he kept seeing the bracelet before his eyes. "Uh? Yeah, dandy."

"Don't look that way to me. You want something, when did you last eat by the way? Or sleep? I brought some pizza, let's get some food into you before you keel over."

His hand flew up to his neck, massaging it slowly. "You're going all mom on me? Oh, and I did sleep tonight, in a chair," he chuckled. "And I'm suffering the consequences."

"We all get older," Cath smiled. "But never old enough for me to stop pampering my favorite guys. C'mon, I wanna see Nicky and you're gonna sit down and eat. I told Greg to take you home tonight, you can't sleep at Nick's; still not done with the investigating."

"Not going anywhere without Nick, happen to see what went down last time I left?"

Cath looked at him with a knowing smile. "So how is he?"

"Stubborn as usual, all the mules in Texas have nothing on him." He shook his head and followed the strawberry blonde down the aisle. "Doc's with him right now. You do know what happened, right?"

Cath nodded. "Sick bastards, but they won't get to him, not ever. Ecklie's okayed the fact that graveyard is on sick leave on and off until this is solved. And Griss took a leave of absence, he's got something up his sleeve but he isn't very communicative, as usual."

"Grissom took time off?" Warrick was baffled, "write this day down for history."

"He's always had a soft spot for Nicky," Cath smiled and looked surprised over her shoulder at Warrick's grumble. "What?"

Warrick was salvaged by Nick's doctor approaching them: "Mr Brown?"

He couldn't quite suppress the tremor running through him at the physician's expression. "Yes?"

"Mr. Stokes has requested that you should hold the power of attorney, are you willing to accept that?"

"What? Why?" Warrick had expected anything but this.

"He wants somebody closer than his family in Texas to make the decisions necessary. Can't say I blame him but if you do accept you need to sign here." He extended the document and Warrick simply signed it without even hesitating.

Taking the document back the physician locked gaze with Warrick. "Now to the real problem."

Warrick's mouth went dry.

"Problem?" Cath inquired, resting her hand on Warrick's shoulder to calm him down.

"Mr. Stokes has decided to leave against strong medical advisement. I removed the Foley and the oxygen and IV-fluids. But I refused to remove the IV-canola, he still needs his pain medication intravenously. I've ordered him tomato soup to eat and if he can hold that down and walk by himself to the bathroom I will have no other choice than to do as he wishes and get the release papers ready. If not, I'll call in a psych consult because he really is in no shape to be leaving yet."

Warrick's veins swelled immediately and started throbbing. "He wants to leave? What the fu-. I'll talk to him, Dr. Bloomfield and get him straightened out, he's just – I'll talk to him and be back."

Dr Bloomfield nodded and turned to walk away to the nurses' station.

Warrick seethed, "I'll have to kill him myself."

Catherine moved her hand to his arm. "C'mon Rick, let's go straighten the boy out."

Sara was in some kind of heated debate with the man already as they filed in.

"Are you listening to yourself Nick? You haven't even been on your feet but once yet and you're about to release yourself?"

Nick mumbled something that Warrick was unable to decipher.

"Itched, the EKG itched?" Sara wheezed. "Are you out of your mind?" She turned at the sound of the closing door and lifted her hands in the air. "You know what he went and did?" she asked in their direction. "You talk to him. I give up! I can't take this!" With a last desperate glance at Warrick she walked out. Leaving Nick's 'But Sar – ' unanswered.

Warrick wanted to pick the man up and shake some sense to him but Cath's reprimanding glare made him sink down on the chair Sara had occupied earlier, instead. They were hovering like mother hen, waiting for him to put his foot in the mouth. And Nick looked duly chastised where he half sat, leaning onto the bed raised close to vertical and fiddled with the sheet.

"So uh, Rick, didn't want the power of attorney?" He looked from under his brown, just like a little boy and Warrick was about to open his mouth and read him the riot act but Cath intervened.

"No Nicky, Warrick signed all right, it's just the fact that you wanna leave that almost gave him a heart attack." Her tone was all honeyed and sweet.

"Oh ai'ght, I thought he might be pissed off because of Tina and everything." He stole a look at Warrick and looked down the minute Warrick pinned him to the bed with his glare.

"What?" Cath asked surprised. "Didn't he tell you? Tina's asked for divorce. Filed the papers and all."

"I know, that's just it. I mean, Warrick's been here for days and I can't help wondering if that's part of the problem? Maybe you can fix it still?" Nick turned to Warrick, eyes big and wide, demonstrating the innocence that sometimes drew Warrick up the wall.

Warrick decided not to let the puppy eyes affect him in the least. "You think me being by my bud's side when he gets shot is the problem? You know the problems started long ago." he said and signed a point for himself at Nick's blush.

Cath's eyes followed their every move and Nick squirmed under her scrutinizing gaze.

"What are the two of you talking about? Why do I get the feeling I've been left totally out of the loop?" Catherine leaned in, letting her eyes wander between the two of them.

"Cath, don't worry. Nick knows exactly what I' talking about, he just doesn't want to admit it." Warrick spoke with his eyes on his man. "Or do you really want to get into it right here and now?"

"You're right, I'm sorry," Nick apologized just as expected and Warrick signed another point won.

"Not as sorry as you will be."

"Huh?" Wide eyes not entirely covering the slight wince as he turned to face Warrick again.

"For even thinking about leaving." Warrick kept his voice low and threatening, assigning the third point when Nick looked down on the crisp white sheets.

"But Griss said –"

"Grissom?" Warrick exploded, "what he's got to do with anything?"

"He's arranged a place for me to stay while I get my -," Nick pleaded innocuously and Warrick cursed himself for losing it. And revealing enough for Catherine to wrinkle her brow and look his way concerned.

"Oh," Warrick wheezed, "you give the power of attorney to me and then you go off with Griss to hide in some fucking cave?"

Nick looked at Cath for guidance.

The woman glared at Warrick, putting her hand on Nick's. "What did Griss tell you?"

"Just that I needed to stay off the radar for a while, that he has found a place of some bona fide army friend of his father's who has a cabin someplace with all the commodities and surveillance. Because he was paranoid in the end, that's the father, not Grissom's friend. Say's his friend is a doctor and he'll be close by so I don't need to worry about a thing. I'll just have to stay there until this thing is sorted out."

"So Griss is picking you up tonight?" Warrick seethed.

"I can't talk about that here, Rick." Nick threw another long-lashed, pleading glance in his direction for good measure.

The door opened and nurse Nell appeared with a tray and smiled sweetly. "Well, Nick, oh um, Mr. Stokes, here's your meal. Dr. Bloomfield says you have to eat it all or he'll call for the consult."

"Thank you," Nick sent off one of his more radiant smiles and Warrick watched nurse Nell waltz out with a smile before he turned back to Nick. The man was stirring the soup with the spoon and looked absolutely disgusted.

"Well Mr. Hot Shot," Warrick prompted. "Looks like your plans with Griss are off because no way in hell will you be able to get that down with the face you're making."

"Warrick," Cath warned.

"You wouldn't swap now, would ya?" Nick pointed to the cardboard box still tucked under Warrick's arm.

"Oh yeah, right! I so am looking forward to you puking your stitches out."

"Not gonna puke," Nick declared and stirred the soup with a smirk.

"Now boys, play nice and eat up while I go and call Gil." Cath patted Nick's leg affectionately and cast one last warning glance at Warrick before she walked out.

"This is not tomato soup," Nick mumbled and took a spoonful, turning a tad green before he swallowed. "This is a nice steak with all the trimmings. Yup, that's what it is."

Warrick watched in silence while Nick fought to get the few spoonfuls down, sweat breaking out on his temples and brow wrinkling while he kept repeating: 'not tomato soup.'

Warrick grinned and opened his box and took a bite off the pizza.

Nick groaned.

Warrick watched Nick with growing concern when he laid further back and closed his eyes. The plate now empty but Nick's coloration still greenish and he appeared sweaty and in pain. Cath returned and with one look at the man slumped in bed she shook her head in Warrick's direction and sat down, laying a hand atop of Nick's.

"Nicky, hold on, the nurse is coming with the pain meds. You shouldn't be forcing yourself like this."

"Just tired," Nick mumbled.

"Lifting that spoon wiped you out and you wanna get released?" Warrick growled. "Man, you got a death wish or something?"

"Rick!" Cath snapped and Nick opened his eyes in a narrow slit. Too late Warrick realized he'd just given Nick all the incitement he needed to really get up and walk out the door. Just to spite him.

"Bro, listen to me man. I want you outta here too. But I want you out of here when you can manage to take a piss on your own without me having to worry 'bout you diving head first into the porcelain throne and whacking that thick head of yours open." He was building up to a beautiful sermon when nurse Nell showed up. Syringe in hand and a reprimanding look on her face at his harsh tone of voice.

"Mr. Brown, Dr. Bloomfield wanted you to administer his medication just in case. He's going to need 3 ml Dilaudid every 8 hours to begin with, and additional booster of a unit might be necessary, depending on his level of pain. You can consult your doctor for the dose needed after that. You need to push the medication in slowly. You okay with that, Mr. Brown? Dr. Grissom will take over if you're not comfortable with the proceedings."

"Just show me how to," Warrick replied.

Cath put a hand on Nick's shoulder.

Nurse Nell looked just a tad apprehensive when she showed Warrick how to lift the lid and insert the point of the syringe into the slot and then push the medication in while counting. Warrick's eyes never left Nick's face as he did what he was told and cold sweat formed on his brow. When he was done, he breathed out and nurse Nell smiled approvingly.

Warrick had to walk to the end of the bed and rest heavily on the frame.

"A real pro," Nick smiled weakly and Warrick simply shook his head. "You're not leaving here Nicky."

"Gimme ten minutes and I'll go pee in that thing and be outta here."

Warrick watched the man in the bed and knew he had lost the war.

Stuck in late night traffic behind a fender-bender, he watched the man belted up in his passenger seat. Grissom's car in front of them and Gregg's Jetta right on their tail. Still, he broke out in cold sweat from the delay. He continuously scanned the surroundings, letting his eyes search for any suspicious circs on the crowded street, then dart back to Nick and check up on him.

"Rick, I'm fine and it's not like accidents never happen on Desert, I think I've even been called out here once or twice. Calm down. I told you we should have stayed on Flamingo and turned north on Maryland."

"You should have stayed at the hospital." His eyes picked up on something reflecting under a street light and his hands tensed around the steering wheel until he noticed it was only a cigarette being lighted.

"You've pointed that out, like eleven times already."

Warrick craned his head enough to glare at Nick before he went back to his surveillance of the street. "And you're gonna hear it eleven more."

Grissom's brake lights dimmed and they were finally off when Nick spoke quietly. "You know I couldn't stay there and risk more people's lives. A man died in the fire you know, and if I'd stayed there –"

"The man was 84 and had just had a massive stroke, Bro. Who you kidding here?"

"Still had a chance."

"As vegetable of the year?"

"That's just cruel, man!"

Warrick turned north on Paradise and never bothered to answer. Nick turned to look out the side road and Warrick could tell he was literally soaking in the signs of night life. The street lights flicked over his face and illuminated the pensive expression.

"I just don't get this," he spoke. "Who the hell was it I saw? It must have been someone I recognized and who knew I did, but I don't remember anything." He paused, lifting a hand and wincing before he let it fall back down to his lap. "Some old case? I gotta find a way to joggle my memory."

"Hey, you gotta heal up first." Warrick kept is voice equally low. "We're on it, bro. Sooner or later something's gotta give."

"Man, did it ever occur to you that this thing can only end in two possible ways?" Nick turned to him, face eerily stoic. "Either they get to me or I remember. Up to take a bet on which happens first?" Nick grinned to contradict the bitter truth in his words. "I just don't wanna take anybody along with me if they get to me first, that's all."

Warrick swallowed around the lump in his throat as he pulled up on the street leading to Grissom's townhouse and stopped at the driveway.

"Nick, nobody's getting to you coz' they'll have to come through me first."

Nick turned to him, eyes dark in the light from the dashboard. Jaw tensing up and his gaze never wavering when he reached to nudge Warrick's white knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

"Y'know bro, that's exactly what I'm scared of."

He sat on Nick's bed in Grissom's guest room and watched the man's eyelids flutter and breath deepening as he finally drifted off. Nick was pissed, that much was clear. Pissed at Cath for forcing him to eat her baby formula instead of the steak he obviously was dreaming of. At Griss for not bringing him up to speed and at him for not siding with him against Catherine's pampering and babying. Warrick had to grin at the pouting the man was able to pull off, even in this state.

The low voices from the dining room were like a soft hum, never clear enough to decipher. Cath, Grissom and Greg were in there, going through the evidence again, making plans and forming plausible theories to help unveil the riddle. Warrick was just too tired to join them.

He flicked on his finally-charged phone and noted the 14 missed calls and 5 messages and started going through the methodically. Most were from two days ago, from Tina and the rest were from different members of graveyard and Vega. He figured they'd just called to check up on him or Nick. The messages from Tina started with reminders of his stuff still being at her place and that she needed the room. The next one a little harsher in tone, the last one simply stated that she had packed all his belongings and he'd better either come himself or send someone to pick them up. Sighing, he closed the phone. He knew he had to get to that sooner or later but the finality of the act bothered him. He knew it was all over, had been before it began really, but his failure would be concrete the moment he picked up the last of his things. On some level he wondered if it was an omen for things to come? Would he even be able to protect Nick from the ghosts chasing him? Exhaustion rolled over him, making him feel utterly helpless. Looking at the man in a slightly agitated sleep he lay down besides him, just for a moment to collect his thoughts.

At the dip of his weight hitting the mattress, Nick groaned in his sleep and moved closer to him, head tilting to rest on Warrick's shoulder, the length of his body warm and alive in a comforting manner.

Warrick counted the breaths his man took and breathed in the scent of hospital disinfectant, new sheets and Nick.

He closed his eyes and let his breath fall in pace with Nick's.

"Hey."

Something tickled his ears and he rolled to his side, irritated.

"You know you snore like a sawmill, man?"

He opened his eyes and looked into a bookshelf that definitely wasn't his and the chuckle that followed was not one he was accustomed to.

"What the -," He was up in a half-sitting position so fast the room spun on him. "I fell asleep?"

Nick was leering at him when he finally dared turn his head. "I think Grissom found your snoring very endearing. He got a look like I've only seen when he discovers a baby bug to take home and feed."

"Would you shut up?" Warrick curled up into a sitting position, hiding his face in his palms. "What time is it?"

"It's early, only 8 AM." Nick was sitting at his side, laying a hand on his back. "You can go back to sleep Rick, I just wanted you to know Griss called us for breakfast and I'm gonna get a shower. You ok, man?"

"You need your meds," Warrick mumbled into his hands, not believing he had been caught sleeping on his job.

"Already taken care of," Nick chuckled. "Rick, you still look exhausted. When did you sleep last?"

"Griss?"

"Griss, what?" Nick was starting to sound concerned. "You really ok man? You're not making much sense here. I mean, you're actually making less sense than usual."

"Griss gave you your meds?" He removed his hands far enough to send a glare in Nick's direction. That was when he noticed he was actually covered with a quilt. "Who put this on? Man, if Cath saw me she's gonna taunt my manliness until kingdom come."

"Like you're taunting mine?" Nick teased while moving very carefully to get his feet on the floor. "I took my meds and if you and Cath don't stop babying me, I swear I'll have to take drastic measures. Ouch!"

"Hey, easy there man!" Warrick was on his feet by Nick's side, finally out of his mortal humiliation and with a plan of action. "You know it takes you fifteen minutes to get up or down. Let me help you."

"Taunting much?" Nick glared, moving to the edge and hanging onto the bed frame in an effort to gather enough strength to actually get up.

Warrick extended his hand. "I've not stooped to tucking you in and bringing you your woobie yet."

Nick gripped his hand and pulled himself up, swaying enough to make Warrick grab his waist and wait until Nick's discomfort settled and his breath ran more smoothly. "Miss nurse Nell's sponge baths now, do ya?"

Nick chuckled and leaned his head on Warrick's shoulder. "Don't make me laugh man, that hurts."

"That and breathing and walkin' and sittin' and – feel free to add to the list," Warrick reminded the mule-headed Texan laconically.

"How adorable!"

Two sets of eyes darted to the door opening; only to see one Sara Sidle with a grin that would not end. "You're bickering like Edna and Roy, so adorable."

"Who?" Nick asked, wobbling when he loosened the grip around Warrick's upper arms. Warrick decided not to let go.

"There's this couple in my building," Sara grinned. "They're both around 70 and bent and and crippled from hard labor and a long life and still - talk about passion! They fight every Sunday morning on their balcony, very loudly and intensely and every afternoon they walk down the street holding hands and looking at each other like teenagers. It's just beautiful."

"Edna's hard to handle," Warrick grumbled, trying to muddy the waters and stop Sara from having a field day on account of their possibly-incriminating posture with arms around each other and Nick trying to get loose and swaying dangerously on his feet. The tell-tale tinge of red on his cheeks probably telling their friend that this was something other than brotherly love. At least Warrick wasn't able to remember hugging any one of his friends quite like this.

"Who you calling Edna," Nick grumbled, finally getting his balance back. "He just helped get outta bed, Sar. I reek of Palm Springs and that's not on the top ten list of desirable colognes so I need a shower."

"A cold one?" Sara quipped, tilting her head to the side and beaming. "Com'on, I'll help you."

Nick finally freed himself and shook his head, "See there's my main problem, too many helpers. I can do this just fine, thank you ma'am."

"That why I had to help you with the socks last night at Palm Springs?" Warrick put one last point in. "Coz' you couldn't bend enough to get them on?"

"That's just a cruel and unduly reminder of my current shortcomings," Nick muttered under his breath, hanging on to the door-frame.

"I won't look, you think I need to see more of how battered you really are? They nearly made ground meat out of ya Nicky, don't need reminders of that. I'll just help you get down on that stool and leave you alone. I'll be waiting outside the cubicle just in case you fall down and drown in the drain." With one hand around Nick's waist, he dragged the protesting man inside the bathroom, cringing at Sara's happy laughter.

"I think we just fed the gossip mill big time," Nick whined.

"Ya think?" Warrick replied with a talkative smirk.

To say breakfast was an odd occasion was putting it mildly. Sara sat at the table with a sly grin, flirting with Grissom and dropping all kinds of hints. Gil Grissom was thankfully enough his old self and totally clueless. At least that's how he played it because Warrick got some odd looks at times. Warrick almost put his foot in his mouth, right down to his knee, when Grissom asked about his plans. He just stared at the man, not quite understanding why he would ask, why he felt he had the right to ask and was jolted out of his acute disassociate psychosis by Sara's: "Today Rick, what are your plans today?"

"Right," Warrick felt reality smirk at him. "Tina called, she has all my stuff packed so I'll go pick it up and leave the key. She's been bugging me to do it for these past few days so I better get it over with."

"Still have half of your stuff in storage?" Nick asked, "You know you can stay at my place till you find something suitable."

Sara grinned.

Gil Grissom nodded. "Sounds like a plan. If you need help I can call Greg to help you pick up your things, he's still on sick leave. Would you pick up something for Nicky, at his place? I don't know how long he'll be gone but I guess he'd need at least a couple of changes, right Nicky?"

"I'm still here," came the calm protest. "I'll go with you Rick. My place still a crime scene?"

"You're not going anywhere Nick and no, it was released this morning, couldn't find anything else," Sara said, stirring her coffee. "I can't believe these guys. They're professionals, they have to be. I told Griss already; we did pick up the guy who did the B&E, or really, he walked in demanding to be arrested. Scared shitless, the poor guy. Young, maybe twenty-two and says he needs to do time."

"Anyone we know?" Nick asked, voice low and filled with cautious hope for a possible simple solution.

"No," Sara shook her head. "Name's Arman Menshuck, no ties to your files or anything. Will do time because he confessed on the spot to three other B& Es but refuses to spill on whose orders he's working. He was temporarily employed by CAP a couple of months ago and we now have the perfect opportunity to talk to that Bannister guy owning it. Turns out he's in Maryland with his wife - on business. And listen to this, his secretary claims he can't be reached, some businessman huh?"

"Not enough to get an APB out on the man huh?" Warrick knew by now not to get his hopes up but still, any damned news got him wishing that this would be all over.

"For the unfortunate employer of a small-time criminal? Wouldn't think so, we need some concrete proof that the firm is tied in to all this," Sara sighed.

"I need to see all evidence you've gathered," Nick spoke. "Maybe something in there will trigger my memory?"

They all turned to look at him. His pallor had increased and he was leaning onto the table, breath shallow and sweat forming on his brow.

"C'mon on, I'll help you lie down." Warrick nodded to the sofa a few feet away. "Should have added sitting to the list, huh?"

"I'm fine." Nick tried his best to actually look fine but failed miserably. Warrick picked him up by his waist, draping Nick's arm around his shoulders and Grissom appeared at Nick's other side, helping him the few steps back to the adjacent room. Nick felt slack and shivery in his hold. Sara turned up with a quilt, face concerned, eyes darting between the three of them.

"Fuck Nick, you look worse today than yesterday," Warrick grumbled.

"I'll call Robbins," Grissom added, looking pointedly at Sara to her to pick up his cell-phone off the table. "He can do a quick check-up and we'll just take him back if need be."

"No, hold on," Nick protested. "It's just – see, I just took less pain medication today. Have to start weaning myself off, the sooner the better."

Warrick and Grissom's eyes met and without much ceremony they lowered Nick to the divan while Sara draped the quilt over him. Grissom returned to the guest-room for the meds. Warrick just glared at the mule-headed Texan. "So you got yourself a doctorate in medicine overnight?"

Nick started getting that pissed-off look about him again. "I took 1.5 ml less and I don't think that makes much difference, really."

Grissom reappeared and shot a glance over at Nick before handing Warrick the plastic bag with the needed equipment.

"I can do this myself, you know," Nick tried.

Warrick's glare over the syringe silenced Nick efficiently. He pushed the meds in, counting to Mississippi-60 while keeping his eyes on Nick. "You're not allowed to administer any meds to yourself without my supervision, got that?"

"Ai'ght Boss!" Nick smirked ironically and Warrick really wanted to whack the man over the head. Instead he turned to Grissom, "I need 5 minutes before I'm off."

"You're not letting him see that last piece of evidence, are you?" Warrick kept his voice, despite the fact that they were standing outside with the door firmly closed.

"Warrick, I did hide things from Nick at one point and it did not end well," Grissom said, watching the quiet street behind Warrick's back. "There's still a trust issue from his side, I can't aggravate the situation. Not now, not when the chances that someone will get to him yet again are what they are."

"He's already on a guilt trip because of that man that died in the fire. Seeing that picture will make him connect the wires all wrong, I know Nick, I know how his mind works. It's not that it's likely to jolt him memory anyhow."

Grissom nodded, "You're right Warrick, but if he asks, and you know Nick; he picks up on things and will get to the bottom of everything. If he does ask I will have to show him all I have."

Warrick had to admit that things between Griss and Nick hadn't been smooth as of late, and Nick had been slipping away in some odd manner. Distancing himself at times. "The Gordon case, huh?"

"I wasn't thinking. I don't have Nick's capability to see what goes on in people's minds. What I really meant was that the case was over, not that his ordeal was. It just came out wrong and there was no retreating afterward. He just looked at me with this strange expression that left me totally perplexed for a moment and I had nothing left to say. It was like he dismissed me totally in that instance." Grissom turned to look at Warrick. "Sometimes I wish he was easier to understand."

"He's just Nick, you can't pin him down like a bug and expect him to stay where you left him. He has the capability to move on, whatever is thrown in his way. Doesn't mean he won't be affected, he just bounces back and let's no one see what it's doing to him." Warrick played with the car keys in his hand, finding himself smiling like a goon as he spoke. "Sometimes I just wanna pop him one. I hope you didn't intend to send him alone where ever you're sending him. He can't lie to safe his life but he sure is good at leaving information out."

"I was thinking on going with him myself, take a week or two off. And Sara's volunteered, so has Greg."

Grissom taking a week or two off had Warrick's head reeling for a moment before he got his bearing back and shook his head. "No, I'm going with him, I owe him that much and someone's gotta be there that can read all his little idiosyncrasies or he'll fool you all."

Gil Grissom smiled a knowing smile. "I figured that much out last night."

Warrick didn't even comment, he was already halfway to his car. There was no way of denying what Grissom had seen, and right now he didn't much care.

"You gonna be all right Warrick? Need anything?"

"Nah, I'll be fine." Warrick replied as he settled into his SUV and leaned out the open side window, "I'll just get my things over to Nick's and take a shower. Then I'll pack some bags and be back. Just see to it he doesn't get into any more trouble while I'm gone."

When he turned the key in the ignition he could have sworn Gil Grissom looked a tad preoccupied at his request. Warrick couldn't really blame him.

He was reeking of sweat and covered in dust from hauling innumerous boxes in and out of the car, up and down stairs and through doors. Nick's apartment had been tidied up from the investigation and he wondered who had seen to it? Now of course, with numerous boxes stacked on top of each other and tucked into the guest-room, he had managed to totally ruin the neatness. It wasn't before he started to drag the boxes inside and mentally visualizing where to hide them, he realized how well he knew Nick's home. In retrospect, maybe he really had spent too much time hanging out with Nick instead of with his soon-to-be-ex-wife. He checked the shower and noticed that the shower-gel was almost out and he knew in which cabinet Nick always kept an extra bottle. He knew where to find Nick's favorite jeans and tees when he packed his bud's bags, even knew the books to pack for him. No wonder all his relationships suffered; he'd never bothered to get that close to anyone else.

He sighed and opted for a shower after hauled the four bags with necessities to the SUV waiting for his return to Grissom's. It was already late and he'd pick up Nick's favorite pizza on his way back. Maybe if it wasn't Sara or Cath on watch, he'd be able to sneak at least a bite to Nick.

He was rinsing his hair when he heard the phone go off and Nick's answering machine finally pick up. He found it odd that someone would call Nick on his home-number since he'd more or less abandoned the landlines for his cell-phone. Being the traditionalist he was he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. He grinned at the thought of Nick clinging with arms and teeth to the old technology, never quite trusting the new one until it had proven infallible, which of course, it never did. The phone went off again and he turned the water off, listening and wondering. The answering machine picked up again and he shook his head at the tenacity of the caller while toweling himself dry and getting in to the new clothes he'd picked up. When the phone rang for a third time, he stalked over and picked it up.

"Brown on Stokes' phone, Nick's not home, can I take a message?"

He was met with silence.

"Lo' ? Who's there, need me to relay anything?"

Still nothing and Warrick was getting pissed off. "Hey you fucker, I'm having this call traced. Whatcha want?" He silently cursed Nick for never getting that ID-checker, was this somebody's sick joke? A prank call or just somebody dialing the wrong number?

A low chuckle was heard, the voice clearly scrambled and metallic in tone. Not recognizable. "Tell him good-bye." The message was spoken in a ghostlike, hollow and metallic voice and then the beep of a dead line followed. He jerked the phone off the table and slammed it shut. Warrick felt his breathing become jagged, blood pumping hard as he fought to keep his rage under control. Teeth clenched he tried to suppress the need to bang the phone into the wall, throw it out the window or simply kick it into tiny plastic pieces. He was a CSI, he should be able to handle situations like these. But this was different, the intended victim was Nick and he felt like blowing every fuse, all at once.

Concentrating hard, he managed to regulate his breathing to somewhat normal while he disconnected the phone and the answering machine, putting them methodically into his sports bag. Working on auto-pilot, he finished up and with one last visual control of the premises, he walked out. Gripping the steering wheel hard, he closed his eyes for a moment, working to un-clench his jaw and relax his fingers. His breathing was still harsh and uneven as he turned the ignition and was off, looking periodically in his rear-view mirror and taking the longest route possible to get to Gil's house. Just in case someone was watching, and somebody had to have been, the timing of the calls told him that the chase was still fully on and the ghosts might appear around any corner.

It took him one hour and 45 minutes to reach Gil's and by that time his rage was a low simmering ache in his gut and temples. He parked his car two blocks away from Gil just in case and took three bags with him, realizing he'd have to leave the rest behind. Scanning the street in the dim light, he dryly noted that terror was a very personal state of mind and he now lived it.

Sara looked perplexed when she opened the door at his ring. "Warr', where's your car? Something wrong?"

Warrick let his eyes sweep over the rooms in view as he stepped in, not noticing Nick anywhere close, he nodded. "Yeah. Nick got a call."

"A call?" She tilted her head, waiting for more information.

"Someone called his house and told me to tell him good-bye."

She looked at him, eyes wide and the same fear he'd seen in Detective Brass's eyes flicked in hers; that same fear that had taken residence in the pit of his stomach.

"Recognize the voice?"

"Scrambled, I have the phone and the answering machine in my bag. Need to get it to Archie. Where's Nick?"

"He's with Grissom, still going over the evidence, I'll go get Griss. These sick bastards are playing with our heads, that's all, Warrick. They're just playing with our heads."

"Wanna bet on that?" Warrick spat. "Didn't look like a mind game to me when Nick was convulsing on that stretcher."

Sara didn't manage to meet with his eyes and she turned away, calling out for Grissom. Warrick sank down on the chair by the table, resting his head in his hands. "Fuck!" The word escaped him in a low, moaning complaint.

"Warrick?"

He raised his head and looked at the man standing in front of him. "We gotta get him outta here, Griss, and then we gotta find these damned fuckers!"

"What happened?" Grissom sat down, seemingly cool as a cucumber and that sometimes irritatingly logical mind refusing to yield to any emotion.

"His house must still be under surveillance because somebody knew I was there, somebody called him and told me to tell him good-bye. I have the phone and the answering machine, gotta get it to Archie. Don't they get it that he doesn't remember? Why the fuck do they keep on dogging him?"

"Let's not assume, they might be calling periodically to check up on his possible return."

Warrick glared. "Then why tell me I need to tell him good-bye? Why just not hang up when they realized I wasn't him?"

"Because they thrive on terror, Warrick, they love instilling fear because fear makes people react without reflecting."

"Fear of what? You ai'ght, bro?"

They both turned at the sound of Nick's voice and Sara's pleas for him to stay put. He was standing in the doorway to the living room, Sara right behind him, holding his arm and trying to steer him away. Nick didn't even seem to notice her pleas. "What are you keeping from me this time, Griss?"

Warrick jerked; Nick's tone of voice was all business and his gaze was dark as it landed on Grissom, who actually squirmed a bit in his seat. This was the Nick that kept emerging more and more often; the no-bullshit Nick that had developed slowly after the box incident. There was more self-assuredness and authority in this Nick, a new side to him that Warrick found both scary and attractive. A new variable in the enigma that was Nick Stokes.

Grissom looked at Warrick, sending him a look of 'see what I mean'.

Warrick rose to walk up to him, but Nick's calm gaze stopped him in his stride and all he got out was: "Nicky."

"Rick, I need all cards on the table, man. I need to see those crime scene pics from the original scene, I need to know what else has happened that no one is telling me. You all walk around on egg-shells and I am not taking it any longer." His voice was low and vibrating, a no-nonsense air all about him and it worked on Warrick.

He turned to look at their boss, "Griss, you need to –"

"I know," Grissom rose too, suddenly looking older and defeated. "I'll go get the pictures, all the pictures I haven't shown you." With a nod at Nick, he walked into his study.

"And you, what was that all about?" Nick turned the steady gaze, that tolerated no nonsense, on Warrick.

"C'mon man, you need to sit down for this; it's long it's complicated and it's messy." Gripping Nick's arm, he tried to get him back to the sofa in the living room but at Nick's refusal to budge, he had to meet Nick's gaze and nod in understanding. "C'mon man, all cards out, got my word."

Finally Nick relented, and with a short nod in agreement he accepted Warrick's hand around his elbow as they walked back into the living room.

They sat in silence while Nick went through all the photos, scrutinizing them with an uncharacteristically expressionless face. Taking in every detail but not uttering a word. Warrick cringed when Nick got to the photos where the chalked outlines of where he had fallen were visible, the blood still present. It took him right back to the smell and the heat, the blurring of the surroundings and his heart beating fast while he clung to Nick and begged him to fucking survive while he watched him nearly bleed out. What had it been? Seven days ago and it still felt like it all happened yesterday; the smell of the dumpster, the sickly sweet coppery scent mingling with the stench of the hot asphalt cooling off in the night. He had to look away and that earned him a inquiring look from Nick.

Sara readied herself to leave for work when Greg would arrive for his watch. Grissom decided to join her as protection. They still had evidence to bring to Archie. Nick's absentminded nod at Grissom's explanation jarred Warrick all over again. Nick acted like this all wasn't about him but about some one else, some unknown victim. A thing he wasn't actually able to pull off when it came to any other case, except this one.

Nick barely reacted when Greg stormed in with the fixings of a late night meal. A mere nod in the younger man's direction followed Greg's enthusiastic greeting. The somber mood did not go unnoticed by Greg, and with a bewildered glance at Warrick, he sent off Grissom and Sara before he went for plates and silverware just as Nick got to the last photos. The ones of the man lying flatlined in a hospital bed and the close-up of the bracelet. Nick read the attached notes with interest, then he let the stack of paper rest in his lap and Warrick waited for the questioning to start. The first question uttered did take him by surprise.

"So how many exactly have died on my account?"

"Geez, Nicky!" Warrick shook his head, not believing what he was hearing.

"It is kind of oxymoronic really," Nick continued in an eerily calm voice, considering the topic. "Someone wants me dead for something I have absolutely no recollection of."

The truth in the words was riveting and Warrick found himself out of a witty comeback.

"All I really remember is coming into that alley and seeing that punk about to off you. I really have no recollection about getting to the crime scene; did we take one or two cars? No recollection about what I even did the night before, we did pull a double, huh? I remember being pissed off at that punk and scared shitless. I remember waking up in the hospital and hearing someone cry – I was sure he had gotten you."

"Nick," Warrick's voice threatened to break.

"I kept imagining you lying there, skull disintegrated and blood all over the dumpster." Nick's voice was cracking and Warrick turned to watch him. Dark eyes met his, the pained expression making Warrick's breath hitch.

"Don't ever freakin' do that to me again, bro!" Nick's voice was thick and the darkness of his eyes made Warrick's breath falter.

Once again he was left speechless as Nick looked away, eyes landing on the stack of papers in his lap just as Greg appeared with plates and glasses.

"What'cha bring to eat Greggo?" Nick asked, voice under control anew, coming off light and close to flirtatious as it often did around Greg.

Greg eyed them both tentatively for a moment before he launched into a desperate effort to keep the mood elevated with exaggerated joviality.

Warrick remained in his seat, battling to keep up his 'cool cat from the hood' attitude while his emotions were all over the place.

Warrick lay awake in bed, it had been close to 2 a.m before they had gotten to bed and Nick had looked dreadful by that time and still the stubborn man had refused to lie down and rest. It wasn't until Grissom had spilled all about his plan to send them up to a location near Tonopah that he relented. Without a word, Grissom had provided Warrick with a quilt and asked if they'd both be all right in the guest-room. Warrick hadn't dared look at Nick at that instance, he merely nodded. He could always chalk sharing bed up to keeping an eye on the man.

Nick went out like a light, lying on his back he snored peacefully. Warrick let his thoughts wander to what Grissom had told them. Tomorrow Nick would have a check-up at Palm Springs; if Doc Bloomfield okayed the transit, they would be off by nightfall. To Grissom's old friend's father's fully equipped and isolated cabin. Outside of graveyard, only one of the doctors in town, a Frank Gladstone that Grissom knew since college, would be aware of their location. The doc's wife would get them all the provisions they needed and, according to Griss, the cabin was built for a siege. The man building it had been paranoid since WW II and had even built in a panic-room before those even were invented. They'd be safe there while the rest of the team would lure the demons out and nail them. It was a question of weeks, tops - according to Griss - and Warrick would be on paid leave thanks to Conrad Ecklie. Sometimes Warrick had to wonder if dear Conrad had a thing for Nick too?

The plan might work, unless Nick got a wind of the fact that they intended to lure the culprits out with the help of Vartann, doubling as Nick. That was one thing nobody would tell Nick and if he found out, he'd have all their heads on poles. Or worse. There were far too many loose ends to the entire thing for Warrick's liking, but there really was no other alternative.

He closed his eyes, listening to Nick's breathing and once again matching his own to the rhythm as he slipped away.

He woke with a start, disoriented at first before he realized that the man sleeping at his side was now breathing harshly, hands clawing at the sheets.

"Fuck! Nick? What's wrong?" He never realized he nearly screamed the words before Nick jack-knifed up and unfocused, panicked eyes roamed the room. A pained sound escaped him as he curled up in a fetal position with his arm curved around his middle and he bent over with a low painful exhale. Warrick scooted up to sit at Nick's side with his bent knees around the man, going for the pulse and exhaling a rush of relief when he found it fast but steady. It was then that it dawned on him; he remembered this reaction from the weeks he'd spent with Nick after the incident of the box. The blind terror he'd hear in Nick's screams and then finding him sitting up in bed, tense and shivering violently with his breath running fast and uneven. He recognized it from his own vivid nightmares, the times he would wake up screaming with hands pulling at the sheets from digging for Nick and never finding him – just hearing a shot ring out that would awaken him into a terrified stupor.

The door was yanked open, revealing Grissom stopping in the doorway at the sight of the two of them plastered together on the bed.

Warrick shook his head at Grissom, warning him not to talk. Greg appeared behind their boss, taking in the scene and casting questioning glances at them, but thankfully getting the cue to keep quiet.

Warrick turned all his attention back to Nick, hating the fact that his discomfort would be witnessed by his colleagues.

"It's all right Nicky, breathe through it. You're fine, not in the box, you're right here." He laid his palm on the back of Nick's neck, feeling the damp skin and the shivers running through him. "It's all right, I gotcha," he repeated like a mantra, waiting for Nick's breath to settle. When it finally turned to shallow, quick intakes and shivering, labored exhales he searched for Nick's eyes, seeing the panic transformed to humiliation. The low moan Nick let slip out from the smallest movement alerted Warrick to connect all the evidence.

"Griss," he spoke to the man still standing in the doorway. "Nick needs a booster, would you please?"

"Of course," Grissom moved forward, his eyes still on Nick.

"I'm fine," Nick mumbled and Warrick sighed: "An' I'm Donald Duck. Just take the meds, bro. You must have jarred your ribs the way you darted up."

He pulled Nick closer instinctively when Grissom reached for the hand with the cannula, gripping it carefully and flicking the lid of the injection port open.

"Slowly," Warrick ordered and Grissom obliged, his eyes still not leaving Nick's face as he pushed the meds in and waited for a reaction. It didn't take long before Nick relaxed in Warrick's hold and his breath steadied.

Grissom let go of Nick's hand and Nick mumbled a 'thank you'. Grissom looked at Nick with what Warrick feared was pure love. The horned green devil was sitting on his shoulder again, leering and poking at him. But now was not the time to feed the jealousy devil, he'd be battling him forever, he already knew that.

"I'll go get you a glass of water," Greg spoke up from the door and Nick closed his eyes.

"It's okay bro," Warrick crooned. "Just relax."

When Greg returned and put the glass on the nightstand Grissom told them they'd be leaving them alone and ushered the former lab-tech out of the room, closing the door with a loud enough thud for Nick to register.

"All right bro, they're gone. You still have nightmares about the box?"

"It's been months now," Nick spoke quietly.

Warrick nodded and massaged Nick's still tense neck. "I still have them occasionally. Wake up all fucking shaky and needing to phone you and check up on you. And I wasn't even in there."

"It wasn't me in there this time, man." Nick lifted his head to face Warrick. "And it was actually worse."

Warrick draped his free arm around Nick's bent knees, encircling him with his body. "Shit, man!"

"Warrick, you can't tag along to that cabin. You gotta stay back, this is my mess and I'm not dragging more people into it. I'm making a freakin' fool of myself here already, that's crappy enough. You gotta stay back Warr and I gotta move on, this co-habitation is getting' on my nerves."

Warrick snorted in disbelief. "What the fuck Nicky? You really think it'd be easier to stay behind? Not knowing what's going on with you? I know you know better so don't even try it. No puppy-eyes or this new Grissom-attitude of yours will work on me. I'm tagging along, end of discussion. Now lie down and rest. On your right side man, weren't you listening to the Doc? Right side will help you breathe easier and not jar the ribs."

"Warr, I think I'm fully capable of handling myself," Nick protested meekly.

"Wanna bet?" He positioned the man as instructed by Dr. Bloomfield and curled up behind him, hoping his warmth would keep Nick grounded. "And not another word about this or I swear I'll pop you one. Coz I'm coming, nothing will change that little fact of life."

"Not even bribery?" Nick asked into the pillow.

"What'cha got to bribe me with? Your crappy CD collection? No way man."

Nick actually chuckled at that and Warrick let his let arm slide under his man's neck and gripped the hand laying palm up on the quilt.

"Think this is appropriate, bro?" Nick asked, curling his fingers around Warrick's.

"Does it look like I care?"

Nick was silent, fingers relaxing slowly when Warrick let his brow rest on Nick's shoulder.

They lay there in comfortable silence and Warrick realized he'd never felt quite as at home with anybody before. He really didn't even mind everybody knowing, not anymore. And he regretted all the lost time he'd spent chasing something that was right before his eyes. Chasing a different ghost than the ones chasing Nick this time; his ghost was a piece of him, the guilt and the remorse but Nick's ghosts were all about survival. That was anything but fair and the insight that he might lose everything now that he'd actually found it was too hard to handle and he tucked that fear away with all the others.

"This sucks man," Nick spoke drowsily and Warrick knew exactly what he was talking about. He really didn't need much explanation when it came to Nick.

"Yeah," he replied, knowing Nick would get the big picture – he always did.

The room was stiflingly hot when he woke and groaned at the ray of sunshine falling right on his face, rousing him mercilessly with its brightness. They had forgotten the blinds last night, that much was obvious. He hated waking to the morning sun and not even Nick's breathing at his side did anything to placate the irritation. He had a dim recollection of dreaming about doing the nasty with Nick. Something about an elevator and Nick's face in the mirror as he pinned him to the wall, sensing his bud's entire body respond to him. His sounds as Warrick pushed into him, a deep throaty moan and then the blasted light that woken him up.

He rose to one elbow, looking down on the man with his butt placed firmly against his own morning erection and cursed. Nick slept on, drooling onto the pillow and totally unaware of what he did to him. When Warrick tried to move away Nick stirred and groaned. That alerted Warrick enough to forget about his current predicament.

Nick's brow was sweaty and Warrick wasn't sure if it was from the heat of the sun or from his nightly gymnastics, jarring his ribs and stitches. Glancing at the alarm, he had to blink twice; Nick should have had his pain meds an hour ago. He wondered why nobody had woken them up while he carefully scooted out of bed and reached for the meds. He measured up the 3 ml's and turned to the man still sleeping. Deciding not to wake him up, he administered the meds, keeping an eye on the reactions. In five minutes Nick's sleep was much calmer and his breathing slow and deep.

He sighed, wondering what the planned transit would do to Nick? Nick would whack him if he knew that Warrick in fact considered him fragile right now. He'd never tell Nick this to his face, but he was sure the man was able to read him plain as a book. That was bound to create tension and tension was the last thing Nick needed now. Maybe he'd be better off with Griss or Sara?

Watching the man, he pondered if he should stay back as Nick asked? Then Nick turned his head, sighing and his face looked goddamn angelic in the light; long dark lashes contrasting against the pale skin. That was it. Warrick had never considered himself sentimental or romantic, never considered himself soft in any way, but the picture of his bud did something to him, something he didn't even want to recognize.

"Fuck," he said and rose, realizing he was on the most dangerous of territories, the emotional one, and he was not an expert in navigating that mine field. His track record bore the evidence of that.

"He's your fucking best friend," he muttered to himself. "And you're not gonna jeopardize that with your fucking mothering tendencies." He just knew Nick would resent him for walking on eggshells around him; he'd already had enough of that from the rest of the team after the box incident. And Warrick knew that Nick was probably the strongest of them all, he'd seen it with his own eyes. Yet, the need to shelter him was taking over. And it would ruin everything if let loose, he knew Nick would rip him a new one if he had any idea. He wasn't dealing really well with this irrational protective stuff assaulting him on a regular basis when it came to Nick, it felt alien to his nature.

Still, he left the door ajar when he stepped out of the room, just in case Nick needed something.

He found them in the living room, totally engrossed in what was at hand. Greg with the laptop, pounding away on the keys, red rimmed eyes watching the screen. Grissom was talking quietly into his cell, face blank and tense.

He literally felt the tension in the room and the sandwich he had stolen out of the fridge suddenly felt tasteless and dry in his mouth.

Greg noted him first, watching the sandwich with big hungry eyes. "Jeez, I'm starved."

"You've been up all night?" Warrick asked, forcing down the chunk of food.

Grissom turned and shook his head. "Just since Nick's nightmare. Does he still have them often?"

"No," Warrick replied curtly.

"Like you would know," Greg remarked and Warrick sent him a stern look.

Grissom let his eyes wander between the two of them, watching them like they were his prodigies behaving badly. "Hodges just found out that the infamous Dr. Kendelton's research was pure fraud, paid by the industry. And his ex-wife was the head of the medical corporation that needed flunitrazepam approved by the FDA because she had convinced the board that it would boost their sales with up to 150%. She was having the corporation finance Dr. Kendelton's research. When the fraud was detected, Kendelton turned to the FBI with evidence of the corporation's way of conducting business. The strange thing is that all this happened five years ago and nobody's been indicted? Kendelton's ex-wife simply got fired and vanished. A year later Rohypnol is flooding the market and is distributed like candy to small time criminals, tying them to the mob efficiently, like an army of psychopaths. And it all derives from right here; Las Vegas is the main port of distribution. I'm assuming we have a clandestine flunitrazepam factory in the neighborhood. And now Hodges got wind of the fact that Kendelton himself is offering his knowledge to the CIA, asking for protection in trade for testifying against a Las Vegas department of a federal organization. Maybe the rum in Havana isn't up to his expectations," Grissom ended his speech on a dry note.

"Huh?" Warrick had to sit down. "How big is this thing?"

"Welcome to Stokesgate," Greg moaned and rose. "I'll go put on some Blue Hawaiian, maybe that'll clear the picture. I can't believe Nick stumbled on something this big!"

"Who else, if not Nick?" Warrick grumbled.

"I've heard of bad karma, but this?" Greg shook his head as he wandered off.

"I have to agree. Nick just happened to stumble on to something major, no wonder we can't seem to get a hold on this case. These criminals are not your typical small-time players, this is a federal case." Grissom let his eyes rest on Warrick. "How is he doing?"

"Not good, I think he got worse by his thrashing around last night. I left him to sleep, didn't want to wake him just yet." Warrick met Grissom's gaze, "we need to move out soon, right?"

"I wish I knew where to go from here," Grissom replied. "All I can offer right now are assumptions of what's best for Nick but I don't really know."

"Nick's decided to go, says he won't stand for dragging anybody else into this. He won't be stopped now, not knowing what he knows about the case. Maybe we should have kept quiet and chalked it up to coincidences?" Warrick felt like groaning at the thought.

"Nicky's not stupid, he'd have figured out that we were keeping things from him and that is nothing I recommend," Grissom admitted. "Not when it comes to Nick."

"Experience, huh?"

Grissom nodded. "Nick has this odd way of seeing important details without even knowing it. He simply picks things up."

"Yeah," Warrick leaned back in his chair. "So this cabin, is it safe?"

Grissom regarded him pensively. "Warrick, at this point I just don't know what is safe any longer. But I'll do everything in my power to keep him safe while we wait this out up there."

"No you won't," Warrick leaned forward, fixating Grissom. "Because I will be going with him. And they'll have to come through me to get to him."

"Don't think they'll hesitate. It's Nick's choice; if he wants you up there I'm letting you go. If not, I am going."

The knot in Warrick's stomach suddenly tightened several notches. Suddenly that choice seemed more threatening than any psychotic mob.

"At least let me take him to his appointment; I know he can't lie but he does leave information out. I don't want Dr. Bloomfield making decisions based on Nick's bravery. He needs the facts."

"Knowing Nick, he'll deal with what is coming, in his own way and alone," Grissom smiled wryly.

A coin toss with close to fatal ramifications crossed Warrick's mind like a red hot knife of pure pain. The way Nick had tossed it back to him, saying it was bad luck. The same coin he had buried at the nursery when he revisited the place only some weeks after the ordeal. Buried it deep in the soil in some desperate guilt-reducing ritual; the coin that seemed to burn his fingers as he dropped it into the ground.

"Not this time," Warrick spoke decisively. "Not this fucking time."

"I'm coming in with you," Warrick tried as a nurse approached Nick. They had been sitting in the crowded waiting area for close to an hour after the blood work was done. Brass was already on his feet, ready to accompany Nick.

Nick looked genuinely surprised and grinned. "I don't think watch dogs are allowed. I am so ready to get rid of the two of you."

Brass laid a hand on Nick's shoulder. "I came to see nurse Nell, kiddo."

Nick rolled his eyes, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at Warrick. "He blabbed about her too? I think he has the hots for nurses, gotta be the uniform."

"That's low, man," Warrick wheezed.

Nick looked chastised. "Sorry, boss. Didn't mean to, uh, shit man."

"Repent, dude. I'm coming inside just for that." Warrick tried to sneak in through the door but was stopped by a firm hand on his chest.

"I gave you power of attorney, Rick, that don't make you my Mom."

Warrick was left staring at the closed door.

"Well you tried, 'Mom'. But you know when they grow up, they get feisty and mean." Brass grinned. "I could'a told you to let it go, the kid is tough."

"I've dealt with foolish toughness all my life, Brass. I know where it can lead." Warrick shook his head. "Nothing I'd recommend."

"It'll never be over for you, will it?" Brass asked." If you don't let all that guilt go, it'll start growing and eat you alive."

Warrick smiled, "You think it's guilt? And you call yourself a detective?" Then he turned and walked away from the door, wanting to kick himself for letting his tongue run amok again. He sank down onto a chair, those same ones he was starting to feel nauseated about.

Brass sat down in the opposite chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and taking on the investigative look. "You missed your psych consult."

"You really think I'm the one in need?" Warrick retaliated. "That man in there can barely get up from a chair by himself and he's ready to move into the wilderness."

"That man in there, and I emphasize man, survived 24 hours under ground without a major flip out. He survived a bullet to his chest that almost ripped his guts out and he's still not babbling, tied up with a straight jacket. I'd say he's doing better than you right now. Don't sell him short."

"That's not what I am doing," Warrick replied, pinning Brass to his seat with a steady glance. "I'm seeing to it that this time he's not alone when he meets the ghosts."

"His ghosts or yours?"

"This might seem out of the left field for you Jim, but sometimes I do actually care for others."

Brass grinned. "You've always cared for Nicky, Rick. Just don't make that care into something it isn't. Don't even fool yourself that you're the stronger one in the relationship. It scared you shitless before and got you a McFast marriage. What will it do to you this time?"

Warrick had to look away, cursing himself for letting his perfected bad ass attitude drop for a fraction of a second before the gathered himself. Jim Brass was right of course, but Warrick would not admit to that, ever. Instead he rose and walked over to the vending machine, not wanting to let Brass see how fucking close his words had hit home.

"You two love birds set to go?" Nick asked, interrupting their contemplative mood whilst pouring down the venom served from vending machines. Warrick was through his third and Brass was not far behind. The coffee was as bad as the chairs in this place and Warrick was sure it was intentional because he could literally feel the caffeine grating at his nerves.

"So what is all this, man?" Warrick had snatched the stack of papers out of Nick's hand, going through the meds one by one while following a step behind the two men navigating through the milling in the corridor. "Anti-histamines, epi-pens, two sets of antibiotics, Dilaudid for intravenous and intramuscular use and Vicodin? Muscle relaxants and, what's this, iron and D vitamins? You've got prescriptions for an entire pharmacy here, bro. Lemme guess, Doc's not too thrilled with you leaving town? IV-cannula still in? Let me rephrase, he forbid you to leave town, didn't he?"

"Only thing he was worried about was the increased watch dog anti-bodies in my bloodstream," Nick replied calmly and Brass stifled a snort of laughter.

Warrick shot him his best death glare but stayed quiet while trudging behind them to the car. Brass was walking close to Nick, ready to grip the man in case he stumbled. Nick was still walking slightly bent forward, his pace slowing as they walked on. But he never stopped once, until they reached the SUV and he grinned victoriously, slightly short of breath, at Warrick.

Warrick hoped nobody noticed how he kept glancing over his shoulder.

The drive seemed endless. Warrick looked at his watch and realized they had been on the road for close to 4 hours already and nothing but sand extended around them in the dark. Dune after dune in the moonlight, occasional cliffs sticking out and making it look like a moon landscape. A couple of miles ahead there seemed to be a mountain of sorts; it stood up majestically in the moonlight. The road was nothing more than a dirt road full with potholes and despite Grissom's careful driving they'd occasionally bumped into a hole, which sent Nick's breath hitching. He'd slept for most of the trip but the road's condition worsening had obviously woken him up, according to the groan from the backseat.

Warrick turned to check on him. "How you doin' there bud?"

"Fine. How far still?"

"Don't know, wanna take a break?"

"Nah, but this tucking me in the back's just not fair, could'a taken my car and let me drive. Your backseat is lumpy by the way, this some kind of retaliation for something?"

"Stop whining, Nicky," Warrick grinned, relieved that he was still cracking bad jokes. "Need a booster?"

"Nope, need to know when we'll arrive."

"In about thirty minutes, Nicky," Grissom threw a glance in the rear-view mirror. "Just hold on."

"Right there?" Warrick asked, pointing to the mass of a mountain rising before them. "Is this place even on the map?"

"Not all maps," Grissom smiled. "It's old military territory and the general had clout enough to keep his bunker very private."

"Bunker?" Nick groaned. "Oh, this is getting better and better."

Warrick turned to the back seat, grinning, "Suddenly wish you'd stayed with nurse Nell, huh?" With a glance over at Grissom at the wheel, he continued. "I think our boy is feeling better, he's whining."

Grissom shot the rear-view mirror another glance and smiled before he turned to the left and started a slow climb up a slope towards the mountain peak. Warrick relaxed, realizing they must be close and concentrated on taking in the surroundings. The road soon disappeared into high grass, revealing increased moisture. Grissom slowed down considerably when the first trees appeared, wide and lush they flanked the road, obscuring the moonlight occasionally. Brass and Greg crept up closer, keeping them close in sight on the winding road. Ten minutes later, the forest was thick and completely dark, the moon was invisible from under the crowns of the Douglas firs and trees Warrick wasn't even able to recognize. He really was a city slicker, after all.

Nick heaved himself up into a sitting position just as Grissom pulled up. "Uh, Griss," he cleared his voice and pointed to a dark shadow. "I hate to tell you this, but someone's already here."

Brass pulled up and let the cars headlights illuminate the car and its driver standing outside, leaning onto it. He raised a hand in salute.

"Yes, that would be my friend Dr. Frank Gladstone. He'll be your only contact with the outer world except me. Oh, and before I forget," he dug in his pocket, coming up with a cell phone. "This one's got all the numbers you need, use it. Avoid using your own just in case someone is tracking them. You have them switched off, right?"

Brass and Greg were already out of their SUV, approaching the man and shaking his hand. Grissom stuck his head out the window as a smiling man appeared.

"A beard, Gil Grissom?"

"Not looking any younger, huh?" The two shook hands, and Warrick thought that the open joviality on Frank Gladstone's face, illuminated by the headlights, was a sharp contrast to Gil's usually guarded features.

Nick was already on his way out, groaning with pleasure as he hung onto the car and straightened himself out. Warrick jumped out and kept an eye on him.

"These the refugees?" Frank asked and walked up to them, extending his hand. Warrick gripped it and was relieved by the steady shake. "I'm Warrick, Nick's watch dog."

Nick hissed something and Frank grinned, extending his hand to Nick. "So you're the one Gil's searched heaven and earth to hide out. I really don't know half of why but I can assure you that if you don't want to be found out here, nobody will find you. Follow me, you can't see the cabin from here."

Warrick gripped Nick's arm despite protests and followed, they reached a natural gate in the mountain, approximately 2,4 and maybe 4 or 5 ft narrow. It was closed off by a metal bars thick enough to hold a truck outside. The iron fence shrieked when opened. "It's closed with a normal key, but with all the sounds this gate makes -," he shrugged and smiled. They rounded the protruding mountainside and stepped into moonlight. There, in a natural hollow of the mountain, lay a wooden cabin, surrounded by a large porch.

"Guys," Greg piped in. "This is what I call romantic."

"My uncle was stock crazy," Frank admitted "And so was I when I thought up to renovate it and spend my vacations here. Wife stayed a week and swore never to set foot here again. Try keeping an eye on two toddlers with this." He pointed to the deep ravine that surrounded the yard around the house, the only shield a low fence built by stones and covered with moss.

"Guess I wasn't thinking straight," he continued. "But now it has all the commodities and I still can't sublet it to anybody but some occasional ornithology-freak."

Greg coughed.

Unfazed, Frank continued up the path and Warrick slipped his arm around Nick's waist as they took the stairs, this time his man didn't protest. Opening the door, they were flooded with light.

"Blinds," Frank explained the lack of light showing outside. "Told you my uncle was beyond paranoid, the Germans were everywhere, wanting his scalp or something. You should take a seat," he nodded to Nick, still being held up by Warrick's arm. "I'll show you friends around and then we'll better leave before daylight. I have some food in the oven and coffee on the stove. The generator will run up to three months with the gas I've put in the tank. The water is from the main line leading to the city so I can guarantee you no one's is going to tamper with that un-noticed. We have two bedrooms, a bathroom and this combined kitchenette-diner and that's about it. Well, if you don't count the panic room underneath but I'm hoping we won't come to that."

"Well," Brass leered. "It really is cozy and romantic."

Warrick was lowering Nick onto the sofa and had no time to send a death glare as Nick moaned and his hands gripped the fabric hard.

"I'll be seeing to Nick now," Frank said. "If you gentlemen would step out for a moment?"

With a glance over at Nick, who nodded tiredly, Warrick followed the rest, sinking down to sit on the porch and looking out over their refuge. He heard the calls of different birds, wind rustling the leaves and crickets chirping loudly.

"Warrick goes hillbilly," Greg let out. "Who'da thunken?"

This time his death glare worked but did really not do any good in the darkness.

He followed them out to the gate after getting his instructions about Nick from Frank. It was absolute bed rest for at least a day after the trip. He'd given him a booster and if things went right, he'd swing by in two days and remove the IV-cannula. Until then he was to have his medication through it, diminishing the dose with 0.5 ml after the two days of rest, if Nick's pain allowed it, and to call if anything happened.

Warrick locked the gate behind the men and let the flashlight play over the path he was wandering. He felt his skin prickle from the absolute silence when the cars had taken off, his vehicle still behind some trees with Grissom's impromptu road map tucked under the passenger seat. Now it was him, Nick and the wild nature. Boyscout Nick would probably not have a problem but Warrick Brown was like a fish out of water.

He opened the door and toed his shoes off., padding over to the pot containing coffee.

"Suddenly wish you'd stayed back in civilization, huh?"

He jumped from the voice emanating from deep in the sofa. "Hell Nicky, I thought you were asleep already."

"Nah," Nick said. "Was waiting for you to get me up from here. Hated to tell Frank but this thing has a spring poking right into my ass and frankly, it's no picnic."

Warrick walked over, peering down at the man trapped by the sofa.

"It's too darn soft, can't get up," he complained.

Warrick had to laugh and extend his hand so Nick could grip it and slowly hoist himself up from his inert position. Nick groaned as his feet touched the pavement.

"So there will be no frolicking on the cushions then?"

"I prefer the bed," Nick beamed up at him, despite the sweat running down his temples and his breathing labored from the simple movement alone.

"C'mon man," Warrick crooned, bending down to get his man on his feet. "And for your information, nurse Nell would not have the brawn to do this."

"Would you forget nurse Nell already?" Nick whined, leaning heavily on Warrick while they walked to the bedroom.

Warrick simply held on, arm around his buddy's waist, feeling every labored breath Nick took. And he was grateful that his bud still was around to heckle him.

It didn't happen too often but this night he was unable to get to sleep. After seeing to it that Nick was all right, never minding the comments of nursing him to death, he went back to the kitchenette. He took a beer, sat by the table and tried to quell his need to run into the room where his bud lay tucked in. Run in and drape himself over his man, do the dirtiest things possible and then hold on to him until he fell asleep. These constant jerk-offs weren't doing it. After eight days up on the mountain, Nick was looking much better but this wasn't the time to have the thoughts he had to suppress constantly, that need to touch and stroke and make love. Make his man beg for it, writhing under him and make those mewling sounds he remembered. See those dark eyes glaze over from pleasure and his body arching in completion.

He made a conscious effort to steer his thoughts away from that path. Just sitting with Nick, feeling his thigh lean up against his own as they watched the tiny Tv, was enough to have him on the point of boiling over. Nick in the morning, bent over the frying pan, muttering at the slowness of the burner. Leaning on his arms, tendons and veins protruding, neck slightly bent as he watched the slow progress of their breakfast. That slightly preoccupied look, the rounding of a perfect butt - yesterday he couldn't stop himself any more. He had walked up and wrapped his arms around Nick's waist, kissed the side of his man's neck. When Nick had laughed and turned in his arms, snuggling in and kissing him, deeply and thoroughly, he just had to break loose and take a cold shower. Leaving Nick chuckling. He stayed in the bathroom for half an hour, trying to compose himself.

And here he was again, lusting.

He sighed and coerced himself to mentally go over the facts of the case just to cool down. Remembering they still hadn't gotten nowhere. Brannigan was still on the loose, Kendelton still in Cuba since CIA refused to meet up with his demands. They'd only found out that the ex-wife was no other than Veronica Kapratsky, acting chief of CAP, who'd changed her name and her personal information in some mysterious way after the divorce. Then she was again swallowed up by earth it seemed, and this despite APBs out on all of them. The woman was a pro when it came to disappearing acts. The late night call they had received informed them that they now had a search warrant for CAP's headquarters and it was probably underway already. Grissom's optimism that something would soon give had instilled some hope in Warrick at last.

Question still was; how long would he survive this without doing something totally fucked up? Watching Nick stand on remarkably strengthened legs by the kitchenette, clad in only boxers and a tee, shifting his weight from side to side as he stirred the daily casserole was driving him up the wall. He was down to only Vicodin, antibiotics and antihistamines now and looked better each day. Still, the relief had the unwanted side-effect of increased libido. Yesterday was proof enough of that. Seeing him sitting by the table in the morning; sun reflecting in his eyes and strong, slender fingers playing with a teaspoon. The way he twirled the spoon around with the tip of his fingers, then following its form with his index finger, like a slow caress. A genuine smile when he held the coffee mug and peered over its rim at him was enough to send Warrick into overdrive. He just wanted to drag him back to bed and lick him all over. Lying in the same bed, even if they didn't have to, was his means of self-flagellation; bathed in the scent of Nick, aroused by the sound of Nick's soft breathing, he usually waited until Nick fell asleep until he went to the bathroom and jerked off. Nick would wake him in the morning, coffee-mug in hand and a big grin plastered on his face. Warrick sometimes wondered how much Nick was able to hear of his nightly wanking sessions?

It didn't help that he had found condoms and lube tucked into his bag when he unpacked. A little note with "Love, Cath" attached. He had hid the items deep in the bathroom cabinet, only to find them gone the next day; appearing in the nightstand drawer. Neither of them mentioned it.

He rose, walking to stand by the window, looking out into the darkness. It was still hot and he stood there in only his boxers, looking out into the darkness. Nick refused to remove his tee, he stubbornly slept in one and Warrick hated the fact that his bud was ashamed of a scar. Like it somehow marred who he was. That stupid self-consciousness was driving him nuts at times and still, it was all Nick. His fucking Nick, the man he couldn't get out of his mind for one single moment right now.

He made a beeline to the faucet, washing his face with cold water in the kitchen sink and took a tour of the combined kitchenette and living room once again, trying to steer his thoughts away. Wondering what the team was doing, if they had gotten hold of that Brannigan woman yet and made her squeal about her hubby's whereabouts? Had they gotten a handle on the caller or that final information that would put the pieces all together? Were they any closer to putting a name and a face on those ghosts? It pained Nick that he was unable to remember, Warrick knew that and it pained him too. Nick would withdraw behind those thick walls of his at those instances, seal himself off and Warrick would be left outside without the key to liberate him. He'd just watch as shadows darkened Nick's eyes, shadows he'd seen dwelling there before. Too many times. Shadows he wanted to chase away with any means possible. In those instances, he'd wordlessly cup his hand around the tensed neck and wait. Just holding on until the tension lessened before he'd pull Nick close and wrap his arms around him. Those were the instances he'd let his lips rest against Nick's temple. The instances when his libido gave way to mere tender kisses and hugs. And he felt privileged. Most thought of Nick as an open book, but Warrick knew better. The fact that Nick felt safe enough to lower his guard made Warrick feel privileged, privy to something hidden very deep and only he was allowed to catch a glimpse of it. They never spoke about it, didn't need to.

He sighed, stopping at the window and crossing his arms over his chest, staring out and trying to recognize the sounds of night birds, the ones Nick had taught him the Latin names, pairing rituals and nesting habits. He remembered only half of it; his concentration wasn't at its best when Nick was around. He more felt than heard Nick and turned his head.

He saw him standing in the bedroom doorway, leaning up against the frame. A smile swept over Nick's face when he found himself caught. "What'cha thinkin' 'bout bro?" His twang suddenly more prominent.

"Birds." Warrick grinned and had to look away, the picture of Nick standing there, all lean and clad in only a tee and boxers did things to his cock he didn't want to acknowledge. Not now, not with Nick still all banged up and hurting.

"What kind of birds exactly?" He heard Nick tease while his bare feet padded the distance between them and then he wrapped his arms around Warrick's waist. "What does it take to seduce you, boss?"

Warrick heart skipped a beat before he closed his eyes and took in the sensation of the lean body flushed to his; the heat and the scent doing nothing to placate his rebelling cock. Nick had lost a couple of pounds but the arms around him were still strong and hard, strong enough to take him on and have him helplessly relent to every wish. Nick must on some level be aware of that, still he never used it against him. Reason enough to love the man, another reason to add to the list.

"Nicky," he breathed.

"Shhh, no yappin' right now man, now's not the time. I just want to feel you. If nothing else, let me have this."

Nick's cheek came to rest on his back, a quick kiss to his shoulder blade had Warrick shuddering. Nick had always been able to read him right and his hands did not miss the opportunity to roam over his chest. Fingers ghosting over nipples, just teasing them enough to have them perk in unashamed need. When Nick's lips lashed onto to the curve where neck met shoulder Warrick was unable to hold back the deep moan.

Nick smiled against his shoulder, pressing up to him, letting him feel the erection on the back of his thigh. It was just too much to handle right now.

Warrick turned to face his tormentor. "Nicky, we can't –"

Lips latched onto to his, tongue probing softly until he was unable to do anything else but yield and welcome it hungrily into his mouth while burying his hand in the short hair and wrap his arm around Nick's middle and pull him gently closer. The fear of hurting him flashed through his brain then, evaporating at the sensation of Nick melting into his hold and grabbing his butt. The kiss deepened, cinnamon and vanilla taking over his entire world as strong hands held him and a moist talented tongue dueled with his and turned his entire body into a slowly burning fire that spread throughout him till he was all need and want.

"Nicky," he moaned when they came up for air. "We can't do this now, you're –"

"Would you quit treating me like I'm fragile or something?" Nick hissed and scraped his teeth against Warrick's collarbone before he dipped his tongue in the hollow and licked his way up.

"It's not - oh fuck! "

Nick's leg was between his, erections pressing together when Nick started to move his hips in a slow torturous rhythm. Warrick gripped him to stop him before it was all over and Nick grinned up at him as he slid down, kissing his way down Warrick's chest. Lips and tongue torturing him on their way down the length of his body, hand gripping his hips, holding him still.

Warrick's knees wobbled and Nick laughed deep in his throat. "Up against the wall, man!"

He did as ordered, stumbling back until he hit the wall aside the window. Nick did hold all the control, the thing was only that he didn't understand it fully. Probably did not even like the fact that he had Warrick wrapped around his little finger, but he had and Warrick had never before found himself in this position in any relationship. It scared him shitless at times but what Nick's lips did to his sternum right now had him lean his head back to the wall and tilt it upwards in complete abandon to the predator kneeling at his feet.

When Nick kissed and nipped a line above the rim of his boxers he looked down, watching as Nick's fingers hooked over the waistband and pulled the tented fabric down.

"Nicky," he crooned.

"Shhh," the man replied, grinning. He was intent on slow torture. Lips nuzzling the pubic hair, pulling gently and a hand coming up to cup his balls and soft sounds of desire left the man with his hands running up his thighs, leaving a tingling fire in their wake. The light from the bedroom sent an amber tone into the room, reflecting in Nick's moving muscles and tendons, illuminating his eyes as he looked up to gauge Warrick's reaction when he licked a long swipe from the base of the cock to the tip.

He was shivering and trembling like a leaf, words spilled out on him in an endless stream. Begging and pleading, declaring his need without being able to stop himself as the tongue and mouth around him made the blood sizzle in his veins. He had to take a hold of Nick's shoulder not to fall down, the other hand nestled into the short hair, holding on while Nick played him, wrenching out sounds and groans in a constant needy tone that Warrick really didn't want to recognize as his own. Time ceased to exist as he was hovering on the brink, ready to let go at any moment but never wanting this to stop. Then Nick took him deep inside and hummed around the base of his cock. He hollered his release, a deep guttural sound of lust and completion as Nick sucked every ounce out of him and he stood there; helplessly shuddering with hips jerking into the sweet wetness surrounding him. His fingers bending hard enough to leave marks on his man as he rolled with the heat of his release.

Gasping for breath, he held on to Nick as the man rose from his kneeling position, head tilted and eyes almost black. The amber light deepened their color when he leaned in to place soft kisses on Warrick's extended neck. God he loved this man, the tight feeling in his chest at Nick's affection always surprised him.

"Nicky." He whispered hoarsely, "What ya doin' to me?"

Nick laughed against his neck. "C'mon on man, I'll help you to bed and bet you five bucks you're gonna be out like a light."

Warrick tightened his hold on the shorter man, more to keep his legs from buckling than anything else, while steering him steadily backwards, feeling the straining cock with every step of the way. "Bed sounds fine but I have things to tend to."

"No need Warr, I can spank the monkey all by myself."

"Uhm," Warrick protested with a deep kiss, diving deep in, tasting himself and Nick and sweat and cinnamon and all the goodness in the world. Bending his man enough to make him slowly slide down onto his back on the bed he bit him softly on the shoulder. "Tell me if I hurt you, man, gotta promise me that. Your ribs are still -"

"You're such an ass, what did I just tell ya?"

Warrick found it easier to silence the damned man with another kiss and while at it he let his hands trail under the shirt; onto the territory Nick kept hidden. Nick stiffened under him, for a fraction of a second until Warrick's thumb found a nipple and circled around it while he nibbled on the tensed tendons on the neck.

"Rick, please don't," Nick pleaded and tried to pull his shirt down.

"Don't be a schmuck," Warrick grinned and moved the tee further up. "I wanna see all of you." The scars were still covered with a white textile strips, one running diagonally over Nick's ribcage and a 2 by 2 inch patch on the abdomen, above Nick's hip bone. He bent down to kiss the line of white weave. "You're beautiful, you moron."

But Nick self-consciously hid his face with his arms, squirming and wriggling under him. Warrick growled at the arm covering his man's face, but took the opportunity and slipped the tee off one arm before he wrestled the other down and kissed the closed eyelids. "You're really whipped man, for someone that can read anyone so easily, you're really whipped when it comes to yourself. Open those damned eyes Nicky, and read me."

He opened his eyes to a crack and shook his head. "Not the tee, man!"

That was it. He pulled it all the way off, slowly and carefully holding his man down. "You schmuck," he growled deep in his throat. "I'm about to take your cock as deep as I can, suck you senseless and lick you all over till you scream and beg and you're afraid to show me a scar?"

The garment was off and Warrick let his hand lay partly over the weave, fingers splayed over Nick's heart. "You have any idea where you'd be without that scar? No? Then shut the fuck up and lemme have all of you. Naked and bare for me to - " He bent down and swirled his tongue around one pebbled nipple, his free hand tugging down Nick's boxers. He braced himself over Nick, watching his man gloriously naked at last. Nick's erection had faded and Warrick growled when he nipped and suckled the gleaming skin until Nick's hand gripped the back of his neck and he arched into him with a suffocated moan.

"That's my man," Warrick purred. "All hard and needy and damned beautiful. That's it Nicky, lemme see all of you". He kissed a trail down the scar to the pubic hair, fingers caressing the sensitive area behind the balls, watching as they swelled up against the base of Nick's cock.

"Shit man, you're gonna have me come all over again," he panted at the sight. His mouth watering as he bent to let his tongue slide over the base and the beautifully hardened balls. Licking his way up Nick's swelling cock that leaked pre-cum over the velvety skin, making it slippery and tasty. Groaning as he let his tongue circle the head, closing his eyes at the bliss this simple act brought him.

Nick grabbed his hair, moving his hips up, eyes dark and pleading as he whispered. "Need you in me, please come inside of me, been so long. "

He almost came from that alone. "Not yet baby, not yet." He gripped Nick's ass, tilting him upwards as he took his entire length in and moaned around the soft, silky and pulsating rod. He took him like the desperate man he was, slowly and thoroughly at first; enjoying the skin that slid over his tongue, the musky scent of Nick and the girth of the silky cock sliding slowly in and out his mouth. He was drooling around it, like a hungry wolf sniffing meat. The sound of Nick's hitching breath and keening sounds had his own cock so hard it ached.

"Now man, please, Rick. I can't - I need you inside me, please. Lube, aw shit, in dra- oh man, now dammit!"

Warrick smiled around shaft and let it go slowly after one last long suckle. He watched the erection, silky and smooth and pressed his lips to the pulsating vein underneath while he reached for the lube and condom. "Gotta tell me if I hurt you babe."

"You're killin' me, just - oh God yes!"

His finger slid in, slick with lube and Nick's eyes closed in bliss when he found the bundle of nerves. He leaned in over his man and lapped at the peaked nipples, letting his teeth grace over them, one at a time before he played with Nick's bottom lip and was drawn into a wet open-mouthed kiss. Nick's fingers twined into his hair, keeping him steady as tongues dueled, accompanied with low keening moans and Nick arching up to his finger urgently.

Warrick had to break the kiss before he'd come all over the trim stomach under him. The sweaty skin on Nick's neck was pure aphrodisiac and he licked the tendon, filling his mouth with the salty taste, tinged with a little musk and vanilla. It burned on his tongue, burned a trail right to the primitive parts of his brain, screaming at him to push inside and make this man his. Nick gripped his hair harder, head lolling to the side, exposing the drumming vein. Warrick let his tongue slide over it and groaned at the suggestive rhythm of Nick's heart. Two fingers in now, scissoring softly to Nick's pleas for more. Nick's hand went out and he stuffed pillows under his butt, spreading his legs wider while yanking at Warrick's hair, cursing him to get the hell in already.

Warrick's hands trembled when he ripped the wrap off the condom and lubed himself up, afraid he'd come before he was inside. Nick's legs crossed around his middle and he shuddered at the strength in the grip around him. The slow push inside had Nick's hips move impatiently, needing more and Warrick obliged, sliding all the way in with one slow move. Nick's breath hitched and his fingers bent around the sheet.

"Easy babe, easy, I'm gonna come if you move, just stay still babe, stay still or it'll be over too soon." He whispered to Nick's chest, having to close his eyes as he bit down on his lip to keep some modicum of control while setting a slow and steady rhythm. Nick's hips rose to meet him, forcing him to increase the speed and depth of his thrusts, eliciting a guttural moan from his man.

He knew he was approaching his peak fast, the tightness around him increasing and his breath running rushed as heat gathered in his groin. He gripped Nick's cock with his lubed hand and moved it in slow strokes from the base and up. Nick's tongue slipped out to wet his lips, hand gripping the sheet hard, eyes squinted, unfocused and glazed. Palm of hand on Warrick's neck, fingertips steadying him and holding him close. The thin sheen of sweat making his body glow in the light and Warrick was almost there. He had to push in harder, begging that Nick would come before he did. "Please babe, come for me. Just gimme what I want Nicky, just give it to me."

His hips moved rhythmically, the tightness stealing his breath, the moves of his man making his vision blur and he stroked him faster, begging him to come. Nick replied with sounds somewhere between mewls and sobs when he tensed around him, back arching as he shuddered violently and came. Pumping his release over Warrick's hand and up his own chest, hips working in tiny circular moves with each ejaculation. Warrick wasn't able to hold back anymore. With grunting sounds escaping him, he gripped Nick's hips, burying himself to the hilt and holding on while his body was wracked by the orgasm that started somewhere deep in his spinal cord and spread throughout him with surges of blinding heat which made him momentarily forget to breathe.

Warrick found himself gasping for air, bent over Nick with his nose buried into his heaving chest, kissing the taut skin while his breath slowly settled. He licked him clean, wanting to savor the fruits of his labor. Nick's legs had lost their grip around his waist and when he finally opened his eyes he saw his fingers slack against the sheet.

"Did I hurt you babe?" he asked, heart taking a leap of fear at the stillness. He got no other answer than a hand cupping his neck and a drawn out: "Mmmmmmm-noh."

He wasn't convinced and raised his head to get a better look at Nick. Smiling, he realized that he probably hadn't because Nick was totally slack, drooling onto the pillow, eyes closed and lips slightly parted in a blissfully worn-out expression.

"Wher'ya goin'?" Nick mumbled, flexing his fingers against Warrick's neck to get a better grip.

Warrick chuckled, leaning in to lay a kiss on the corner of Nick's mouth. "Like the cat that got the cream. So cute, Nicky," he teased.

"Don't go." Nick begged drowsily, wrapping his arm around Warrick. "Sleep."

"Still gotta pull out and clean us up Nicky," Warrick nuzzled his man's earlobe and pulled out carefully.

"No-o-o." Nick pouted, and turned his head for a kiss. It was sloppy and wet and slow and wonderfully sated and Warrick forgot all about cleaning up and dropped the condom to the floor.

"Okay babe, you need your rest, I'll clean you up tomorrow."

Nick sighed deeply and tried to roll to his side but Warrick shook his head. "You can't sleep on your left side honey, remember the ribs? Turn babe, you gotta turn. Yeah, that's right, get your fine butt over here and I'll keep you warm and cozy till morning. Nicky?"

But his man was fast asleep. Pressing his butt to Warrick's groin, and all he had the strength to do was turn off the bedside lamp, pull the covers up, tuck Nick in and pull him closer.

"You big oaf," he crooned to the sleeping man and kissed the sweaty neck. "I fucking love you," he said and closed his eyes.

He woke with the sun's rays in his face. A slight snore from his side had him turn and watch Nick all spayed out on the bed, his head tucked in the crook of Warrick's neck. "Aw babe," Warrick purred. "You really are fucking cute." Kissing the top of his head, he grinned and tried to move his limbs. He didn't remember sleeping this well in weeks, all relaxed without a concern in the world. No dreams of looking for Nick and not finding him, no dreams of holding him while he bled out. Just the warm cozy feeling of a man snoring in your ear, he chuckled at the thought.

"What ya laughin' at?" Nick turned and draped an arm around Warrick's middle. "What time is it?"

"Where are you jetting off to?" Warrick asked. "A hot date?"

"Yeah." Nick muttered, laying his head on Warrick's chest. "With a big fancy breakfast. I'm starving."

"And what would his Excellency want for breakfast?" Warrick asked, draping his arm around Nick.

"Your famous omelet, that thing you picked up from Grams'. The only thing you actually know how to cook." Nick's eyes peered at him, in full puppy mode.

"Watch it man! Mock my cooking skills and I'll feed you nothing but cereal for the rest of your life and those are called 'Slippery turnovers' FYI."

"That just sounds awful Warr, hideous in fact, but I still want one. I need the protein." With a wink and he was up on all fours, leaning in over Warrick, kissing his lips chastely. "I'll take a quick shower and you get to work, ai'ght? And my butt's sore!"

"Yeah boss, sorry boss," Warrick grinned and slapped his man's behind and chuckled at the glare he received. "Can I join ya?"

There was that little self-conscious gesture of a hand through the hair before Nick peered from under his brow and nodded. Warrick shook his head as he rose and dragged Nicky to the shower.

He looked into the jar, frowning at the amount left. "Hey Nicky, my slippery turnovers won't be up to your standards this time."

The clatter from the table stopped and Nick walked up to get the glasses. "An' why's that?"

"No pepper in this cul de sac."

He smirked at the man pouring juice into the glasses, watching with surprise how he tensed up, the hand holding the tetrapac shivering and his demeanor seeming totally altered as Nick turned his head and looked at him with an oddly blank gaze, like he was seeing a ghost.

"What? Nicky, it's not that bad." He poured the last of the pepper into the eggs in the bowl and started stirring. "I'll take this one, you take the first and you won't even notice."

Nick put the glass and the juice down, mouth a thin line, eyes squinted into slits and breath running faster.

"You okay, bro?"

"Yeah," Nick let out in a rush. "Gotta go make a call."

He turned his back on Warrick, who in turn narrowed his eyes in surprise and was about to follow but decided to salvage Nicky's breakfast instead. The spatula in hand, he watched Nick walk briskly into the bedroom, rummaging around and exiting with a bag and the cell in hand.

"Nicky? What the fuck?" Warrick asked, getting pissed off but Nick didn't even seem to notice. He was out of the door and Warrick had to turn back to the slippery turnover to get it onto a plate before it became a brunt turnover. He slammed it onto a plate, put the skillet under cold water and wiped his hands. Listening for Nick's footsteps, he walked over to set the table. At last he gave in to the nagging feeling and was on his way out when he met the man in the doorway.

"Wazz up? You act like someone walked over your grave."

Nick said nothing, just walked around him and straight to the fridge for a water bottle. Then he stopped in front of Warrick and extended his hand, deadly calm and all business. "I need the keys. Brass will come get you as soon as he's done in court."

"Excuse me?" Warrick huffed, "Where you off to?"

"Just hand over the keys, please."

Warrick just looked at the man, shaking his head at the stony expression. This was the Nicky he could sometimes see in the interrogation room, the 'don't fuck with me' Nick. "Don't go Grissom on me now. Where do you need to be? Spill!"

"Better you don't know bro, just hand over the keys and Brass will be here by nightfall. Don't make me hotwire that SUV of yours, wreaks havoc on a car like that."

"What the fuck Nicky? You're not going anywhere alone." Warrick exploded, stepping up to Nick and glaring at him. "Just gimme me five fucking minutes and we'll be off."

"No, you can't –"

"Watch me," Warrick growled.

Two hours later, traveling in high speed on the desert road, Warrick started to regret certain words he'd spilled in the heat of the moment. Nick was still pissed, refusing to look at him as the sat rigidly in the passenger seat. The bumpy road was probably giving him hell with the ribs and all, Warrick thought. But he still didn't get the need to get to the lab in this hurry, or why he shouldn't tag along. He'd eaten his breakfast, hastily wrapped into a paper, meticulously, just to piss Nicky off but nothing had worked. He had just opened the water bottle and offered it to Warrick. That pissed Warrick off and they had driven in absolute silence. Now it ate at Warrick, his juvenile antics, the way he had hollered at Nick and above all; the fact that he didn't avoid one single pothole on the way.

"You okay man?" he asked. "Wanna take a break?"

"Just drive." The voice was low and void of emotions. Nick was in his Grissom-mode still.

"So why the hurry to get back to the lab?"

"Better you don't know."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Warrick wheezed and diverted his eyes to some strange patterns at the side of the road. They had arrived at a part of the road where cliffs rose out of the sand and he gathered some punks must have been trying their luck by driving up to the road from the deep sand. Deep tracks criss-crossed the road and Warrick figured it must have been a 4x4 by the size of the tyre marks.

"Slow down, Rick!" Nick yelled as a cloud of dust rose from behind the cliff rising out of the sand in front off them.

"Fuck!" Warrick slammed the brakes but the dust cloud materialized into reflections of sharp light, the roar of a V8, screaming brakes and lastly; black metal that took over his entire visual field.

Warrick's vision cleared slowly, cobwebs dissolving to reveal a harsh voice followed by a breathless moan. The blazing sunlight had him move and groan out loud when he realized the pain that shot through him emanated from his left leg and hand. The words he had been hearing finally started to make sense.

"Wanna know how we found you, Stokes? Last night at 4 am I made a call to your friend the Doc's wife and told her I was with the Houston PD and told her that Gil Grissom had asked me to inform you that your dear Mom and Dad were in an accident and I needed your phone number. Always call in the middle of the night because people aren't thinking straight when they wake up. Your little friend didn't hesitate once about giving me the number. The moment you made that call I had you pinpointed and then you go and do my job for me? Driving right into my lap? Stupid Stokes, stupid!"

Warrick's shadowy vision took in the blurry sight of a man with his hand curled around the fabric of Nick's shirt. Another man, at his left, gun pointing at his own temple. He groaned.

"Oh good morning, CSI 3 Warrick Brown," the man smiled in his direction. "The forensics are gonna have a blast with you Brown," a gleeful voice spoke close in his ear. "See, I have your gun and for a moment I was contemplating using it on your bud here, placing a slug in him to have him slowly bleed out."

His face was pulled to the side and he recognized the man immediately. He was older but still the arrogant bastard he remembered; FBI Special Agent Culpepper.

"Good thing you seem to be concussed, not much of a threat that way. As for you friend here, tempting as it might be, I won't shoot him. Too easy an end for him, the bastard needs to suffer. I've been contemplating his fate for a while but, well, he apparently wasn't wearing a seatbelt and was thrown up against the windshield and broke the already fractured ribcage into tiny little bits and pieces before he drowned. What do you think, CSI Brown, drowning suits you just fine, am I right?"

Nick made a move and Culpepper turned to him, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking Nick's head back. "Never piss me off, son. I have ways to eliminate people that leave no evidence at all. You're going down the ravine, SUV and all, then you'll drown and your testimony with you."

The reflection of a silvery, thick metal-band over Culpepper's knuckles had Warrick wince.

"Shut up man," Nick moaned breathlessly. "I'm - taking you - with me, you sick - bastard."

His voice came out garbled, punctuated with pained exhales.

"Fuck! Nick?" Warrick tried the door, but it was stuck, his leg trapped between it and the seat, making it impossible to move and deck the fucker taunting them. His hand went for the key in the ignition but it was gone, so was the gun from his holster. Just like the bastard said, he realized he must have been out longer than the initially thought. His heartbeat picked up and hammered in his ears. "I'll kill the two of you, assholes!"

He had intended to sound threatening but his voice came out garbled and weak.

"Hear that, Brannigan? The prick is trapped like a rat and still gnawing. Stokes deserves a reminder just for that."

Warrick jerked at the sound of a fist connecting with Nick's chest and his bud's pained grunts and wheezing exhale. His rage blended with helplessness. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he exhaled with a whimper, his good hand going out to Nick instinctively.

Culpepper snorted. "Think I've roughed him up enough now, Brannigan? I want him to be conscious when he drowns. Immobile but conscious. How much more can he take, you think?"

"You didn't - get me - in that alley, you sick fuck, what - makes you think - you'll get me now?" Nick panted and Warrick turned his head, vision swimming and bile rising in his throat as he did so.

"You calling me what, you punk? You were out for the count, and if Timmy just had followed orders we wouldn't be here, tidying up your mess. Your man Brown here would be safe and sound. Ever think of that? " Culpepper pressed the gun hard into Nick's ribcage. "You know you can thank your friends of the LVPD for sitting here. If they hadn't shown up at the shoot-out in the alley so fast I would have gotten the merchandise that was stolen from me without causing problems for anybody." He pressed Nick harder into the seat and shook his head sadly. "I hate messed up scenes and Tim didn't check that you were dead, he had to pay for that. He was a good man and very diligent. You see what you made me do to him? Huh?"

The increased pressure had Nick still in his seat to conserve what little air he was able to breathe in.

"I ought to thank you for shooting that punk in the alley, hell I'd had his back on numerous occasions. And when paroled he wants to have his piece of the action or he'll expose me? I have to send the judge that made the deal with him some flowers or something; he really made it easy for me to rectify the situation. No one sings under my watch, not even you, Stokes. I had a good thing going. You know how grateful Veronica was when I arranged a plea-bargain for her? I just had her rat out the Russians flooding our market with roofies. Everything was excused after that. You know how grateful her hubby was when I arranged immunity for them both and a new life? He even helped me get CAP in where I needed them to be. You know how grateful Brannigan here is for me picking up his faltering, half-assed trial in the industry of cleaning up? Do you know how many I have in the palm of my hands? No, you don't, do you? You know how grateful all the junkies are that we provide them with clean and pristine flunitrazepam, for free? Well, with some strings attached, of course. All these people depend on me, and you want to take that away from them? You never had a chance, Stokes."

He let go of Nick and stepped away with a victorious grin. "Haven't had this much fun in ages. Your boy here is really begging to get smacked around, isn't he?" Culpepper winked at Warrick, laughing softly and a last jab at Nick's face had him bent over and spitting blood. "I just love playing with your boy, Warrick Brown. It's ironic really. It was that case with your team that had my career on hold. It pisses me off when I see nitwits get promoted. Really pisses me off. But it seems I always get my revenge. You can thank your buddy Stokes for that."

Warrick had to close his eyes when he saw Nick's face contorted, with blood oozing from his nostrils, a swelling forming under his left eye. The rage he felt was making him nauseous and weak. He wanted to leap out, grab the man around the neck and slowly suffocate him, enjoying every moment of the bastard's death-struggle.

"Get the towline," Culpepper instructed his partner in crime, walking away with a gleeful smirk in Nick's direction. "We'll let them take a dive down the canyon ahead, that one is nice and steep. I would love to make your demise more painful but you've seen to it I have to watch my steps more carefully, and I'm not liking it one bit."

He turned to leer at Nick while walking leisurely away from their car, still laughing a sick hollow laughter. "So perfect, top notch CSIs of LVPD drive off road and die in violent car crash. I can already see the headlines. They're going to dig up all the dirt on you, serve it for your families enjoyment."

"Shit Warr, I'm so sorry, I'm so freakin' sorry I dragged you into this," Nick slurred, panting for air, holding his arm around his middle while straining to straighten himself up.

Warrick suppressed his rage and pain enough to reach out his right hand to cup it around Nick's bent neck, groaning at the pain that shot up his leg. Then all hell broke loose. A cell phone played a happy tune and Brannigan fished it up from his pocket, checking the display and flicking it open. "'Lo?"

"What the hell are you doing, you fucking moron?" Culpepper roared, turning to his companion on the phone. "You bastard, you answered?"

"Told you my wife is due any moment," the man answered, turning his back to Culpepper, laying the towline down on the hood. "Lo', honey, that you? Hello?"

Nick dove stiffly, whimpering and coughing, to reach under the driver's seat. Warrick's already fractured thought processes got even more jumbled up as he watched Culpepper disintegrate Brannigan's skull with one perfectly aimed bullet. Warrick's head echoed with the sharp sound of the shot and his vision swam with the rusty red ketchup-like streams on the windshield. He stared oddly fascinated at the small pieces of ebony splinters swimming in the stream.

"Stupid moron, I told you the cops got your wife, don't you think they'll check out her cell-phone traffic?"

Warrick's eyes darted to the fuming man at the side of their car. Culpepper turned to slaughter them, and by the expression in his eyes, he would enjoy it immensely. Warrick felt Nick turn and plaster his back to him like a shield. A gun was unsecured just a fleeing moment before the first shots were fired rapidly, one after another. His hand reached out to wrap around Nick's chest when he felt Nick's body jerk violently at the impact of the bullet. Nick emitted an indescribable sound and his left leg came up in instinctive protection. Warrick watched Culpepper's eyes widen in surprise as he staggered backwards, a hole burned in the heart region of the fancy shirt, revealing the bulletproof vest underneath. In absolute horror, he witnessed Culpepper fighting to raise his arm anew, but Nick was faster and the fraction of a second between the pulls of triggers resulted in Culpepper's head tilting backward and his arm lowering as he fired and fell. Nick twitched sharply as the second slug ripped his left leg to pieces of torn muscle and flesh, revealing the bone, before he fell to his back onto the seat.

The sand underneath Culpepper's skull turned red.

The silence that followed was deafening and he drew in deep breaths, battling the nausea when the stench of blood and gunpowder filling his nostrils, finally registered. It was broken cruelly by Nick's agonized whimpering as his butchered leg slid off the seat, the pant leg pooling around his knee, exposing the damage done. Warrick closed his eyes at the sight, his hand around Nick clutching blindly at his shirt, fisting around the damp material. Sounds of pure agony, punctuated by raspy exhales, left Nick in a low keening and maddening melody that etched itself into Warrick's mind with claws sharpened by the eerie stillness. The Glock fell out of Nick's slackening hand and landed on the rubber carpet with a soft thud. Fighting for his breath he tried to get up, fingers grasping for support, the seat under him soiled with blood. Warrick's hand slid down Nick's side and felt the sticky and warm flow between his fingers. Nick lost his momentum and fell back, breaths raspy and uneven.

Warrick threw up out the open car window, emptied his stomach thoroughly before he groaned and sank back, still trapped in his place. His leg shot sharp twinges of pain up his spine and his left hand felt stiff, sore and utterly useless. It was not until then that he dared look at his bud again. Nick was still struggling weakly to get up, mumbling something about the cell. His body now shivering violently, teeth clattering and raspy exhales forced forth a foamy blood stream from the corners of his mouth. His eyes hazed and unfocused.

"Nicky, it's all right; I have the cell in my pocket, just hang on man!" He fished for it in his shirt pocket and found nothing.

"To' 'em, s'sor." Nick slurred and Warrick secured his grip around his middle, trying to calm the shivers. His breathing was getting more labored. Warrick felt Nick's body tense in small convulsions when he clutched the gunshot wound hard with his hand and pulled him closer. His own body screaming in protest and Nick's head tilted to the side, and he was still, only shivers wracked his body occasionally. The slowing stream from the corner of his mouth colored Warrick's jean clad thigh. The car was hot despite the open door on Nick's side, sun beating down on the dark metal mercilessly. Rivulets of sweat ran down Nick's forehead and then he stopped shivering. He made no sounds anymore, slack hand stretched out, gun long since fallen to the floor of the vehicle, sweat dampening his T-shirt, mixing with the blood and chest barely moving.

"No Nicky," Warrick spoke, resignedly calm all of a sudden. "You did yours Nicky, you don't need to do anything anymore. Just rest baby, lie down and rest for a while. I gotcha man, I gotcha. Just stay still, don't move Nicky, just stay still."

He drew a deep breath, his eyesight dimming. "I love you man, just know that, you need to know that, baby."

His head felt like a balloon, his vision started swimming again and darkness hovered at the edge of his consciousness. He laid his swelling left hand on the top of Nick's head, the short hair all ruffled up and sweaty. Warrick had no other option than holding him tight, like trying to keep him alive through pure force.

"You took the bastard out Nicky, teach the motherfucker to play with my homie Nick Stokes, huh? You hid the gun under the seat? Teach 'em to underestimate ya, shit Nicky. I love you man."

The nausea was back, with a vengeance. The tightening of his chest made his mumbled words non-decipherable, but he had to say them all the same. He wanted to scream in protest, curse all and everyone. Lash out and have his revenge on the world for doing this to his man. Promise anything to anyone for Nick's life to be spared. But the black veils on the edge of his consciousness were creeping closer and closer, dimming his view and he heard the sound of a helicopter approaching. He knew his mind was playing tricks on him and tears rolled down his cheeks when he held on to his dying bro until everything went mercifully dark and silent.

"Warrick, Warrick! You gotta let go of Nick!"

He opened his eyes, not knowing where he was or who was screaming.

"We gotta get you out, Rick, so they can work on Nicky, let go Rick. Please let go off him and let us help you out."

He forced his eyes to open and found the door formerly stuck and trapping his leg gone. Catherine was at his side, looking frantic and holding his head, pleading with him. Brass stood behind her, face grim while surveying the work at the scene. The detective acknowledged him with a curt. "Hang in there Warrick, we'll get you out of here soon. You did good." Then he was gone.

He looked to his right, his hand all twisted up in fabric, stubbornly clasping Nick's T-shirt now pooled up around his shoulder while an EMT was struggling to intubate him. The portable vent hummed on the floor of the vehicle.

"Jesus," he breathed and let go of his grip and noticed his own leg in an inflatable cast and his injured hand steadied with a plastic splint.

"Don't move your head, Sir," a voice ordered and a neck brace was clipped onto him before he was dragged out and laid on a gurney. The pain coursing through him had him close his eyes and bite his tongue.

"Rick? You still with us?" Catherine asked.

He had to blink against the harsh light of the sun and the swishing of the rotor blades and the sand they stirred up made the air thick and balmy.

"We may have to take Mr Brown in first and come get Stokes later," the EMT informed Catherine, who had fallen to her knees by his side, trying to shield him from the sand stirred up and the sun's heat. "The doc is trying to stabilize him and that might take some time and if -" The female EMT let her voice trail off talkatively.

"Fuck no!" Warrick groaned. "No, ain't leaving Nicky behind. No way!" He tried to push the EMT away when the woman bent to insert an IV into his arm. "Not going without Nick, dammit!"

"Is it okay to wait?" Catherine asked, "will it worsen Warrick's condition?"

"Not really," the EMT replied, hooking Warrick up with oxygen through a nasal cannula. "Mr. Brown seems to have a closed impact fracture of the tibia and a concussion, the hand might have some hairline fractures or a bad sprain. Won't know that until we can x-ray him. But there's nothing life threatening, his pulse and BP are within normal range and holding steady so we don't suspect any internal bleeding."

Catherine rose and turned to face the EMT, speaking so quietly Warrick couldn't make out what she was saying. The EMT cast a glance over Catherine's shoulder and shook her head. Catherine looked down, devastated and Warrick groaned and tried to get up.

"Stay down!" The EMT's hand was on his chest, forcing him to lay still.

"Nicky?" Warrick gripped the EMT's wrist with his good hand, "what about Nick?"

"I don't know, Mr. Brown, I've been working on you. I'm going to give you something for the pain and go see how Mr. Stokes is doing. Is that all right with you?"

"Just save him," Warrick gasped, "just save my bro."

Cath's hand came to rest on his chest. "Rick, they're doing all they can, it's out of your hands. They're doing all they can." She looked over her shoulder again, squinting her eyes against the bright light and abrasive sand.

The oxygen filling his lungs cleared his mind of the cobwebs and he reached for Cath's hand, gripping it in a silent plea.

"He's lost a lot of blood, Cath."

The strawberry blonde turned back to look at him. "He's on a rapid infuser Rick, they've got it covered."

"I think they broke his ribs before the shooting started. I was out of it but they must have gone down on him hard. He was bleeding even before the shooting started. Foaming. I think he has hemo-thorax, his breathing was just not right. He wasn't even healed from last time, Cath."

"I know, I know. He's on a vent and they're probably trying to drain his lungs, not much else they can do under these circumstances. That's why he can't be moved just yet, they need to drain his lungs for the flight back or the pressure will kill him.

"And if they can't?"

Catherine was silent, bowing her head and Warrick was able to sense her hand tensing in his. Then she lifted her eyes, shadowed with immense sorrow, to lock with his. "He won't be coming with you if they can't, Warrick. You know that, it's against the rules. You sure you want to wait?"

He simply nodded and closed his eyes, trying to block out the bitter realization that he might have to leave Nick behind if things went south. The pain in his chest had nothing to do with his injuries, but it was taking over his senses and he wanted to rebel against it, scream and kick that sense of utter helplessness and petrifying fear he felt gripping him. He swallowed, trying to pull himself together.

"What are they doing to him now?" He asked, trying to sound very professional and failing miserably.

"I don't know Rick, the SUV in blocking my view but he's out of the car. They have him hooked on IVs because Gil is holding some blood and fluids in his hand. That's all I can tell you really." Catherine spoke with a voice still thick and garbled, her words almost smothered by the sound from the Medevac's rotors.

"Griss with him?"

"Yeah, he's right there with him. Brass too." Catherine assured him. "We won't leave him alone ever Rick, you have my word on that."

"I should be there Cath, I should be there with him. Griss has a thing for him, doesn't he?"

Cath looked at him with a curious, lopsided grin. "Rick, you're delusional."

"No Cath, I'm not, I've seen it."

"Warrick, just calm down." She craned her head to look in the direction of his best bud again, straining her neck to get a better view.

"I need for Nick to -" The world had started spinning slightly and Warrick swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "I just need him, Cath."

"I know you do." A small pained smile contradicted the forced gleefulness of her voice. "And if you don't tell him, however you men go about that, I'll kick your ass till you do."

She squeezed his hand and stood up.

Warrick followed her moves with his eyes, the headache increasing as he fixated on her. Trying to read any signal, fearing to have to see defeat. Her stance was tense, neck elongated and face concealed by her hair, flexing from the wind the rotors stirred up.

Then Brass appeared, gripping her elbow, talking close to her ear. The pressure on Warrick's chest increased. "Hey!" He croaked, trying to get Brass' attention. "How's my man doin'?"

Brass turned to him, bending over and laying a hand on his chest. "He's being moved to the helicopter right now, Warrick, they're gonna load you in too and take you to Desert Palms. Sara and Greg are already there, waiting for you. We'll ride in and meet up with you there. Just hang in there, Rick."

"Just get me my main man, will ya." Warrick pleaded, fighting the dizziness creeping up on him.

Jim Brass glanced up at Cath from his perched position, raising his eyebrows. "What's he on?"

"I'm fucking flapping tongue too much, ain't I?" Warrick cracked, realizing his confession as EMTs arrived and blocked his view. In the next moment, he was hoisted up and carried away.

He never heard Catherine's answer to Jim before the medication blacked him out totally.

Waking up to Hodges hovering over you wasn't Warrick's ideal scenario. Not when the man smirked and let out an all too happy: "Back amongst the living, Brown? Took you long enough."

"Nick?"

"Want something to drink, Warrick? The hot nurse said I could give you some ice chips if you want some?"

"For fuck's sake Hodges, how's Nick?" Obviously he was on some kind of medication because his initial impulse to throw himself out of bed and go looking for his bud fell flat on its face as he discovered he was unable to move, his body feeling sluggish and un-cooperative. His leg was elevated, hindering him efficiently to move around. He grunted as pain shot though him from his trial.

"You'll get more pain medication in an hour, nurse told me to tell you that. In case you don't need more right now? Want me to call on her?"

Despite his aching limbs, he freed his uninjured hand and grabbed Hodges collar, IV-line flapping. "Listen to me you yappin' fool. You go get me some news on Nick or you'll be looking for your teeth next!"

With a cough, Warrick sank back and let Hodges go.

"Ow, such bouts of aggression. I'll go get Cath or Sara and tell the nurse you're up and cussing." David shook his head and readjusted the collar. Then the blasted man smiled and said: "Nick's in post-op, critical but stable. With some luck he'll pull this one through too. They've fixed the lesions to his lung and nailed his ribs this time. Got extensive damage to his ribcage and the bullet slugged a hole in his intestines too. Not to forget the hairline fracture on his cheekbone, the blow that caused it concussed him slightly. They really did their best to off him, didn't they?"

Warrick noted with surprise how Hodges looked away, obviously fighting to keep the snarly tone intact. Clearing his voice, he continued. "He was under the knife for over sixteen hours, took time because a lot of damage was done to his muscle tissue and tendons. They thought they'd have to amputate but it seems they changed their minds. He's been totally under for another twelve. They'll start bringing him up slowly soon. He'll be weak like a newborn kitten for weeks they say. They marvel at how the man was able to pull through. They don't know my Nicky now, do they?" He grinned, with renewed cockiness, before he turned and left.

"He's not yours!" Warrick felt obligated to inform him, cringing at the dry laughter as Hodges closed the door behind him. Had he been blabbering in his medicated state? Cursing as he realized that David Hodges, man of many evils, now officially was in on the secret. This damned medication would be the end of him yet.

Adjusting himself for comfort in the hospital-bed, he cringed at the sight of a pale-blue pair of tattered pajama. When had they gotten him into something that ridiculous? He had only vague recollections of what had been going on. But he remembered the sounds of pain and Nick's head on his thigh, the awful sounds of his labored breathing, all too well. The rest was more or less a blur. He remembered waking up as they rolled him into the ER, Sara's frantic face hovering over him, sharp needles and poking. Lights shined into his eyes. Rushed voices, somewhere to his far right, talking about PVCs and unstable BP. The hum of the portable x-ray before someone had the sense to numb him out totally.

But he remembered nobody willing to fill him in on Nick's condition the clearest. Eyes unwilling to meet with his. Assurances that did not sound sincere and Greg's face as they declared his neck clear and rid him of the neck-brace. He had turned his head to look for Nick but there were only silhouettes of medical personnel from behind a semi-transparent plastic drape. Then he scanned the rest of the room and spotted Greg by the door, face gray and wide-eyed, stare directed to his right. The expression on Greg's face had made him try to get off his gurney but strong hands had pressed him back down while someone told him to stay put and fiddled with his IV. That was his last memory before he went under again.

Sara poked her head in and smiled. "Hey, Warrick."

He lifted his hand in a salute and she stepped in and pulled up a chair.

"Never been so happy to see your gap-toothed grin, Sara!"

The brunette leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Never happier to see your meek and humble self, Warrick. How's that leg of yours?"

Warrick tilted his head and took a look at the plaster. "I have no idea, why don't you tell me?"

"Well you're going to be under observation here for at least 48 hours due to your concussion and you have a compound fracture so you'll be on crutches for at least a month. Your hand was merely sprained so that will be just fine in a week or two. You were lucky."

"It wasn't luck, Sara. Nicky took the bullets on purpose. I don't know how I'm gonna repay him, ever. Shit, I still remember how he jerked at each bullet tearing into him. Fuck, I'll never forget that."

"Warrick, don't go there."

"I need to see him Sara, I need to know he'll be all right."

"Eventually, Rick, eventually he'll be just fine. It'll take time though, don't expect anything else. The injuries are extensive. I'll see to it you get to see him as soon as he is out of post-op." Sara gripped his free hand. "You two scared us shitless. We heard all those shots and then nothing. We thought you were dead at the scene since no-one let us know a thing. It wasn't until the two of you were in the chopper that Cath phoned in and let us know what to expect."

"How did you know where we were?"

"Nick called in the morning and asked for Brass. Brass was due in court and not reachable so Nick told the temp receptionist he'd be leaving you and coming in himself to fill us in on who he saw in that car. Said something about 'finding no pepper in this cul the sac' had triggered his memory. The temp receptionist didn't know we tried to keep this low profile so she paged Brass, telling the whole goddamned story and one of the cleaners was all ears. Greg saw him and apprehended him. It didn't take much pressure before he squealed. Brass almost ripped the hair off that poor temp. Griss and Cath took off the second they heard Nick had called. Got on the chopper with Brass."

"That's why he almost blew a fuse when I refused to stay behind," Warrick nodded. "He was pissed like I've never seen before."

Sara smiled sadly, "I think I get the picture, I've seen him fly off the handle." She shook her head at some memory she obviously wasn't about to share with him and Warrick wondered. Then she continued in a low voice:

"Dayshift found evidence of flunitrazepam manufacturing in CAP's cellar, it was a veritable laboratory. Brass went to the judge and got a warrant to search Bannister's house. That must have been when Culpepper got wind on what was going down. Brass just left the hearing and was out after you as soon as he found out Nick had called, cursing the two of you vehemently for not answering your phone."

"Shit, we had it on mute during the night, must have forgotten to turn up the sound in our haste," Warrick groaned. "You would have picked us up directly on the GPS."

Sara nodded before continuing, "Archie managed to pick up your car despite the bad reception in the desert. Nick installed the GPS for you, didn't he?"

"Yeah, said I needed it if I ever got out of Vegas. Archie knew I had one? I gotta get that man anything he wants."

Sara grinned. "When we got to the house, we confiscated the wife's cell-phone and called everyone on her list of contacts. Her hubby was under the alias 'Zeus'. Sick if you ask me. Hodges went through twenty-five numbers until he got the right one. . By that time a PD chopper was already on its way to locate you."

"I thought I heard a helicopter but I thought I was hallucinating at that point."

"Nope, you heard them all right and landed about ten minutes after the shoot out. We had the call on speakers and were listening in on the ruckus. It was pure hell. Brass was on the helicopter and assessed the scene before it was cleared for the EMTs and the on-call ER docs. Griss and Cath broke every rule and regulation and checked up on the two of you even before the scene was cleared. You were allegedly holding on to Nick so the EMTs were rather crammed working on him. You just wouldn't let go." She smiled at him. "We got them all Warrick, we have all of them and most of them can put the address up state as permanent domicile for life. Their main hitman squealed like a baby when he realized he was out in the cold. Just wandered into the PD and promised to rat them all out."

"At least there's no price on Nick's head any longer."

"Nope, he can return to regular life and domicile. Speaking of that, I heard you blabbered while under the influence," Sara beamed.

"No suaveness in the world will liberate me from that, now will it? Even Hodges is having a field day about my little speech. Word does travel fast in here."

"Nah, we already knew, long ago. We laid bets on how long your marriage would hold and how long it'd be before you took up domicile with Nick. I won!" The gap-toothed brunette triumphed despite Warrick's glare.

"So you all think you figured the equation out, huh?" Warrick sighed.

"It has been rather evident the whole time and the way you broke down when Nicky -" she paused, swallowing before she continued. "You know, the incident made it all so clear."

"The incident, huh?"

"Still can't say it out loud." Sara shook her head. "It's silly, I know, but certain pictures pop up in my head every now and then and I just freak."

Warrick closed his eyes. "I know the feeling."

A nurse woke him next, smiling and patting his arm as she checked his neurological status and informed him that he was well on the mend. He asked for the time and found out it was approximately 32 hours after the incident. He was served some inedible food and his questions were still not answered to his satisfaction. That's when he started counting the hours.

It took 49 nerve-wrecking hours before he finally saw Nick. After eight, he was so edgy they doped him up and he slept for the next ten. Then he scared two nurses into suggesting a psych-consult to his attending doctor. Who really did get Nick's doctor to explain why they still had Nick in ICU and only people sure of their footing were allowed in.

Warrick still wasn't pleased.

The next two hours he spent learning how to walk with crutches and tried to take a detour to the ICU but was stopped by Catherine.

Tina showed up with a flower and they sat there for a while, in a very awkward silence. Talking about anything except what had happened between them. It felt almost like there had never been a marriage to begin with. When she left, she put down the papers declaring that the speedy divorce was completed on his nightstand. She had taken her maiden name back. He found out through her that they had been on national news, no names but two forensic scientists in a shoot-out in the Nevada desert, taking down the mob and breaking a federal scandal. She was out of there in an hour.

He moped for three long hours after that. Cath called Griss and had him try to talk some sense into him. It didn't work because all they ended up doing was talking about Nick, remembering things he had done and said, and that had Warrick decked for the night. He slept, heavily doped up, for 11.5 hours straight. He checked and continued counting.

The next morning Greg tried to cheer him up with insipid stories about weird cases. That did not work either and he found himself telling Greg about the time he and Nick had fought over the man getting hurt in the backseat of a car and how they had spun wild theories and made bets. Only find out both were wrong. Greg lasted for little over 1.5 hours before his yawns had Warrick point to the door and tell him to go home. Brass popped in next, looking haggard and not divulging any information about Nick at all, which grated Warrick's nerves enough to have him mumbling and cursing at the nurses for an hour afterward. The rest of the day he perfected his crutch-walking, took a long shower and was trying to keep his mind off Nick by looking at stupid talk-shows. It didn't work and he found himself hearing Nick's whimper from the car over and over again. It wiped him out and he dwelled in some sort of semi-wake state for nine hours, he counted them all.

Then Jillian showed up, all frazzled and with a tic under her left eye, a nervous manifestation that made Warrick vividly recall the bruise under Nick's. He found out through her that nobody had called her and informed her about Nick's condition this time. She had heard about it on the news and tried to call both Nick and him without success. Conrad Ecklie had saved the day by filling her in and promising to tear Gil Grissom a new one. Well, she used much more civilized description of the intention but the meaning came through nevertheless. Then she had found a flight and herself in vigil over her baby boy for the second time in less than a month. She looked ten years older and didn't stay long but left a nice looking arrangement of flowers on Warrick's nightstand. Warrick was wiped out by then and by nightfall he begged the nurses to put him under. And that was just after he had suffered through Hodges' tale of how he'd saved the day. Archie did actually flee at first chance. After telling Warrick he had seen Nick through the window in the ICU and Warrick freaking out because he wasn't able to cite BP, heart-rate and polsox's readings. The nurses gladly obliged and he fell into a restless sleep with vivid nightmares, consisting of him stumbling through the hospital corridors, looking for Nick and never finding him. The whimpered sounds of agony he remembered from the hot car in the desert playing like background music.

The night wore him out and in the morning he was laconically defeated and refused to take his physical therapy and remained in bed. It had been 45 hours when he woke, all counted. Even with his eyes firmly planted on the TV, his mind still drifted to Nick in the SUV, the shivers and then the silence that had him rack up the sound of the TV in the room until the poor soul in the other bed called for a nurse and demanded another room.

Grissom turned up, trying some small-talk but soon gave up and disappeared.

Forty-eight minutes later his room was vacated of co-patient and flowers, only to be filled with a myriad of medical machinery a moment later. Orderlies and nurses with hushed voices trampled in and out of the room.

Warrick merely watched the commotion, counting every minute that passed.

When 47 hours and forty-three minutes had passed, Catherine turned up.

"Hey Warrick, any mood improvement today?"

He just glared and watched her pull a chair from the corner of the room. Dragging it up to his bed and seating herself before reaching out for his good hand and clasping it in hers.

"Now Warrick, listen to me -."

His heart literally skipped a beat and the room took a strange tilt to the left before he got his bearing back. "Jesus Cath, is he worse? What the - ."

The door opened and two nurses piloted a bed inside.

Warrick gripped the railing of his bed and rose to a sitting position. Heartbeat increasing until it hammered in his temples.

"Warrick," Cath warned. "Chill!"

"Nicky," he got out with a rushed exhale. Grissom and Sara were blocking his view, casting warning glares at him while the nurses put the brakes on the bed and hooked Nick up to the oxygen, the polsox's and numerous other machinery that had Warrick's throat ache.

A petite ashy-blonde leaned in over Nick, smiling at him while she moved the stethoscope over his chest before turning her head to read a screen behind the bed. "Mr. Stokes, I'm going to give you some enalapril to lower your BP, your body is still in massive shock and producing too much adrenaline. This medication will widen your blood vessels and help your heart. You might feel a little dizzy and sleepy. But we'll be checking your read-outs constantly and check up on you every fifteen minutes."

A green clad young man with the name tag 'Aschmon' walked up to administer the medication. "You're doing remarkably fine, Nick," he assured.

The ash-blonde shook her head in Grissom's direction as she headed for the door. "This is highly unorthodox."

Warrick finally got a full view and let go of Cath's hand, dragging his left leg to hang over the side of the bed with a groan.

Nick craned his head to look at him and his hand moved towards him, in search of contact. Then he must have realized it might not be proper and he let his hand sink back but his teary eyes locked onto Warrick's with something akin to an apology for his needy behavior.

Warrick just looked, taking in what he'd been sure he'd never see again; his main man battered and sore but so fucking beautifully alive.

"'Warr?"

The voice was barely audible, muffled behind the oxygen mask and the sound of the machinery surrounding him. But Warrick's heart launched into a strange kind of unsteady staccato and he rose off his bed and took one step and was about to fall on his face before Cath sighed and pushed the crutch under his armpit.

Then he was standing by Nick's bed, holding on to the frame and looking, just looking. The bruise under Nick's eye had taken on a bluish-yellow tinge under the bulky pad covering his cheek-bone. The oxygen-mask covered half of his face. IVs were inserted in the hand and at his clavical bone. His right leg was slightly elevated, covered in bandages from the tip of his toes to over his knee. But god dammit – he was the most beautiful sight Warrick had ever laid his eyes on.

"Fuck, Nicky!" he got out, cursing himself for his lack of eloquence.

Nick moved a hand and laid it on top of his that was still gripping the rail hard. Nick's eyes were watery and dark, voice hoarse and not much more than a garbled whisper. "Y' kay?"

"Yeah, yeah, bro, I'm fine," Warrick nodded, letting go off the railing to twine his fingers with Nick's.

"Sit down Rick," Sara ordered from behind him and he sank gratefully to the chair someone had placed right under his ass.

"Let's leave them alone," Cath spoke.

"See you later, Nicky," Sara said, leaning in over Warrick's shoulder and caressing Nick's hair while lowering the rail and winking at Warrick. "Behave, guys!"

"We'll go get us some coffee," Cath declared. "I'll be back later." She couldn't resist touching Nick's uninjured leg under the cover and squeezing Warrick's shoulder briefly.

"I'll be just outside," Grissom stated. "Call if you need something."

Warrick didn't manage to take his eyes off Nick and merely nodded, his hand gripping Nick's tightly. He had no words at this moment, just a maelstrom of emotions raging inside of him. The last visual memory he had of Nick was him lying in his lap, blood bubbling out of his mouth with each labored breath. It was hard to shake. And the helpless terror he had felt still dwelled inside him.

Hearing the door close behind their colleagues, he finally blinked, unable to stop the tears. "Shit bro, you scared me!"

Nick turned his head away and tears wetted the long lashes. He didn't need to say a word; Warrick already knew what he was thinking.

"Hey, hey, hey," he crooned. "Don't go there Nicky. I'm fine, you'll eventually be fine and it's over now. We made it, bro. No 'what ifs', nothing like that, Nicky. I know it's who you are but, please, not this time. It wasn't your fault and you gotta promise me not to beat yourself up over it. You told me to stay back and I'm thanking every fucking god I've ever heard of that I didn't. If -"

Nick blinked and swallowed; his free hand going up to the oxygen-mask as if to remove it.

Warrick gripped the hand with his plastered one and forced it back down. Nick's eyes took in the bandage and he closed his eyes with a whimper.

Warrick shook his head. "Look at me Nicky, don't do this to yourself or I'll have to beat your skinny ass. Maybe you don't remember what happened and when you're better I'll fill in some of your blanks. Can't say I remember everything myself, but I remember this: Ya da man, Nick." He grinned, clutching the hand in his tighter.

Nick blinked his eyes rapidly, tears gathering in the corners.

"You - fuck bro, what you did out there, I won't ever be able to thank you enough for that. An' I'm not big on thank you's, I just – shit man, you kicked ass. Ya hear that, bro? I'd high five you but -"

Black eyes turned in his direction.

"I'm telling you, man. I don't wanna hear no 'I'm sorries', no 'it's my faults' and no guilt. Man, I thought you were gonna die on me, you think I give a flying fuck about anything else than the fact that you're still here? Mule-headed as ever. It's over, you got 'em." He cursed himself for the fact that his voice was yet again getting all hoarse from tears.

Nick's eyes were getting unfocused and his hand shivered slightly as he tightened his grip on Warrick's.

"That's right Nicky, you did yours. Now all you gotta do is rest. Rest up and heal. I gotcha Nicky, not going anywhere, I love you man."

The dark eyes focused on him again, lips moving under the mask and hand squeezing his briefly. Warrick smiled, rubbing his thumb over the base of Nick's hand.

Nick struggled to free his hand anew and this time Warrick relented and lifted the mask slightly.

"Still gonna whup ya!" Nick drawled.

"Huh?" Warrick leaned in closer.

"Fo' not stayin' behind."

Warrick grinned, relief flashing through him like a tidal-wave. This was his fucking Nicky all right. It wasn't over yet but one thing he had learned was to have confidence in Nick. Against all odds, he'd pull through this too.

"I know, boss," Warrick crooned. "No need to talk right now. We'll get to the ass-whoopin' later, just catch some z's."

Nick eyes fluttered shut and the hand clasping his relaxed slowly. Warrick held tight, watching while Nick slipped into a deep sleep.

Warrick found himself chuckling amidst tears. He rested his forehead on Nick's hand while tears trickled down his cheeks and wetted the sheet.

That's how Grissom found him five minutes later. Tear-streaked, with a huge grin on his face, his 'cool cat from the hood' attitude forever dented.

He looked up at Grissom standing by the bed. The man looked downright haggard but his eyes rested calmly on Nick. Hand briefly touching Nick's toes under the cover and a curious little proud smile curled his lips.

"My man's gonna be fine. I'm gonna see to it he's all fine," Warrick declared, stating ownership, pride and gratefulness. "Coz' he just promised to whoop my ass for not staying behind."

"I know," Grissom acknowledged, the bemused smile widening. "Never doubted it."

The End.

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