Previous part of - Illuminations.

***

Nick was drifting off to sleep when he heard his cell phone ring. The noise instinctively made him jump and instead of answering it, he smacked it with his hand across the bedside table and onto the floor. He peered out on of his half-swollen eyes and looked at the clock. There were still three more sleeping hours until he had to be up for work, but the phone kept ringing.

He mumbled into his pillow before turning over onto his side. "All right! Hold on, I'll get it." His hand blindly reached for the phone on the floor only being guided by the flashing light coming from the caller ID screen. Who was calling him at this hour anyway? If it was Joe Lee, he was a dead man. "Stokes," he barked into the phone once he got it open.

"Shit, Nick. Are you alright?"

It was Warrick. Warrick sounded worried and pissed off. That was not a good thing to hear at this hour...or any hour. "Yeah...fine. Was sleeping."

There was an understanding sigh over the phone and silence before Warrick cleared his throat. "Look, Nick...I don't know who to tell you this so, just...fuck. It's Grissom."

His heart hit his stomach acid and started boiling. What? He wanted to sit bolt right up and yell into the phone that he didn't much care and say 'fuck Gil', but he was paralyzed to do anything except lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, and wait to hear whatever came out of Warrick's mouth. The only thing he prayed for was that Gil wasn't dead.

"We have evidence that the videos, tapes, everything you got from the clinic was tampered with. In fact, everything they told you wasn't the truth. Gil didn't leave that hospital under his own free will, Nick; we think he was taken."

He was coughing up his heart into his throat and he couldn't breathe.

"Nick, you okay?"

No. He really, couldn't, breathe. His chest started burning as he struggled to get a breath out of his clenched throat. His hand grabbed the side of the bedside table and he pulled himself as quickly as he could to the side of the bed and got to his feet. As soon as he made it to the bathroom his knees buckled from under him, making him stumble head first against the counter. Trying to breathe went to trying not to retract a lung in less than 30 seconds. It hurt. Everything hurt.

Just when he started to feel numb to the situation and take his losses, he couldn't keep from doubling over in pain. They had lied to him and he believed them. Instead of having faith in the man he loved he completely regretted him and walked away. The tears started falling of his chin and down his shirt. Gil needed his help and he did nothing to help him. Because of him, Gil was taken from the clinic and...God.

He could breathe again but now he wasn't sure if he wanted to. The throbbing in his head increased as he slumped against the counter as sobs of tears and pain shook out of him.

"Nick!"

Over the blood pounding in his ears he heard Warrick's voice. Through watery eyes he spotted his cell phone on the tile floor in front of him. He picked it up with trembling fingers. "Rick," he choked out into the phone.

"Jesus, Nick. Calm down, it'd be okay."

He was shaking his head against the phone. "...don't understand. I let him down. I gave up on him."

There was silence on the other line for a couple of moments. Then he heard Catherine's voice. "Nick?"

"Cath?" Why was Catherine there? He didn't even know where Warrick was calling him from.

"Listen, you need to keep it together okay. We can still find him and help get him back. We're going to need your help on this."

"Too late..."

"Nick," she let out a deep breath into the phone. "When was the last time you slept?"

"When Rick called I was asleep."

"No...I mean, when was the late time you had more than an hours sleep?"

Nick's grip on the phone relaxed as he finally got his outburst under control. The last time he slept? "Um...since, before," he shrugged into the phone.

"Since before Gil went missing. Nick, you need to sleep. We want you to come out here, but I'm afraid of you driving."

"I have to work. Supervisor." Nick looked at the cell phone. "I've got a couple more hours before I have to go in."

"Do you think you're up to it?"

Nick shook out a sigh. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. "I...don't know, Cath. I'm good at what I do, but this has been..."

"Rough?"

"I was going to say depressing, but yeah, rough. My life fell apart in eight days and I'm trying." Nick rubbed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. If he was going to get any sleep he was going to have to get off the phone now and down some aspirin. "I need to stable myself but, this is Gil we're talking about."

"Everybody is working on this on their days off and even after they get done with triples. Believe me when I tell you this, Nick, you take however long you need to get yourself together before you jump in your truck and hightail it out here. Okay?"

"Okay. Hey, thanks Cath. Tell Rick thanks for me too. I know he was just trying to help." Maybe if he held the phone against his ear hard enough they wouldn't seem so far away.

"No need to thank me, Nick. That's what friends are for. And don't worry, Warrick understands, he's just...feelin' ya."

Nick snort out a laugh. "Yeah, he does."

"I've got to go. Get some sleep then decide."

"I'll try. Keep safe."

"Always."

"Bye." Nick waited until Catherine hung up before he flipped his cell shut.


9999999999


He was going to go crazy. There was no question about it.

The floor inched closer to his face for a brief two seconds, touched his nose, and then pushed up again. Although, he thought, at this rate he was going to be in the best shape he'd been in years, maybe a decade. His muscles in his arms were starting to shake but he did five more push-ups before he succumbed to the floor and panted for air. First, it was running around the clinic; now, it was going push-ups in the little six-by-six room. The personal trainer Nick got him in California would be proud.

His eyes clenched shut against the sting of sweat and tears. Thinking about that wouldn't be a wise idea. Not here. It wasn't like he was giving up that anybody would find him, he was just being realistic.

He had been moved.

Somewhere in the middle of the cold ass night in Chicago he awoke to a stinging pain in his arm. He feared he was having a heart attack from the laps he did around the small apartment and the extra fifty sit-ups and push-ups he forced himself to do. It was actually a needle going into his arm. It had become extremely hazy from there, lights swirling around and static voices filling his head that seemed like it was floating on cotton.

And he was starting to lose it. Normally a silent room with one door and no windows wouldn't bother him, but this wasn't on his own accord. He wasn't in control. He couldn't leave.

Days didn't exist in the room. He had no idea how many hours or days had passed. No one had spoken to him. The room was dark with no light and he had to feel around for the single bed in the room. His stomach hurt; there wasn't anything he could do to make it stop hurting and quivering after hours have passed. The only thing he could do was get strong. If he was going to have to fight his way out of this, he was going to put up a good fight.

He stopped breathing when he heard footsteps. They were getting closer to the door. A click could be heard against the door before a little window opened. The little window was made into the door, like at the clinic. Somebody he didn't recognize looked in at him, nodded, and then shut the window. The footsteps left.

The breath he had been holding didn't ease as another minute passed and his lungs burned. In a way, he wanted the person to go away, on the other hand he was craving human interaction. It seemed like years since he had human interaction. Years since he touched another human being. Since Nick.

He tucked his head under his arm as he rested his head on the floor. Everything that was him and his existed outside that door, but he was afraid.

The thing was, Gil didn't know what he was afraid of.


9999999999


Nick couldn't believe it. In just four hours he had ruined his career. He tossed the cell phone onto the passenger seat of his truck and sighed. Supervisor. He walked away from being Supervisor...of a crime lab. For Gil.

As he took a sharp turn onto Westfall, with the city of Vegas in his review mirror, he could careless. Screw the job, Gil needed him. He had been too tired and too emotional to see the evidence in front of him. Gil had been taken away from that clinic and he missed it. All of it.

His truck came to a stop in front of the crime lab. He had expected to come back to the lab, visit and catch up with his friends or maybe even come and help out on a case or two. He never would have imagined that he was back here to look at evidence pertaining to Gil's disappearance. That Gil was missing and it was his fault.

Nick shook his head and opened the door and walked inside the building. Immediately he knew something was wrong. The place was eerie quiet and no one greeted him at the reception desk. Frowning he continued down the hall toward the break room, lockers, and Grissom's...Catherine's office. All was not off as he spotted lab techs in their respective glass "offices". He raised a hand to them as he passed and they just stared back at him with sharp, accusing eyes.

That was...odd. As he neared the corner of the hallway, Catherine came into view. She was standing just outside what used to be Grissom's office and she too was staring at him.

He stopped in front of her and cleared his throat. "I'm--"

"Sorry?"

What? "What? Catherine, I got here as soon as I could."

"Well, you're too late Nick. He's...Gil's dead."



Nick sat back so fast his chair tipped over, taking him with it. The pain of him hitting the tile floor overtook all the pain of that dream away. He took a quick glance around the break room and noticed no one in there. Thank God.

His knees ached as he slowly got to his feet and picked the chair up. The last ten hours had been draining. After the four hour drive back to Vegas, he went straight to the lab and caught up with the team and discussed what evidence they had on Gil's disappearance. Since everyone was off the clock that meant everyone was working doubles, triples, even quadruples to find the exact location of Gil. Jim had called friends in the Chicago Police Department. Catherine had gotten a hold of old Professors at the University, she even went as far as calling Dr. Phillip Gerard for information about Gil's "past life" in Chicago.

"Okay, everyone conference room...now," Catherine called down the hallway as she rounded the corner and spotted him in the break room. She smiled and waved him over to the conference room.

He hurried with his cup of coffee, forgetting the sugar, and jogged across the hallway. It was like old times, but minus his favorite person. Everyone gave him an encouraging smile and Warrick motioned for him to sit beside him. Not being supervisor was sometimes good. However, this was the worst worst-case scenario he could think of to be glad he wasn't in charge.

"Okay, Phillip Gerald actually helped us out on this. Not only did Grissom live in Chicago for two years but he also lived there with a woman..." she looked at the notes she had in front of her. "Anne Wright. They lived in a small apartment around campus."

"Did he know which apartment," Sara was the first to ask.

Catherine shook her head. "No, just that it was old. Phillip had never been there himself, but Grissom apparently in his younger days liked to talk. He did tell me that Grissom was only supposed to be in Chicago for two weeks during the summer for forensic training, ended up staying two years. When a little shy of three months after Grissom returned to L.A., he started dating Robert."

"So, he was living there before he even met Robert," Warrick asked as he shifted beside him and gave him a weak smile.

Nick figured Warrick was trying to apologize for bringing up the subject of Robert. He could understand that; plus Warrick and Catherine had been babying him ever since he got back.

"We don't know that for sure. Brass is looking into records, trying to find where Grissom used to live as well as who this Anne Wright woman is and if Robert ever attended any classes there. Robert was a Psychiatrist so he could have take classes there during that time period. Nothing is certain yet."

Nick cleared his throat and finally spoke for the first time. "What's the connection between the clinic and Gil's disappearance?"

Everyone in the room looked at him then back up at Catherine. They didn't know. No one had figured that part of the puzzle out yet. Nick sighed and leaned back in his chair. That information was the most important part.

"The clinic, for whatever reason, altered all of Grissom's records. Detectives in San Francisco are still trying to form an investigation since Grissom is now considered a missing person." Catherine looked like she wanted to hug him and hit something at the same time.

Nick knew it was going to take time to find Gil, but not this long. They were the 2nd best lab in the country and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. "Dr. Carl Evans was the only one that could have changed the files; Officer Sheroan could have changed the video surveillance. What's taking them so long to question them?"

Catherine stared at Nick then down at her notes. "Nick, two days ago Detectives arrived at the clinic to question the staff; the whole place was vacated."


9999999999


It was hot and stuffy; he couldn't breathe. With no sense of time, Gil lied down on the cot in the room and tried to sleep since his muscles were screaming at him to do so. That was a mistake. He had time to stare into darkness, with no light, and have an anxiety attack from not only claustrophobia but also from working himself up into a panic.

If it wasn't thoughts about being killed it was thoughts about him killing them. He never envisioned himself as a man capable of killing someone. In all his years of working as a CSI he only had to pull his gun once. Once! And that was to save Nick's life. He never had to shoot someone, watch every breath leave a person's body until death consumed them.

The only times he felt the urge to kill someone it had been himself and Robert, he almost succeed in both. Robert he had willing lit on fire and wanted to see him suffer until he couldn't suffer anymore. He shook his head; that was very disturbing. Even for him.

He rolled over onto his side and blinked into the empty room. Images flashed before his eyes and he had to shut them. The act seemed invalided since the room was so dark, it wasn't like he was blocking out light. When he opened his eyes he might as well had been blind. If the window to the door never opened for him to see light and the same unrecognizable person looking in on him every so often then he would have thought he was blind.

The images that consumed his mind were those of the time he almost succeed in doing the most selfish act a person could do; commit the act of suicide. Robert, despite all his horrible ways, had been the one to stop him.



He kept looking at Robert, his lover for the past three years, as he stepped into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine that was already open on the counter. He sat down across from Robert. "I, uh, I was offered a job."

Robert nodded slowly. "That's what I figured. Are you going to take it?" He formed a small, optimistic smile that contrasted the stare.

He had to smile at that. He swallowed half the glass and nodded. "It'll be very good for me if I took it." He slightly shrugged. "But, it's in Nevada...Las Vegas."

Robert slightly froze and a confused frown replaced his smile. "Vegas? That's...that'll mean we'll have to move. I, I can't move. I have a career here, not to mention all my family and friends."

He flinched at the pleading yet angry sound of Robert's voice. His hand clenched around the glass and he had to release it before the glass broke. "I know, Robert. But this is an opportunity that I can't pass up." His voice was strong and steady, never presenting the shaky rage underneath.

Robert didn't let up in his ranting and raving. It usually started this way. He wanted to do something and Robert got angry about it. Soon he'd feel guilty and agree to not mention it again, later that night if he was lucky he'd get some sleep. If he wasn't...

His hands shook again and he had to clench them to keep some form of control. Robert slammed his hand on the table causing him to jump in his seat.

"Are you even listening to me? Stop fucking zoning out, Gil! You..." Robert pushed himself off the table and waved his arms around like he always did when he was searching for some negative remark to throw out at him. "Why does Vegas want you anyway? You're just a coroner. You look at dead bodies all damn day long."

"It's not a coroner's position. It's Forensics, Robert. They want me to join the crime lab. My internship with Gerald is about to end and this is a great opportunity for me." He didn't want to try to reason with Robert; it never worked. He was trapped in Hell and Robert was Satan without the pitchfork. This was a lose-lose situation; he had to get out of it.

He pushed back away from the table and stood, grabbing his wine glass and downing the rest of the wine before putting it in the sink. "Robert, stay here for all I care. I'm leaving and I don't give a damn what you think!"

That was a mistake and he knew it. He was grabbed from behind as he tried to walk away and was twisted around; Robert threw him against the wall and grabbed his hands, holding them tight.

He searched for words, eyes darting rapidly back and forth as he looked into Robert's eyes. A cold shiver ran down his spine from what he saw in them. "Robert, calm down. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

He stayed perfectly still as he watched his lover. A wicked smile, one that frightened him to death, formed on Robert's face and he was lost. He forgot who he was, where he was, and who this man in front of him was. "What the hell's wrong with you," he whispered, scared and confused.

"Gil, shut up." Robert pulled his arms away from his sides and up the wall until they were directly above his head.

He blinked in shock that his lover, the man he let himself love, was pressed fully against his body. In a way, it was sensual and erotic. In another way, Robert's way, it was control and nothing else.

Robert shifted and he gasped as he felt how hard Robert was. "Do you want me to fuck you, Gil?"

Robert's voice never faltered as he bent down and bit him hard on the neck. He sharply inhaled and stiffened up. He couldn't breathe, Robert's bite became more forceful, and he was frozen. When Robert finally let go, he stammered out, "N-no." His voice sounded small, weak, and unimportant in the hallway.

Robert pulled him away from the wall and pushed him until he stumbled back and fell through a door, the bedroom door, and onto the bed. He tried to plead but Robert seemed to get more excited and more distant. He could tell physically Robert was there, pressed against him, stroking him through his jeans, and grinding his cock into his hip. Mentally, he could tell that Robert had clocked out. He couldn't help but plea. He had to bring Robert back. "You don't want to do this. I..." his voice caught in his throat as he swallowed a painful lump in his throat. "I can't let you do this. Robert, stop!"

Robert placed his finger against his lips, mocking the gesture for him to be silent. He couldn't believe this. He was just a few minutes away from being raped by this man. He couldn't even get his mind to process that.

"Rob--" he didn't even have time to blink before the fist caught him in his mouth. He immediately went silent and wide-eyed, like a five year old who just been smacked for talking back, but he wasn't five and this wasn't his mother.

Robert knelt down in front of him and mocked the silent gesture again. The tears swelled in his eyes as he felt Robert pushing him further up the bed. He remembered this feeling all too well. He was weak against the powerful.

Robert's strong hands held his hands tight against the bedspread as his neck was being licked and sucked. He still couldn't move, not an inch. He kept telling himself that this would all end soon. That this wasn't Robert, it couldn't be, but it was.

He wanted this; God he wanted Robert, but not this way. Never this way. Of all the times they had been intimate, he'd never heard Robert say anything, not a "love you" or anything that constituted as "loving words". It had all been about control. Right then, he didn't have all. His control was gone.

It was unnerving to think that he wanted to feel loved by this man and not feel like he was just an object, dirty and weak. The hand around his cock tightened and he gasped, tears stinging his eyes.

Was he so desperate for love to accept this? Was he really that pathetic?

Robert...suddenly stopped with eyes wide with something he had never seen before. It wasn't quite an emotion or a realization, it was just a flicker of something, like a flash of understanding, deep understanding, and then it was gone, and so was Robert. Robert had quickly got up and left the room. Never once did Robert say anything.

He coughed out all the air he'd been holding in since he was pushed up against the wall and sobbed. He stayed in bed and listened to the noise in the other rooms. He soon fell asleep.


The next day, he didn't go to work. He turned off the phone, locked the all the doors in the house, and grabbed the whiskey bottle from off the bar. The amber liquid burned its way down his throat. That was a great feeling; he took the entire ache out of his body with a single gulp of the alcohol. Robert was gone, at work.

After a couple more gulps of whiskey he kicked the coffee table first before he threw the lamp across the room. Pictures were next. They shattered onto the floor along with all the pieces of shit that were covering the tables, bookshelf, and walls. He hated that house, hated everything it was and stood for in his life.

He stumbled to the kitchen and flung open the cabinet. Glass after glass collided against the opposite wall; the wall Robert pinned him against the night before. Wine glass after dinner plate after coffee cups formed piles of shreds over his kitchen floor. As he went to step toward the hallway toward the bedroom he slipped on the glass and went down, slicing his hands and arms as he tried to keep his body from slamming into the floor. The cuts didn't bother him, neither did the blood. If he died, who cared?

It took him several attempts to finally get to his feet. The whiskey bottle was on the counter; he picked it up before he went into the bedroom. Blood slid down his arm, around the bottle, and then dripped to the carpeted floor. When he raised the bottle to his mouth it had the taste of copper on the rim.

If there was a room in Hell, this was it. The bedroom was small actually, cramped for two people. It would be fine for one person and a single bed, not a King size bed and enough stuff for two people including a television on the desk. Robert liked to watch Johnny Carson before going to bed. He liked just being able to go to bed.

He didn't know where to start in the bedroom. Just the sight of it caused his pulse to quicken and hands to clench. His right clenched around the bottle making his arm shake from the tightness. The neck of the bottle snapped, blood gushed from his hand onto his pants and floor. Whiskey spilled over his feet and seeping into the floorboards.

Before he realized it his knees hit the floor first before his weight caused him to fall over. The room was spinning along with his stomach. He rubbed at his stinging eyes, ignoring the fact he was getting his blood everywhere, and tried to will the world to stop. If he couldn't get out of Hell, he was going to have to suffer through it. A numb arm reached under the bed and pulled out a lock box. He didn't need a key because he never locked it. Upon taking Phillip Gerald up on the offer of interning with him to be a CSI, he was given the choice to have a gun. He never liked guns. Hated them in fact. So, he never carried it but instead kept it under the bed in an unlocked lock box just in case. In case of what he didn't know.

Until now. The gun slipped from his hand because his fingers were covered in his blood. He grabbed it again and placed it on his chest, breathing deeply and purposefully, he placed it under his chin.

"Jesus fuck, Gil! What...Oh, my God."

The gun was ripped from his hand and tossed across the room. Robert was standing over him in shock and surprisingly...guilt.

He didn't remember what happened next because he passed out.

A week later Robert let him pack his stuff, manly his clothes and books. Robert didn't even try to plea with him as he threw his bags and boxes into his car and started it. The only thing Robert said before he backed the car up out of the driveway was "Drive safe".

He drove safe the entire way to Vegas.


The door to the room opened. Gil blinked back against the suddenly bright light and tried to see who was coming into the room. His eyes started to burn; he hadn't seen light in a long time.

"Evening, Gil. And how is my number one patient today?"

Even though he couldn't make out the figure above him, the voice made him freeze. He knew he couldn't trust that guy. "...Dr. Evans..."

"Shhh, Gil. No need to strain your voice. I brought you food and water. As well as a blanket. During the night it can get quite cold in here."

A wool blanket landed on his bare back and he instinctively reached for it. It was already getting cold. He might still be in Chicago then, or someplace that gets cold at night. Vegas? No, they wouldn't take him back to Vegas. "Why...?"

"Why are you here or why did I do this?"

"Both." Gil swallowed back hard; his throat was rough and it hurt.

There was a small laugh before he turned to walk out of the door. "Gil, if you can't figure that out...then my partner was right. You are a pathetic investigator."

The door slammed shut and there went the click of the lock.

He was...pathetic? Gil only knew one man that would ever call him that. The man was dead, but apparently he always had a partner waiting around to back him up where he failed.

"Where'd you get that coffee cup?" That questioned even surprised him, but it had a very unique design on it.

"Bermuda, actually. My boyfriend Rob got it for me."

***

"Desperate, yet?"

Gil flinched at the words and looked over at Dr. Evans. No, he wasn't desperate. He was pissed. He hugged his legs tighter and breathed deeply into his jeans. He was cold and starving, but he refused to give into this sick mind game. He refused to the point that he wouldn't even talk to the man leaning against the wall in front of him.

Being the only child and his predisposition for hearing loss, he had managed to avoid the draft. His friend who weren't so lucky would tell him over shots of whiskey about their time, some had been captured and stuck in POW camps. He had tried to understand what they were talking about, but he wasn't there. Now, as he shook against his legs and clenched his fists tighter into the fabric he understood what they were talking about. He wasn't a prisoner of war per se, but he was stuck in a revenge war against him. Funny, he should have been the one seeking revenge. As it turned out, he was the tyrant in Carl and Robert's holy war. They were the martyrs.

"You haven't eaten. You know, you'll die if you don't."

Gil huffed out a shaky laugh. He was a dead man already. No one was coming for him. No one knew where he was. Hell, he didn't even know where he was or what day or time or month or year or...Fuck! His jaw clenched and his stomach was twisting and biting at insides trying to find something to survive on. The inside of his head pounded a little faster and stung just behind his eyes like it was trying to prove that it was in fact a migraine pushing just there behind his eyes. Eventually it would work itself out, but not after intense pain and him biting his tongue. That was what happened the last time, probably yesterday. All he knew was that he could still taste the blood in his mouth.

"I know you've been at least drinking the water, but the food hasn't been touched. If you don't start eating soon, I'll have to force you too. And believe me when I say you don't want me to do that."

Gil swallowed hard around the knot in his throat. No, he probably didn't. If his knowledge was right, then what he saw when he was able to see pass the blinding light coming from the hallway, he was in a very old prison. Very old prison's had very old fashioned techniques of making people comply to do things. Barbaric things like the "dark cell" which he was already being subject too, and electro-shock therapy. They also had ways of making people eat when they refused.

"You're starting to understand, aren't you? This can be a lot less painful for you if you just do as you're told. Tell you what, when you've decide how you want this to play out, let me know. I'll be back in an hour. It's up to you if my return will be followed by pain or not."

With that the door closed and Gil was left with an intense burn in his throat and chest.


9999999999


When Dr. Evans returned an hour later, or at least what Gil suspected to be an hours later, the food on the tray was gone. If he had the choice of torture or eating willingly, he'd eat willingly.

"What a pleasure it is to see that you've come to reason," Dr. Evans said as he smiled.

Gil was no longer huddled in on himself, instead he was sitting straight up on the small cot and leaning back against the cold wall, his feet planted flat on the floor. It was for leverage. He learned that when Dr. Evans was in the room with him then the door to his cell was unlocked. Also, he never heard anyone else outside the door whenever Dr. Evans was there with him. If he was right then that meant no one was around and he could attempt an escape. Even though he was weak from lack of food, he was strong enough that if he knocked Dr. Evans down, maybe even knocking him unconscious. Pure adrenaline would keep him going after that, hopefully. After days of not speaking, he broke his last vow of resistance. "Robert, he must have really fucked you up too."

The smirk Dr. Evans was sporting quickly changed. "The only person Robert fucked up was you."

"Oh, so you were just born crazy?" Gil shouldn't have been pushing the man, but he was fed up. He didn't care anymore.

Dr. Evans pushed away from the wall and stepped closer to him. Gil's mouth twisted up. "There's nothing you can do to intimidate me; I'm the one in control. I'm the one who knows all your dirty little secrets, Gil. You can try to play me all you want, but in the end I hold all the cards. How else do you think it was so fucking easy for me to make you not only say you hated Nick, but for you to actually believe it?"

Gil's didn't think twice before he bolted up and slamming into the doctor, sending them both backward and into the opposite wall. The sound of Dr. Evans head hitting the concrete echoed in his ears before his fists pounded into the man's stomach, chest, and finally his face, causing Dr. Evans to stumble to the floor. Before Dr. Evans could manage to get to his feet, Gil was already out the door.

The lights from the hallway caused a rippling effect of pain through his head as his bare feet pounded the concrete floor. He didn't know which direction he was going or where the exit was, but he figured as long as he kept moving forward he'd be okay. His focus was off, blurry from days of not being able to see, and caused him to almost run into a wall. He saw it just in time to avoid it.

His heart was beating loud in his chest, breathing was beginning to get ragged as he slowed his pace and franticly looked around him. He was in a darker area of the building and he could see the hallways better. The lights had been killing his eyes. Concrete lined the floors and ceilings, brick lined the walls. Rooms could be seen that once housed the criminally insane; he was in the psych ward. Iron bars were in place of the window that was in his door. The stench of death was still in the cold air.

At the end of the hallway, through the cobwebs and dust, he saw his salvation. A door, with light shining from under it; he took off running as he heard something behind him click. His bare feet made footprints through the dusty floor. He was too focused on the door to notice someone was coming up quickly behind him. As the door banged open, his first thought behind darkness overtook his was the dry heat, bright sun, and sand.

He was in the desert.


9999999999


"Wake up, Gilbert. It's going to be a long night."

Gil moaned at the voice in his ear. It mixed with the other swirls of painful colors in his head and behind his eyelids. Light cut through the lids of his eyes and he flinched back at the sudden sting that filled his eyes. When he tried to open his eyes again a jolt of electricity rippled through his body.

A tired to sit up, but was immediately thrown back into something liquid. He gasped at the sudden burning, swallowing a mouthful of the hot water down his throat. When he was pulled up he coughed up the water, making his chest tight with pain. His eyes sprung open only to blinked back at the bright white light in front of him. Before he could catch his breath he was thrown back again, this time the water was freezing; it was a shock to his system and he forgot to breathe. Forgot to even move.

With a strong jerk, his head wiped back, banging against the steel tub under him, and he was brought back out of the water. He sucked in a deep, staggering breath. The kind you would try to suck into your lungs on a freezing cold winter night in Minnesota, Boston, or Chicago. It was an ice cold burn all the way down to his lungs.

His bare feet slipped on the tile concrete floors as he was thrown back again. He was burning now. Against all logic he screamed again in the burning hot water, taking in gulps of the water. Instead of being frozen to numbness, he thrashed around, trying to grab a hold of the side of the steel tub to pull his burning body out of the water. Another jerk and he was coughing up water again, but this time it was mixed with bile as he system was trying to balance itself. He didn't know how long his body could manage to continue putting up with his constant back-and-forth between burning, hot water to freezing cold water.

It was getting harder to breathe; he was starting to hyperventilate. Just when he thought he wouldn't be thrown back again there was a jerk and he hit the ice water in mist of a deep breath and his throat froze from the sudden ice hitting it. His reflexes clicked in and tried to shoot the water out and close his mouth, but he could already feel himself not being about to breathe. His head was lighter, almost not there and he opened his eyes only to see it darkening around the edges. Through the rippling clear water he could make out the light that was shining on him; it was the sun rays shining through a sun roof.

A figure blocked out the light and he could make out a distorted version of Dr. Evans before he was jerked up again. This time instead of coughing up the water he went limp in the restraints and fell to the concrete floor.

He stopped feeling, only drifted in his unconsciousness where nothing existed. Until...

A jolt of electricity shot through him and he screamed out in pain into the floor. Hands were felt under him, lifting, but the touch was one he couldn't feel. There was nothing distinct about his movements or the movements around him. Light would come and go as he involuntary opened and closed his eyes; they took nothing in. Nothing was noticed, no details of the room, the people, or the tubs.

Not until he was thrown back into them.

The water encircled him, burning one moment then freezing the next. He couldn't think, couldn't even scream anymore. Whenever he went completely unconscious a shock would wake him up, but only to be thrown back and jerked up over and over again.

After a time he couldn't remember, he was left to shake and air dry on the concrete floor with only a single statement being spoken into his ear before no other sound was made.

"Don't forget, Gil, Nick is to blame for this. Nick's the reason you're here."


9999999999


The cell was always dark, never showing any light until someone opened the little window or until he was given food. Funny, Gil never remembered eating but he knew he did. His stomach always seemed to be full with something that was on the tray that he could never see. Water was being consumed but he never saw the cup. Half the time he didn't even know if he was awake or asleep.

The cell was always dark. Motionless, silent, and lifeless.

It seemed like the only time he knew he was awake and living was when he'd be in the "water room". Being thrown in and jerked back, thrown in then jerked back, over and over until he fell asleep before a shock of electricity would wake him. Then it was back into the tubs again until he finally didn't wake when shocked.

The new way he got to experience if he was alive or not was in the new room. The "death room" was what he liked to refer to it now. That was the room that smelled of blood; that was the room that started off being the "gagging and whipping room". He wasn't gagged anymore. Neither was he whipped. It was nice to be able to lie down without the uncomfortable itching and aching of welts on his body.

But then he would wake later in the dark cell and not know for sure if he was really alive or not until the window opened, a person looked in, and then they were gone again, leaving him with nothing but a glimpse of life on the "outside". An outside he forgot about. An outside that was made of air and night and day and plaster walls. An outside where he was once a descent man and a descent human being. Just...human at all.

That was how men were broken.

Their every essence of life was stripped from them minute by minute, day after day, until all they knew were dark cells and no life on the "outside". Institutionalized, expect he wasn't a convict. He was the one putting the convicts away.

That didn't give him a soul-changing revolution about being lighter on what sentence a man was fated to. No, no, that made sure he had no soul to change because he forgot what hope was; what love felt like.

As he laid there on that small cot in his own private hell, he forgot what Nick tasted like. He forgot what Nick felt like under his teasing and loving touches. He forgot what Nick smelled like as they lay in bed together and wrapped in each other arms.

Worst of all, he forgot that he loved Nick. And in that dark cell he didn't cry in agony over it. He cried in a deep, gut-wrenching betrayal over it.

Before he fell into another dreamless sleep, one thought always filled his mind: Nick was to blame. Nick was the reason he was there.


9999999999


It had been almost a month. A month and the trail of ever finding Gil ended in Chicago. They had nothing to go on. Nick sat back on the couch in Warrick's living room and rested his head in his hands like he did every time he woke from a sickening dream. This time, the dream was filled with images of a dead Gil; this time he was mutilated and lying dead in some psycho's basement.

This time he was there, standing off to the side of the basement and couldn't move as he watched helplessly as Gil breathed his final breath of air and died.

Nick's stomach was twisting and he stumbled down the hallway, making it just in time before he threw-up. The dreams would attack him just about every night; that was if he wasn't too out of it from exhaustion or drunkenness to dream.

Nick gathered himself and padded his way down the hallway. With a quick glance at the clock on the opposite wall he realized that Warrick was at work still. He used to work too as supervisor in California, but instead of going back to California he just stayed in Vegas. Everything that was in there house was now in storage. Gil's bugs were with the lady friend of his that kept them the last time, when he and Gil were away together.

The catch was he couldn't work in Vegas until he passed the Psychological Examination. As of now, he wasn't emotionally or mentally fit to work. Ecklie, being the nicer guy that he was, put him on the payroll anyway and gave him medical leave until he could get his act together.

Since Warrick wasn't there, he could start drinking now and not get yelled at like yesterday. After he arrived in Vegas, Warrick let him stay with him like a good friend would do for another good friend. So, he would crash on his couch and use his shower. Lately, though, that always included drinking all his beer and starting on the liquor bottles.

Nick let out a short, haggard laugh. He was never the type to indulge in alcohol when he was depressed. No, usually he just yelled at everyone, grew his hair out or maybe a mustache, and then he would be okay. After the dust settled he would always be somewhat stronger than before. Growing as a man and a person, finding things out about himself and instead of using them to damage himself, he would use them to build himself up.

This was different. This was not being able to find Gil. Through everything else before, Gil was there for him in his complicated yet always undemanding way. Even though Gil never tried to comfort him with words or embraces, Gil would always give him that steady hand to hold onto or a much needed voice of reason when his emotions were getting the best of him.

Nick was cured with Gil just being a warm presence next to him. He was cured with seeing that small, goofy lopsided grin that Gil would send his way across the room or dinner table. He was cured just by breathing next to Gil while lying in bed. He was cured with a small, gentle kiss before he left for work or a smooth touch on his skin during lovemaking.

The tears were now running freely down his face. He stopped just inside the kitchen and slid ungracefully to the floor.

It had been almost a month and in all likelihood Gil was dead. Nick sucked in a breath only to release it in a painful, chest heaving sob. He couldn't get past one single thought: It was his fault.


9999999999


Gil didn't know what to think. He stopped trying to think a long time ago. After he failed escape attempt, after being tortured with the "water bath", and then subject to the consist comfort of the "dark cell", he had stopped trying to figure things out. He had stopped trying to reason out the crimes humans could do to one another. Once, he thought he had figured it out. Once, he knew he had a purpose, a reason to live for through all the death he saw day in and day out.

For some odd reason, a poem entered his mind. Had he read that before, somewhere a long time ago? He wasn't sure because he couldn't remember the last time he'd read anything. The poem was...'The Panther'.


"His vision, from the constantly passing bars, has grown so weary that it cannot hold anything else. It seems to him there are a thousand bars, and behind the bars, no world. As he paces in cramped circles, over and over, the movement of his powerful soft strides is like a ritual dance around a center in which a mighty will stands paralyzed. Only at times, the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly. An image enters in, rushes down through the tense, arrested muscles, plunges into the heart and is gone."


It was a poem by Rainer Rilke. Now, standing in the "death room", he understood that poem all too well.

Gil had to try really hard to even remember what his life once consisted of, what his once purpose was. To him, there was no other life outside the brick walls and concreted floors. The sun came and went as it pleased, sound echoed then faded; faint images of what he thought were humans stuttered in and out of his vision but never connected with his mind or heart. They were never imprinted in his memory. Only the things that felt real filled his memories and clenched his heart, like the burning of water over him before the freezing water would numb him. Or the light hurting his eyes and head and the darkness and stillness of the cell where he slept.

Those were real. That existed.

So, he was confused why this person existed now in front of him. This...woman that he barely remembered as "Betty" was standing in front of him. The walls were brick and didn't keep the warmth in. The bricks were real. The dusty, cold concreted floor he was standing on was real. The woman, she was not. Not in his world at least. Maybe in someone else's, someone who wasn't used to seeing nothing, maybe she existed in theirs.

A voice was behind him, in his ear where it always was. The heat from the breath of the voice didn't tickle his neck; it faded into it like it was never there to begin with. The voice was saying: "This, this is your final test before I let you go. This is going to prove to me one thing. Do you know what that one thing is, Gil?"

At the name "Gil" he flinched and his hands tightened into fists. He hated "Gil". "Gil" was no man anymore. He was a weak, soulless thing that dreamt of nothing, that felt nothing, that always saw darkness. "That...Nick is to blame."

The voice was back and it sounded happier. He liked making that voice sound happy, but he wished he remembered exactly what "happy" felt like. "Exactly. When you leave here, you will have a purpose again. Do you want to know what that purpose is?"

A...purpose? A hint of a feeling grew in his stomach and filled its way up to his heart. He wanted a purpose. He needed a purpose. Something he could take in and make him know what life felt like, what "happiness" felt like again. "Yes," he gasped out in excitement. A purpose made him excited. It made him feel stronger, if only for a moment.

The woman smiled softly up at him. Her warm hand took his hand and pulled it to her, placing it on her shoulder. She was warm, alive. Maybe she really did exist. But her eyes started to dart back and forth from him to the voice behind him. Fear filled her eyes and she looked like she was in a great amount of discomfort. It wasn't him this time in pain, instead she was the one in pain and...He didn't care? It felt wrong, like that wasn't him, but it made something spark in him. This...Was this his purpose?

The voice said one last thing before it was gone. It said: "You're purpose, Gil, will be revenge. Revenge against her, first. Then, revenge against the one to blame. Who's the one to blame?"

Before his hand moved to tightened on the woman's neck instead of her shoulder, squeezing until bruises would be the only indication that his hand was even there at all, he whispered, "Nick."

***

For the first time in over a month, Gil stepped out into the world. At first, the warmth in the air and the sun light nearly knocked him over. He felt around one-handedly in the duffel bag he had slung over his left shoulder and slipped on the sunglasses he found at the bottom. The bag was already waiting for him in the "death room" along with directions and a cell phone, both of which were tucked safely in his pocket.

After he left the room he wasn't surprised to see no one around. In fact, he was expecting it. Cause he played such a good boy.

"A man of genius makes no mistakes," James Joyce, 'Ulysses', he thought before he took a big, deep breath in, savoring the first breath of fresh air. The short stride to the truck waiting for him was the shakiest steps of his life. He feared a number of things in that long minute, but as he reached the truck nothing happened.

So, as carefully and quickly as he could, he opened the back door and tossed the bag onto the floorboard. On the back seat, he placed the body that was draped over his opposite shoulder. The woman didn't even move as he did so.

The directions stated clearly that he was to dispose of her and he planned to do just that.

As the truck roared to life, he smiled for the first time since he could remember. He flipped on the radio just for the hell of it and Phil Collins 'In the Air Tonight' was playing; he turned the volume up as high as he could stand it. It was sort of ironic in a way.

"I remember, I remember 'don't worry'," he said along with the song.

Nick wouldn't have to worry anymore. Not ever again, he thought before he put the truck into 'drive'.

Sand and dust flew up in the air as Gil drove as fast as he could away from the prison. The sun was already starting to sink lower to the ground and he had 30 miles of driving to do. The extended-cab Chevy swung onto the deserted highway and headed toward Vegas.


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Warrick was staring at him again with his arms crossed over his chest, lips tight, and a solid stance telling him loud as he could that he wasn't going to budge. Well, Nick thought, Warrick could just continue acting like he knew better than him. That was cool, he could handle that. What he couldn't handle was the fact Warrick wouldn't let him drive.

He was fine! The last five hours was spent sleeping on the couch, and he had coffee, and he had a shower, and he was FINE! Nick sighed, frustrated that his friend was treating him like a child instead of an adult, and tossed his keys across the room.

Warrick barely moved as he caught the keys, left handed, and then stuffed them in his pocket. "There, now I feel better."

Nick groaned and went back into the kitchen. "So, Warden, when do I get to leave?"

"When I'm able to drive you myself," Warrick replied from the other room. "Just because you've slept doesn't mean that alcohol is completely out of your system."

Without thinking, Nick smacked the cabinet closed and stalked out of the kitchen. "I'm okay to drive," he yelled at his best friend who was now reclining back on the couch. "I need to get the hell out of this house before I go stir crazy. Can you let me do that, as a friend?"

Warrick was a hard man to move, and Nick knew that. He also knew a way to get to Warrick and that was to play the 'friend card'. "Stop it, Nick."

"Stop what?"

"The guilt trip, man, that's what! Look, we're leaving this evening anyway, right? So, we can take off an hour earlier and have dinner first."

Nick shook his head at that idea. He didn't want to have dinner first before they went to the lab. The lab wasn't where he worked anymore. On Tuesdays, every Tuesday, he had an appointment with the department shrink. His jaw clenched along with the hands on his hips. "Fuck you, Rick."

Nick turned on his heels and walked to the guest room and slammed the door shut.

Warrick stayed on the couch, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.


9999999999


"So," Warrick asked as soon as Nick stepped out of the office.

Nick continued to walk down the hallway, away from Dr. Kane's office. "Phillip told me the same thing he's been telling me for weeks: it's not my fault."

"It's not, you know. You thought you were doing the best thing for Grissom, and it should have been. You had no way of knowing--"

Nick stopped walking and faced his friend. "Don't. I can't be patronized, not over this. Yes, it wasn't entirely my fault. But, I did let it happen. My emotions got in the way of my judgment. The evidence was right there, Rick, and I failed to see it! Now..." he trailed off and looked at the opposite wall.

The 'now' was what he didn't want to think about. It wasn't what he wanted to face.

"Now, you're beating yourself up over this and it's unhealthy. You need to try to come to grips with this, man." Warrick placed his hand on Nick's shoulder. "It's hard, I know. Griss was my friend too; he was what keep this lab together for a long time, but we have to keep living, Nick."

Nick felt a rage start to build up inside him. He'd been feeling that a lot lately, an uncontrollable anger at everything in the world. Warrick wasn't an exception. And what made Warrick think that he knew what he was going through. "If...if I hadn't survived that box, would you have been able to get over me in a month, Rick?"

That made Warrick wince a little, like someone just sucker-punched him. "No, I wouldn't."

Nick was nodding. "And we're just friends. Gil, he was more than just my friend, okay." Tears were threatening to fall again. "He was my life."

Warrick didn't say anything as Nick turned and walked out of the building. He needed fresh air and to cool his nerves. The bus pulled up to the curb and let a few people off and a few people got on. In fifteen minutes, he'd be on the next bus heading down Westfall and to the strip. He needed a drink.


9999999999


Gil was the master of observation. For twenty-so years he would watch people, get to know them through movements, habits, what they did and what they didn't do, and what they said and how they said it.

As he followed Nick at a safe and comfortable distance down the strip it didn't surprise him that he spotted a few changes. He hoped that the only changes he saw were of the physical appearance; Nick had shaved his head and lost some weight. But, the other changes he noticed were bad.

First, Nick was almost one second too late from getting nailed by a car as he went to step out into the street to cross.

It made his heart almost stop as he watched. The last thing Gil wanted was for Nick to die because he was being reckless. If he was going to have any type of purpose then he needed to make sure Nick lived long enough to carry out the plan.

Second, Nick was stumbling, not walking, down the sidewalk. People were knocking into him because he was tripping over his own feet, and Nick was knocking into people as he tried to catch his balance.

It was starting to get unnerving. He was aching to touch Nick, to steady him and make sure he was all right before he strangled him. To keep from actually reaching out, Gil stuffed his shaking hands in his pockets and kept watching. His breathing was starting to come in short, ragged breaths. It wasn't from the heat or the walk, but from having to keep a distance. From having to only observe and study and not touch and feel. It had been far too long since he'd even seen Nick that it was tearing him up to not be able to do anything else but watch.

In time, he told himself, in time.

And lastly, as he followed Nick into another dark and crowded bar, Nick did the unexpected. Nick turned around.

Thankfully, he was off to the side, nearly hugging the wall. The spot Gil slipped into was dark and no one noticed that he was even there; not even the people walking right by him. It was the first time he'd seen Nick's eyes in what felt like years. Something was off about them. The brown eyes weren't as bright and alive as he vaguely remembered them to be. They were bloodshot and cloudy, like they'd been worn down from crying too hard. Just like him. Except he didn't think he could cry anymore.

Nick, on the other hand, was still suffering whereas he accepted.

That thought made Gil bite his lip and narrow his eyes. Before this was done and over with he was going to make Nick cry more. Hopefully it would be the best for both of them.

After Gil shook his head several times and took a couple of deep breaths, he went back into his groove of just observing without emotion. He got comfortable against the dark wall and blended in like always.

He was just a ghost after all.

Until his cell phone vibrated in his pocket; he sighed deeply before answering it. As he went to speak he didn't know how to answer it. He stumbled a few times over what to say then just decided to use what he'd been called throughout his ordeal. "This is Gil." His voice was monotone at best, almost robotic.

There was a faint laughter before, "And how is everything going, Gil?"

It was the voice, Dr. Evans, how lovely. "I'm watching him now." Of course he was; what else was he to do?

"Wonderful, I'm expecting the digital pictures in my e-mail this evening."

That was right; in the directions he was to send pictures to an e-mail address. "Through the cell phone camera, right?"

"Yes, and you know how to send them don't you?"

He had to think about that one. It'd been awhile since he drove, yet alone send pictures by way of phone. "Yes."

"Good, good. Now, what about the woman? I had to leave before you were finished."

Yes, you certainly did. He smiled to himself and into the phone, but his voice never gave it away. "Taken care of, but...I didn't know I had to take photos until after I got rid of her."

There was a pause on the other end. Shit, he closed his eyes and counted to three. He was already screwing up.

"That's okay. I know you got revenge on her. I saw the video feed of when you left the prison."

At the word "revenge", something clicked...or un-clicked in his head. He felt everything go numb and his hands stopped trembling. His eyes opened and he nodded. "Nick's to blame."

"Yes, he is."

Then the line went dead, and so did something in Gil's heart.


9999999999


"Okay, something is really bugging me," Jim Brass said as he sat down in his chair. Catherine was sitting across from him looking just as grim. "And it's serious."

"What's bugging you?" Catherine wasn't in the mood to take shit tonight.

Jim knew that because they were working the same case together. He was the detective, she was the CSI, and they both had nothing. Now, it was eight o'clock in the morning and the something he did get wasn't for the present case but a cold case. "Okay, a month ago, tomorrow, there was a person abducted. White male, 51 years of age, case went nowhere. Then, thirty minutes ago I received an e-mail full of pictures. You'd never guess who the pictures are of and whose name was signed at the bottom."

Catherine didn't look impressed; in fact, she was just the opposite. Everyone was that indifferent and apathetic now-a-days. It was unsettling, even for him. "I'm still trying to figure out the abduction."

Jim could see her confusion and struggle with what he'd just said before...B. I. N. G. O.

Catherine's eyes got real big and she was now awake. "Oh...my God. Were the pictures of..."

"No," Jim replied. "But I wished they were. Maybe it would have given us all a somewhat piece of mind instead of this not knowing bullshit. The crazy thing is, I don't know what he hell to believe anymore, Cath. The pictures, they were of Nick. A few of them it appeared that Nick was clearly at a bar and the others were of Nick walking along the strip. The person who signed them, that was Gil."

Just repeating the words made his stomach drop and right then he wished he was at home with a nice, big bottle of liquor 'cause at least then maybe he could make some sense out of something.

Catherine was probably feeling the same way because she covered her mouth and just...sat there. Not speaking or really blinking. When she did, her voice was strained. "Does Nick know?"

Jim shook his head. "I haven't been able to get a hold of him. Warrick said he'd go home first then hit the bars around the strip."

"What," Catherine started then stopped. She took a deep breath and tried again. "What do you think it means?"

"I, don't know. Like I said, I don't know what to believe anymore. This could be some sick game by the people who took Gil, or..." He didn't want to think about the 'or'. That could be anything. "All I know is, if it is Gil, then he's alive and in Vegas. I've got an APB out on him right now."


9999999999


Nick could feel someone watching him, but whenever he turned around to look there would be no one watching him. He played with the label on his beer bottle again, peeling it away, and he turned down another hopeful romantic who wanted to buy him another drink; he downed the rest of his beer and went to stand up.

That was a mistake. The bar swirled around him and he sat back down and rubbed his head. He was glad he took the bus instead of driving. Warrick was right; he wasn't in any condition to drive. At least, at least he was sober enough to know that. He just wasn't sober enough to not feel the urge to get sick all over the bar.

As quickly as he could, Nick made his way through the crowd of men and women, stumbling here, tripping and bumping into things there, and finally fell through the bathroom door and into a stall. The stall door bounced off the lock and swing back to hit him as soon as he bent over and let his reflexes and gravity do the rest.

After he was done and flushed the toilet, Nick leaned against the counter, head bent down into the sink, and he tried to clean his mouth out as best as possible. Water was running down his head and neck but he could care less. The restroom door opened and he was surprised to see Warrick walk in.

And Warrick looked pissed. "Where the hell you been?"

Nick spat out the water in his mouth and turned the water off. "I've been right here."

Warrick's pissed look didn't wavier and neither did the sudden hold on his arm. "Come on, I'm taking you home."

Once back out into the bar area, Nick pushed Warrick away from him. "Don't touch me, okay. I don't need your help!" It wasn't Warrick's hand he wanted escorting him out of the building, it was Gil's. Everything was Gil's, but Gil wasn't there.

"Easy, Nick. I wasn't trying--"

Nick pushed him again and turned to walk back toward the bar. He grabbed his stool and pulled it out, only to be stopped by two very strong arms around his midsection.

"You're not doing this to yourself. I'm not going to let you do this. We are going home, and you are going to go to bed."

"I said get the fuck off me!" Nick tried to fight and elbowed Warrick in his side or something, but he wasn't functioning right. His arms were barely moving and his head was spinning so fast that people's faces were mixing with everything else.

His legs were trying to keep up with the other two legs pulling him, but they kept going limp and they would drag across the floor before he got them to move right again. Just before Nick was thrown out onto the bright streets of Vegas, he caught a glimpse. It was a glimpse of a man half hidden in shadow, half in light as the door opened. If he hadn't been facing backwards towards the bar then he wouldn't had even seen it.

It was Gil. Or, at least a man that looked like Gil.

As Nick stumbled over the concrete he felt his body shift causing him to fall to the sidewalk. His arm broke his fall and a throbbing started to ache its way through his arm.

Warrick was looking tired standing above him but at the same time he looked like he was about to yell. Instead, he leaned down and offered a hand. "If I have to tell you again, I'll make you walk home while following you in my car the whole way there."

That look meant Warrick wasn't kidding. Nick swallowed hard and grabbed the hand with his injured arm. As Warrick pulled him up he was glad that his arm wasn't broken, but just bruised.

Once in the car, Nick relaxed into the passenger seat and stared out at the blurry streets before him.

"No getting sick in my car either."

Nick chuckled but didn't speak. The city disappeared in the distance and he didn't even notice. His mind was at another place and time, with a different man.



Nick frowned at the man before him and shook his head. "You're crazy, right? Please tell me that you're not crazy."

Gil raised a brow and looked around the empty beach. "Okay, I won't tell you I'm crazy."

Nick tried to stop from smiling but he couldn't. They had decided to spend their night off together at the beach. They had finished an amazing dinner at the restaurant up the road and took a walk. That lead them to the where they were now, secluded on Venice Beach, the moon illuminating the waves crashing at their feet, and Gil very slowly and deliberately backing into the waves with a mischievous grin on his face. "Am I not the one who's supposed to be childish and...you know, mischievous?"

Gil stopped in his step and stared at him. "I'm a scientist by heart and nature. Experimentation is my way of life."

"And tonight, right now, you want to go swimming."

Gil sighed and waved his arms. "It's not swimming, it's...standing purposefully in water. I want to show you something, please."

Nick laughed and kicked off his shoes and pulled his socks off and placed them next to Gil's. "Standing, huh? I guess I can stand with you."

Gil broke into the biggest grin and started laughing. "Okay, I lied; I am crazy."

The water shook Nick to his core. "Oh...this is cold. How can you be almost hip deep in this?"

"I used to live here. I've been in this water before...just not with a gorgeous man like yourself." Gil started walking his way back toward him.

Nick shivered at the look he saw in Gil's eyes as he stopped just inches from him. Gil reached down and took his hand and brought to this his lips. The kiss was soft and barely felt, but he could feel his knees go weak at the endearment. Gil started to step back and pulled him along with him. The further he stepped out in the water, the warmer it got.

"There's a hot spot from the undercurrent that can only be felt after so many feet out," Gil was explaining.

Nick stopped and his eyes widen. "A hot spot in the water? Shouldn't that be a sign for an earthquake or something?"

Gil was still smiling at him as he continued to talk. "And once you reach the right spot, the heat envelops you."

Nick swallowed hard as he felt the heat from the water creep up his body. "How come that sounded...erotic?"

Gil smirked and studied him for a brief moment before he leaned in and captured his lips with his own. He moaned into the kiss and pulled Gil towards him. As he wrapped his arms around him, Gil mended into his body sending a wave of tingling lust through him.

"You're amazing," Nick whispered once their lips parted.

Gil held him tight as he buried his head against his neck. "You make me amazing."

Nick felt his insides swell along with his eyes at that confession. His embrace grew tighter and he melted into Gil as he breathed in his smell. "I want to stay like this forever."

Gil chuckled into his neck; his breath warm and intoxicating as he spoke, "So do I, but...the beach closes in five minutes."

Nick moaned as Gil kissed his way up his neck and over his jaw to his lips. Lips and tongued soothed over his lips before parting. When he opened his eyes, Gil's soft eyes were staring into his. The moonlight reflected in Gil's eyes and Nick couldn't look away. "Wow..."

Gil raised a brow. "Wow?"

"The moonlight in your eyes...they make them look extremely, extremely sexy." Nick laughed at how girly that sounded. "Come on, let's get home so I can ravish you."

Gil gave him one last kiss on the lips before they started their way back up to the shore. "Ravish me, huh?"



Nick blinked back the tears in his eyes as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and Warrick was frowning at him in concern.

"Coming in?"

Nick unbuckled his seatbelt and looked up at Warrick's house before he opened the door. It wasn't his home, but it was his home until he figured out what he was going to do.

Neither men noticed the truck that followed them and parked down the block.


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Gil watched as Warrick tried to help Nick into the house. Warrick was having trouble keeping Nick upright and moving forward as he partly dragged Nick up the walk and up the couple of stairs and onto the porch. Nick leaned against the siding and waited for the door to open, once it did he tumbled his way inside and out of sight.

He sighed deeply to himself as Nick disappeared into the house with Warrick. The sun shined through the window at him, so he slipped on his sunglasses before he leaned his head against the window. There was nothing for him to do except wait, so he did patiently.

The pictures were sent, one copy to Dr. Evans, the other to Brass. He wouldn't be surprised to see a cop car or two driving by or hanging out around the premises. If they did then he would be gone; like a ghost there would be no sign of him until it was too late. Until he had Nick.

The radio switched on and flipped through the stations until he found a station that was playing music. A song started to play that he barely recognized, but he was surprised he knew the words. Somewhere, at some point in time, he had heard it before. It was haunting and atmospheric, a piano was the only instrument playing, and the lyrics were exactly what he was feeling.

"No tomorrow, no tomorrow. And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take, when people run in circles it's a very, very...mad world."

Gil sat in his truck and listened to the song, mouthing the lyrics, until it was over. He went to turn the station again when he spotted a car coming down the street toward him. It stopped in front of Warrick's. Jim climbed out of the car, Catherine stepped out of the passenger side. They walked up the stairs to the house and didn't even have to knock before the door opened and Warrick let them in.

The engine turned over and he put the truck into gear.


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Nick was staring at the two people in the living room standing above him. So...he was being stalked, again? He huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "Maybe this is a good thing..." He watched the exchange of looks before he continued, "We now have something to go on. Wasn't I the one saying that there was something...a connection that we missed."

Jim was staring at him before he glanced at Catherine. He walked to the recliner and sat down. "This could just be a sick joke, Nick."

"Yeah, we can't even track the phone down, yet alone know for sure if it's connected," Catherine added.

Nick sighed in frustration and rubbed his head. "I'm drunk and my head is killing me, but I...I know that we've missed something. I can feel it."

Warrick walked back into the living room with a glass of water and bottle of aspirin in his hands. He handed them to Nick and sat down next to him. "I don't like it. Either way, connected or unconnected, someone is watching you. They could be watching my house..." he trailed off as he stood and walked to the front window and peered out.

Nick started laughing. "Look whose paranoid now."

Warrick frowned over at him. "I should be," he barked. "Damn it, Nick. You're life and mine are probably in danger and you're laughing over this."

That kept Nick from laughing again. His vision was blurring and the room was starting to lose its color and sharpness. "Chicago...there's something about Chicago. I know it."

Jim was watching him and finally let out a frustrated sigh. "I've been all over Chicago, Nick. There's nothing. It was a ploy for us to think that Gil left, that he took off."

Nick shook his head which caused more pain and nausea to build. "No, no...That was part of it, but... Why Chicago? Carl could have taken Gil anywhere. He likes games, mind games, and Gil was part of his game. Every piece of the game has a purpose."

"Nick," Catherine said as she crossed her arms over her chest. "You need to stop this. It's not healthy for you to put yourself through this."

Nick's jaw clenched and he wanted to kick the coffee table but couldn't get his leg to move. "I'm not just talking here to be talking, Cath." He heard his words slur and he wished just then that he hadn't been drinking at all. This was a conversation that he needed to be sober for. "I've met Carl. I talked to him, I...I was fooled by him. And there is a fucking connection! Maybe...it has nothing to do with Carl. Did, did you look into his boyfriend? Uh, Jesse, or what the hell ever."

Jim rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head. "Dr. Evans boyfriend, Jake, didn't exist. He lied to you about him to make you feel comfortable in letting Gil stay at the clinic."

Nick paled and he swallowed the bile now his throat. "He had a boyfriend...I saw evidence of a boyfriend." The tears started to cloud his vision again and he whipped them away with his hand. "Is, is Archie still working on the tapes?"

Catherine looked over at Jim and Warrick before she shook her head. "He got nothing off them, Nick. We've been over this a month ago. He's working on the pictures that Jim received, but that's it."

Nick closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the couch. "We've missed something."

Jim stood and walked pass Warrick to open the front door. "I need some air."

The door shutting was the last sound Nick heard before he was asleep.


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Once night shift started, Jim received another e-mail, but it was different. No pictures were attached to it and there was no signature; it said: Desert Palms Room 410. He stepped off the elevator with Warrick at his side and eased his way down the hall, glancing at the numbers as he passed.

When he called the hospital to ask about the patient in that room he didn't get much of an answer except that it was a woman who couldn't speak. The woman had arrived the night before and she finally woke up. The nurse said that she was about to call CSI when he called.

That was interesting and frightening. Someone was dangling a chain hoping he would bite, he could feel it. Well, he bit. Now, all he had to do was wait and see if he was going to get trapped or not. As Jim entered Room 410, he let Warrick walk around him and take in the scene before he stopped in front of the hospital bed.

The woman looked awfully familiar, he just couldn't place her. She had bruises over her neck and her eyes were bloodshot from crying. When he glanced at Warrick he noticed that the CSI wasn't even moving, or blinking. "You okay, Rick?"

Warrick faced him and nodded toward the door. He didn't say anything until they were out in the hallway again. "I know who she is."

"Great, who?"

Warrick looked like he either didn't want to say or couldn't believe who he was about to say. "She's the nurse from the clinic Gil was taken from."

Jim closed his eyes and asked, "You sure?"

"Yeah, me and Archie went over every security video from that place; she was the nurse we saw in some of the videos." Warrick took out his cell phone. "Nick would know her too. He recognized her from his visits. I can send him a picture and ask for confirmation, but I know that it's her."

"Okay, I believe you." Jim sighed and felt something twist in his gut. This was getting worse. First the pictures from someone who claimed to be Gil, and now the nurse from the clinic ended up at Desert Palms. "What the hell is going on?" He walked back into the room and up to the woman. He handed her a paper and pen before saying, "Who did that to you?"


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Gil parked four blocks from Warrick's house and climbed out of a car. He stretched his back then his legs before he reached into the backseat and into the paper bag he brought. He pulled out the sweatshirt and looked at it. It was bigger than him, but it would serve its purpose. The Vegas air was cold at that time of night so it wouldn't look so unusual for him to have the hooded sweatshirt on.

After he slipped on the sweatshirt, he closed the doors to the car never bothering to lock it. For the first half of block, his pace was a slow jog but as he reached the second block he picked up his pace. He decided to circle around the second block a couple of times to break in the feel of the oversized sweater and the hood over his head. When he felt comfortable with the feel and the movement in the sweater, he broke out into a faster run.

As he turned on Warrick's street, he could see the unmarked police car sitting three houses down from his destination. He smiled to himself because he was able to spot the car so quickly. His pace never wavered as he passed the car, when he gave a quick glance over he recognized the officer in the front seat. It was Fromansky. That made he want to laugh.

His pace didn't slow until he rounded the corner. As he took a sudden turn down the back alley, his pace slowed to a jog before coming down to a heavy walk. When he approached the fenced in backyard, he reached into the sweater pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves. Then he reached under the sweater and pulled out a bolt-cutter that was strapped to his side. Once the lock to the fence was cut he eased open the gate and slipped into the backyard.

The lights to the house were off as well as the back patio light. He tossed the bolt-cutter into the yard as he approached the back patio. The screen door was unlocked but he knew the door to the house wouldn't be. As he reached under his sweater, he stopped. There was a noise in the kitchen. Stepping off to the side, he saw a light come on through the door. The light lit up the man standing at the counter; it was Nick.

Gil leaned against the doorframe and stared into the kitchen. Nick was moving around the kitchen, preparing the coffee maker. The movements were uneven and choppy, so Nick probably just woke up and was still sleepy. He pressed his hand against the glass in the door, over the image of Nick. Involuntary his fingers spread apart.

"Place your hand on my hand." He closed his eyes at the flash of memory. A sickening numbness filled him as he opened his eyes and stared in at the now empty kitchen. The coffee was slowly filling up the pot and the light was still on.

His hand slipped under his sweater again and he fingered the glass cutter. He glanced around the kitchen to make sure it was really empty then around the yard. No sound was made as he cut a circler shape into the glass, nor when he slipped a hand inside to turn the lock. The door closed behind him and he stood in the kitchen, fully exposed, and shivered from the warmth and the anticipation.

The steps he took further into the house were light and soft, his new tennis shoes would leave great impressions for the day shift guys. Too bad nothing will come of them. He slipped the hood off his head so he could look around better. It wouldn't matter now if he was spotted by Nick or if Warrick came home early; he had a plan for both if they were to happen.

The smell and sounds of the house were unfamiliar to him. He'd never been in Warrick's house before. It smelled of leather, coffee, and scented candles. What he could hear was little: the ticking of the clock in a room, the slight creak of the floor as he passed over it, and water running.

The light to the bathroom was on and he could hear the shower going. He took a glance toward the front rooms; no other lights were on in the house. Stopping at the bathroom door, he made sure it was unlocked. If he had to do this quickly then he needed to know if the door was locked or not.

Passing by the bathroom, he turned and went down the hallway. The first room looked like it was lived in for awhile. There was a television, two dressers, a big bed, and photos around the walls. That had to be Warrrick's room. The second room he came to was different. Clothes were thrown around the floor, there was a small single dresser, and the single bed was un-made. The closet was closed and when he opened it, there were no clothes hanging in it. In fact, it was empty.

He moved into the closet; after closing the doors in front of him, he stepped back until his back was resting against the wall. As he let out a deep breath his body relaxed into the wall and he stared at the door; waiting. The view was one he felt comfortable with. The door closet door had shutters and he could see out into the room. It reminded him of another place in time, when he actually thought that everything would be okay. When he didn't blame Nick. A time when he had some hope left.

His eyes closed and he sighed in the empty space. The only thing he hoped for now was that the plan worked.


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Jim looked around the parking garage until he spotted Warrick on the far end. "Rick! Hey, Rick!"

Warrick stopped his jog and turned around. "I have to leave!"

Jim really hated to run, but this was ridiculous. He wasn't even after a suspect, but a friend and colleague. "I know, just...Hold up!" Once he saw Warrick stop and turn around, he slowed to jog until he was close enough to the other man that he didn't have to yell. "I've got a car at your house; there's no need to go off and race over there."

"Nick's going to freak...Hell, I'm freaking," Warrick yelled through the garage. "I have to make sure he's okay."

"Call first. This is still your case and you have evidence. I've already called the officer that's there, he's keeping an eye out. And Fromansky knows what Gil looks like." Jim finally got his breathing down to normal. "Look, it might not even mean what we think it means. She said--"

"She said that Griss...that he did that to her."

"Yeah, but she also said he was forced too and that he didn't kill her. I got the feeling that he was supposed to have finished her off, but instead, he brought her here." Jim was having trouble believing his own reasoning, but he refused to believe that his best friend, Gil Grissom, had suddenly become a violent man. "And for all we know, she only said it was Grissom because she was forced too herself. The evidence will tell us otherwise, right?"

Warrick seemed to be debating over what he'd said before he nodded. "Yeah, you're right. We're jumping to conclusions, even though..."

Jim was nodding. "Yeah, yeah...It sounds bad. I'm having trouble with this too, Rick. Believe me, I want to hold out all hope in the world that we're wrong, yet...If we're not wrong, then I want to know what the hell we're dealing with."

Warrick looked down at his evidence kit and the bag he had in his hands of the woman's clothes. "I'll head back to the lab and drop this off first. I still want to make sure Nick is alright."

"Hey, that's all I'm asking." Jim smiled at Warrick and started for his own car. He glanced over his shoulder and flipped open his cell phone. The message he got was short again, and he hoped to God he was right in his decision. The phone vibrated in his hand and he answered it. "Fromansky, what's up?"


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Nick had showered and changed into some clean clothes when he felt something off about the house. He frowned to himself as he searched the rooms and didn't find anything out of ordinary. The coffee pot was full so he pulled down a cup and emptied two creamers into the cup before he filled it with coffee. It tasted strong and a little bitter; he was used to it by now.

He was tempted to drink a beer instead but he decided after what happened earlier that day he was going to be clear-headed. After he drank his coffee then he was going to go to the lab and talk to Ecklie about looking at the evidence from Gil's case. Since he wasn't an official member of the team during the investigation, there wasn't much he could do or see other than what he remembered looking over at the clinic. If he was going to figure out what they missed then he was going to be sober to do it. He was stronger than that.

When he turned around to head into the living room he froze. The curtain over the kitchen door was moving. He sat the cup down and took a hesitant step toward the door. At a closer look he saw the door was unlocked and a piece of glass was missing. His stomach dropped and he instinctively reached at his side for his gun. He had no gun. Not anymore.

As he turned toward the counter the lights to the kitchen clicked off. He spun on his heels. A figure was in the entryway, a gun was in his right hand and his left was over the light switch. In the quiet room he could hear his heart beating faster in his chest. "Take what you want," he heard himself saying without thinking. If this guy was there to rob them, then he wasn't going to die to save a television set.

The man had a big sweater on with a hood, which was over his head. Nick swallowed hard as he realized that the man wasn't the least bit hesitant as he stepped closer to him and further into the kitchen. The gun cocked and Nick thought he heard his heart drop as well. "L-Look, I haven't seen your face; I don't know what you look like, so...you can leave here now, and get away, and no one has to get hurt."

The man lowered the gun to his side, but it never wavered from pointing at his body. Nick realized that he was focusing too much on the gun and not the other hand. He had just enough time to blink before he saw the left hand swing around, he caught it and twisted it up. He punched the guy in the side but a sudden sharp pain filled his hand as it connected with something hard. The guy turned and the hand that was holding the gun connected with his back. A sting surged through his body and everything slowly went numb.

Gil pulled the syringe out of Nick's back and held onto his body until it went completely limp. He dropped the syringe on the kitchen floor as he picked up the gun and stuffed it into his jeans. Lifting the body in his arms was easier than he expected since Nick lost some weight. He shouldered the body like he did Betty's and once he was out the back door, he heard a voice from inside the house.

"Stokes?"

Gil didn't stop moving until he was down at the other end of the alley. The Chevy truck was parked just inside the alley. He clicked the unlock button on his keychain and opened the doors. Placing Nick carefully into the back he shut the door and climbed into the driver's seat.

***

Chaos. It was absolute chaos. After knocking heads with Fromansky a few times, Jim finally calmed down enough to observe the scene unfolding before him. Since it was Warrick's house, and Nick was missing, then night shift couldn't get in the place.

That was until Ecklie got an earful from Catherine right in front of the house in the driveway. Half the block was watching the scene go from bad to worse as Catherine chewed out the AD and did what she did best: made Ecklie squirm then agree.

"Thank you," Catherine finally said and relaxed her tongue; at least for a moment. "Sara, you're with me, Greg, take the perimeter."

Jim watched as they went in there different directions and he turned back to Fromansky. The officer was paling around the edges, but he was still as hard-nosed as ever. "Okay," he sighed and tried to gain some stability back. "Let's go over what happened here tonight. I want to know everything, from the top. What you saw, didn't see, heard, smelt, everything."

Fromansky looked over at the house as he talked. "At a quarter past two, I saw the lights in the back...kitchen, I think, come on. After a few minutes a front light came on, from the bedroom...and then, they went out, both of them. Not at the same time, but I figured if Stokes was up...why turn the lights off. I had a suspicion that something was up, but it was confirmed when the call came over the PA, that a neighbor taking his dog out noticed a suspicious prep out back...in the alley. So, I left my vehicle, approached the residence and knocked on the door. There was no immediate answer. I tested the knob and it was locked, after a couple more knocks I decided to go in."

"By kicking in the door?"

Fromansky nodded. "Yeah, I didn't think about calling for back-up, which I should have done and waited. All I could think about was that something was wrong and Stokes was still in there. I checked the rooms, cleared them all. The back door leading outside from the kitchen was tampered with, glass cut out of the window in the door, and there was a syringe on the floor. I backed out of the house, trying to go the same way as I came in, hugging the walls, and once I got outside I called it in."

Jim wrote everything down and nodded. "How 'bout before then? Before the lights came on, did you see anyone watching the house or any cars drive by?"

There was a moment of silence, Fromansky thinking and staring at the concrete before he shook his head. "No one drove by; no one was watching the house from what I saw...However, I did notice someone, male, in a hooded LVPD sweater, jogging from the west corner." He pointed over his shoulder. "To the east, then down the side street. He was out of my sight in a matter of seconds. Uh, couple minutes after that is when the light came on in the house. I didn't think anything about it because..." he shrugged, looking upset that he didn't stop the jogger or that the connection didn't click before. "Joggers, they run all the time. Plus, it was an official sweater; someone from the department. He turned his head a little toward my car when he passed, like he knew what was going on, that it was a steak-out, and he continued on his way."

Jim clenched the notepad he was holding so not to hit the man in front of him. "You didn't think that was something to follow up on? You know we have an APB out on Grissom."

Fromansky looked like he was sucker punched in the gut. "I know, but this is a popular neighborhood for law enforcement. I know three other officers who live anywhere from a block over to just three miles from here, so I didn't think anything of it. Just that it was an officer taking a jog. If it had 'Forensics' or anything like that on the sweater I would have thought to stop him but..." he trailed off as he shook his head.

Yeah, yeah, Jim knew if roles were reversed he probably wouldn't have thought much about it either. "Okay...Did you see which direction he came from on the side street?"

Fromansky shrugged. "For all I know he could have been running for miles. I only spotted him when he crossed under the light post."

"Thanks, uh, on of the CSI's will want to get an impression of your shoes. Take a break, but don't leave."

Fromansky seemed to resent that order but he didn't protest, instead he walked away to his car and sat down in the driver's seat.

Jim waved a few officers over. "Okay, here's the deal. A male, in an official hooded LVPD sweater jogged through here not more than a few minutes before everything went down. Get the names and addresses of all the officers in a five mile radius and ask if any of them jogged through here tonight from two to two thirty."

The officers were quickly on it as Jim headed around back and found Greg already finishing processing the yard. "Find anything?"

Greg took a peek at him before he snapped off photos of something on the ground. "Yeah. Bolt cutter; I'm sure it was used to break the lock on the gate. Shoe impressions heading to and from the back door," he said as he followed the path up to the patio. "They stopped, here, at the door. Whoever took Nick stood here for a while, long enough to leave some good impressions."

"Fromansky said that the lights came on in the kitchen. It could have been around the time the guy entered the yard."

Greg thought about that before nodding. "Sounds reasonable; the guy could have seen Nick through the door and waited here until he walked out. Full pot of coffee, fresh, was on the counter. Um...hand print, on the glass. It's uncharacteristic. The palm was up here," he pointed at the glass. "Higher than where the glass was cut. There was no reason to touch the glass that high."

"Gloved?" Jim knew it would be, but he could ask anyway.

"Yep, nothing but smooth, leather grooves. Sorry."

"Where's Catherine?"

"Bedrooms and bathroom; Sara already processed the kitchen, so...you can go in, just you know,"

"Become one with the walls." Jim sighed and took a look around the yard before he entered the house. The kitchen was normal as any kitchen in America: table, counters with appliances and containers, stove, refrigerator, sink...and the full pot of freshly brewed coffee with a single partly full cup next to it.

"I'm thinking Nick had just got him a cup when he was surprised," Sara said from the hallway.

Jim turned and watched as she dusted the hallway light switch. "Fromansky said that the lights went out..."

"Got a partial print, but...gloved. Syringe was on the floor, over there by your feet."

Jim glanced down and saw the empty spot by the number one marker. "Bagged and tagged."

Sara tried for a smile but failed. "Shoe impressions from the back door, same as the ones in the yard, through the house and into the guestroom, then back into the kitchen and out the back door again."

"Weight changed though," Greg said from just inside the door. "Going in, the impressions were light...going out, they were deeper."

Jim swallowed hard and wrote that down. "He carried Nick out of here." He walked passed Sara and continued down the hallway and found Catherine in the guestroom. "Whatcha got?"

Catherine didn't even bother to look at him as she looked over the room. "Bathroom was still steamy."

"Run it through with me."

"Okay," Catherine straightened from her kneeling position and finally faced him. "Nick woke up, alarm was set for two; he went into the kitchen and started the coffee. Then...he took a shower, dressed then went back into the kitchen. He never walked back out."

Catherine was cringing as she said that and Jim could do nothing except glance around the room. "Sara said that the shoe prints led back here?" If looks could kill, he'd be dead right then. Catherine flashed him a look that spoke more than words. "Shit," Jim sighed. "Nick was being watched?"

"Shoe impressions went from the kitchen, stopped at the bathroom. I found a smudged, gloved print on the bathroom door handle, and then they continued back here and into the closet. Same gloved prints found on the closet handles, on the outside, and inside. Shoe impressions stepping back into the closet and against the wall."

"That's about right, matches Fromansky's account of the lights and everything." Jim knew it would be; there was no reason for Fromansky to lie about anything. "You're going to have to get his shoe impressions, he walked through the house, clearing it and searching for Nick."

Catherine closed her kit and followed him out of the house through the front door. Once outside, he turned toward Catherine. "Fromansky spotted a jogger with an official LVPD sweater on, who turned down that side street just minutes before the light came on in the kitchen. It could be nothing, just some guy out training for the upcoming marathon, but...I've got officers looking into it."

Catherine stopped in front of Fromansky and knelt down. "Thanks, Brass...I've got it from here."

Jim watched for a second as Catherine took impressions of the officer's shoes. He rubbed a hand over his face as he turned to walk back to his own car, trying to come up with a plan of action.

It didn't help that a call came in that no officer in the area was jogging around the time of the abduction.


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"Okay," Catherine sighed as she hurried into a lab room and found Greg sitting in front of a computer. "Why the page? I've got Warrick turning over sofa cushions in the break room while Sara is suddenly Hodges shadow because she's obsessing over the results from the syringe, and you page me for shoe prints," she huffed out before placing her hands on her hips.

Greg barely glanced up at her as he said, "The shoe prints came from the east end of the alley but left down the west end of the alley. And I have more than just shoe prints Cath, but tire threads. I followed the path out of the yard and they lead me here." He circled the west end of the alley on the map that was beside him on the table; it was a close-up of Warrick's neighborhood. "I found tire threads and from the wheelbase I'm thinking a big vehicle: truck or van. I'm running them through the database now."

"Greg, back to the shoe prints."

"Anyway, as I was saying, the abductor came from the east end of the alley, here." He circled the opposite end of the street. "Also, at the east end of the alley, they were spread further apart in distance, and no heel was present suggested that he was running. Then he slowed to a walk, completed print with the heel. However, there's something else, the...angle of the shoe impressions weren't normal. It suggested an abnormality."

Catherine shook her head and sighed at the run around Greg was giving her. "Abnormality, like...a limp?"

"No, usually when a person walks, their foot is straight and their feet are an equal distance apart from one another. Our guy, the steps were closer together with the front of the shoe pointing slightly inward, suggesting that the ankles are closer together than a person with normal leg growth. Closer ankles suggest that his knees are further apart, which suggests..."

Catherine closed her eyes. She wanted to be wrong, but the evidence. "He was bowlegged." When she opened her eyes she saw the despair in Greg's own eyes and had to look away at the computer. "You have a match on the tire threads."

Greg grabbed the newly printed paper and read it over. "We're looking for a Chevy truck most likely, with an extended cab and 16 inch tires."

"That does not narrow the field. Do you know how many Chevy trucks there are in Vegas, yet alone Nevada."

Greg shrugged. "I have one."

Catherine grabbed the paper and read it over. "I'll give this to Brass. Good job, Greg, on the shoes." Before she exited the lab room, her cell rang. "Willows. Jim, I was just about to call you...Great, have it towed in. And there was a get-away truck; I'll fax the list right over. Bye." She flipped her phone shut. "They found a stolen abandoned car four blocks away that was left un-locked."

"A mysterious jogger never found, empty stolen vehicle just blocks away, and a Chevy truck parked at one end of the alley...?"

"You forgot one thing," Catherine said as she spun on her heels to leave the room. "Jogger was bowlegged."


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The coast was clear. Hell, everything was clear except his head. It was throbbing and he couldn't think about slowly down to the normal speed limit or to use his blinkers. All he could think about was the pain in his head and chest and the man in the back of his truck unmoving. He was starting to burn from the inside out in places that he never knew he could burn. It grew in his feet then up his legs and into his stomach and intestines before it landed in his heart and stayed.

He tried to wipe the sweat from his brow but his right arm was feeling numb along with his left as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. The pounding and constricting ache in his chest was getting worse as he turned onto the highway that led further out into the desert. Cars passed from the opposite direction, shining lights into his already throbbing bloodshot eyes.

Using the back of his hand he tried to rub out the itching irritation that was pulsing through his orbs before he lost control of the truck and wrecked. Wrecking was the last thing he wanted to do, but if he didn't get his head and body to stop expanding into a burning torch then he was going to whether he liked it or not.

Daring to take a quick glance in the back seat, Gil watched as Nick lay unmoving with swallow but steady breaths. His palm ached and tingled where he held the syringe; he vigorously rubbed it on his jeans but nothing would stop the tingling sensation or the sudden twisting that felt like a knife in his stomach. Almost biting through his bottom lip he clenched his mouth shut and willed down the stinging bile that built in the back of his throat.

The itching pain in his eyes increased and he could barely see the road or the cars in front of him. Without second thought he pulled the truck off to the side of the road and flipped the on blinkers. He slammed the door shut as he hurried around the front and took a few stumbling, heavy steps from cement to sand.

Once his knees hit the ground his stomach jumped into his contracting throat; the dry heaving was more painful than actually throwing up. A strained breath squeezed its way through the constant contracting of his throat before it broke in a strangled sound.

It was loud, horrified, and uncontrollable. His scream echoed in his ears as his fists clenching around the hard, sandy ground until he was left feeling spent and light-headed. He staggered, almost falling, as he got to his feet and forced his way back into the truck. Nick was still in the back and unconscious as he put the truck back into gear.


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Jim strolled through the waiting area on the second floor of the hospital until he came upon the room he was looking for. The woman, Betty Collins, was waiting patiently on the bed to be released. He smiled at her and pulled up a chair and sat down in front of her. There were many things that made Jim's blood boil, and abusing a woman was one of them. Just the thought that Gil was the one to have done that sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Betty was eyeing him with an intensity that Jim was sure made the patients at the clinic think twice about messing with her. "What'd ya want?"

Jim was used to dealing with distort victims; immediately he slipped on his best sympathetic face, soften his eyes, and gave a warm smile. "Information, but only if you're comfortable with answering some questions."

Betty frowned in a way that said that she was thinking about it before she gave a curt nod.

Jim leaned back in his chair, giving off that he was comfortable and at ease, hoping it would catch on and Betty would relax a little. "In San Francisco, you were a nurse under Dr. Evans. How did you come to be working for him?"

"I," Betty started but stopped as she picked up the cup of water and took a few sips. Her voice was rusty and cracking around the edges. "I was looking for...an internship. He offered, I accepted. When I got my degree, he put me on full-time."

"So, you've been working with him for a while; enough that you trusted him?"

Betty nodded before saying, "I had no reason not to trust him. He was so...alive, honest."

"Did he ever talk to you about work or about anything personal?" Jim knew he was starting to push, but he had to try to understand what was going on.

"Sometimes, but it was...never anything apparent. Just vague mentions about his day or something. It wasn't until..." she trailed off as she swallowed hard and grabbed the cup again. After wetting her throat she continued, "Until after his partner was killed that he started becoming more open. He was angry, that was...understandable."

"Uh, his partner was killed?" Jim shook his head and tried to keep an open mind. That Jake guy was a lie, a ploy to get Nick and Gil to trust him. "How?"

Betty was looking at him like he should know; her eyes narrowed and she sighed in frustration. "That was why Dr. Grissom was there, at the clinic. I thought it was a bad idea, and I told him that it was a bad idea to treat the man that murdered his partner...but he needed to have that closure; I guess. I should have seen this coming. The anger in Dr. Evans just grew...It's my fault, I should have done something."

Jim watched as Betty's tears turned into fits of sobs and choking air. Instantly he grabbed the Kleenex box on the side table and handed it over.

As Betty cried, he tried to shake the cobwebs from his brain. If he heard that correctly it meant Gil was a murderer who had killed Carl's boyfriend and that was why all hell broke lose...? Except, how could Gil murder a man that didn't exist. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes and forehead trying to ease the pain before he stumbled through his next question. "Who's Dr. Evan's boyfriend?"

Through the sobs and choked voice, Jim froze at the name he heard. "Robert," he whispered back.


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Catherine greeted him in the lobby of the lab. "You're never going to believe whose prints we've found in the stolen car."

Jim let out a breath before saying, "Gil."

"How the hell did you know that?"

"Just like I know that Dr. Carl Evan's boyfriend wasn't Jake but Robert. As in Robert Davis. We've fucked up, bad."

Catherine didn't have time to panic as the words sank in. "Nick was right. We missed the connection."

Jim started down and hallway toward the break room. He needed coffee. Actually, he needed the full bottle of Scotch in his desk drawer, but he was at the lab and Catherine didn't have alcohol in her desk. Coffee it was; and bad tasting coffee at that. "It never ended. Hell, it should have once Robert was dead but...How could we have missed this? An accomplice? Boyfriend at that?"

"Carl didn't attend the University of Chicago until well after Gil had been there and left. But we never checked to see if Robert ever attended!"

Jim just watched and downed the bad coffee as Catherine kept shifting and throwing her hands around in frustration. They should have checked; after Gil was confirmed abducted and not a run-away then they should have covered all bases. He needed to calm down. This wasn't the time to regret what they didn't do; it was the time to fix what they screwed up and figure out how to find Nick and possibly Gil.

He glanced up and watched as Warrick turned the corner. The CSI was looking worn and ready to pound anyone who looked at him wrong, like he had been when Nick was buried alive. "Hey, Cath? How's Rick doing?"

Catherine followed Jim's glance and saw Warrick about to enter the room. "How'd think. Last time we knew Nick was still alive, now..."

Warrick shuffled his way into the break room; he didn't look up at them or even show any signs that he saw them. Flopping down on the couth he propped his feet up on a chair and let out a tired, muffled yawn.

Jim glanced at Catherine before taking a couple hesitant steps toward the man. He knew what it was like to have a friend missing and not being able to do anything about it. Even if it went no where, he figured it was best to let Warrick know what was going on then the leave him in the dark. "Hey...Rick?"

"Yeah." Warrick's voice was sleepy and soft, which made him appear smaller than he actually was.

"We...there's some information that's come to light. And we're trying to figure out what to do but," Jim shrugged and looked back at Catherine who gave him a 'go ahead' nod. "But, we need help. Are you up to running through some ideas?"

The brightness and surprise in Warrick's eyes caused Jim to stop and stare. "Hell yeah, what can I do?"

"Uh...Cath?" Jim didn't know what to do or where to start. Plus, Catherine was supervisor; it was best to let her run with it to make sure nothing was left out. There were even things that Jim didn't know yet.

"Right. Let me call a meeting and we can go over all the evidence and see what we can do."


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The door opened with a bang as it slammed against the wall. The moaning of the man over his shoulder began to grow louder as they made their way down and empty hall. He was back in the place that had been his hell for a month. It was still silent, motionless, and the perfect place. No one could hear the screams outside these brick walls and concreted floors.

Gil muffled his own groan as the weight on his shoulder started to become heavier than stone. His legs were tight but shaky under the sudden squirming and desperate kicks of an attempt to get free. His grip tightened as he muscled his way to the 'death room' and with a satisfying grunt, shift of his back and shoulder, he sat Nick down against the wall.

The younger man immediately tried to stand and take off, but with the rope around his legs he only managed to get to his knees before he toppled over onto his side. A painful groan seeped its way out of the tape-bound mouth. Nick shifted over onto his back, his breath coming in quick gasps through his nose, before he did a sit-up and fell back into the wall and into a sitting position.

The sight before him made Gil's enter body tingle with anticipation. This was finally it. After today it would all be over. He closed his eyes and took in a deep, calming breath before he opened them. They focused on the man before him. Everything that was pulsing through Nick became so much clearer: the anger, uncertainty, and...there was something else. Something which made Gil continued to observe the man closer.

Nick would clench and unclench is jaw as sweat coated his forehead and the back of his neck, and his head would turn at every sound; it appeared that Nick should have been petrified and broken. Yet, even though Nick was bound with rope and tape covered both his mouth and eyes, Gil saw a strong, confident man who wasn't scared of dark places anymore.

The clenching and unclenching of Nick's jaw was mostly due to anger and he was sweaty because of the combined heat and the drugs in his system, and Nick wasn't turning his head out of panic or flinching back in fear, but instead he was trying to hear better out of curiosity.

The paralyzing movements of the man in front of him caused Gil not to hear the door opening or someone else walking across the dusty concreted floor. What caught his attention was the stiffness in Nick's shoulders and alertness in his posture, almost like a guard dog who noticed something wrong.

Gil turned and looked over his shoulder at the approaching man. As he opened his mouth to speak, Dr. Evans immediately placed a hand over his mouth.

"Shhh, all in good time. Go stand by the wall," Dr. Evans whispered in his ear.

The doctor's breath was cold and icy against his skin. Gil gave a curt nod and obeyed. Once he was out of the light and in the darkness of the corner, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. When he saw that it was received, he placed it on the floor and forgot about it.


9999999999


After the tape was ripped from his eyes, Nick immediately closed them against the bright light shining down on him. It stung to open them, but he slowly got his vision to focus. The room was old: the bricks lining the walls were moldy, anything metal in the room was rustic and broken, and the concreted floor he was sitting on was dusting and chipped. Only one light was in the room, or at least only one light was on, and it was a just a bulb swinging from the ceiling. Because of the single bulb, he couldn't see into most of the room. Every corner was shadowed and dark and as he looked passed Carl in front of him, he couldn't see anything except a dark and empty void.

"Aren't you going to say something?"

Nick glanced at the doctor and shook his head. If the doctor was expecting a plea, he wasn't going to get one. He leaned back against the wall which was cold and hollow. In fact, the whole place was cold except the air that was hot and thick as hell. The cement under him was even starting to make his ass go numb.

Carl seemed disappointed in something before he moved. And fuck did he move fast. Nick's head banged on the wall behind him as the fist connected with his face. White sparks covered his vision before it grayed out around the edges; his head filled with a steady ache all the way around to his eyes.

"Now then...Do you have anything to say?"

"Fuck you."

The kick came out of nowhere. A burst of sharp, blinding pain filled his body groining up. His lungs felt like they collapsed as his knees instantly jerked up over his body. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, and he couldn't scream. Everything lodged in his throat and chest until the wave of agony seized and he could his scream was loud and high.

"Think you'd be able to get it up after that?"

Nick gritted his teeth and breathed deeply into his knees. "Fuck...you."

Carl sighed and shook his head in disgust and disappointed. "All I'm asking here is for you to do something that's simple."

"Yeah," Nick got out between deep, staggered breathes. "What's that?"

Carl grinned. "Tell me your dying words, Nick."

"Mom ...Cisco ... well, this is a lousy way to say good-bye, but it's all I've got." Nick willed the swell of tears in his eyes down; before he spoke he swallowed the tight lump in his throat and cleared it. "My last words are...'fuck you'."

Carl pulled at a syringe and gave it a flick at the tip; a clear liquid was filled halfway a tiny droplets dripped out of the tip. "Fine, we'll play it my way."

Nick tried to shift and get away but there wasn't anyplace for him to go; the plunge into his arm was anything but pleasant. It was hard, sharp, and he struggled to breathe as his throat constricted.

"Breathe, come on. It's not poison...I've got something better in mind than poison." Carl yanked the syringe out and stepped a few feet back.

His eyes clenched shut as he focused on breathing, on thinking rationally and keeping whatever it was now coursing through his veins from affecting him. Nick knew that it was false hope, but he could try; he could try to keep his head level. But he was useless. He was just a CSI who couldn't hack it anymore because he failed Gil and he failed himself. The tears started to roll down his face before he realized what was going on.

"Now, that's better."

Nick once again got into his fetal position and wiped his face on his pants. "What's better?"

"The truth, its better isn't it. No more stubborn refusals or half attempts at lying. What's that old saying? The truth will set you free? It's time to be set free, Nick. All I ask from you is the truth."

As those words sunk in, Nick felt himself get light-head and something broke in him. A barrier he'd been keeping up for a long time, since Gil left. A tidal wave of emotions crashed over his heart and flooded his chest. "I'm a failure. It's my fault."

Carl never looked smugger, or happier, as Nick continued to talk.

"I gave up on Gil. I should have never let him go. If only I would have know...what to do...how to help," Nick couldn't get out what he wanted to say because his sobs where getting longer and his throat tighter.

Carl knelt down so he was eye level with him. "Nick, look at me. Now."

Nick immediately obeyed. Slightly taken by surprised that he responded that fast and without thought, he swallowed down the lump of defeat and looked at the man.

"Tell me...what you want to know. Before you die, what is it that you want to know beyond all else?"

"I just want to know why? What was it that I missed," Nick pleaded. It was a weird thought to have, but he needed to know. After all the searching and aching and soul crying that he did, before it all ended he wanted to know what it was that he missed. What that one piece of evidence was that no one figured out.

Carl nodded and rubbed his face; looking aggravated that his 'brilliant plan' wasn't being understood. "It's so simple, Nick. Revenge, eye for an eye. Think of this as a game, a chess game if you will. You killed my boyfriend so...What's the next move by me?"

"I..." Nick trailed off as he tried to think that over and work his hands around the restraints that were binding his wrists. The texture was scratchy and rough; it had to be rope. Boyfriend? He thought that I killed his boyfriend? Okay, that made no sense because the only person he ever killed was...Oh, God. "Robert, he was your boyfriend?"

A slow, smile spread over Carl's face, but it was anything but grateful. It was grievance. "He, he was supposed to have destroyed Gil's reputation then...kill him in that cabin. But, shit...it all went to hell. I told him not to go to Salt Lake, just wait it out and we could take you by surprise later, take both of you."

This was...Nick was staring to feel his chest restrict and his breathing was becoming ragged. It wasn't going to stop. It would just keep going and going until someone died. And that was going to have to be him because Gil was probably already dead and Carl just wanted to make sure that they both paid for killing Robert. "That's what it was. The missing key to everything was that...it never ended. We were looking at it as a new case, trying to figure out why you, of all people, took him..." he was rambling, mostly to himself as he felt the embarrassing guilt creep up his body and a sharp pain shoot through his head.

"Shut up!"

Nick's mouth closed tight at that yelled command. He should have been anything but cooperative, but he needed to stop rambling anyway. The trust serum was strong and he didn't want to say too much.

"That doesn't matter now! What matters is that he's dead because of you! Eye for an eye. You killed him, so you deserve to be killed," Carl snapped out; for the first time Nick saw the calm, professional demeanor slip and replaced with the real, raw emotions that lay under the doctor. "What...what you deserve, what I'm planning, what I've made, is the best revenge. Better than anything Robert ever dreamt of. He was in it for just Gil, just fucking with his head and his career-"

Nick's jaw was clenched so tightly that it was grinding his teeth. "You've...you killed Gil, didn't you?" The question was soft, barely audible but heard.

Carl laughed; a sinister, skin crawling laugh. "No, no, Nicky. I'm doing what Robert never did. The best way to make Gil hurt, is to make him into the person he hates the most. Do you know who Gil hates more than anybody? Who he vowed never to become?"

Nick swallowed hard and stared desperately at Carl, trying to get his mind to catch up to what was being said. His hands still worked behind his back at the restraints. "Gil...doesn't hate." It was a thoughtless, desperate attempt to preserve some of the good man that Nick loved. Plus, it was the truth. "I...hate Nick." He shook his head at that memory. That wasn't true, the tapes were tampered with. Gil loved him; kept him safe even though it tore him apart to do so. And it had to be the truth that Gil didn't hate, not even him because...Nick had to tell the truth.

"Wrong. Everybody hates, Nicky. Gil hated Robert....then Gil hated himself, but now, they are one."

Nick's jaw went slack and his hands went limp between his back and the wall. They were one? As in one in the same? "Carl..." he went to say something like a protest or anything to try and gain control over the situation. Before he could form an articulate reply his mouth went dry as a figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

The man before him made his breath choke in his slack throat and eyes burn. Tears blurred his vision before they slid down his face. The name formed in the back of his throat but the lump grew tight and it was hard to get anything out. His voice cracked with burning pain as he choked out, "Gil." Then the tears were flowing uncontrollably as his voice broke into a throbbing, tight sob.

***

The timing was brilliant. No, it was breath taking. Just as the group gathered into the conference room to go over what they knew, which now was everything but still absolutely nothing, his cell rang.

The display gave away the number, one he had memorized and titled sampling 'Messenger'. He flipped his phone open. "Brass."

Silence. Dead silence; yet the lines were still connected, but no one was speaking. He strained to hear anything coming through the phone and when he did, the blood drained from his face. It was Nick's voice, but it was distant. Static came and went through the line as he moved as quickly as he could to the A/V Lab. The others watched him leave but didn't say anything. Instead they were right behind him.

Archie was still in the lab room, closing up shop to make way for the dayshift guy.

"Arch, stay. I need you to track this phone and record the call," Jim snapped off in a hurry, already handing the phone over.

"But-"

"Now," Jim yelled.

Archie took the phone and did what he did best; make other techs weep at his speed and accuracy. Within seconds he had the call recording into the computer and the search for the signal began. "Just to let you know, I might not get a strong signal to pin-point the exact location, but I will have a search area."

"That's fine, just get me something."

"Jim," Catherine asked from beside him. "What's going on?"

"It's Gil..."

Just like that, he could probably hear a pin drop. Jim glanced from the members of the CSI team and back over at Archie who was staring at him also. "Don't stop working your magic because of me."

Catherine grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the side. She was fuming; face red, eyes wide and staring, and lips tight. Here it comes. "Gil? How do you know that?"

"Uh, well, you see..." Jim trailed off at the look in Catherine's eyes. He was going to die and Catherine was going to be the one to kill him.

"You knew all along didn't you?"

"Look, I didn't know it was Gil at first. I talked to you about it and I was skeptical. But...I've been getting more calls and pictures and...I just knew, I knew. He needed my help...and I gave it to him."

At that Catherine looked mortified. "You helped him? He took Nick! Stalked him! And now-"

"Catherine!" Jim used his best stern voice which caused Catherine to snap her mouth shut, but she was still giving him the death glare. "Will you stop? If he was going to do anything bad to Nick, would he call and leave the phone on so we could trace it?"

That deflated some of Catherine's rant, but she still wasn't satisfied. "Then what's going on?"

Jim sighed and rubbed his face, taking the time to think and explain correctly. "I think...I think he can't get out on his own. Whatever is going on, he's in too deep and he can't just...leave. There's something else going on here Catherine instead of Dr. Evan's sick game of revenge. Gil's got his own plan that's not only going to save Nick, but him as well, and put Carl away for a long time."

"We have evidence against Carl."

Jim shook his head. "Do we? Cath, everything is pointing to Gil in this. And I mean everything. Nothing proves that Gil was taken unwilling from that clinic. Yeah, the evidence was tampered with. So what, Gil could have done that himself. I'm not saying he did, but that's what a jury might believe, especially since Gil disappeared for a month only to come back and kidnap not only a member of his team but his boyfriend. That clinic's file shows that Gil snapped and that he hated Nick. What the fuck do we have against Carl?"

The gasps and stares in the lab room became too much, so Jim stepped around Catherine and headed for the door.

"You're right."

Jim turned and faced Warrick. "What?"

Warrick was staring at him before he looked around at everyone else in the room. "Brass is right. We have no evidence against Carl. We know the truth, or at least what we hope is the truth, but the evidence says otherwise. Fingerprints in the stolen car are Grissom's. Size 11 ½ shoe prints belonging to Gris. The clinic's files, all of which were made to make it sound like he lost his damn mind before he left." He shook his head and rubbed his forehead. "This call it's all we've got to prove otherwise. Maybe, maybe Grissom's going to make Carl talk or set him up to be caught red-handed."

Jim was nodding as he stood in the doorway. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking...or at least hoping."

"You did the right thing," Warrick said before he sat down in the chair next to Archie. "How long will it take to get a good enough signal?"


9999999999


Nick sobbed until his head felt tired and hot. His bottom lip trembled uncontrollably and he tried to get it to stop so he could talk. He had so much to say, to tell Gil. As he struggled to get his breathing and emotions under control the worst he seemed to get. A staggered, "You're not dead", escaped through gulps of air as his jaw continued to tremble.

"Maybe," Carl was saying. "That was too much serum? Oh well. I need to prepare some things anyway. Gil, stay here and make sure he doesn't hyperventilate."

Carl disappeared into the darkness and light shined through the open door and into the room before it closed, blocking all light out again.

The room was getting fuzzy and blurred as the tears continued to swell and fall down his face. His breathing was getting better and Nick took that chance to talk, to say what he needed say. "Gil...I've missed you so much," his voice was cracking and raspy, but he swallowed down the itching pain and solid lump and kept talking. "I knew...I knew that you weren't dead. I could...feel it. All the way deep in my bones I felt you."

Gil was only staring at him, perplexed and empty. Nick wanted to laugh at that look so he did. The laughing only seemed to hurt more as his sides cramped. "I'm sorry, Gil. I'm drugged right now. Could you, help me up. I need to hug you."

Gil didn't move towards him, in fact, he didn't move at all.

As Nick focused and stared up at the man he loved, he realized that Gil wasn't looking at him the same way. It almost looked like he wasn't looking at anything at all. He'd seen Gil stare out in space before, the way the eyes didn't focus on any one thing particular and the brows furrowed together in thought. Gil, now, was doing that, but his eyes were on him and there were no furrowed lines of thought.

Nick was afraid to ask, but until he had control over his motor-controls again he couldn't stop talking. "You look like a fucking zombie. Have you slept?"

Suddenly, Gil's eyes moved and they traveled over his body, from his shoes up to his face then back down again. Those blue eyes sparkled with something Nick had never seen before; it was like Gil just laid eyes on him for the first time ever.

"Gil? What's wrong?" Nick was starting to feel that hyperventilation in his chest. "Gil?"

At the use of his name, Gil kept flinching back. The only response close to some normal reaction was when he heard his name. The emotion that clouded those sparkling blue eyes weren't recognition, but deep loathing. It was Gil's name, why was he reacting that way? Nick shook his head and tried to will the drug's effects away. This wasn't right. Something was wrong. As the train wreck of emotions finally started to ease, the more tired he became.

Nick suppressed a yawn but that didn't stop his body from slacking against the wall. It felt like he as a hundred times heavier and his head floated, drifting from uncertain and terrifying thoughts to nothing.

"I see he's asleep. I guess we're going to have to wake him. Oh, I meant you are going to have to wake him."

Gil glanced off to his side at where Dr. Evans had appeared. An old push cart with various items on it was wheeled to his side. A shiver of repressed pain shook down his body; he recognized all of the items on the cart and the memory of what they did made him shiver as he picked up an item.

"I know you know how to use that; I've shocked you enough times with it."

The Taser was much smaller than he remembered it to be as he held it in his hand for the first time. Nick, unlike him, wasn't dripping with water so maybe it would be less painful. Maybe.

Dr. Evans eyed him then Nick. "Well? Aren't you going to shock him? I thought you wanted this, to get revenge on the man to blame?"

The room violently tilted around him as Gil closed his eyes and tried to repress the images before his eyes.


Blood seeped from his lip onto his tongue. The sting was sharp against his numbing back as the leather broke his skin. A quick crack against his spine caused his legs to drop; the restraints drug into his wrist as his body went completely numb from the blow. His vision blurred, eyes stung with unshed tears, and he could feel the blood rush down his heavy arms, pooling in his hot shoulders.

His sand-paper tongue licked his blood dry chapped lips. A shock coursed up his spine, up his hands that gripped the chains, then down his cramping legs. Shaking through the after-shock, he pleaded into the darkened empty room. "S-stop, please..." his voice creaked on the last word.

The whip snapped in the air behind him and he bit his tongue, drawing blood, as it pounded his back. Wet, silent tears fell from his eyes as he gagged on his own blood that coated his mouth. A hand grabbed hold of the nape of his neck and squeezed it tight. With a sudden yank his head was drawn back and he stared at the face of the man inflicting the pain on him.

Brown eyes bore into his and a slow, sly smile curved the mouth on the strong, square jaw. The man was Nick.


Gil's eyes snapped open and he stared at the man asleep against the brick wall. The man had the same penetrating brown eyes that caused his jaw to clench and hands to tremble with ragging anger. His thumb rubbed over the switch on the Taser as he leaned down.


9999999999


At the sudden shock, Nick gasped as his eyes opened with a surge of pain. It took him a moment to realize what just happened and the screeching scream that came from deep in his throat took him by surprise. The electro waves were still coursing through his arched still body. Then, just as quickly as he was shocked he relaxed against the wall and took in a shaky breath.

When he opened his eyes to see who shocked him, he froze at the sight of Gil standing above him with the Taser in his hand. "Gil...?"

Gil's jaw clenched and he moved the Taser closer.

The jolt was quick but it hurt like hell; Nick's back involuntarily jerked and arched again. That time he didn't scream but all the air left his lungs like he was suckered punched. As his body relaxed again just moments later, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.

That thought of why Gil was hurting him was too much to bear. There had to be an explanation, something reasonable and less frightening than the one pushing at the back of his head, causing it to ache and throb.

"Fascinating, isn't it? How I could make the man whom you loved into the one you're going to fear the most. I'm not going to kill you, he is."

Nick turned his head and stared hard at Carl. It was hard to see the doctors face with the lack of light, but what he saw made his skin crawl. "You can't do this," he whispered. The comment wasn't directed at just Carl but Gil, who he had locked eyes with.

"I already am, Nick," Carl said in return.

At the mention of the name 'Nick', Gil eyes soften and his shoulders relaxed. Nick watched in intense focus at the sudden change in Gil before Carl continued talking.

"Time to get this show going. Gil, the chains."

Gil's posture changed again, going from uncertainly and regret back to anger and determination. Nick observed the change in demeanor and willed himself to pay attention. There was a reason Gil was acting strange and he was going to find out what it was.

Hopefully, it'd help him to get out of there alive.


9999999999


The door opened and Jim watched as Catherine peeked around the edge of the door and into his dark office. At first, she didn't see him, her eyes didn't adjust to the darkness, but as she turned to leave her eyes locked onto him and her hand slipped from the frame to rest at her side.

"What are you drinking?"

"Nothing." Jim was surprised at how rough voice not only sounded but ached in his throat. He wiped at his eyes, making sure he hadn't gotten too sentimental while trying to sleep on the sofa in his office, before standing and stretching. "Have you tried to sleep?"

Catherine relaxed against the doorframe for a brief moment before she stepped further into the office and closed the door. "I tried, but..."

"Yeah," Jim said as he rubbed his eyes while he made his way to his desk. He couldn't relax against the leather chair even if he tried, but it was better than standing. Plus, Catherine looked like she had something to say.

She was eyeing him as she sat down across from his desk and leaned back; her shoulders were suddenly stiff and ready to...He never quite knew what she thought was going to happen when they had a confrontation, but she always looked one second away from jumping up with a mad woman right hook.

Catherine closed her eyes, shook her head, then eyed him again; this time there were unshed tears forming and threatening to fall. "Jim," she exhaled with a heap of frustration. "I thought-"

Jim held up his hand. The movement even caught him off-guard it was such a bold move to make on Catherine now. It was too much right then. The last thing he needed was a crying frustrated Catherine Willows in his office. "Can we call a truce on this, Cath? I," he took a shaky breath and continued. "I was wrong to not include you. It's just...We're all frustrated, wound up, and dead on our feet over this and the last thing I wanted to do was cause you more heartache if...If I had been wrong. I'm sorry, but I couldn't put you through that."

Catherine seemed to take that all in before she nodded, but her frown only got worse. "I'm sure you were just trying to be...considerate. However, thinking that Gil was dead and the kidnapping of Nick...How is that better than knowing that Gil was getting a hold of you?! How is that better than going over possible solutions or actions?"

Jim knew better than to argue back. He knew enough from experience that Catherine was going to rant and rave until she said her piece than...Hopefully it would eventually work out and they'd be okay again.


9999999999


Nick could do nothing but watch. Helplessness was an understatement to how he felt, it was beyond helplessness. Immobilized and completely vulnerable to whatever was going to happen to him...There were no words that could describe that feeling.

The chains hung down from the middle of the room, cuff-like restraints dangled from the end of the each one and they were shut and locked tight against his wrists. The slack in the chains were loose enough for him to stand easily with all the weight on the balls of his feet. That was until a sound of a crank pulled them up and along with them his arms stretched and he was barely standing on the tip of his toes.

Gil came back into view and he picked up the roll of duct tape and measured out a piece just shy of the length of his forearm. Carl watched from off to the side, half illuminated in light, half covered in shadow, as Gil took the piece of tape and covered his mouth with it. The irritation in Carl was evident as his face grew red and flushed, eyes narrow, and his hands were clenched at his sides.

Nick knew that the irritation was directed towards him and not Gil. Despite the situation, he wasn't putting up a fight; therefore he wasn't inciting Gil into a confrontation. Gil stepped away from him and stood deathly still, almost stone like, while he stared at him.

Usually that stare would have caused Nick's head to swim with lust and pulse to quicken with excitement. However, the blue eyes staring at him in the damp darkened room that reeked of burning skin and dry blood wasn't sparkling, they didn't even hold a glint of love or enchantment. Instead, they were cloudy and bloodshot, emotionless, and waiting for something to happen.

Carl moved over to Gil and rubbed his hand over Gil's shoulder and eased him down into a chair that was hidden in the darkness. The rubbing movement, almost tender and soothing, made Nick jaw clench. His hands balled into fist when Carl caressed Gil's sweaty neck and jaw, inciting a low groan inside Gil, before Carl pulled his hand away.

"Tell me, have you heard of something called False Memory Syndrome?"

Nick blinked at Carl before nodding his head, his eyes drifted to Gil's and stayed there. Gil had his eyes partly closed, like in a daze, and he was slouched and relaxed in the chair. It made his heart drop and ears to buzz at that thought that Gil might actually be comfortable with what was going on.

The rubbing continued and Nick couldn't help to pull and tense against the restraints that held him in place. Gil's eyes closed at one point when Carl stroked his hand over his chest than back up to his shoulder. Bile rose in Nick's throat, burning as he swallowed it down and closed his eyes. He couldn't close his ears and the pleasurable whimper that filled his ears was worse than seeing the sated look on his lover's face.

"Nick, look at me."

Nick didn't want to; in fact he realized he'd rather be beaten physically with the whip on the cart or shocked repeatedly with the Taser than to ever be witness to Gil being pleased by another man. The struggled cry that filled his ears made his eyes go wide with fear.

Carl was now kneeling behind the chair; one hand clenched around Gil's neck while the other traced over his body. "Being a child sexually abused yourself I know for a fact you've heard that term before. It's also the reason why people who are placed under hypnosis to re-live past traumas aren't allowed to be used in the court of law. The power of persuasion and suggestion is so strong while someone is in the Alpha state of mind, which is what is required to be hypnotized, that it could cause false memories. Correct?"

Nick was staring at the spot over Carl's shoulder so not to watch the soft caresses over the man he loved. A man who he knew still loved him. He nodded and waited to listen because it was important for him to know.

"What I've done to your lover," Carl emphasized that word with a kiss to the back of Gil's neck, under his left ear. "It's a more complicated form of that."

Gil choked on a strangled moan as the hand tightened around the neck. The urge to get sick was growing as bile again burned the inside of Nick's throat. That urge however didn't stop the growl that rumbled from behind the tape. He yanked at the restraints again; it was useless, he knew, but he couldn't take seeing that. Hearing that.

"When I say the word 'Gil', it is no longer a term for his name. Instead it triggers a deep longing for a purpose, one that was stolen from him yet he doesn't know how or why. It causes anger and determination because he feels that whoever was responsible for stealing his purpose should be punished for it."

The shiver that coursed through Gil's body and the sharpness of his eyes were scary to watch. Nick swallowed hard behind the tape. The slouching, relaxed demeanor of Gil was suddenly gone, replaced with that rigid tension in his shoulders and intense loathing filled his eyes. Nick felt himself shiver back at that look.

"Revenge...Ah, you've seen that look before."

Carl smiled at Nick as he stiffened in the restraints and his body rose off the floor slightly. He saw what that word did to Gil. He also felt the ramifications of that word; the tremors of the shocks he was given earlier still spasm through his muscles.

"Your lover is now blank, emotionless, patient, yet there's an underlying rage filling him. That word triggers the false memory. It suggests that the person responsible for all the pain, hurt, lying, and betrayal in those memories is to blame. That person he blames is you, Nick. It's your fault. It makes him feel like he has a purpose again; and that purpose is to torture and eventually kill you."

Nick kept his eyes on Gil the whole time, saw the changes just as clearly as he saw a suspect blink to give away guilt or saw a disrupted room that spoke volumes of foul play. Carl only used the words 'Gil' and 'Revenge' to make Gil respond under his control, but he didn't use the word 'Nick', yet it caused another change in Gil. It was a change that wasn't full of hate or anger but a word that caused Gil to sadden and guilt filled his eyes as uncertainly weighed on his shoulders. Gil's eyes locked with his and didn't waver.

"Do you know who easy it was to twist his memories? To make him think that you were the one who was actually causing him that pain...that hate." Carl leaned down and licked Gil's neck.

Thankfully Carl was behind Gil and couldn't see his face, but Nick saw it. There was a sudden flash of disgust, confusion, and pure shock at the sensation against his neck. It was a look that was displayed through familiar loving blue eyes. Nick wanted to cry with relief at the way Gil wanted to cringe away from the man behind him while he still eyed him with perplexed recognition. A recognition that caused Gil to frown and close his eyes in guilt rather than pleasure.

Carl placed a last kiss on Gil's neck before he stood up and reached into his pocket. A cell phone was vibrating in his hand before he answered it. "Yeah? Okay, I'll be right out." He then leaned down and whispered something in Gil's ears before he left the room.

Nick didn't have to know what was said to see how it affected the man he loved.


9999999999


Gil watched in bewilderment as Nick struggled again against the restraints. The chains were starting to tear into the skin of the wrists but Nick kept struggling and mumbling something behind the tape. Why didn't Nick realize that it was useless to struggle. He himself had to learn the hard why that there was no hope of getting out of that room. Maybe Nick had to learn the hard way too?

As he picked up the whip off the cart, Nick started to squirm harder against the chains keeping him in place. Nick was pulling too hard, trying to get his hands out of the metal cuffs. "Stop," Gil yelled. "You're going to break your arm!"

His mouth snapped shut at his sudden outburst. A knot was forming in his gut at the sight before him. Gil couldn't stand the image of Nick struggling in agony. Muffled yells and pleads were struggling to get pass the tape as desperate brown eyes stared into his.

Feeling sorry for the man in front of him, Gil reached over and ripped the tape off his mouth. A deep growl of pain was heard at the sharp yank that removed small bits of skin. He circled around the back of Nick and positioned himself. With a brief hesitation of that twisting knot of guilt, he pulled the whip back.

"Wait," Nick choked out when he found his voice again.

Gil watched as the muscles in Nick's back ripple and tensed as he heaved in deep breaths of air. Nick tried twisting his head around but his arms where in the way and he couldn't see him standing behind him.

"Just...wait," Nick pleaded.

Gil shook his head but remembered that Nick couldn't see him. "You have to learn to behave, submit." He drew the whip back again.

Nick stiffened but continued to talk. His words stumbled almost incoherently from his mouth but one word caught his attention.

Gil froze and the whip went limp in his hand. "What'd you say?"

Nick relaxed against the restraints and shook his head. "I said, 'I'm Nick'." His voice strained as he began to shake, waiting for the crack of the whip.

But Gil was already in another place and time.



The sunlight poured through the curtains and he could feel the heat on his face. He shifted and his arms tightened around the solid clothed body next to him. Without opening his eyes he knew who the person was; he smile and snuggled closer to the warmth of his partner's body heat. Not caring that his right arm was numb and tingling where Nick was resting his head on it, or that his feet were cold where they stuck out of the blanket; he held still and marveled in the scent and feel of his Nicky.

It'd been an extremely long week. They had both started their new positions in their respective fields that Monday and all was going good. That was until they realized that they weren't spending nearly enough time with each other. If Nick wasn't working, he was. Even when he consulted on a case, he barely got to interact with Nick; he spent most of his time in a lab room charting pupa casings or in a conference room reading over files while Nick was in a meeting, completing paperwork, or out in the field on another case.

Last night had been their first night off together. To celebrate their new home together and their jobs, he had made a romantic dinner for Nick. It consisted of some of Nick's favorite foods: chicken enchiladas, chips and salsa, and Spanish rice. Between the two of them they managed to savage the chips, salsa, and rice. He didn't care much for enchiladas and Nick had looked more than willing to order out for a pizza anyway. It all worked out, even though he could still smell the burnt stench of tortilla shells fuming through the air.

As he twisted his head a fraction to place a kiss on Nick's jaw, a jolt of pain shot through his neck and caused his head to spasm. He groaned into the jaw instead of kissing it and rubbed at the back of his neck where it was tight.

"You okay?"

Gil opened an eye and caught Nick's sleepy brown eyes watching him. "Yeah, kink in my neck."

Nick mumbled something as he shifted closer and wrapped his arms tighter around his body. His right hand came up to help him work the pain out. "Better?"

The gentle message eased the ache in his muscles; Gil groaned at the touches and nodded. "Hmm. My arm is dead." Nick's hand froze on his neck before he started chuckling. The weight was lifted off his arm and Gil pulled it into him and flexed his fingers, worked out his wrist, and tried to rub his forearms back to life. "Now I'm better." He quickly muffled a yawn and relaxed back into Nick's warm body and wrapped his arm around his waist and pulled close.

"How 'bout we get more comfortable in our bed?"

Gil frowned in confusion and reluctantly opened his eyes. Peering over Nick's shoulder he caught the sight of the back of their couch. The blanket covering them was the quilt they had thrown over the back of it. As the memory of the night before came rushing to the forefront of his mind, his arm wrapped tighter around Nick. "S'rry."

"For what," Nick mumbled against the top of his head.

"Falling asleep on you." Gil suddenly stared at Nick. "I did fall asleep didn't I?"

Nick chuckled and shifted his leg over his. "Yeah, but I think I fell asleep first, and I was the one relaxing on top of you."

"We didn't...get very far?" Gil didn't remember much. Between the wine, beer, and picking bacon off his pizza, his mind lost track of what the actually happened once they started kissing on the couch.

Nick's hands snuck up his shirt, rubbing over his back and spine. "No, I think once we both relaxed into each other that was it. I woke up later and pulled the cover down. It was cold."

The talented fingers that soothed his skin caused him to melt even more into the solid body next to his. Easing his leg further between Nick's legs, he grew harder at the sharp intake of Nick's breath. The feel of his lovers excitement urge him to shift again, rubbing closer and harder.

"Gil."

Hearing his name shivered out of Nick's beautiful parted lips made his blood rush faster down to his cock. Gil leaned in, tasted those sweet lips on his mouth, as he began a steady, agonizing slow rhythm. It didn't take long for Nick to up the ante by teasing a hand under his waistband and rubbing the tip of his fingers over the head of his aching cock. "Nah...Nick."



He felt his lungs constrict as his legs stumbled and twisted under him sending his balance off. Another sharp ache exploded in his ribs as the room refocused around him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the sudden blurry movement of another fist before a burst of hot numbness blinded his eye. The weight of the hit caused his legs to buckle and he fell to the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing? I leave for a minute and this is what I come back to,"
Dr. Evans drew back his foot and before Gil could think about what was going to happen next, the foot whipped forward.

A strangled scream filled the room before it gargled and died. He couldn't move, couldn't think, and couldn't breathe. It hurt to get just a small whiff of air into his lungs. Gil tightened his thighs against his hands as he protected himself from another kick. Everything around him felt distant, images were vague, and sounds echoed. Then it got cold and wet as his shirt was torn off.

His back arched as it rippled with a pain he hadn't felt since he was the one chained and gagged. The whip struck again and the world blackened.

"He w-was gonna rape me," Nick whispered as he eyed Carl.

Carl stopped as he drew the whip back again; he turned toward him. "What?"

Nick swallowed hard and got a better grip of the chains above him. "I was trying to get out of the restraints. He said that I n-needed to learn to submit...or something. I, I taunted him and said, 'What're you gonna do? Fuck me?'" He took in a shaky breath before he continued his lie. It was hard to lie about Gil like that, but if it stopped Carl from beating Gil he'd do it. "He got this look and then...and then..." A tear slid down his face and he tried not to look at Gil.

Carl didn't relax his arm as he eyed him carefully. After what seemed like hours, he tossed the whip down and started laughing. "Oh...oh shit. I knew he hated you, I just didn't know he thought of you as a pathetic little fuck boy as well."

Nick held back to urge to spit in the man's face and instead bit his lower lip. His jaw clenched as it shook violently with rage. At least Carl believed him, Nick sighed as he thought about that. Gil wouldn't get whipped anymore, and he could relax.

"I would beat you myself, but I think once I wake Gil, he'd want to do that himself. This time, I'm going to stay and watch."


9999999999


There was only one place they could be, Jim thought as he rushed up the ladder and to the heliport. The helicopter had just landed as he rushed across the pavement, under the whirling blades, and into the open sliding door. The cell phone signal was coming from 30 miles outside of Vegas. It was weak, suggesting a sturdy building with a secure airspace. The radius Archie had circled narrowed their search scope and the only building in the area that they could be at was the old, abandoned prison.

As he buckled up and pulled on the headphones, he was sure of it. Catherine was next to him because they'd need the supervisor of night shift for political reasons. Hell, Jim didn't want CSI to be there at all, but who was he to stop her or them.

Warrick, Sara, Greg, and even Ecklie were all in route to the prison as the chopper began startup procedures for lift off. They were going to beat the others their by at least fifteen minutes, along with the ambulance and officer cop cars. Another chopper with the SWAT team was already in the air, about one minute in front of them.

Jim sighed as he glanced over at Catherine. "I'll go in first with the SWAT team and do what I do best, then and only then, will you go in. Understood?"

Catherine didn't even look at him as they lifted off the building and into the air.


9999999999


With a final rounding of his shoulder, the whip cracked back in his ear as Nick's body jerk forward then dropped with a jerk against the chains. Gil leaned forward, gasped for air, and tossed the whip down.

"That was...incredible."

Gil, despite causing the younger man pain, felt anything but fulfillment. In fact, as he rested his worn down arms against his knees, he wanted to throw-up and wallow in misery at what he'd just done. He wondered briefly if that was what he should feel like, or if he should think that that was incredible too. Then, he started to gag.

Dr. Evans mumbled something before he eased him around the room and deposited his doubled-up body in the chair. It helped him to breathe, but he was still gagging.

"I'll be right back."

He listened as Dr. Evans walked away, opened the door with a loud clank, then it was banged shut. Sweaty, trembling arms circled his stomach and sides as the pain began to grow and waves of aches and pains filled his body.

"Hey..."

Gil snapped his head up at the whispered grunt and stared wide-eyed in the brown eyes that were locked onto his.

Nick motioned with his head to come forward. Gil glanced back and checked the door before he tried to stand. His legs were heavy and it was hard to take a step. It was like he didn't know how to walk they were so stiff and weak, quivering as weight were placed on the balls of his feet.

He watched every step he took until the legs and feet of the man came into view, then he raised his head. Those pleading brown eyes stared straight into his as the man pulled himself up and leaned forward, resting his head on his shoulder. At the shocking display of feelings toward him, it was easy to glance down and question the man with a soft gaze of his own.

The look he received in returned stopped his heart with a loud, startling thump.



Nick was giving him that look, the one that said he was being ridiculous and too hard on himself, and that he was overeating. "Look on the bright side," he was saying as he handed him a beer. "We've got friends...okay, my friends, your family, and Greg. It's a party and everyone is having fun."

"Nick, it's not even nine yet and everyone is exhausted...No one will be awake at midnight." Of all the days they picked to move in, it had to be New Year's Eve. Gil usually was working on New Year's and throwing himself in a case while everyone else took the night off or only worked part of their shift. "I mean, Steve flew in from Seattle to help; don't you think he would have been happier being at home with his family on New Year's instead of here!"

"Gil, you didn't ruin anyone's plans. If they wanted to be somewhere else then they would have waited to show up tomorrow or the next day to help. Lighten up and enjoy the party."

Gil took a glance around the downstairs and sighed. Boxes were piled in every room around the furniture that was haphazardly placed throughout the house. Friends of Nick's and some of his own family were gathered in various groups in just about every room talking and laughing and the noise was growing by the seconds, and Greg, who had a plane ticket back to Vegas that Friday, was imitating something on his coffee table. "What the hell...?"

Nick looked over at Greg and blushed. "Shit. Greg! Get off the table!"

The room erupted in laughter and Gil's head started to hurt. He stared at the sympathetic, chocolate brown eyes of his lover and sighed heavily. "I'll be out back."

Nick tried to protest but he was already maneuvering his way around people and down the hallway that lead to the back porch. It was a cool night but not too cold, not Vegas cold. The air was comfortable and he took in a deep breath before he sat down in the wicker patio furniture that his mother had since forever. He ached to have a cigarette but he promised Nick that he would try to quit.

Plus, he didn't feel like going back inside and finding his stashed pack or bumming one off somebody, so he settled for the cold beer in his hand and took a few sips. He tipped the bottle back and ended up downing the rest of it. Taking aim he tossed it into the trash can.

"Nice shot."

Gil leaned back and looked at Nick over his shoulder. "I used to play...when I was younger."

Nick smiled at him and handed him another drink before he sat down next to him. "Oh yeah; we can always play together if you want. Put a goal up in the driveway or something."

Gil raised a brow at that suggestion. The mental image of him and Nick going one-on-one in basketball was a little disturbing, but he smiled. "I doubt I'll play again, but you can always invite the neighbors over for competition."

Nick leaned over, almost falling out of his chair and into his. "No, I'm serious. It'd be great for us to get in shape together."

"You're already in shape. I'm..."

"Don't," Nick stressed out that word. "You're not old. A person is as old as they let themselves get. If you work out, eat better, and stop smoking, then you'll feel just as young as me."

Gil shook his head and went to stand. "You're drunk."

Nick gave a wry smile and stood with him. "I am, but not too drunk to where I'm talking out of my ass. It's not non-sense, it's a fact. Just like it's a fact that we're both going to pass-out before midnight."

Gil chuckled at the serious look on Nick's face. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face at the sight of the man before him. There had been times when he didn't think that it was real, that Nick didn't really want to be with him, but then Nick would say or do something in a way that would speak volumes of his love and devotion. "I'm glad you're here."

The biggest grin broke out on Nick's face as he leaned in and kissed him. "I'm glad to be here. This is our home now...Amazing, isn't it?"

Gil wrapped his arms around Nick's waist and held on tight. He was still nervous and apprehensive about some things, but if he got to wake up every day with Nick next to him then it'd be okay. Life would make sense.

Nick leaned into him and brought his arms up to wrap around his neck. "You know what?"

"Hmm?"

Nick took a glance at his watch. "In 30 seconds, it'd be midnight in New York. I say, since we won't be up to bring in the New Year here, then we can at least celebrate with the east coast." Nick ended his thought with a kiss to his neck, causing it to tickle where his lips had been.

"I think we can do that." Gil brought his left arm up and looked at his watch. "10 seconds...7, 6, 5, 4,"

Nick started chuckling into his shoulder before leaning back in his arms. "2, 1."

Before Gil could say 'Happy New Year', Nick was pressing his lips firmly against his own. It was hard, wet, and perfect. The moan he heard when he traced his tongue over Nick's lips was all the permission he needed to deepen the kiss. Hands tingled and soothed his skin as Nick messaged the back of his neck and tangle his fingers in his hair.



The quick breathing against his face and neck snapped him back to reality. Nick was just inches from his face with his mouth parted as he gasped in air. The flush of heat was creeping up the other man's neck and face; eyes dilated a dark black which masked the brown. Nick's breath hitching was what made Gil realize that his hands were touching smooth, muscled skin.

Nick shook his head. "Please...don't leave me again. You have to fight it, stay here with me. With your Nicky, please." The whispered plea was desperate and full of pain, especially when he dropped his arms to his sides. Tears started to cloud the dilated, almost black, pupils.

Gil felt that sting of his own tears in the back of his eyes at the whispered name. Nick was pleading with him, but there was nothing he could do that he hadn't already done. The call was made, and soon it'd be over. All he could do now was wait and hope...Hope that he would be able to look at Nick again without feeling that his heart was dying. "I...can't help you," he whispered back into Nick's ear.

The tears broke behind Nick's brown eyes and Gil had to look away. The pain was too much. He thought he could handle it, thought he could last until the end, but the truth was he couldn't.

"Look at me," Nick pleaded. "Please..."

It took everything Gil had to will himself to look back at Nick. What he saw in the man before him broke his heart. Nick wasn't angry or resentful, he was disappointed. The knuckles of Nick's hands grew white as he gripped the chain to keep himself steady and upright. The pulsing quivers through Nick's entire body caused Gil to wrap his arms around Nick's waist despite what he felt.

Nick let loose of his grip and relaxed against his body. The trust he felt in Nick's heavy sigh against his neck caused the stinging tears to finally break. It caused him to break as his grip got tighter and more protective around Nick's body. The wetness of the open wounds that smeared his skin only caused him to cry more.

"I need you to do something for me?" Nick swallowed roughly before he continued. "I-I need to hear you say my name."

Gil blinked back and went to step away from Nick, shaking his head as he did so.

"Don't," Nick commanded.

The sharp tone caused Gil to hold his breath. His firm hold on Nick stilled as he peered at the man staring through the violent images and mixed emotions that fogged his head. The powerful, commanding stare never once soften around the edges. He watched as Nick licked his dry lips. The growing familiarity and heat continued to fill his body, warming it in places that had been lying cold and dormant for far too long.

"All I'm asking for is for you to say my name. For you to tell me who I am to you."

The door opened and the footsteps grew louder. "Gil!"

Gil flinched and his hands clenched.

Nick turned his head and quickly whispered in his ear. "It'd all be over if you say it."

"It's time to finish him off!" Dr. Evans said behind him. "The fucking cops found us!"

Gil stared into Nick's dark eyes, every emotion swelled his head and he couldn't think clearly. It'd be over, he told himself. He desperately wanted it to be over. Just, say the name.

The voice of Dr. Evans got closer and it whispered in his ear. "It's time to kill your precious-"

With a defeated breath of air, Gil whispered, "Nicky."

It was like a tidal wave of emotions and memories; everything he had hid behind, every loving caress and quiet declaration of love poured and filled his body, heart, and soul. He felt like he was drowning in his own head, his own body, and his own heart.

"Gil!"

Something snapped, raw and uncontrollable. Possessiveness, anger, love, whatever it was it won over all the other emotions and Gil turned and stared Dr. Evans down. For the first time, he saw the man for what he really was. What he knew he had been. "No."

Dr. Evans didn't have time to react before Gil's hand struck out and grabbed him around his neck. He tried to pull the gun up that was in his hand and fire, but Gil had twisted that wrist, a loud snap sounded in the room. The pain caused him to drop the gun. As the grip tightened his vision blurred, grayed around the edges, and then darkened.

Gil released Dr. Evans from his grip and let the body fall to the concreted floor. The pitiful, sucks of air was all that he could hear coming from the barely alive doctor as he leaned down and grabbed the gun. He turned and eyed Nick with a newfound realization. Nick was gapping at him in a shocked-horror expression, but it quickly faded as his eyes widened.

"Get me down."

It didn't take long to find the crank and lower the chains. He watched as Nick regained his footing and the restraints went slack against his arms and eventually his body. The crank stopped once Nick could move his arms around freely and take a couple of staggering steps.

"Where're the keys?"

Gil didn't have time to answer before the door open and Dr. Evans disappeared into the lightened hallway.

"Gil? Gil!"

Nothing Nick could yell out after him could keep him from chasing after the doctor. Real, true rage was pulsing through his body and it was all aimed at the man that betrayed him, the man that tortured him, and the man that forced him to hurt and destroy the only person he truly loved.

The brightness of the hallway was almost paralyzing, but by now he knew his way around the prison. Every room held a memory, one that wasn't tampered with or controlled. The 'dark cell' that he was kept in was coming up on his right. Up on the left and around the corner was the 'water' room.

And that was where he cornered Dr. Evans. The room connected to the 'water' room lead to another hallway that had an exit. Gil wanted to make sure the man never left the prison again. Not alive.

Dr. Evans paled as eyed the gun in his hand. "Gil, calm down. We can still get out of here, still get revenge on--"

"Shut up," Gil yelled as he stared into the pleading eyes of the doctor. Into the eyes of his tormentor. "It's over. This game is over." He raised the gun and aimed.

"Easy, Gil. I'll take it from here."

The rough, deep voice of Jim Brass caused him to glance back over his shoulder. At the sight of his friend he coughed out a relieved breath and lowered the gun. "We got him?"

Jim nodded and crossed into the room, his gun trained at the doctor. Another officer stepped into the room behind him. "Officer Mitchell, take Dr. Carl Evans into custody."

The officer crossed the room and secured Dr. Evans hands behind his back.

Jim was still training his gun on the man. "Hey, everything is all right, now. SWAT is taking the rest of the building, and we got Nicky. He's being released as we speak."

Gil nodded and moved off to the side to let the officer pass him with Dr. Evans. It was over, finally. He released a devastating sigh and stared at the gun in his hand.

Jim lowered his own gun and eyed him. "It's over. Archie got it all on tape; Carl basically gave a confession. Nick's not going to press charges against you and neither will the DA."

It was over. Gil relaxed against a tub, closed his eyes, and nodded. He'd completed his purpose. With a determined grip on the gun, he raised it to his head.

"Don't," Jim yelled.

The gun suddenly was pulled away from him as Jim slammed into his body. A gunshot sounded loud in his ear and it echoed through the room. His eyes sprung open as his body hit the floor. Jim was pinning him down on the wet tile as he twisted his arm up.

"Let go of the gun," Jim gritted into his ear.

Gil shook his head and tried to bring the gun back down to his head. "No, get off me. I have to finish it."

Jim twisted his arm again, causing the trigger to be pulled again as pain shot through his hand. The bullet hit the opposite wall, imbedding itself into the brick.

"Jim? Gil!"

That was Nick. Jim turned his head and Gil used the distraction to swiftly kick Jim off him, twisting himself out of the strong grip as he did so. The barrel pressed against his head and he pulled the trigger.

Nick felt his heart skip a beat as he waited for the gun to sound, but nothing happened. The gun didn't go off. He released the breath that caught in his throat and eyed the gun then Gil.

Jim sat up against one of the tubs and held up his hand which held the bullet magazine. "Next time, make sure I didn't press the release."

Nick fell to his knees beside Gil and watched as he closed his eyes and pass-out. "Holy fuck," he whispered as he stared at Gil's abused, pale body. "Jim, he...you..."

Jim grabbed hold of the tub and pulled himself up. "All clear," he spoke into the radio. "Get the paramedics in here as soon as they arrive." He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Nick numbly nodded and took hold of Gil's warm, limp hand, feeling the steady pulse against his fingertips.

"Okay, stay here with him. I've got some things to do."

"I'm not going anywhere," Nick said as he stared up at Jim before watching the detective leave the room.

***

Searching the perimeter of the prison, Jim spotted the CSI team waiting nervously outside the gate. SWAT was everywhere and keeping everyone out. That was a very good thing. He still saw the mixer of dry and fresh blood on the walls in the room they'd found Nick in. Still smelt the stench of the dust, blood, and burning flesh in his nose. And he still picture Gil raising the gun to his head and pulling the trigger. He caused both bullets to miss, but the implications of the 'why' was buzzing around his head. It hurt.

Catherine had, to his amazement, stayed out of the way. She was watching the commotion with everyone else who had just arrived. Sand and dirt was clouding the horizon from where their vehicles had screeched to a stop just outside the rusty, broken gate. The lines on her face were deep and speaking loudly of how tired and frustrated she was. The rest of the team, and Ecklie, were watching him approach.

Anxious stares followed him until he was close enough to be heard without shouting. He cleared his throat and nodded. "They're...alive." Saying 'okay' or 'fine' wasn't the right term to use concerning those two. Maybe they wouldn't be 'fine' for a good long while. "Any word on the ambulance?"

Sara spoke up as Greg exhaled beside her. "TOA is five minutes."

Ecklie walked up to him then taking him by the arm and escorted him away from the others. Once they were far enough away he said, "The Sheriff will be here in any minute. Is there anything I need to know before we start talking?"

Jim shook his head and glanced around. "Does it look like we need to discuss anything? Carl's in custody. He confessed to taking Gil. Uh...Both Nick and Gil are alive and there's no murder. So, I don't need to be here. And neither do the CSI's."

Ecklie nodded in agreement. "Yeah; isn't that what I said when Nick was buried alive? If I couldn't get you guys to leave that site, do you actually think I can get these guys to leave this one?"

"No, but I don't think them seeing what's been going on in there is a good idea. We're all practically family and...Hell, I didn't want to see what went on in there." Jim glanced off to the side and looked at the team.

"Then what are you suggesting we do about it?"

Jim met Ecklie's eyes and sighed. The fewer members of the team that worked this the better it was for them all; even if it meant he was going to get heat from it. "You're the AD of the lab. Don't let them in. They're off it, no matter what. I'm sure neither Gil nor Nick wants them in there anyway."

As he walked away and went back over to his Taurus, Jim could hear the annoyed, angry ranting of Catherine. It was certain, he was going to get more than heat, especially from her. He didn't have much time to really think on that before he heard the sirens and saw the lights of the ambulance coming through a cloud of sand.

Grabbing a bag out of the trunk, he stepped through the maze of SWAT members and into the building. The further he went into the prison, the less people he saw. There was only one member of the SWAT team standing guard outside the room he left Nick and Gil. "Thanks, you can leave now."

"Sir?"

Jim eyed him sharply. "Leave. Once outside have the medics come in and no one else. Is that clear?"

The officer nodded before passing him and headed down the hallway. Jim watched the man for a moment before entering the room.

Nick glanced up at him before refocusing on Gil, who was still unconscious. "What can I do?"

Jim sighed as way of answer because he didn't know what to say. He opened the bag and pulled out one of his shirts and tossed it to Nick. "Everyone is outside and I'm sure the news vultures are hovering somewhere. That isn't going to hurt your back is it?"

Nick slid the oversized shirt on and shook his head. "It's fine. I'm actually not that bad."

Jim had taken a look at Nick's back before he left earlier. "Yeah, some didn't break skin...Some, you know." There was no reason to explain; Nick knew better than him about what happened.

"How 'bout Gil? He might be cold, the floor's wet." Nick was staring up at him; slightly dazed and helpless, but mostly determined and worried.

Jim searched the bag but didn't find another shirt. "He's worse off than you, Nicky. The medics will just take the shirt off anyway, probably discard it."

"They'd discard this one too. I'm sure it's getting bloody." Nick's grip on Gil's tightened as he looked over his shoulder.

Jim peered back and watched as the medics came in with a stretcher. "That's okay," he mumbled as the guys nearly knocked him over as they reached Gil. "Nick, why don't you let him go, just to let these guys secure him?"

Nick eyed the paramedics before he reluctantly let go of Gil's hand and rocked back on his knees to stand. "He's badly injured. Watch his back, he has multiply lacerations and-"

"Nick," Jim touched Nick's shoulder and motioned him out of the room. "They got it. Gil will be fine. And I know if he was awake he'd want you to get medical attention yourself. Let's get to the ambulance, by the time they wheel Gil out you'll be feeling better. Okay?"

It was odd that Nick actually let him lead him out of the room and down the hall. Jim was expecting some kind of protest or a fight. Nick had just listened and gave a faint smile before walking beside him. "Tired?" If it was exhaustion than that was understandable.

"Yeah, but...You know adrenaline and all that shit."

Jim took a wry glance at Nick and saw that he wasn't really looking where he was walking. Instead, Nick kept looking behind them and waiting for the stretcher to be brought out of the room. By the time they reached the corner, Nick released a heavy sigh because the medics, with Gil in tow, were making their way down the hall.

When they got outside, Nick took a good look around and frowned. "Why are they over there?"

Jim glanced over at the team. "Uh, I had to keep them away. They didn't need to see that."

Nick thought heavily about that before he gave a nod. "Thanks, Jim. Actually, that's the best thing right? I mean..." he glanced back at the motionless body of this partner and sighed.

Jim watched Nick give the team a brave wave and even braver smile before he stepped up into the back of the ambulance. Immediately the shirt was removed and the other two medics were checking him over. "Go ahead and go. I'll follow the other ambulance in my car then I'll catch up with you once I learn what's going on with him."

"Why can't I-"

"I still hold his Power of Attorney. Even though, you and he are together, they won't let you know squat and you know it."

Nick swallowed hard and tears suddenly formed in his eyes. "We were supposed to do that...Just forgot, you know."

Jim gave a brave smile himself. "It'd be okay. Try to get some rest."

"Morphine would help," Nick said with a shaky smile before the doors closed and Jim was left staring at the white doors.

When he turned to hurry to his car to catch the other ambulance pulling out, he noticed the CSI's getting into their vehicles as well.


9999999999


The room faded. It was black, emptiness spilled from the walls, the smell of blood and acid filled his nostrils, burning through his skull and down his spine. Silence engulfed the room, engulfed his senses; he was alone. Or so he thought. The voice entered through the silence, slicing into his consciousness as a sting filled his arm.

"Easy, it'd hurt worse if you move."

He opened his eyes and peered down at the syringe; the fluid that entered his arm caused it to numb. Thoughts grew steadily clear as the needle slid from his arm. Images of a once life, a life he still carved, surrounded his mind. They were beautiful pictures of people, of places, but mostly of one person. The man was his Adonis; his Nicky. His tongue darted out and licked his drying lips, but the taste on his tongue was Nick's skin.

The voice in his ear was sharp and real, yet the room he was in felt distant. "Tell me, Gil; tell me everything you know about Nick Stokes."

Up till that point he was in control. In his head was where he hid, sought comfort, felt safe, and developed his plan. Up till then he gave in to every punishment, every cruel remark and blinding pain, all without saying a word. He had secrets, Nick had secrets, and they were all safe. Placed neatly and safely behind his wall and locked away in the depths of his mind.

Up till then he didn't break. His chest heaved heavily as he tried to keep the wall up; his fist clenched and unclenched the arms of the chair. Closing his eyes tight until spots formed he held back, bit his lip and tongue until skin broke.

"How is he in bed, hmm? Do you fuck him or does he fuck you?"

His throat grew tight with raw tension as he held back, not giving in. Quivering started in his legs; muscles twitched and shook up his calves, thighs, back, arms, and shoulders. Fingernails dug into the wood, splintering the skin beneath them. Still, he held back.

"You're strong but I'm stronger, Gil. Nick, he's weak isn't he? You can be honest with me. What makes him weak? What secrets does your boy have?"

A hand was felt on his thigh before it slowly slid up. He stopped breathing as the hand gripped his balls through his jeans. Eyes widening, he stared into the dark eyes of the man in front of him.

"Are you in control?"

His lips shook as all his strength deflated as the hand twisted, causing pain to fill his balls and cock. "No."

"What's your full name?"

"G-Gilbert Tiberius Grissom."

"What's Nick's full name?"

Tears slid down his face as the walls crumbled; the drug finally winning out. "Nicholas Meredith Stokes."

"Good. Now, tell me everything about Nicholas Meredith Stokes. Starting from his childhood."

He closed his eyes and suppressed the bile threatening to spill from his throat. "H-he was the youngest of eight. Son of a Judge and--"

"Does he have any childhood secrets? Come on, Gil, spill."

The hand relaxed on his balls and traveled to rub erotically at his cock. He shivered at the touch and his eyes closed again. "When he was nine, a babysitter sexually abused him."


9999999999


The room they had him in was blue, and not a great shade of blue either, more like a grayish-blue and the curtains were lime green. Nick groaned into the pillow and exhaled deeply. He hated hospitals. The worst thing in the world was waking up in a badly colored hospital room with blurry visions of something like humans entering, whispering to each other, and then disappearing until he woke up again.

At least the morphine was good. That was the only plus. Maybe Gil had good morphine too. Nick suddenly grabbed the rail and went to push himself off his stomach. He had to see Gil and make sure he was okay.

"Hey, hey, easy."

A hand was gently resting on his back and a light pressure was trying to keep him in bed.

He shook his head, feeling the dizziness it caused, and tried to plead his reasoning. "Gotta see Gil. Is he okay?" Nick tried to see the blurry person in the room with him, but it was a losing battle. Nothing would come into focus.

"...Settle down, and go back to sleep. Once you're completely awake, we'll talk."

It was a male, but the voice distorted in his ears and he could pin down who it was. Jim? Warrick perhaps? Definitely not Greg. Greg would have yelled and alerted someone else, like Jim or Warrick.

Nick moaned into the pillow as it cushioned his weightless head, and everything faded behind his eyelids.

After he watched Nick relax back into the bed and fall asleep, Jim left the hospital room and made his way to the lobby. The bright lights and the four cups of terrible coffee weren't helping his headache, and the shit that was about ready to hit his fan was going to make it worse.

Greg and Sara, he could deal with. Greg probably wouldn't say anything to him at all, just give him an apologetic smile or a sympathetic glance. Sara would either agree with him or disagree and not say much; her sulking was predicable by now. His two main problems were going to be Catherine and Warrick.

Over the years him and Warrick had gotten closer; their friendship actually surprised the both of them and it was a friendship that he valued more and more each day. Catherine, on the hand, seemed to be slipping further away with each passing day and they were becoming just colleagues. He never wanted to deceive her, or make her feel like she was suddenly outside of the Gil/Jim/Catherine loop, but that was what ended up happening.

As he stopped just inside the large, open area of plastic chairs and bad television, he realized that none of them were the same as they used to be. Relationships changed. They changed. And this horrible nightmare had changed them all over again. Friendships were either going to break or grow stronger. He prayed they would get stronger, but no one had predicted Gil lying up in the Psychiatric Ward and Nicky lying up in the ICU because of Gil.

Yeah, it wasn't Gil's fault and he wasn't blaming him. It was just that others might not ever see it the same way as he did. For him it was clear; no one was at fault except for Carl and Robert. Jim knew that he wouldn't look at Gil differently once it was all over and finally behind them, but he didn't know about anyone else.

Warrick, naturally, was the first to spot him. Warrick shifted away from his position against the wall and strolled over to him, dodging in and out of nurses and grieving family members. What shocked him was the fact that Warrick leaned down and hugged him, right there in the middle of the lobby. Oh boy, the looks they received in return were a little unnerving.

"Are you going to be okay?"

Jim thought about that as Warrick straightened and gave him a questioning gaze. He sighed and closed his eyes before giving the most honest answer he could give. "No."


9999999999


Nick woke and stared at the white ceiling. It amazed him to find the sterilized room with the horrible colors comforting. He wasn't in the prison, in the concreted hell, but in the safety of the hospital. Shifting off his back, he snuggled deeper into the starch solid pillow and let the warmth of the room develop him.

That was until he heard a knock on the door. It was hard to open his heavy eyes and focus on the blurry figures of his friends. He smiled into the pillow as Warrick, Catherine, Greg, and Sara came into focus. "Hey."

His voice was raw and it hurt. It must have shown because Warrick was immediately reaching for the cup of ice chips on the tray next to his bed. Shifting again he maneuvered the bed and himself into a sitting position. "I got it," he took the cup from Warrick with a smile and went to work on the cup of ice. Everyone looked tired and even Catherine's makeup couldn't hide her worry-lines. "I'm okay."

Greg perched himself on the side of the bed and was the first to break the tension that filled the room. "Brass and Warrick gave a love-fest in the hallway."

Nick choked on the ice. "What," he managed to squeak out.

Greg beamed at the reaction he caused, and the way Warrick was side-stepping away from Catherine and trying to disappear behind the lime green curtain.

Warrick managed a shrug but didn't continue. So Greg spoke for him. "Yeah, it was shocking; I think my mind even halted in surprise. I knew they were close friends, but 'hugging' friends."

"Greg," Warrick finally spoke since entering the room.

It sounded like a warning, and Nick stared at his friend's tone. "Where is Jim?" He tried to peer around Catherine toward the door, but he didn't see anyone standing there.

"PD," Catherine sighed and lowered herself into the only chair by the bed. "He's the only one working this."

Nick frowned in confusion until he remembered what Jim had said to him before he left for the hospital. "Oh, right. He told me. It's better, I think. Having you guys here is great." He relaxed into the pillow and lowered the cup to his lap. "I bet Gil was happy to see you guys too, huh?"

The tension rose again and no one spoke. That was funny; why wasn't anyone talking? Where was Gil anyway? "How's he doing? I haven't been able to ask yet. Did he wake up yet?"

Catherine looked back at Warrick who was eyeing the tray. "Uh, Nick, no one has been able to talk to Gil yet. You understand what happened at the prison right?"

Nick glanced at Warrick and suddenly he wanted to get sick. "Y-yeah. It...I'm not blaming him," he whispered. "I'm not going to press charges. I told Jim that already. Gil...he--"

"He tried to kill himself, Nick." Warrick was staring at him when he spoke.

Nick closed his eyes and nodded. "That was...in the prison and he....But he stopped Carl's control over him. He beat Carl. He beat it."

"No, Nick. Gil woke up after they got him here. He tried it again. They have him in the Psych ward...He's on suicide watch."

Nick's vision filled with tears as he stared at Warrick. He glanced around the room and the reason for the grim looks clicked. They were all giving up on Gil. Sara wasn't speaking at all; she wouldn't even look him in the eyes. Greg paled around the edges but put on a small brave smile. Catherine...She was strong and it showed. "I want to see him."

Catherine shook her head. "They won't let anyone see him."

"Have them ask him if--"

"Nick," Warrick whispered. "Gil's not speaking. He hadn't spoken a word."

The tears started to break behind his eyes as he felt everything start to shake. Not again. This couldn't be happening again. He could still remember the image of Gil in the closet at the clinic leaning up against the wall, staring off into space with his knees up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Gil's blue eyes had looked dull and unfocused instead of alive and sharp.

"I need to see him. He needs to get out of there. He'd freak when he realizes where he is." Nick tried to get out of the bed and Warrick and Catherine both held him back as Greg shot off the bed in a hurry. "Let me up!"

Warrick pushed him back so hard that Nick bit his lip in pain. "Stop! You're going to have to stop, Nick. They won't let you in. The only person that can get in to see him is Jim, and he's at the PD right now."

Nick was startled by the strength used against him, but what startled him more was seeing the tears the laced Warrick's eyes as his hands slowly released him. His captured the hands in his own and pulled Warrick down to him. His arms wrapped around Warrick's broad shoulders; burying his face into the nape of his neck, Nick held onto Warrick as Warrick held onto him.

Neither of them heard the others leave the room.


9999999999


He had given up. The barriers and walls that he'd built and mastered for his entire adult life were gone. Nothing closed off his heart; nothing held his tongue back or kept his memories locked away. His sense of self was disappearing with each touch, each question, and every crack of the whip when he refused to answer a question.

There was no forgiveness to what he'd given up. It wasn't just the questions about him that tore open the wounds in his stomach, heart, and soul. What made it worse were the questions about Nick. He wasn't Nicky's anymore. He belonged to the voice now; a panther in a cage was what he was.

"Do you miss him?"

He nodded once; just like that good boy he had to be. Being submissive didn't come natural to him. Control was what he needed to survive. Regaining his control was what he needed to do. That would be the first part of his plan: taking back his control. The submissive held all the control. The submissive had the safe-word.

"Do you love him?"

Again he nodded. The whip cracked against his back again; the tape that gagged his mouth silenced his scream.

"You love the man that caused this to happen. Huh, Gil?"

His head spun again; the images of the man that was behind him came into focus and Nick's eyes pierced his own.

"Now, I'll ask again. Do you love Nick?"

The twisting in the pit of his stomach grew as he shook his head "no". His lies were worth it. Nick was worth it. Nick was his. Nick made him feel safe, secure, and loved. Nick had been his everything, and he refused to give into that life. He had held back, afraid of the love. Afraid of loving and being loved so much that it hurt. Nick had wanted to give him his everything while he had wanted Nick's everything without giving up himself. That was cruel. That was unforgivable.

'Nicky', his Nicky would be his safe-word. And when he stopped the game, when he finally speaks that one beautiful word, then it'd be over. Then he'd have peace. He just had to hold out long enough to start the game. He had to submit to Dr. Evans first.

He was a panther in a cage. He closed his eyes and focused on the poem that entered and developed his mind. It blocked out the pain, the blood tickling down his back, and the words in his ear.


9999999999


Jim eyed Carl from across the table. They had the confession which nailed Carl Evans to the injection table. Yet, Carl wanted to talk to him. The sick bastard had asked to speak to him. "What'd you want?"

Carl smiled at him and leaned back in the chair. "Do you have it all figured out yet?"

"Yeah," Jim stated. "You confessed. That's all I need."

Carl shook his head, clearly disappointed. "All this hard work, and you don't want details."

Jim didn't even flinch; he wouldn't give Carl the time of day. "I don't need details. You'll be getting the needle. Soon you'll be burning in Hell with Robert, right where you belong."

It was Carl's turn to not bat an eyelash. The smug smile remained, and so did his taunting, irritating voice. "It'd be a shame not knowing everything, seeing how Gil's...What is he doing now? Trying to find ways to take his life? Or is he just playing 'vegetable'?"

Jim felt his face heat up. "Gil's...fine. Whatever you did to him, the doctors will help him and he'll beat you again. It'd be the perfect ending I think. Nick got to kill Robert, and now Gil gets to kill you by getting your brilliant plan on tape."

"Sarcasm is for the desperate."

"Then you must really be desperate for me to take you seriously." Jim let himself smirk as Carl's smile faded. "You want me to think that we need your help so you can gain a Plea Bargain. Sorry, but you're not that smart of a psychiatrist."

"Yes, I am," Carl said as his jaw clenched.

Jim smiled wider. "Gil turned on you. You're mind games didn't work on him. He's smarter than you'll ever be." He stood and went for the door.

"If Gil succeeds in killing himself, I'd win."

Jim stopped with his hand on the door and faced Carl. He felt everything rush from his lungs.

The smug grin was back on Carl's face. "It was never about killing Nick. It was about: What would make Gilbert Grissom put a gun to his head and pull the trigger. Do you know?"

Jim bore his eyes into Carl's and shook his head.

Carl smiled in triumphant. "Gil will never forgive himself for what he did to Nick. And he believes that Nick will never forgive him. Gil hates himself because he turned into the only person he truly ever hated: Robert. No doctor in the world can cure that. Gil will leave. He will torture himself for the rest of his pathetic life with the knowledge of what he did, and when it becomes too much he'll kill himself. And Nick," he shrugged. "He was just fun to fuck with. I was never going to kill them. But who knows, maybe Nick will blame himself and take his own life after Gil dies. How 'Romeo and Juliet'. Don't you agree?"

***

The sudden bright light sent waves of pain through his head. He moaned and tired to move away from it, but he couldn't. There was nowhere for him to move to. He tired to blink out the bright light but nothing else could be seen. When he tried to bring his arm up, he couldn't. It was restricted too. Everything was restricted. His legs were numb and something tight held them down, the same was with his hands and torso.

"Hello," he spoke into the bright room. Nothing.

Lifting his head only made the pain pinch harder behind his eyes and bang at the back of his head. He was in a room. It was sterile, white, padded, and he was confided to the bed with leather straps. Confusion set in then quickly it was replaced with fear. His chest stilled as his lungs burned. No.

He struggled with the straps and bit his lip to keep from screaming in agony. It couldn't be. He was saved. Wasn't he? Jim found him, Nick...Oh, God, Nick was there and he...He'd...Shaking his head didn't work. Neither did staring at the light coming from the ceiling. It couldn't have been another lie, could it? It felt so real. Painful, but real.

There was a noise in the room and he quickly looked to see who it was but the person was blurred in with the light. A shadow stepped closer to him and said something foggy and incoherent. His forehead furrowed in confusion. "What? Who are you?"

His own words weren't comprehended. They slurred and sounded distant, like he was deaf again. Trying to breathe became harder as he was pushed back down onto the bed, another shadow appeared above him. What if he was deaf again? What if Carl did something this time to his ears and he was losing his hearing and he couldn't see and everything started to hurt and go numb at the same time. The leather dug into his skin and he couldn't help but be reminded of hanging in the 'death room' and begging for something. Death? Forgiveness? Feeling?

It all faded with his vision and the last thing he thought of was what if Nick wasn't real too.


9999999999


Jim made his way down the hospital hallway, dodging between hurried doctors, smiling nurses, and nervous family members. When he spotted Nick's room he breathed a sigh of relief and pushed open the door. "Man, do I hate hospitals," he said as way of greeting.

Nick looked like hell. And the 'food' on his tray didn't look any better. "Hey, Jim."

"You look like shit." Jim pulled out a chair and sat down. Nick shot him a look but he just smiled and ignored the death glare. "Hey, just stating fact. I don't think I'd ever seen you with decent looking facial hair. It looks good on you."

Nick finally gave a chuckle and pushed the tray away. "Okay, what is it?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"When you think I look decent without a shave, yeah. So, lay it on me." Nick flashed him a smile and Jim couldn't help but return it.

The last thing he wanted to do was ruin that smile, but Jim knew he had things to discuss with Nick. Serious things. Life changing things. "Well, first off, you still have a job at CSI if you want it. Ecklie is playing Mr. Politician and you're his key to become Mayor."

"God," Nick sighed and shook his head. "I thought I'd be PR nightmare."

Jim shook his head and kept from saying what Ecklie said about Gil. "Um, that's not all."

Nick eyed him and the smile faded. "Figures."

Jim shifted in his seat and leaned in closer to the bed. "Nick...Gil's not doing so well here. They want to transfer him to a hospital that deals with this sort of thing. I'm the only person that can give the thumbs up for it, but..."

Nick swallowed hard and Jim could tell he was trying to keep it together in front of him. "But, you need my approval?"

"Yeah," Jim said before glancing around the room. "It's...I know that if I were you I would want to have a say-so."

Nick was staring at the opposite wall and it took a few minutes before he nodded. "Gil's still not talking is he?"

Jim shook his head. There was nothing to be said. Gil, from what he knew, was so far out of it that he didn't move yet alone talk. "They told me that it was some 'self-induced coma'. I think that's bullshit. I say it's just Gil trying to pull his shit together."

Nick smiled a little before turning serious again. "Gil trying to pull his shit together is a self-induced coma."

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "I just didn't want to give credit to the doctors. And you had to ruin it for me."

The fearless smile Nick gave him was a relief. "Yeah, I think it'd be okay. I...I don't know what to do for myself yet alone what to do for Gil. At least you're still sane in all this. I trust you so...Yeah."

Wow, he was trusted. Jim was still amazed with how much he and the rest of the science geeks trusted each other. Or how he was more their family than he was with other officers and detectives. If he was honest with himself, he'd take the friendship of the CSI's over the cops any day. "Okay; I'll let Gil's doctor know that the answer is yes."

Nick was eyeing him. "That's not all of it. What aren't you telling me?"

Jim sighed and rubbed his face. "That obvious again."

Nick shrugged. "Observing people is my job. You came in here with a serious weight on your shoulders, and it's still there."

Jim couldn't look at Nick any longer. He could face down the toughest bad-asses from Vegas to Newark, but he couldn't face his friend just then. "I talked to Carl. He wanted to see me, so I went to see him. The truth is, this had nothing to do with you. His target all along was Gil."

Nick frowned at him in confusion and disbelief. "Are you saying that I was nothing but...collateral damage?"

Jim felt himself nod. "In a way. And this isn't really over yet. The suicide attempt wasn't just Gil feeling hopeless. It was planned; it was the whole reason for what Carl did to you two. Carl's hoping that Gil will kill himself. Then, and only then, will it be over. He made some reference to 'Romeo and Juliet' about maybe you'll follow Gil and kill yourself too. Sick fuck."

After a long silence, Jim shifted his eyes and peered at Nick. The paleness he was expecting, what he wasn't expecting was the comprehension behind Nick's eyes. When Jim left that room he never knew why Nick understand so completely, and he didn't want to.

As the elevators doors shut in front of him, Jim pulled out his cell phone and hit his speed dial. It took two rings for Warrick to pick up.


9999999999


Jim swirled in his chair and stared at the clock on the wall. Nightshift ended ten minutes ago and instead of heading home he was waiting for Warrick to show. They had breakfast plans that involved a lot of talking and a lot of malt liquor. He heard a knock at his door and turned only to see Catherine standing there.

He dropped his legs off the side of his desk and faced her. "Hey."

Catherine didn't return the smile; instead she closed the door behind her and entered the office.

Oh, this was bad. Jim took a deep breath and waited for the explosion. He knew it was coming from the looks she kept sending him at the hospital. Maybe he should have gone home.

"You son-of-a-bitch."

"Cath..." Jim warned. He wasn't in the mood to have it out just then. He didn't want to have it out with Catherine ever.

"First, you lied to me, to us; and you didn't say anything about Gil getting in contact with you. Then, you told Ecklie to pull us off the case. Who the hell do you think you are? Just because you want to go play hero doesn't give you the right to--"

"Hero," Jim yelled. "Hero? You actually think I want another fucking medal at the expense of my friends? My best friend? Do you really think I'm that shallow, Catherine?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I thought we were friends."

"Yeah, Jim, so did I. That was until a day ago."

Jim eyed her as his jaw clenched. "Was that before or after Warrick hugged me at the hospital?"

Catherine crossed her arms and fumed. Jim could see the fire raging off her. "That has nothing to do with this."

"Like hell it doesn't." Jim leaned back in his chair and desperately wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep, only he fear of being killed while he slept. "Look, I can guess at what you're thinking, and I can tell you that--"

"Jim," she cut him off with a voice that reminded him of his own mother. "I don't want to hear it. We were friends and you lied to me, end of discussion."

"Why'd you come here then," Jim asked. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Warrick rounding the corner and about to open his door. "Were you hoping to catch Rick here too and yell at him, if so turn around."

Catherine froze as she heard the door open.

"Cath...Jim. I can leave if--"

Jim shot Warrick a small smile. "It's okay; I think we were done here."

Catherine turned away and walked passed Warrick and down the hall; head raised high and strong.

Warrick faced him and said, "Wow. Was that what I think it was?"

Jim watched as Catherine went out of view. "If you think it was the end of my friendship with Catherine...than yeah."

At the pained look Warrick gave him, Jim finally closed his eyes and sighed.


9999999999


Gil rubbed at the migraine pulsing through his temples. He was losing it. Slowly and steady he was losing himself. When he looked in the mirror, he didn't recognize himself. How could he? He had tried to kill himself, he wanted to kill Carl, and he had hurt the only person he had truly loved. Through countless hours and days and weeks he had tried to figure it out. He had tried to remember when the exact moment happened that stole Gil away and replaced him with...With what he was now.

He couldn't figure it out. Memories blurred and people faded and things that were said didn't make sense. It was like he didn't know which memories were real and which were the lies. Categorizing them didn't work; he didn't know where they were to be placed. There were memories he wanted to repress and ones that he didn't, but his mind wouldn't let him choose which ones were hidden and which ones filled his dreams.

The aching increased and his eyes clenched tighter. He should ask for his medication. A smile spread across his face as he realized that the first thing he was going to say since getting to the hospital was that he needed medical help. The light in the room hurt his head worse, but that pain was welcomed if it meant he didn't have to endure what was to come. He tried to tough his way through a migraine before and the end result was bad. Very bad.

He shuffled over to the door and opened it. At first, when he realized where he was, he'd panicked. That was actually the reason for the bandage around his left wrist. It was the thought that he had dreamt being saved, dreamt Nick being saved, and that he was still in that hell was what caused him to act out the way he did. Plus, it wasn't like he was thinking clearly. The sting from the needle Carl had used could still be felt in his arm.

The orderly at the desk was talking on the phone softly and Gil glanced at the clock and realized the time. No wonder it was quiet; it was almost four in morning. He cleared his throat and when the guy looked at him he almost dropped the phone.

"Shit, hang on." The man quickly said then put the call on hold. When the man looked back at him, he was at lost of what to say.

Gil had to smirk at that. He bet the guy thought that he was a mute or something. Then he realized that he didn't know what to say. Would they even let him have any pills? Was he still on suicide watch? He wrestled with these thoughts until the throbbing quicken. "Hi." He was slightly taken back by the raw ache in his throat and roughness of his voice. How long had it been since he last spoke? The days and weeks all blurred into nothingness and he had no idea what month it even was. "I'm having a migraine. Is there any chance I could get something for it?"

The man was nearly gasping at him before he realized what he was doing and quickly clapped his jaw shut. "Uh, yeah. Hang on. I'll call your doctor and see if that could be approved."

Gil gave a curt nod and shifting from one foot to another. He had to ask, but he was embarrassed by the fact that he was that out of it for so long. "May I ask you something?"

The man nodded.

"What month and day is it?"

For the first time, the man smiled at him and seemed to shake off the amazement that he was actually talking and moving around on his own. "April 12. You do know the year don't you?"

Gil's smirk faded. "God, I hope it's still 2007."

The deep chuckle was unexpected, but Gil accepted it. "Sure is."

With that out of the way, Gil shifted again and took in his surroundings. He spotted a chair by the window. "I'll be over there."

"Okay," the man said with a broad, genuine smile. "I'll see about getting you something for your migraine."

"Thanks...Uh?" Gil extended his hand and shook the man's hand.

"John Damon."

Gil smiled at the man. It had seemed like forever since he had real contact with another human being. "John, I'm Gil."

John was actually looking like he'd just shook hands with Jesus himself for a moment. "I know who you are Dr. Grissom. If it weren't for you my brother Frank would have gotten the death penalty for a murder he didn't commit."

Gil blinked back and thought about the name 'Frank Damon'. His eyes widen and he shook his head. "Frank, the arson case seven years ago. He was suspected of killing his wife and son...Turned out it was an accident. How is he?"

"Good; he and Rachel got married a few years ago. They have a daughter, she's two."

Gil couldn't help but smile. Small world, he thought. "I'm glad that...That he's doing so well."

John finally sat back down in his chair and picked up the phone. "So am I. It's good to see you back with us."

Gil thought about that last sentence for a while before smirking. All and all, so was he. He made his way over to the chair and sat down. The view wasn't a very good one, but he had never seen Vegas look so beautiful before. Maybe because it consisted of lights and life, and not darkness and empty space.


9999999999


Nick watched through the plexi-glass door window that separated him from the man he loved. It was painful to not be able to touch him. To sooth away the worry-lines and reassure him that everything was going to be okay. That he forgave him. That he still loved him, and that they still had the world together. He'd waited years for Gil to open up to him, to present himself as more than just a friend. Nick valued that, and he'd be damned if he was going to let some asshole take that away from him.

Gil was his. Always would be.

It had been six weeks. Six weeks and that morning was the first time Gil had spoken a word to anyone. His hand pressed harder into the glass as his eyes roamed over his partner. Gil was sitting in a grey plastic chair, staring out the window. A cup was held loosely in his right hand while his left rested on his leg that consistently bounced up and down.

The white robe didn't help with the pale complexion of his once perfectly tanned lover. And the beard was back; this time untrimmed with no hint of brown. Gil was drastically showing his age; his once grey curls were now almost pure white. Nick found himself not caring. Gil could look like Santa Claus and he'd still love him. That was love. And right then it was hurting. It clenched his heart so hard his chest felt like it was in a vise grip. The air in his lungs struggled to leave his body, struggled to come back in, as the window that looked into his lovers cedar block room fogged.

"Mr. Stokes?"

Nick nodded against the glass. It was cold, just like his hand that was somehow stuck to the window. He was that resistant to leave; he'd melt into the glass if it meant staying. .

"You're approved to see him. Dr. Saul thinks it might help, but only for five minutes."

Nick pushed away from the door and nodded. He watched as the orderly unlocked the door and swung it open for the both of them to enter. As he stepped further into the room the more unstable he felt. It'd been six weeks, and he didn't know what to expect from Gil.

As he neared, Gil must have heard him because he turned his head and stared at him. Nick stopped walking in fear that Gil would freak out or...Gil smiled at him, the biggest smile Nick had ever seen, and stood.

"Hey, you made it."

Nick blinked back at the hoarse voice, but he smiled back. "Of course I made it. I wouldn't miss this for world."

Gil nodded at the orderly. "Thanks, John."

"I'll be back in five."

Nick turned and watched the man leave. The moment he did, Gil was stepping closer in a hurry and his arms wrapped around his neck so tight Nick couldn't breathe. To hell with breathing. He hugged Gil back, tight around the waist, and held on for dear life.

"I-I thought at first I was dreaming," Gil whispered against his neck.

Nick's embrace grew tighter. He could understand that. "I'm here, and real. Promise."

Gil relaxed against his body and gave a soft, hesitant chuckle. After a moment he said, "I don't want to let go."

"Neither do I...but," Nick sighed against the slightly trembling shoulder of his partner and relaxed his grip. "Five minutes is actually extremely short."

Gil pulled back too and just looked at him.

Nick felt unbalanced under that piercing stare. He hadn't been under that intense observation for months and he missed it.

"You're hair's longer." Gil frowned and stepped back a few feet. "And you've lost weight."

Nick shrugged. "You need a serious shave, Scruffy."

Gil smirked at that and rubbed his hand over his beard. "Yeah, maybe. It didn't seem important at that time."

Nick swallowed hard and nodded. "I heard that you're off that suicide watch."

Gil's smirk faded and he looked at the floor for a moment. "Yeah. I guess since I didn't move on my own for six weeks it was safe to say I wasn't going to try to do something that stupid again." At that, he looked up and gave him a soft smile. "It was stupid. I know that now. When I woke up at the hospital, I thought....I thought that I'd dreamt the whole thing. I feared that I was still at the clinic or in the prison and Carl was..." he trailed off and shook his head. "Clearly, I wasn't thinking straight."

Nick closed his eyes at that confession and smiled. That was what he was praying to hear. Carl was wrong, Gil wasn't going to try to kill himself. Not now, not ever. "Gil, I've missed you so much," he said as tears started to form behind his eyelids. When he opened his eyes to look at Gil, he let the tears fall. "I love you."

Gil closed the small distance between them and took his face in his hands. "I love you too, Nick. You'd never know how much."

There was a sudden knock at the door and both him and Gil to sigh in frustration. "I guess that means our time is up," Nick said. He took Gil's hands in both his hands and kissed them. "I'll be back whenever I can. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," Gil said as the door opened. "Tell everyone..."

At the confused look, Nick nodded and said, "I'll tell them you said 'hi' and that you miss them."

Gil's hands dropped to his sides and he gave another small smile. "Thanks."

Nick reluctantly left the room. As he made his way to the desk to arrange time to see Gil again, he didn't know that for the next two weeks Gil would refuse to see him.


9999999999


His heart nearly stopped as the porch creaked under his feet. It was like he was trying to sneak home after staying out past curfew. It made him shake his head at the obtrusive thought and his overpowering nervousness. He wasn't a kid anymore, and this sure as hell wasn't his mother's house. No, it was Warrick's, and the unknowing person inside whom he was about to see wasn't going to scolded him for showing up at 3 in the morning.

Or so he hoped. After knocking twice, the weight of the nervousness was back, swirling in his stomach like butterflies around a flower. He blinked back at his train of thought and smirked. Only he would think of a simile like that.

Rustling was heard from behind the door, locks clicked and turned until the doorknob jiggled and the door swung open.

Nick blinked back sleepiness from behind his brown eyes as they widen in disbelief. "Gil..." he gasped before reaching out to him and wrapping a hand around his elbow. "Come in."

Gil didn't get a chance to speak as he was pulled through the door and wrapped in a strong, breathtaking hug. He froze for a moment until the scent of his lover entered his brain and he felt himself get lost in the moment. Nick's hands explored his clothed back and hot neck then tangled in his hair. Letting his eyes close against the soft touches, he tucked his face in the nook of Nick's neck and just breathed. "He jests at scars that never felt a wound. But, soft what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun."

Nick chuckled against him and leaned back so he could look down at him. "So, I'm Juliet?"

Gil smiled as he kissed Nick's cheek. He brought his hands up, letting his fingers caress Nick's face where he had just kissed. "For Romeo and Juliet we are." Leaning in, he closed his eyes against the sudden worry in Nick's eyes, and captured his lips in a kiss. The despair he felt in the kiss only increased his own nervous. He reluctantly ended the kiss, bit his bottom lip, and stepped away from Nick.

The confusion that he saw form in on Nick's face was one that he'd never seen before. It cut through the false pretenses he let himself have when he decided to come see Nick. How could he have possibly thought that Nick had forgiven him? That Nick would forgive him.

"Hey," Nick reached out suddenly and grabbed him by the wrist.

Gil realized that he was stepping back against the door and ready to open it. Nick was saying something to him, pleading with his puppy dog eyes for him to stay, sit down, and talk.

Nick released his wrist and let his arms fall to his sides. "I didn't know that you were being released?"

Gil slumped against the door and eyed the floor. He couldn't face the rejection in Nick's eyes. Not now. "I...I didn't tell anyone." His smile was small and uncertain smile, but he let it show on his face. He shrugged, "Thought I'll surprise you."

"Well, you accomplished that. I'm..." Nick trailed off then started again. "I'm still in shock."

And Gil was unwanted. He didn't have to hear those words to feel it. There air around them was tense and still; it was getting harder to breathe without breathing in Nick. His lungs didn't need fresh air; they craved to take in Nick's aroma. His love that seemed to pour from every inch of his body and seep into his veins, filling him with a sense of safety and belonging. From his deflated position against the door, the smell of loneliness and fear was so strong he could taste it. His tongue tasted bitter, like Nick.

"Do you want to sit, I made coffee."

"Why aren't you at work," Gil suddenly asked; lifting his head to peer at Nick.

Nick watched him for a moment then smiled. "It's my night off. I've been working triples none stop for almost a week. Warrick finally got me to stay here and take a few days off. He said I deserved it."

Gil nodded heavily; he didn't really hear what Nick said as his eyes roamed over the interior of the house. The sudden memories of the last time he stepped foot in Warrick's place flashed in front of his eyes: taking the glass out the back door window, glancing around the dark rooms, hearing Nick in the shower...stepping into the closet. He closed his eyes and repressed those images. Now wasn't the time. Opening them, he pushed himself away from the door stepped passed Nick. "That's good, right? That you're now working."

Nick sighed and walked with him into the living room. "Yeah; I finally passed the Psych Eval and everything. It took me a couple of weeks to actually feel like my old self. At first it was like I forgot how to process a crime scene, but...Rick and Cath really helped. Brass, he would stick close by at a scene and make sarcastic comments about everything until I smiled. I'm starting to feel at home again here."

At that last part, Gil glanced over at Nick before sitting down. At home again in Vegas. That meant Nick wasn't thinking about going to California anytime soon. Gil wondered if he would ever feel at home again. Right then, he felt out of place everywhere he went, especially in Vegas. Every block it seemed held a memory he didn't want to think about, every person gave him a weird vibe that he couldn't finger out, and every time he thought about the lab his chest clenched so tight he couldn't breathe. Home to him was nowhere. Nick didn't even feel like home anymore. "That's...great." He put on a brave smile and watched as Nick headed for the kitchen.

"I'll get us some coffee."

Once Nick was out of the room, he allowed his hands to tremble, but only slightly. He rubbed them through his hair and down his face. Pressing his palms against his eyes and wondered exactly what he was doing there at all. After leaving the hospital he should have just left like he was planning on doing. Instead, when he was debating about where to go and the cab driver was staring at him impatiently in the rearview mirror, he gave the only address he could think of. Warrick's.

Hearing footsteps and noticing the sudden strands of light coming through his fingers, he lowered his hands and accepted the offered cup of coffee. "Thanks," he mumbled and took a sip. It was strong, black, and exactly what he needed. It took him until he drank down the whole cup before he gained the courage to look at Nick. When he did his stomach dropped and his throat ached with acid.

Nick was standing with his back to him while looking through the CD case by the stereo. Under the white T-shirt Nick was wearing, he could make out tiny lines of uneven skin, like the way his own tight shirts would reveal him, they revealed Nick. Unlike him, Nick wasn't one to find it. He spotted just above the brim of the shirt, where once he kissed soft skin there was a scar from the whip when it had gotten away from him and hit Nick too far up, against the back of his neck instead of his shoulder.

"I, uh, brought some of your CD's with me. If you want..." Nick turned around and spotted him. "Gil?"

The cup slid from his hand and luckily it was empty as it hit the carpeted floor at his feet. "I've got to go." Gil stood and was halfway to the door when Nick grabbed him from behind, turning him around to face him.

Nick was shaking his head back and forth. "Hey, it's okay."

Like hell it was! He wanted to yell, to scream and keep screaming until he couldn't get a breath pass his raw throat. Gil shook his own head and tumbled backwards into the bookshelf. "Not okay," he whispered out instead.

Nick captured his face in his hands and held his head still as he bore his eyes into his own. "It is. Okay. I want you here, Gil. With me, and..." he was stumbling over his words and Gil closed his eyes.

He was just being polite, Gil told himself. Nick just being himself and trying not to show that he really wants you gone.

"Gil, please look at me."

Nick was begging him now and he couldn't keep the tears out of his eyes. He never wanted to hear Nick beg again. Not ever. It was painful to hear because Gil knew that he was the one causing it. And Nick's own pain could be heard as loud as the words when he spoke them.

Gil opened his eyes and crumbled at the sight of Nick before him. He wasn't the only one on the verge of tears. Don't lose control, don't lose control. He whispered in his head as he swallowed his anger with himself down his throat and did something that he later regret. He grabbed Nick by the back of his neck and pulled him into a hard, forced kiss.

This time Nick kissed him back just as hungrily, driving his tongue down his throat until they both had to release each other to get some air.

"Stay," Nick whispered against his mouth before going in for more.

He should have pushed away, said that he couldn't and left right then. But...Something broke in him as he gave himself over to what Nick was doing to him. A need and purely terrifying want crawled through him as he was pinned to the bookshelf and devoured completely. It'd been so long since he was able to feel his senses with everything that was Nick. He'd remembered crying over the lost of what it felt like to be loved by the beautiful man, and the betrayal still ached in his bones.

What he needed was to silence that betrayal. To take back something that Carl took from him. He needed to taste his Nicky again, needed to feel his fingers message his skin and his quivering breaths against his skin. Hear the moans and whimpers he was taking in just then as his hand squeezed Nick's ass and pulled him in closer to him. He leaned back away from Nick, biting the puffy red lip as he did so, at the paralyzing thought of the last need he wanted. He needed to feel Nick, take him in completely and utterly until they were one again. "...want you, so bad" he mouthed against Nick's neck.

Nick's hand clenched tighter against his scalp while the other ran down his back and under the waistband of his pants. "Yeah? Me too."

Gil shook his head and pulled back until the stared Nick in the eyes. "No, I mean..." He let his travel around to the front of Nick's jeans and cupped the erection of his lover. "I. Want. You."

The sudden realization in Nick's eyes was hard to miss. His pupils widen in lust and surprise, making them black as the night sky. When spoke, his swollen bottom lip trembled slightly. "You sure? I don't want to ruin this."

Nick didn't want to ruin it. Gil closed his eyes and fought down the desire again to leave. "You were never the one to ruin it, Nick. I was. And now..." he opened his eyes and tried to convey to Nick with his eyes that he wouldn't freak out. That he was sure of this now more than he'd ever been. "Now, I know exactly why I'm here. I need you back."

"From him, you mean?" Nick was starting to loosen his grip and relaxing his shoulders.

What they were doing was starting to feel wrong. Gil could see that. He could see it as bright as day, but...He didn't know what. His head was getting dizzy by watching the way Nick was retreating from him again. Nick wasn't comfortable with him; he was still feared and regretted. Through that knowing conscious of what was happening between the two of them, he still didn't want to let go of Nick. "Stop."

That word caused Nick to flinch back.

Gil swallowed hard and rested his cheek against Nick's. "Stop thinking about it. Let us have this. Please?" For once, it was him begging. He should have stopped himself; the kind of hurt this was going to bring wouldn't have been worth it. Somewhere deep in his heart he needed to feel that hurt. Nick didn't need or want it, but that wasn't enough to stop what he was doing.

Nick was struggling he could tell. In the end, he started to step back and Gil thought that it was over. Then the felt Nick pulling him with him further into the house. "Bedroom."

The relief Gil felt was replaced quickly with lust, as he crashed his body hard against Nick's as they stumbled down the hall and into the room. It was going fast and neither one was giving much thought to surroundings or anything other than the pleasuring sensations that shook through their bodies. The desperate ache for friction of skin against skin, cock against cock, and tongue and tongue grew louder than their moans and breathing.

Gil rolled over onto his back, taking Nick with him once they were on the bed and completely naked. Nick's weight above him was solid and warm, feeling perfect against him. His hands never faltered there caress and movements as they soothed over the scars on Nick's back and down to his ass and back up to his neck.

"Sorry, don't have any condoms," Nick was saying in his ear as he reached over and grabbed the lube out of the nightstand drawer.

"S'okay, that's all we need. I trust you."

Nick stilled and looked down at him; a real, bright smile spread over his face as he leant down and devoured his mouth again.

Gil decided not to let himself think too much on that look and what it meant; instead he wrapped his legs tight around Nick's upper waist and relaxed against the bed. His cock was already painfully hard, throbbing against his stomach. It wouldn't take long until he came, but he wanted to wait until Nick was in him. "Nicky, pl--" he was cut off as a finger entered him.

His back jerked up as his eyes rolled back into this head. Fuck! He forgot what that felt like.

"You okay? Want me to stop?"

"God no." The words tripped up as they tumbled out of Gil's mouth. He pushed back against the intrusion and relaxed his muscles to welcome it. "Forgot...just, ah!"

Nick was twisting his finger, hitting the spot that caused a ripple of pleasure to course through his body. It didn't take long until one finger became two and he was squirming against the sweaty body above him. Nick was taking his time kissing, licking, and teasing his nipples with his tongue and teeth. Pleasures melted together as his body burned with desire. He was so close.

The movements in his body stopped and he couldn't help the groan of disappoint that escaped his mouth. Or the furry of anticipation as Nick shifted against him, lining himself up, and then...Then, the world, for just a small moment, was forgotten. All that was there with him was the breathing of Nick's chest, hot air against his neck, loving words and even lovelier caress across his chest, and an aching, sharp, burn that enveloped his entire being.

His breathes were labored as he struggled to keep himself together. Whatever Nick was trying to say to him was lost in his ears because they were thumping with the sound of his heart. Everything tightened once Nick had filled him completely, encasing Nick in him and reluctant to let him go.

"I've got to move, Gil. Feel's so good inside you."

Gil shivered at the husky spoken words and relaxed his body, giving Nick permission to have him. That was when the tears finally broke; he buried his face in Nick's hair as the pleasurable pressure built as Nick lost himself in him until nothing else was felt except that wonderful blinding pounding of movement. Sparks of light flashed behind his eyelids every time that spot was hit taking him further into the depths of where pleasure rode with pain. He didn't hold back as a crushing force of pleasure stilled every muscle in his body as he exploded, coming over Nick's hand and both their stomachs.

Nick tensed just then and gasped into his neck before biting down so hard on his skin that blood was drawn. Gil marveled at the feeling of being filled with his lover's cum as the world slowly came back into focus. The breathing of Nick and the heavy, almost dead weight on top of him was the first thing he took in and savored. It was the first time Nick had collapsed on him instead of under him. He loved the feeling, loved soothing Nick back from bliss and into a sated cloudiness between awake and asleep.

Brown eyes lazily took him in as a smile spread loosely over Nick's face. "Love you."

Gil nodded and tightened his hold on Nick. "Love you too."

That seemed to be what Nick was waiting to hear before he eased back, pulling out of him, and rolled onto his side. "Okay?"

Gil snuggled closer to Nick, breathing in the smell of sex, sweat, and Nick before nodding. "Never better. Tired."

Nick sighed against the top of his head. "Thank you."

Gil wanted to answer, but he couldn't. He felt Nick's change in breathing as his hands unconsciously rubbed Nick's back. Nick had fallen asleep.


9999999999


Being dressed felt wrong. Gil fingered in the last button of his shirt and looked into the bathroom mirror. Not only did he look different, he felt different. Clean shaven and well-rested, he knew what he had to do. Nick wouldn't forgive him, and in fact, he didn't want Nick to. It'd mean that this was something that was good, that it wasn't worth the time of day to get pissed off about. He hoped Nick was pissed off at him. Forgiveness was like him saying 'sorry'. It didn't mean a damn thing.

He placed the letter on the nightstand and peered down at Nick's sleepy form. The beauty of that man was well deserved; he just wasn't the one that deserved it. Nick was at the beginning his Adonis, now, Nick was Juliet. They were a tragedy and it was his fault. He opened his heart and allowed himself to feel the consequences. For years he'd know love to be cruel, but never this cruel. His love had ended up being the very thing that turned to hate and mistrust with became the killer to them both.

Gil blinked back the itching tears he felt stab his eyes and left the room. He had heard Warrick come in earlier but from the looks of it, Rick was asleep in his room with the door shut. He smirked at the other voice he heard with Warrick and shook his head. That element of surprise was one he'd never forget.

After taking one last look around, Gil carefully opened the front door.


9999999999


His hands trembled as he held the letter in his hand. Waking up without Gil next to him was devastating enough, but reading a 'goodbye' letter was even worse. Blinking through tears Nick was able to make out the words.

Nick,

To say I'm sorry would be like saying all over again that it's over. You know better than I that it's not. I don't blame you. I said I love you, and I do. However you view the events that transpired over the last few months, it should be known that my cruel deeds should not be forgiven. You deserve better than a man like me. A man who doesn't know who he is anymore. The Gil Grissom that was once your boss, mentor, partner, and lover is lost and I don't know how to get him back. I'm left to wonder who I am now, and I don't like what I see. Shakespeare has a better explanation than what I am capable of expressing. Look up Sonnet #66.

Nick re-read the letter again in disbelief. He knew what Carl had said to Jim, Jim had told him what he'd said, but he didn't want to believe it was true. Now, he trembled with fear that it was true. His legs were stiff and heavy as he made his way across the room and to his desk. Sweat rolled down his neck as he waited impatiently for his laptop to boot up. Once it did he immediately typed in the sonnet in the search bar.

He mouthed the words of the Sonnet as he looked over it. "Tired with all these, for restful death I cry; as, to behold desert a beggar born, and needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, and purest faith unhappily forsworn, and guilded honour shamefully misplaced, and maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, and right perfection wrongfully disgraced, and strength by limping sway disabled, and art made tongue-tied by authority, and folly doctor-like controlling skill, and simple truth miscall'd simplicity, and captive good attending captain ill: tired with all these, from these would I be gone, save that, to die, I leave my love alone."

Nick blinked back at the screen and felt his fist clench at the anger that filled him. Tears filled his eyes not at himself, but at Gil. His throat constricted around the angered words he wanted to rage and yell as the room seemed to disappear in his misery.

"Nick?"

His head snapped up at his name and the man who had spoken them was furthest from the man he wanted to see standing in his doorway. Nick wanted to see Gil. He wanted to think that this was joke and a lie and Gil was actually still there with him and not...He closed his eyes around the tears and let this lips tremble open. "Warrick..."

Arms immediately wrapped around him and held his body as it fought to keep control. Who was he kidding? He wasn't Gil; controlling his emotions was something he was never good at. "Shhh. Nick, what's wrong?"

"Everything okay in here?"

Nick froze at the voice he heard over Warrick's and blinked in disbelief into the cotton shirt that covered his eyes. He peered around Warrick and his jaw went slack at the sight of Jim Brass standing in the doorway.

Warrick shrugged. "I don't even know what's wrong."

Nick momentary forgot why he was panicking in the first place until he looked back at the computer screen. He suddenly realized that he was the only one to know that Gil had left the hospital and was now gone. "He left."

"Who left?" Warrick's voice was gentle in the silent room.

"Gil. He was here...Then, he's gone."

Warrick eyed him funny then went to speak but stopped as he noticed the letter by the computer. He picked it up and read it over. "Jesus. What does the Sonnet mean?"

It was hard to breathe suddenly as the word meaning hit him all over again. Nick shook his head and looked over at Jim who was still standing in the doorway, only now he was eyeing Nick with more sadness and concern he'd ever seen fill Jim's eyes. "Carl was right."

Jim closed his eyes and slumped against the frame.

Warrick was the only one now who looked confused. He stole glances between Nick and Jim before turning the computer around and read it himself. Nick knew when it hit him, the slow frown, widening of green eyes, and then the softest whisper of the word "Fuck" that he'd ever heard from Warrick filled the room. "What'd we do?"

Nick stared at the screen, glanced up at Warrick, and then focused on Jim. "I have no idea."


9999999999


As Gil stepped out of the cab at the airport, he realized that he had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do. The only thing he hoped for was that he got it right this time. That he would keep his heart closed off so tight that even Nick couldn't get back in.

His eyes roamed over the departures and he kept looking back at one screen, at one city. He had unfinished business there, and he needed some things. Mostly important files and documents to be able to start a new life somewhere else. So, he settled on going to California first. Then after that, who knew where he'd end up.

***

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