Title: Love Again
By: mickeylover303
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Things aren't always as they seem.  But sometimes, it takes bringing back the dead to uncover what was already there.

***

 

 

"Tell me, Kenneth," she said, finally removing her gaze from the stars that seemed to float above her. She picked up her skirt, the colour a brilliant white like the visages of the moon. "Why bring me here, in the middle of the night?" she asked, treading lightly with the man beside her, the bottom of her bare feet tickled softly by the sand.

 

"Emma…" Kenneth sighed happily. He took a brief glance to the outwardly, dark waters, barely able to discern the faint traces of waves quietly crashing against one another. "You said you missed it."

 

"I did." She paused, looking at the man warily before turning her attention forward once more. "I won't deny it, but only because it was your initial suggestion to come here before summer ends."

 

"But I only did so because I wanted to see the beauty of the beach you always talk about." He extended his arm to the direction of the ocean, gesturing to the moonlight reflected on the water. "And prove to you that it pales in comparison to your own."

 

"I'm not some sort of love-stuck girl strung along by your whims, you know." Emma turned her head to the side, hoping to aid the dark in hiding what was quickly becoming a blush. "You obviously have nothing better to do than try to flatter me." She glanced over her shoulder, somewhat quickening her pace to evade the man beside her.

 

"But is it working?" Kenneth asked tentatively, picking up in his pace until he was behind Emma. He sighed when she came to a stop, carefully wrapping his arms around her and placing his chin on her shoulder.

 

Emma rested contentedly against his chest, taking a soft inhale and peering up at the face above her. "You're lucky my father tolerates you…even approves of our engagement."

 

He lowered his head to kiss her cheek gently, reaching out for her hand and running his fingers over a small ring. "As much as I strive for your father's approval, it's yours that matters to me the most."

 

She snorted softly, muttering beneath her breath before she chose to answer. "Then you're lucky I find you irresistibly endearing." Kenneth laughed against her skin, his breath sending warmth throughout her body.

 

"Only because you compel me to be so."

 

"I hope you don't expect me to fall for your charms every time."

 

"No…just for the rest of our lives."

 

"Is that supposed to entice me?" Emma turned around in his arms, moving to hold his cheek in one hand; caressing it gently.

 

"Only if you agree that it means forever."

 

**

 

Greg was barely able to carry himself into the room, feet trudging heavily against the tiled floor. He ignored the stares of Sara and Grissom, too preoccupied with trying to reach the chair beside the female CSI. He'd figure how to deal with their expressions after he sat down.

 

Something that seemed harder than it should have at the moment.

 

"Autopsy room is that way," Sara said, pointing past Greg and directing him to the right.

 

"Thanks, Sara." Greg sighed heavily when he finally made it to the chair, plopping himself down and for once not minding that the techs from Day switched out the more comfortable ones, again. At this point, a chair was a chair…and more importantly, someplace to sit.

 

"You do look dead on your feet," Grissom added, glancing briefly at Greg before burying his head in some papers.

 

Greg snorted, rolling his eyes as Sara turned to face him.

 

"Well," she started, taking a closer look at Greg. She peered at him suspiciously as the back of her hand met his forehead. "You're definitely not hot."

 

Greg pushed her hand away. He knew nothing was bothering him physically – nothing that could deter him from work at any rate. "As if you don't put me down enough, already."

 

"Greg, I'm serious. Look at me." Sara gazed at the young man pointedly, grabbing a hold of his chin and pulling him towards her. "This isn't about not passing your-"

 

"No," Greg interrupted, purposely blinking in an attempt to get the vestiges of sleep out of his eyes. Seeing even Grissom's concerned gaze, he backed away from Sara, slightly swivelling in his chair.

 

"Are you okay to go out in the field?" the older man asked. The papers he once held were now on the table as he looked at Greg, eyes almost penetrating the younger man.

 

"Sure." Greg made sure to emphasize the eagerness in his voice, not wanting to worry his colleagues any further; especially since Grissom seemed on the verge on sending him home. He already knew what was wrong with him but didn't think it was enough to actually garner true concern.

 

And after failing his first proficiency test, he didn't want to ruin any more opportunities at finally becoming a CSI. It wasn't like he had many of those left, anyway.

 

Greg reached over to grab the stack of papers in front of him – presumably copies of the ones Grissom and Sara already had. "Besides…we don't have anybody to cover for me right now." Even if Greg wasn't officially a CSI, they really couldn't afford to disregard any extra help with the recent case.

 

Investigating a homicide was one thing, but seeing the beginnings of a serial killer was something different all together.

 

Grissom only shrugged in response, taking the logic in Greg's words and leaving the matter alone for now. Sara still looked sceptical, but Greg ignored it, skimming through the files and deciding to move the conversation in another direction.

 

"So…" Greg sighed softly, somewhat relieved when Sara turned away to look at the paper in her own hands. "I'm guessing this couple didn't get a chance to have their honeymoon, either."

 

**

 

"You know…." Sara relaxed her grip on the steering wheel. "I'm surprised you're not complaining about me not letting you drive again."

 

Greg lolled his head to the side, facing her with narrowed, slightly reddened eyes. As much as he liked teasing her, he didn't appreciate it when she decided to return the favour.

 

Sara spared him a quick glance, wondering if she should honestly approach the subject of his appearance. In truth, Greg did look bad, but apparently not bad enough that Grissom wouldn't let Greg go with her in the field.

 

Aside from the unusual display of a somewhat subdued personality, one more than two cups of coffee later and Greg was almost like himself. Sara would have probably been more convinced if he actually made the effort to initiate some kind of conversation on the way to the crime scene.

 

"You really, and I mean really, look like crap," Sara said, trying to get some kind of rise out of the younger man. She rotated the wheel to the right, sighing when Greg only turned in response. His attention was back to the window and his eyes were reflected on the glass as they focused on the light shower of rain outside.

 

His body language wasn't much different from normal, but the way his concentration seemed to be limited to something outside…it worried Sara. He was by no means ignoring her, but it almost looked as if he was waiting for something.

 

Something she didn't know about.

 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sara tried again, hoping he wouldn't try to avoid the question this time. She had been attempting throughout the entire thirty-minute trip and their destination was already in sight.

 

"Not really…" Greg trailed off, closing his mouth and pausing before opening it to speak again. "They're just dreams…nothing but dreams, Sara."

 

"I'm guessing they're not your usual kind," she added in hopes that it would encourage Greg to continue. "And if they're bothering you-"

 

"You'll laugh at me," Greg reasoned, his tone neutral. He rested his elbow against the side of the door, vision still fixed out the window as Sara pulled into a large driveway.

 

The house was old and unsurprisingly secluded, seemingly almost isolated from modern society. It renewed Greg's admiration of a part of Vegas that many people had forgotten – the one that was beyond the gangs, gambling, and girls.

 

The architecture was reminiscent of the late forties and early fifties when people were still cynical enough to invest their old money in property that was safe from the casino and the then controversial lavish life Las Vegas had to offer. But he didn't think this part of old Vegas was still around. And any trace of it was more likely found in the form of furniture, memorabilia or some type of collectible.

 

He never expected to see an entire house.

 

"Probably," Sara answered, effectively taking Greg out of his musings. She spoke lightly, but he could still hear the concern in her voice. "And you know it's good to talk…sometimes. To somebody, at least." She pulled up the emergency break and moved to turn the keys, taking them out of the ignition.

 

"Yeah…" Greg said distractedly, eyes still on the large house before them as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He knew Sara had the best intentions at heart, but he didn't feel ready to disclose exactly what it was in his dreams that plagued him. He was more preoccupied with the thought of how trivial the whole thing would be to someone other than himself.

 

"I mean…it doesn't have to be me, either," Sara said as Greg continued to stare at the house. His hand unconsciously moved to the door handle before he suddenly turned around to face her, genuinely surprising Sara.

 

"Is…is Nick on this case, too?" he asked, titling his head slightly.

 

Sara furrowed her brow in confusion, taken back by the almost glossy texture of Greg's eyes. He knew that Nick and Warrick were working the kidnapping case that had nothing to do with their string of double homicides.

 

So why would he ask about it?

 

She was unsure as to how to treat the situation and settled on replying slowly, hoping that his dreams weren't the cause of his sudden burst of anxiety. "No…" It would be a lot easier to just blame it on the coffee. "Why are you-"

 

Then, as if the lustre was never there, Greg's eyes were normal again. Sara put it in the back of her mind, wondering if she was seeing things as she watched him turn away, opening the door and stepping outside of the car. Small drops of rain were trailing down his face as he reached in the back to retrieve his kit, quickly dismissing Sara's curiosity with a peculiar smile on his face. 

 

"No reason."

 

"I can't do this," Kenneth murmured more or less to himself, quickening in his motions as he continued to pace in the foyer. His pants were beginning to wrinkle due to his frantic movement.

 

Emma covered her mouth, barely able to stifle the laughter brought upon by his obvious anxiety. She crossed her legs, using her hand to gesture to the empty seat available next to her on the bench, the upholstery lush beneath her palm. "Relax. The party doesn't start until another hour. All you have to do is show up on my arm and I'll take care of the rest."

 

Kenneth made an effort to still himself, planting his feet firmly on the ground as he turned to face her. "I don't know what I would do without you," he said earnestly.

 

"Probably burn a whole in your mother's imported rug." Seeing as he was more likely to remain standing, Emma stood herself. She gently guided him to face the mirror by the door, positioning her body behind him as she began to straighten his tie.

 

He smiled as he watched the reflection of her ministrations, finding comfort in the simple act. "Do you remember the day I met you?" he asked.

 

"I doubt I could ever forget if that's what you mean," Emma remarked, scrunching her brow in concentration as she fixed the collar of his shirt. "It was a couple of years ago…why do you ask?"

 

Kenneth didn't answer directly; seemingly lost within his own memory. "You were with your father. It was your first time in Vegas."

 

"Yes…my father wanted to extend his investments here, which apparently worked out for the better," she said, giving him a cheeky grin as she removed her hands from his shirt. "What was is it that you said?"

 

"When I found out it was just a visit?"

 

She nodded, staring at the man beside her in the mirror. "When we were just two strangers who crossed paths."

 

"I was afraid to take my eyes off you."

 

"Of course I had as ask why," she said with mock disdain.

 

"Because I knew that if I did, my heart would be shattered into pieces."

 

"And I fell for it," Emma added, softly laughing at the look on Kenneth's face.

 

"Thank you."

 

"For falling for you?"

 

"No, for…" He pointed at his tie, turning from the reflections in the mirror at focusing his gaze on her. "I-"

 

"The tie?" she asked, raising one eyebrow at him.

 

Kenneth sighed heavily, lowering his head as he reached inside the right pocket of his pants. "I'm not sure how to do this…I mean-"

 

"What are you talking about? We go to parties together all the time." She gave him a look of bewilderment.

 

"Emma…" Kenneth said her name breathlessly, as if he would break at the mere mention of it. He took his hand out of his pocket, tightly holding a small velvet box hidden in his palm.

 

She peered at him strangely, debating whether or not to speak as he took hold of her hand, kneeling on one knee in front of her.

 

"Will you marry me?"

 

Greg sat up quickly, soaked and clinging sheets drying in the cool air and falling off his body. It was another dream. It was one of those weird dreams and no matter how much he wanted to call them nightmares, they were just dreams.

 

There was no other explanation for them.

 

Still, this was the third one this week. And it started just before they found the first murdered couple. Either his imagination, which was never really much of a presence before, was running away from him, or the prospect of becoming a CSI was finally taking its toll.

 

But the only problem Greg had with the seemingly logical conclusions was the fact that each dream felt so real. It was almost as if he was beginning to embody them – to the point where he wasn't sure where the line that separated dreams and reality was.

 

Greg rubbed his head wearily, laying himself back down as his eyes turned upward to the ceiling. Catching his clock in his peripheral, he confirmed another restless night. His alarm wouldn't go off for another three hours and even though his body would actually function if he closed his eyes, Greg couldn't get the images out of his mind just yet.

 

He knew Emma would say yes, not aware he was mouthing the word silently as he imagined Kenneth standing up and cheerfully embracing her. Greg could feel himself in Kenneth's arms as he spun Emma around. He could feel the happiness radiating from Kenneth and the joy coming from Emma.

 

And even though he hadn't technically seen it, for some reason, Greg knew it was true. He wasn't just trying to fill in the blanks. Whatever it was that was between Kenneth and Emma…it was that palpable.

 

Realising his train of thought, Greg moaned; lifting his head and letting it drop on his pillow. He couldn't believe he was still referring to them by their names...as if he knew them personally. 

 

The whole thing was crazy and made no sense.

 

He scoffed at no one in particular as he remembered Sara trying to pry into his dreams. And she wondered why he wasn't willing to tell her about them. It was bad enough he'd apparently created an elaborate fantasy that was more than likely prompted by the recent case.

 

There wasn't any reason to let anyone else know about it.

 

Not if he wanted to at least keep an outward appearance of having some semblance of sanity left.

 

But the most distressing thing about the dreams – even beyond his emotional and almost selfish attachment to them – was the people in it: Emma and Kenneth. It was honestly the real reason why he didn't want to share his dreams with Sara.

 

And it was more than likely why he asked her if Nick was working on the case with them.

 

In retrospect, the strange look she gave him was probably called for, but he was too fascinated with the house to put a lot of thought into her expression. From the moment it came within his view, Greg literally couldn't keep his eyes off of it for more than a few seconds.

 

There was something about it that seemed painfully familiar, brining a twinge to his chest as he followed Sara to the backyard, where the couple was initially found. He remembered briefly twisting away from the scene of blood that tainted even the stained wood of the deck, suppressing a shiver that travelled down his spine.

 

After looking at his clock again, Greg reached for another pillow, putting it on top of his head.

 

He still had another two hours left.

 

**

 

"Weird as in…" Grissom prompted, motioning with his hands.

 

"Weird as in his mind was almost completely somewhere else." Sara continued at Grissom's questioning gaze. "Not as in he couldn't process the scene, but he seemed…far away somehow."

 

"Maybe the stress is getting to him," Grissom suggested. "Did you try to talk to him?"

 

"Oh…I did. Or at least I tried. He wouldn't really tell me anything."

 

"If it's not affecting his work…" Grissom looked at her sympathetically. He let the statement hang in the air, knowing it bothered her. Sara wasn't necessarily the easiest person to open up to…then again, neither was he.

 

She pursed her lips, letting the subject drop for now. Greg would walk in any time now and she was probably throwing the whole thing out of proportion, anyway. They all had their bad days.

 

"So," Sara decided to move the conversation back to case while they waited for Greg. It wasn't that he was late. She and Grissom were just early. "Right now, we have Katie Meads, Jessica Barrowman, and two unidentified males." She paused, taking a sip of her coffee, which was surprisingly still warm.

 

"With no concrete connection to each other."

 

"But Katie's sister, Amanda, owns an antique shop. And you know prices can run pretty high for antiques here." She licked her lips, chapped against the ridges of her tongue. "I finally got a hold of her yesterday, after processing Jessica's scene, and she said she had some things from Vegas dating back to the mid forties."

 

"Like the house where we found Jessica, perhaps?"

 

"It's possible." Sara nodded her head slowly. "I haven't really seen anything like it before, but yeah."

 

"That could be motive," Grissom added. "At least for Katie's murder…we'll have to check the store to make sure."

 

"But why kill Katie if her sister owns the shop?"

 

Grissom only shrugged, not able to give some kind of explanation. But he did want to try to cement a relationship between the set of murders, however farfetched it actually seemed. "Did you read Jessica's file, already?" he asked, continuing to speak when she nodded. "Her next of kin was listed as David Lloyd.   Her parents and grandparents are both deceased, she had no siblings and – as far as we know – no other contact with her remaining family members."

 

"Do you think he's the one-"

 

"So far, his prints aren't on file and we have no one to identify him."

 

"Like the other male DB, no identification was on him, either. Maybe both couples were engaged…neither had a marriage licence."

 

"But evidence hints at a crime of passion, multiple gunshot wounds to the head and face of two of the victims," Grissom reminded her.

 

"The killer knew all four victims?" Sara retorted.

 

"A love pentagon?"

 

Sara snorted, turning her head and rolling her eyes at him. "That's something Greg would…" She trailed off, gesturing behind the older man when she saw Greg coming down the hall.

 

Grissom moved in his seat, watching the younger man through the glass walls. Greg seemed somewhat preoccupied with something Grissom couldn't see. He shifted his gaze to follow Greg's line of vision but was distracted by a dull sound, similar to someone bending aluminium sheets.

 

Greg had to blink twice before he was able to pull himself together.   He knew he was in the lab.  Common sense told him he was in the lab, but apparently his body neglected to notice where it was. And even though the hallway was practically deserted, one of the last people Greg wanted to see just happened to be passing by.

 

He wasn't really sure what caught his attention. For a moment, it was as if he was being pulled toward something across the hall, which was strange because he would have been going to ballistics, where Catherine was headed. But he dismissed the thought and tried to focus on ignoring the man whose steps almost sounded sardonic in Greg's mind.

 

"I know the walls are see-through, Sanders." Greg groaned when the voice of Hodges invaded his ears. He stopped beside Greg, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder in a patronising manner.  "But that doesn't mean you can walk through them, too."

 

**

 

"I thought this was our case," Nick wondered aloud, taking a picture of the woman's head – torn apart and barely recognisable with the numerous bullet holes.

 

"It is," Warrick assured, searching through what he presumed to be the woman's purse. He took out a sleek, black wallet, opening it and searching for a form of identification. "The vic's name is Amanda Meads. Twenty-nine and apparently single." He closed the wallet, his eye travelling through the small shop. "I'm guessing she owned this place."

 

Nick grunted as he lowered himself on one knee. "The guy who called it in said they were supposed to have an appointment over some chair as soon as she opened, but the closed sign was still up." He took a brief glance at the window, reading the mirror image of the sign. "…is still up and she didn't answer when he called."

 

David looked up at Nick, lowering the arm on which he wore his watch. "Liver temperature suggests she died around fourteen hours ago, probably right before she closed up shop."

 

Nick nodded as David began to stand, turning his attention back to Warrick. "Then why does this remind me of Grissom's case." He stared at the body once more, almost as if he was trying to recognise her face. "Just without the male DB, this time."

 

"This could be something completely different," Warrick put forward, now walking around the small store.

 

"But come on, man. Rounds in both the head and the chest?" Nick asked disbelievingly. Even if there was no male body, there was something about the scene that made him think they were missing something. He didn't think it had to do with victim because he didn't know her personally, but this new case was giving him reason to be on edge.

 

And he knew better than to dismiss his gut feelings.

 

Warrick was going to respond but was cut off by David. "May I add something?" He nodded at the coroner, truly interested as David knew more about Grissom's case than he or Nick did.

 

"Well, you're right." David tilted his head at Nick. "Except for the male DB, of course." He smiled softly, the action unsurprisingly not inappropriate as he moved closer to the victim's body. "The bullet wounds do make similar impressions. They're in the same area, shot at close range." A gloved finger hovered over her body. "The killer could have-"

 

But David didn't get the chance to expound upon his theory. His attention, along with Warrick and Nick's, was diverted to the sound of two familiar voices barely within range to the occupants inside the store.

 

"Maybe it's a family affair?"

 

"And I just told Grissom he was starting to sound like you…but what about Jessica? Where does she come in?"

 

"A cousin, niece…she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe the killer thought she was Amanda's sister," Greg proposed as he came through the door, positioning himself to hold it open for Sara. The bell continued to jingle, signifying their presence.

 

"Then that doesn't explain-" Sara stopped, taking off her sunglasses when walked into the store; taking account of the three men who were looking to her in confusion. "Sorry to just drop in, but-"

 

"I thought you were working the couple homicide case." Nick adjusted the camera strap around his neck, looking at Sara and Greg warily as he stood. Grissom probably knew they were here, and if their supervisor already approved it, then there was definitely something not right about this case.

 

It only served to heighten his sense of being on edge.

 

Greg glanced between Sara and Nick, hearing Warrick entering the conversation but not really paying much attention to it.  He nodded to David as the other man walked passed him, gently placing his kit on the ground as he gazed at the shop for the first time.

 

Though the outward appearance suggested the building was new, Greg felt trapped in time as he took in the antiquities laid out before him. He could see the dead body from the corner of his eye – presumably Amanda Meads – and noticed the similar gunshot wounds to her head and chest.

 

He shivered, the painful feeling coming back as he mentally processed the position of her body, comparing it to her sister, Katie, and Jessica Barrowman's. The only thing separating their scene from Amanda's was the other dead body.

 

But Greg didn't let his thoughts linger on it for long, his attention diverted to a soft sound. It was coming from a corner in the shop not too far away from him. He glanced at his colleagues only to note they were still discussing the overlapping of their cases, more than surprised they hadn't notice him slipping away.

 

He followed the sound, almost like a melody beckoning him. It helped lull the pang in his chest, drawing him in like an ember in the darkness…something brought from the back of his mind; like a word he used to know – was trying to remember – that was on the tip of his tongue.

 

Greg surmised he was getting closer when the music became louder, almost to the point where he wondered why the others couldn't hear it, gentle and almost…soothing.

 

It was nothing like he'd heard before, yet he found himself silently humming along; as if he already knew the notes. But then it suddenly stopped as Greg reached a small glass table, upon which sat a small, wooden box. The colour was somewhat faded, but he could tell it was probably supposed to be darker. Noticing some kind of engraving on the top, he blew off the dust, his mind not registering the fact that he was contaminating the crime scene.

 

Greg cocked his head to the side.   The absence of dust revealed what appeared to be wings, lightly painted white, almost silver in the light coming through the back window of the shop. He frowned when he noticed a dark spot in the middle of one wing, a rich brown that seemed out of place in the sea of white.

 

Feeling a sense of wrongness, he used his bare hand to wipe it away, frowning when it only smeared. Greg knew it could probably be removed, but he felt like he was missing something, some reasoning as to why it was there in the first place.

 

Until something dropped on his arm, falling like rain and splattering over his skin.

 

"Was that…" Greg furrowed his brow, staring at his arm before deciding to look up; only to find a dead body hanging from the ceiling. It was a man, positioned horizontally and somehow suspended by what appeared to be tape. The adhesive was wrapped tightly around him, clear except for the small amount of blood that seemed to be concentrated in his chest area.

 

And Greg stood still, unsure how to react as another drop of blood began to fall towards him, preceding the dead body that was rapidly descending, as well.

 

He barely registered someone calling his name, didn't pay attention to the arms that wrapped themselves around his waist, pulling him out of harm's way as the body fell to the ground.

 

Smothering the small, wooden box and shattering the glass table into a million pieces.

"She was young," Catherine ran her fingers through long, dark hair, pulling it back to expose what was left of the victim's face.

 

"Just like the others," Doc Robbins said off-candidly, moving himself between two slabs, on top of each  a female and male body. "See here?" He pointed at the male's chest. "Like the other two couples, he took a single gunshot would to the chest."

 

"And that's the COD in his case, as well?" Grissom asked, nodding to the male victim.

 

"No other cause that I could find at any rate. But unless the sex of the victim plays a particular role… "

 

"Not that I know of," Grissom replied, raising his eyebrows at the other man.

 

"Rules out the possibility of a copycat." Catherine lowered her head, her eyes searching the body for something she may have missed. "So…Amanda and," she paused gesturing to the male body on the other slab, "John Doe number three over here were killed in the same way as Katie, Jessica and John Doe's one and two."

 

"Well, technically no."

 

"No?" Catherine looked at the coroner warily.

 

"John Doe number two was the only one of our male victims who received multiple gunshots wounds to both the head and the chest…like Katie and Amanda. But Jessica and the other male victims-"

 

"Were killed with a single shot the chest," Grissom finished.

 

"The actual cause of death was the bursting of the heart, with the bullet piercing the aorta." Doc Robbins nodded his head thoughtfully. "Instant death with pretty good accuracy and precision."  He ignored the strange look Grissom was giving him. "Even at close range."

 

"Hey guys…" Catherine interjected, waiting until their attention was directed at her. "Take a look at this." She began to trace the imprint circling a finger from Amanda's left hand.

 

Grissom narrowed his eyes, straightening his glasses as he examined the finger. "Do you think-"

 

"I don't know anyone who gets married without some kind of incentive."

 

**

 

Emma knocked quietly, her voice travelling through the door and into the room. "Are you going to let me in?" She stood silently for a moment, ready to turn away until the door began to open. She entered the room cautiously, choosing to stand instead of taking her usual seat by the bed.

 

"Can't you at least be happy for me?" Emma asked, looking toward the boy who stood next to her.

 

"Honestly?" He looked away, anticipating the disappointment in her eyes. "I don't know if I can."

 

"Jonathan," she sighed, wrapping her arms around him as she rested her head on his shoulder. "This won't change anything between us. You'll always hold a special place in my heart – one that not even Kenneth could touch."

 

He pulled away from her, searching her face for the sincerity he already knew would be there. "Really?"

 

"Really." Emma looked down at him with a mischievous light in her eyes. "You're my favourite brother."

 

Jonathan tried to smile at her, the attempt resulting in something crooked and ultimately half-hearted. "I'm your only brother."

 

"And that's my point."

 

"But are you happy with marrying him?"

 

"Yes," she answered without hesitating.

 

"Does he make you happy?" he asked, as if her answer would determine his fate.

 

"Of course he does…otherwise he wouldn't be my fiancé," she reasoned, confusion marring her features. "Why are you asking all of this?"

 

"Don't worry about it. It's not important." He shook his head, not bothering to answer her question and cutting her off when she opened her mouth to speak. "I have something for you."

 

Emma knew he was trying to distract her, but she didn't press the issue further. She let him take hold of her arm, pulling her towards his bed. "What is it," she asked; the barest hint of excitement in her voice. He was preying on her weakness for anything he gave her. Most of which he made by himself and she kept each one as a memento.

 

She still treasured the portrait of her he drew when he was nine.

 

Jonathan placed himself on his knees, the fabric of his pants creating friction with the carpet as he blinding reached for something underneath his bed. "I can't tell you, yet."

 

"It'll save you time," she reasoned, noticing how he seemed to be struggling with finding whatever it was he was looking for.

 

"Then that will ruin the surprise." He rolled his eyes as he stood; a small wooden box in his hands. "Here…open it."

 

Emma held out her hand, carefully accepting the box. "It's not something to scare me again, is it? I still won't let frogs near me, you know."

 

"Not this time," he answered admitted petulantly. "It's something to remember me by…when you and Mr. Meads move to California." He finished silently, not letting her hear the angered tone of his voice.

 

She ran the tips of her fingers across the top of the box, marvelling at the craftsmanship – a seemingly endless foray of wings painted white stood out against the dark cherry of the wood. "It's…beautiful."

 

"I did it myself," he told her proudly, crossing his arms behind him. "It took a couple of months…so I hope you like it."

 

Tracing the edges, Emma slowly lifted the cover, her mouth opening slightly as music began to resonate in the room. The sound was one she'd never heard, but one that entranced her nonetheless. "Jonathan…it's lovely." She looked at him softly, her gratitude heartfelt in her eyes. "But I don't need a music box to remember you."

 

"Even after you leave me with our father?" he asked, somewhat teasing, but not without a trace a fear in his voice.

 

"I would never forget you."

 

Greg groaned, curling beneath his comforter. It was a given that he was sleeping badly and he was grateful he had the rest of the week off. Though, he wished he wasn't spending it stuck in bed and entrapped in his own dreams. But at least it would give him time to process what was going on.

 

It wasn't like he was allowed to come to work any time soon.

 

He wasn't exactly clear about what happened yesterday, only what happened after finding the wooden box and being saved from a falling body came to mind. Supposedly, he passed out for a few seconds, though he vaguely recalled waking up to Sara and Warrick leaning over him and Nick – by process of elimination – supporting him.

 

 It wasn't like he made a habit of fainting…Greg had never actually done it before. He was surprised, but not too shocked considering his eating and sleeping habits weren't up to par. Though, it seemed to startle Nick more than anyone else.

 

Greg could remember the older man asking him questions in a normal voice, but seemingly unaware of the firm grasp he had on Greg's arm. It did nothing more than confuse Greg because a part of him was expecting Nick to shift his attention to Sara. The other part of him – to his embarrassment – felt like it had been waiting for the attention.

 

It was something that he couldn't describe and it probably scared him more than almost being assaulted by the dead.

 

But he knew it had something to do with his dreams.

 

And the latest one had to be the most disturbing of them.

 

Somehow, he already knew Jonathan. This time, he didn't bother to question how he knew practically everything about Emma's little brother; how he made himself known in the back of Greg's mind. There was just something about Jonathan that didn't sit well with Greg. He felt a kind of numbness even thinking about the boy's face; with those stereotypical wide eyes that looked as if they was always watching him.

 

Greg truly hoped it had nothing to do with the sense that he'd seen Jonathan before…not in his dreams, but in the here and now.

 

He wasn't ready to deal with that possibility.

 

And although he was more than willing to accept the reality of the whole dream situation, he still couldn't wrap his mind around it. Things were just within his grasp of understanding and beginning to make sense. The house where Jessica Barrowman died…that was one of the houses he saw in his dreams – the one where Kenneth lived, where he proposed to Emma. Greg didn't actually spend much time in the house – more concerned with the bodies found outside of it – but the impression he gathered from seeing it for the first time couldn't just be coincidence.

 

Then there was Emma's music box.

 

That's why he could hear the music in the store when the others couldn't. He knew. Somehow he knew and it was the same melody played in his dream. He wasn't going to claim to understand how he found something he'd never seen before, never mind the dead body that almost crushed him. And he couldn't comprehend encountering something from Emma's past before he had what he now dubbed the "customary" dream.

 

However, he wasn't too concerned with why he was drawn to certain things, either before or after having his dreams. Actually, it was something of a reprieve to know that the dreams weren't just figments of his imagination – had nothing to do with the power of suggestion – and he wasn't going crazy.

 

His dreams were real.

 

And again, he wasn't going crazy.

 

But even after accepting the possibility that he may be channelling someone else's memories, Greg didn't believe the actual dreams should be bothering him like this. They were beginning to manifest themselves physically. The mere idea was something that almost tempted him to get that Sleep Scrying for Dummies book… if they still had it in the library.

 

But on some level, he knew they shouldn't be affecting him to the point where he could remember more of Emma and Kenneth's lives than his very own.

 

He couldn't say that he was looking too much into it. He had no choice but to. Yet, even though it appeared as though Greg was getting glimpses into someone else's happiness, he just couldn't shake this sense of dread that kept building inside him. He almost wondered if Jonathan had some part to play in it, but despite his misgivings about the boy, a part of Greg couldn't believe that one could have anything to do with the other.

 

It was bad enough his dreams seemed be moulding themselves into his life, but there was something wrong when they came together. Seeing Jessica and the other guy dead…just lying there motionless while he pictured Kenneth and Emma dancing on the floor…it just didn't feel right.

 

There was gap between the two and because of that it was foreboding…for the simple reason that it was something he obviously couldn't correlate. It wasn't like the things he already knew…like how Emma's mother died, her favourite colour, and why she loved beaches.

 

Every time he tried, it was as if he was reaching for nothing and each attempt distorted whatever connection he had with these…people.  The fact that it didn't come easily like the other nuances frustrated Greg. They became a part of him and it made him feel so helpless not knowing what was going to happen.

 

Curling further within himself, Greg tried to brush off the growing lethargy in his body. He was at the point where he wanted to call someone, needed to talk to someone about these dreams. The whole thing was overwhelming mentally, physically, and any other way he could think of.

 

But there were only two people he could call. More than just a feeling, he had to call Nick and could only pray the man wouldn't think he wasn't sane. And as much as it would pain him to do so – for reasons unclear to him – Greg had to call Sara, as well.   Even if they didn't take him seriously, they still needed to know about the dreams.

 

And there wasn't much time left.

 

**

 

It was random.

 

Like something he would see in a movie, but it was never something he was expecting to experience. Nick had seen his fair share of…strange things, but nothing like a dead body falling from the ceiling. While he had been on edge yesterday, it didn't prepare him for something like that.

 

But it wasn't as bad as seeing Greg standing below the body, staring at it with seemingly no will to move.

 

He didn't even know how Greg ended up in the dim corner of the store. Granted, he, Sara, and Warrick were talking about the intertwining cases, but the younger man wasn't the kind of person to go off without telling anyone…even about something as meagre as being a couple of feet away.

 

Nick couldn't say exactly what happened that suddenly commanded his attention to Greg. Sara was mentioning something about another victim, handing Warrick some photos of Jessica Barrowman, and then something clenched in Nick's chest.

 

That was when he heard the ripping noise.

 

He moved without thought, surprising even himself as he made a beeline toward Greg. He could remember yelling his name, hoping it would take the other man out of whatever trance he seemed to be in. And Nick was moving closer, running on pure adrenaline to fill that uncontrollable need to reach Greg. Maybe he was overreacting, but at that moment he knew that he had to get Greg away from there.

 

For whatever reason.

 

And he barely made it in time as remnants of the broken table pooled around them, the sharp jagged pieces of glass piercing the fallen body.

 

If it wasn't for the fact that he knew it wasn't possible, Nick would have said it was then that his heart dropped into his stomach. He could still feel Greg falling against him, the younger man's breaths almost shallow in comparison with his own heavy ones.

 

Only when Greg became conscious again did Nick remember feeling the urge to get to Greg dissipate.

 

Though, he wasn't as taken back about his impromptu increase of concern for Greg as he thought he should be. Instead, something inside of him was more relieved at the fact that the younger man was off the case…or at least taking some time off. It wasn't until Greg woke up in his arms that he had a chance to really look at his friend; the dark circles beneath his eyes, the pallor of his skin.

 

It just wasn't Greg.

 

And regardless of how much Greg tried to shrug it off, Nick had a feeling that the incident was supposed to portend something much worse.

 

He just didn't know what.

 

 "Here."

 

Nick jumped when a large stack of papers was suddenly dropped in front of him. He scrunched his brow, looking to see Warrick standing over him. "What's that?" he asked, hoping the other man didn't notice his scare.

 

"All the information I could get about Amanda…for now, anyway." Warrick took a seat beside Nick, blowing the air out of his mouth as Sara took a seat across from them.

 

"I just met up with Grissom and Catherine." Sara pointed behind her. "They're still looking at the bodies, but both have something to do with the other homicide couples."

 

Nick gave a knowing look to Warrick, alluding to the sentiment he relayed to the other man yesterday.

 

Sara watched their silent communication, a puzzled look on her face until she dismissed the interaction. "Remember that engagement idea I threw around earlier?" she asked.

 

"Yeah," Warrick answered. "But we couldn't find anything that would point to the possibility."

 

"Catherine found similar ring impressions on Amanda's and the male DB's left hand..third finger."

 

"How'd we miss that?" Warrick looked at her, slightly tilting his head back.

 

"We weren't looking for it," Sara said.

 

"Okay…" Nick bit his lip, trying to digest the new information. "Let's say, for the sake of theory, that all three couples were engaged. But since we can't indentify the male bodies, we still don't have motive or anything that tells what they were killed for."

 

"Did Brass talk to the guy who called it in yesterday?" Warrick asked.

 

"Daniel Adams, some guy who collects antiques." Nick leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. "Brass said he had an alibi and so far it looks like it checks out."

 

Sara looked to Warrick. "What about Amanda? Maybe we're looking at it the wrong way and she's the cause of it."

 

"Well," Warrick began, "It read like her sister's file. No family and aside from the guy who called it in, no one really knew her. Searched the store and her apartment for some kind of list of her customers, found nothing. But I did find this…" He began looking through the pile of papers in front of him, settling on one sheet to show to Nick and Sara. "She originally inherited a house from her father's uncle. Amanda tried to sell it a couple of months ago. Apparently the antique business wasn't paying the bills."

 

"Who did she sell it to?" Sara asked.

 

"Not to her sister," Nick remarked, remembering the pictures of Katie's small apartment.

 

"To Jessica Barrowman," Warrick supplied.

 

"The house Greg and I went to…that was Amanda's?" Sara didn't bother to hide her surprise.

 

Warrick nodded. "There really wasn't information on her father, but her uncle was involved in a double homicide in the late forties."

 

"He and his fiancée were killed, right?" Nick asked, though it was voiced more like a statement rather than a question.

 

"Yeah," Warrick replied, wondering if his friend knew more than he was letting on. "But it was almost like it never happened. Knowing how they were back then, somebody probably tampered or destroyed the evidence." Warrick scoffed. "I'm surprised I even found something about it."

 

"So…this is some twisted vigilante trying to bring our attention to an old case?" Sara asked.

 

"Not like it hasn't happened before." Warrick shrugged. "The killer was never found, and the way our case is going…I'm not putting down the idea.

 

"Plus, I also managed to get some more information on the older houses around here."

 

"Don't tell me Jessica inherited something, too," Nick said, looking warily at the photographs Warrick was showing them.

 

"From her aunt and the line stops there. " Warrick pointed to a picture of a large house, almost gothic at first glance. Two stories high, it reminded him of the old houses from that early forties that were popular in California.

 

"She wasn't taking much care of it," Nick observed, his eyes glued to the photo. Though, he guessed the overgrown vegetation made it look more daunting.

 

"So, if Jessica already had a house from her family, why would she need another from someone else's?" Sara asked, her vision straying to the house were Jessica was killed, which was probably the one she was hoping to buy from Amanda. "She obviously wasn't into real estate…and house collecting doesn't seem to be on her agenda."

 

"Antiques aren't worth as much as they used to be. People want their wealth now," Warrick said, his tone almost apologetic.

 

"Old family…new money," Sara suggested.

 

"Yeah."   Nick narrowed his eyes, closely examining the picture he now held in his hand. "…but same problems."

 

"Aren't you excited," Kenneth asked, concerned as to whether Emma had changed her mind at the last minute. She sat on her bed, head turned away from him. He couldn't see her expression and his heart held the smallest amount of fear at the possibility of rejection.

 

"I think it finally hit me." She revealed her face, peering up at him with a familiar smile taking over her features. "I'm getting married tomorrow." The thought made her feel light and airy, as if she could take on the world. It made Emma want shout in excitement instead of trying to contain it in her normal voice.

 

But although her father and brother were not here, she would still feel embarrassed even if she was alone.

 

He sighed heavily; positive his relief was palpable in the air. "Today, tomorrow…time couldn't stop me from loving you." Leaning down, he captured the side of her face in one hand. His eyes were clear and open as he bared himself to her.

 

Emma looked at him endearingly, placing her hand over the one that gently held her face. This man would never cease to amaze her…captivate her. She wouldn't know what to do if she ever lost him. "Kenneth, I-" She stopped, looking over his shoulder with more than a little alarm.

 

There was a small creak at the door, as if the wind had moved it, but Emma couldn't remember opening it.

 

Not to mention that if it was closed, she and Kenneth were the only ones in the house.

 

She waited silently, Kenneth turning around and standing in front of her. He stood erect, reaching his full height and taking hold of Emma's hand in a gesture of assurance. His posture didn't relax when the door finally opened, muscles still tense when the form of a young boy came into view. He entered the room quietly, closing the door with a soft click.

 

He seemed to be nervous, one hand slightly shaking and hidden behind his back.

 

Emma stood up quickly, moving in front of Kenneth. "Jonathan…you should be at school" she said, worry apparent on her face as she walked toward her little brother. "How did you get home by yourself?"

 

"We were sent home earlier today…and Adam's father was nice enough to give me a ride home." Jonathan looked at the older man warily, not dismissive of the similar look that was given back to him. He sniffed, his eyes becoming glossy as he brought his arm up, showing what he was hiding behind his back.

 

There was a gasp in the room and Kenneth began to move slowly, cautiously trying to approach the young boy. His efforts were halted when he heard an all too familiar cocking sound, stopping him in his tracks.

 

"What are you doing with father's gun?" Emma asked softly, but careful not to move. She wasn't naïve of the situation, but she didn't see her brother capable of actually doing something with gun. Though the current situation told her otherwise, Emma didn't believe he her brother understood what he was doing. She'd always enforce her dislike of weapons to her little brother, hoping he wouldn't be as taken with them as their father. "You know it's not a toy."

 

She glanced at it briefly, seeing Kenneth doing the same from the corner of her eye. It had the family name, Barrowman, engraved on the handle. The lettering was a fancy cursive and filled in with a white coating that made it shimmer against the sleek, black the enveloped the gun in its entirety.

 

Jonathan's lips quivered; the trembling in his arm more obvious as his sister came closer to him. "I don't want to risk the chance of losing you."

 

Emma ignored Kenneth's whispered protest as she advanced on her brother, the gun pointing towards her chest. He was only making a mistake, acting out in…

 

Her thoughts trailed off, a sudden realisation came to her as she saw the gun moving in a different direction, to a different target. She spared a look to the man behind her, eyes panicked, before deciding to place herself in front of him.

 

A loud bang overtook a soft gasp and then left the room in silence.

 

"Emma…" the little boy whispered incredulously, staring at the fallen form of his sister. Her eyes were motionless, open and unblinking as she sagged into Kenneth's arms.

 

Kenneth slowly sank to the floor, the sound of her clothes rustling as he held her body close to his own. His mouth was open in astonishment, eyes watering as blood began to trickle down the side of her mouth. "Jonathan …what did you do?" he asked brokenly.

 

"I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – Emma…?" He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, his gaze turning frantic as he looked at Kenneth. He didn't want to shoot her. He was going to shoot him. "Wake her up, Mr. Meads," he said softly, voice quickly rising. The man had gotten in the way again. Everything was his fault.  "Wake her up!"

 

"Oh God, Emma." Kenneth cradled her head, rocking back and forth as the blood continued to flow down from her chest and trickled onto her light, blue dress. He gently wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, ignoring the tears that were streaming down his face.  "Call for help…please Jonathan," he begged, "…please."

 

"Why won't you wake her up? She said you make her happy." Jonathan's tone was angry and upset; his voice was laced with a horrendous fear. "Emma can't be happy if you don't wake her up!" he yelled, closing his eyes as he began pulling the trigger once more, nearly emptying the barrel.

 

"Why didn't you wake her up?" Jonathan cried, harsh sobs racking throughout his small body as he looked at his lifeless sister, ignoring the mutilated form of the man lying beside her. He had ruined everything, taken his sister away from him and killed her.

 

The little boy fell to his knees, pointing the gun against his cheek as he repeated the name of his sister one last time. He bit his lip, his body still quivering as he took in the bloody scene before him.

 

Before everything went black.

 

**

 

"How's Greg doing?" Nick asked Warrick, examining the photos of the victims' bodies. He hadn't heard from the younger man in two days and the mere fact was making him a little more than antsy. He wasn't expecting Greg back at work anytime, soon. However, despite Nick's concern, he felt it was better to distance himself from the other man – contradicting the strong emotions he had not too long ago.

 

The incredible urge to ensure Greg's safety was finally beginning to fade and Nick hoped to gain some kind of normality that seemed to be steadily disappearing the moment he started this case.

 

But the decision left a bad taste in his mouth.

 

"I checked up on him a couple of hours ago. What…you haven't talked to him, yet?" Warrick asked, looking at Nick with something that looked suspiciously close to surprise. It almost as if he wasn't sure on whether or not to believe Nick's words. It had already been two days and he knew his friend wasn't the kind of person to just…not care. He obviously did to some extent since he was asking about Greg, but Nick would usually find out himself.

 

"No," Nick replied simply, his voice slightly lowering.

 

"Or you don't want to talk to him?" Warrick frowned when Nick didn't answer, taking a seat at the table. "Seriously man, you've been acting pretty funny since what happened at that antique place."

 

Nick ignored him, focusing more on the photographs in his hand. "So, where did the bullets come from?" He had to wait until he could find some semblance of stability in his teetering emotions before even trying to add how Greg could have anything to do with it

 

 Warrick didn't need to know that Nick had spent the majority of yesterday convincing himself that Greg was fine; wanting to but not able to bring himself to even pick up the phone. And besides…they had work to do.

 

"The bullets were thirty-eighty calibre…shot from an Enfield MK."

 

"Never heard of it before," Nick admitted; content when Warrick decided not to press the issue further.

 

"Yeah, that's because it's a British hand revolver…made during the late twenties to the mid-fifties. Mostly used during World War Two. That's why it took longer to find it. Foreign guns aren't in the initial search parameters."

 

"Any chance we know who it's registered to?"

 

"Well," Warrick began rubbing the side of his neck, "It was registered to a Daniel Barrowman and he died sometime in the sixties. After that, there's no mention of the gun anywhere."

 

"Hold on for a sec. You mean Barrowman…as in Jessica Barrowman?"

 

"That aunt she received the first house from…turns out that Daniel was her cousin."

 

 "You're not serious." Nick looked at Warrick incredulously when the other man nodded his head as a sign of confirmation. "This case is already getting too much for me."

 

"You? I'm the one who had to somehow sift through all that stuff."

 

"So, let me get this straight," Nick paused, attempting to collect his thoughts, "The cousin of the aunt who gave Jessica the house – that's the guy the gun was last registered to?"

 

"Right."

 

"The same gun that's been apparently missing for a nearly half a century and ends up the murder weapon of our case."

 

"Yep."

 

"Okay…this probably means the killer knew Jessica…or at least knew of  her," Nick suggested.

 

"See, that's what I'm thinking, too. And then the male victims were really just in the line of fire; insurance to make sure no one would piece the deaths together…not anytime soon, anyway."

 

"Or – back to what Sara said yesterday – the killer's making an example from the old Meads' homicide case."

 

Warrick watched as Nick finally placed the photos on the table, narrowing his eyes in thought. "You think what happened then is connected to what's going on now?"

 

"Think about it…something had to have happened between these two families. They were both pretty wealthy and I bet some of that wealth turned into hush money about the homicide case."

 

"Probably why I found so little about it."

 

Nick's mouth turned upward, twisting into a sardonic smile – too quickly for Warrick to catch – before flattening into a straight line, seemingly on its accord. "This can't just be a coincidence; too many things here have something to do with one another."

 

Warrick leaned back in the chair. "I hear you, but I still don't see why our guy would kill them. All that's left from both families is the property…and since nobody's claiming it…" Warrick trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. If no one claimed the property now, he knew it was likely no one would claim it in the future. 

 

Nick cocked his head, giving the other man a thoughtful expression. "Maybe he was scared of something happening to him?" He didn't know where the idea came from, but he knew fear was something that could motivate people into doing almost anything. And it just seemed to make sense…somewhere in the back of his mind. "Or maybe he was afraid of losing something close to him?"

 

"But we still don't have anything that would point to why he would want to kill them…what he was scared of happening or losing."

 

Nick shook his head, leaning further across the table and bringing himself closer to Warrick. "You know what you said earlier, about the male victims?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Well, what if our killer did mean to kill them and they weren't just in the line of fire? Sara said he wanted us to bring up the Meads case, but what if he's trying to mimic it because he knows what happened and he wants to get revenge by killing the remaining family members."

 

"That would mean both families were involved back then and whoever's involved with one of them now…"

 

"So far, ends up dead."

 

"That would help explain why so many of them are listed as deceased. This could be something on a completely differently level." Warrick licked the front of his teeth, leaning back in his chair. "Where'd you get that from?"

 

Nick looked at the other man earnestly. "A feeling, I guess." Except it was more than a just feeling. It was something that was tied to the same emotions he held where it concerned Greg. Both were part of a strange wave of sensations that occurred whenever any aspect of the case came up.

 

And something inside of Nick made him think he was only beginning to scratch the surface. 

 

**

 

"Come on, pick up," Greg whispered to himself, hearing the fourth ring of Sara's phone through the receiver. He'd been trying to get in contact with her for the past ten minutes, but was being directed straight to her voice mail.

 

"Sidle."

 

Thank you, Greg thought silently to himself when he heard her voice. Nick wasn't answering his phone so she was his only chance. "Sara, listen to me."

 

"Greg?"

 

"You can't go to that house…the one that Jessica owned. I know it sounds crazy but I'm not crazy…I – you and Nick can't go, all right." The dream he had only a few minutes ago was still fresh in his mind, the bodies of Emma and Kenneth eerily reflecting the couples that were murdered.

 

"How'd you know about that?"

 

He heard the genuine surprise in her voice, which he knew was warranted as he hadn't been informed of anything thing new from the past two days. But he didn't have time to wonder about the connections this time. He had to focus on making sure Sara and Nick didn't go to that house.   It was the only thing he could think of at this point.

 

Greg didn't put too much thought into how he was coming across, but his dreams were becoming nightmares. With the recent occurrences increasing and not much time between each one, he didn't doubt that they'd soon become reality.  And he didn't want to wait for the time they'd actually come to life. "It's dangerous, too dangerous for you guys to-"

 

"Greg…you're voice is shaky. Are you sick…is something wrong?"

 

"Nothing's wrong, okay." Greg brushed off her concern. She should be more worried about herself and Nick. "Remember those dreams I told you about…the ones that were messing with my sleep."

 

There was a pause. "…yes"

 

"Well, they're real, Sara. Why I said I had chills at Jessica's scene…what happened at the antique store. There was music, the music box…Emma's music box. I heard the music." He was vaguely aware of her voice trying to cut through, but he didn't have time to humour her doubts. "She was engaged to Kenneth, but her brother killed them, and God…it was, it was…"

 

"Greg…"

 

"He felt so cold, Sara. The little boy felt so cold and so…so angry. I knew he was going to do it, but I didn't believe he could. And he was hurt, Sara. It hurt him so much to see them together."

 

"Do you need more time off?" Sara asked with a little alarm in her voice.

 

"No, I – I saw it, Sara. I saw them die." He didn't really have time to think about the dream, this time, too frantic not to do something about it. But he could still feel Emma fear, Kenneth's anguish, Jonathan's pain…this maelstrom of emotions that were continuing to eat at him, seemingly swallowing him whole. "It wasn't like Katie and Amanda, though. They died like Kenneth did. It was more like Jessica, she died like-"

 

"Okay…now, you're delirious."

 

Groaning, Greg wiped his hand on his shirt, already soaked in sweat. He hadn't come up with a plan of action, but he'd hoped it would at least go better than this. "I'm not delirious. You guys can't go…anyone else can go, but not you two, okay?" He waited for her to answer, his harsh breathing filling the void of the empty communication. "Sara…okay?"

 

"I…" She paused, seemingly not sure of what to say. "Look, I don't how you know about the house or…whatever, but Nick and I have to get ready to go. I'll call you back…and I promise I'll sit down and talk about this with you later."

 

"You don't believe me," Greg accused, hearing the sceptical tone of her voice.

 

"I didn't say that, but…what makes you think you aren't just making this up…that this isn't just stress from the case?"

 

"I don't want you and Nick to die."

 

"Okay, Greg…listen to yourself." She sighed with exasperation.  "You're telling me not to do my job because of some dreams you have?"

 

"They're not just dreams," Greg yelled in frustration, lowering his voice when he felt his breath hitch. Sara had tried to give him reason to doubt, but it wasn't working. He knew if Sara and Nick entered the house alive, they wouldn't come back the same way. "They're memories…Emma and Kenneth's memories…from the past, sometime in the forties. I lived their lives up until-"

 

"Greg-"

 

"See," he said excitedly, "It all makes sense, why the killings are happening. That's who I saw by the antique shop, they guy who called it in…no…it was him. It didn't look like him, but it felt like-"

 

"Greg, stop it!" she yelled, if only to get his attention. "Listen to me. They're just…dreams, all right." She spoke slowly, making sure he understood her.

 

"You don't understand." Greg rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. He was quickly becoming agitated, so many thoughts racing in his head and he didn't know how to get through to Sara. If she was taking this poorly, he was sure Nick wouldn't be nearly as receptive.
 

He should just lock them somewhere they couldn't escape. As long as they were together, he thought, ignoring the pang in his chest.
 

"I don't understand what, Greg?" she asked impatiently.

"Because, Sara."
 

"Because? That's not good enough, Greg."
 

"Because Kenneth looked like Nick."

 

"Greg," she said patiently, "I've had dreams like that before. Cases get to me all the time and sometimes you guys are in there, too."

"And Emma looked like you." He heard her sigh on the other end. She still didn't believe in what he was telling her, that there was more than a possibility of her and Nick dying.   It was a surety.
 

But that was okay.

He didn't need her to.

 

"Damn it," Sara cursed softly, hitting the end button on her cell phone.

 

"What happened?" Nick asked as he walked into the break room.

 

"I just got off the phone with Catherine," she said, biting her lip and focusing on the coffee table. "I – I talked to Greg an hour ago and he didn't sound…I don't know – like himself. So, I asked Catherine to check on him for me."

 

Nick winced at the unintentional reminder of what Warrick brought up earlier. His willingness to separate himself from Greg was forgotten as soon as Sara spoke again.

 

"He's not there." Sara crossed her arms, standing up from the couch. She could only hope her conversation with Greg hadn't made him do something crazy. "His car's gone and…listen...this is going to sound…" Sara looked at him, her face almost apologetic. "I mean, I thought he was just sick or stressed because they started when we first took the case, but…"

 

"But what," Nick asked, a sense of urgency in his tone. It was that feeling again, the same one that came when they were in the antique store – the one where he just needed to be near Greg, if only to see the other man was all right. He knew something was going to happen. It had been lingering in the back of his mind all day.

 

But this time, he couldn't ignore it.

 

"He didn't want us to go to Jessica's house."

 

He looked at her incredulously. "How'd he know-"

 

"I don't know…he just said it was dangerous. That it had something to do with his dreams about some couple, Kenneth and Emma…and that they looked like us."

 

Nick blinked at the mention of the names. There was something familiar about them, something he knew he should know, but couldn't remember. "Emma?" he said the name softly, surprised it didn't seem foreign on his tongue. "What about them?" Greg said the couple looked like them, but it didn't fit well with Nick.

 

For some reason, he didn't feel the need to question anything Sara was telling him, but something about that part didn't fit…or was at least missing something.

 

"That Emma was killed like Jessica…Amanda and Katie were killed like Kenneth. I didn't believe him and he knew…he heard it in my voice," she said softly, her mind on the ramifications of her actions.

 

Nick stilled, a terrible feeling developing in the pit of his stomach. If Greg was having dreams dealing with the case…then his own feelings, things he didn't understand. That's how Greg was connected to all of this, to him. Nick couldn't say how, but he knew that going to the house would probably solve more than their homicide.

 

He pursed his lips determinedly; checking to make sure his gun was already at his side as he made his way out of the room. He didn't wait for Sara, hearing her footsteps behind him, knowing they were sharing the same train of thought. It wasn't the only place Greg could go, but neither of them was willing to risk the chance that their younger colleague wasn't putting himself in danger.

 

Not to mention that the killer was still out there.

 

Nick found himself quickening his pace as they walked into the parking lot, the sense of dread becoming stronger. He looked at Sara, opening the door of his truck as he watched her secure her gun.

 

She raised her head when she felt his attention directed at her. "I'll call Grissom and Brass on the way there." Opening the passenger door, she settled herself in, putting on her seatbelt as Nick slid his key in the ignition.

 

They held each other's gaze briefly before Nick turned away, looking at the rear view mirror. "Tell them to hurry." He held the steering wheel firmly, quickly putting the vehicle into reverse and backing out of the parking space.

 

The tires squealed on the pavement, the engine revving as Nick put the truck into drive.

 

**

 

In retrospect, he knew it would have been better to have told at least someone where he was going…even the guy who just moved into the apartment on the third floor.   But Greg was already here and apparently alone.

 

It was just like watching one of those slasher flicks, where the main character goes in to a large, seemingly deserted house with nothing to defend themselves with…and of course he didn't have anything, either. But he told himself that was because he didn't feel like he was in danger.

 

Which was essentially a euphemism for not having something to defend himself with.

 

Walking toward the front steps, Greg looked up at the large house that easily dwarfed him. But it didn't scare him like he initially thought it would. Though he was nearly scratched to death trying to manoeuvre his way through the front yard, being here felt more comforting than anything…like he'd finally come home. The thought was particularly unsettling because home was supposed to be in San Gabriel or his little apartment a few miles from the Lab.

 

Not some place he'd never seen before, never mind if he suddenly knew how to get to it.

 

However, he didn't just come out on a whim. He almost didn't make it into the car – probably because he didn't eat at all today – and was lucky he didn't drive off the side of the road. Greg was tired, so ridiculously tired, but he couldn't resist the pull that was urging him to come here…wherever here was.

 

His dreams had driven him to the middle of nowhere.

 

Greg didn't hesitate as he put his hand on the door knob, neglecting to the notice the warmth radiating from it or the fact that it was already unlocked. He turned it slowly, pushing against the large and heavy door as it made an awful screeching noise; exposing an open space heavily veiled by darkness.

 

Against his better judgement, Greg walked inside, compelled by something calling to him. He licked his lips, listening to his faint sound of his steps on the hardwood floor echo throughout the house. They were travelling the hallways and resting in the rooms Greg could already map out in his mind.

 

He stepped lightly, placing his hand on the right wall and feeling along the chipped paint for something he hadn't yet found. He continued knowingly, stopping when he reached what felt like a light switch. He gasped, feeling a sharp pain in chest that disappeared as quickly as it had come. He shook his head, dismissing the incident as he flipped the switch on.

 

Blinking against the sudden onslaught of light, Greg took his hand off the wall, looking around in awe.

 

The foyer was large and expansive, but no less than he imagined on his way to the house. He raised his head, looking to a dusty chandelier that hung at least ten feet above him, the sight evoking a memory he couldn't quite place.

 

But the entire house seemed to be doing that.

 

He closed his mouth, not sure when it opened, refocusing his attention on the stairwell that stood before him; almost invitingly. He took a tentative step forward, placing his hand on the wooden railing that curved upward.

 

The experience felt incredibly surreal, as if he was living out a moment in his dream. In the actual dreams he was more of an observer than anything. And though he could feel the emotion, he always felt somewhat detached. It was something that was surprisingly irksome since he felt like he'd actually become a part of Kenneth and Emma's lives.

 

Greg almost expected Kenneth to come running past him, his voice teasing Emma as she followed him more slowly, picking up her dress as her laughter folded into his. As he continued to climb, he could almost see the images; not only in his head, but right beside him…practically hear their voices resonate.

 

When he reached the top of the stairs, Greg wasn't sure where he was going anymore. Whatever was compelling him was quickly developing into something couldn't deny even if he wanted to and he was beginning to feel hesitant about following it out.

 

He took a right, his steps taking him to the second room on the left. The door, unlike the ones on the rest of the hall, was slightly ajar…enough so that it seemed a small breeze could open it. And although it wasn't as apparent due to brightness in the foyer, there was a small amount of light peeking from beneath the door.

 

Light that he didn't notice.

 

Approaching the door cautiously, Greg took a deep breath, pushing it open.

 

"Strange you would come to your bedroom."

 

Greg jumped back from the voice, which did nothing to alleviate the trepidation that was already in place. He resisted the instinct to leave, but only because another man was pointing a gun at him.

 

"Come in…I've been waiting for you," he said joyfully

 

Greg walked in the room slowly, bracing himself against the wall as soon as he was away from the doorframe. He was doing his best to try to distance himself from the stranger who seemed vaguely familiar. "What are you talking about? I don't even know you." His voice was bordering on hysterical as the other man began to close the gap between them.

 

"Don't say that," the man remarked calmly, anger slightly tingeing his tone as he paused in his movement. "Don't say you don't know me." He narrowed his eyes as he again starting walking towards Greg.

 

"Please, just…" It was one of those moments where Greg wished he'd listened to Sara. He didn't know what made him come here, but the dreams weren't worth this. Not his life.

 

Greg didn't care if something was telling him that this was where he needed to be. He scanned the room, taking in furniture, the paint on the walls and decoration. It was like nothing had changed and Greg's breath quickened when he realised he was in Emma's room…where they died, where Emma and Kenneth died.

 

"I-"

 

"I killed them for you," the man said softly, almost proudly as if it was some grand gesture that Greg was supposed to appreciate.

 

Greg tried to calm himself, his heart still racing as he tried to place where he'd seen the man before; something snapping into place when the other man gave a small smile. "You're the guy I saw at the antique store, the guy who called in Amanda's murder." Daniel, Greg thought silently to himself. "What are you-"

 

"I had to kill her…I needed to draw you out."

 

Greg looked at Daniel with disbelief, the emotion almost enough to replace the fear as his breath was caught in his throat. Somehow, the thought of Daniel killing those couples hurt more that the thought of the other man killing him.

 

"I could feel you…so close, but I didn't know any other way to get you come to me."

 

"I don't even have a girlfriend." Greg tried to reason, still against the wall as Daniel made his way around the bed, Greg's last line of defence. "And you're going to kill me, too?"

 

His hold on the gun wavering, Daniel stepped back. He stared at Greg in surprise, as if he'd been slapped. "I, I would never..." He approached Greg carefully, his gun lowering slightly as he tried to appear less intimidating. A flash of white lettering from the handle was caught in the light. "I would never…hurt you."

 

Greg mentally scoffed. It didn't look that way from his point of view, but he withheld from saying anything, knowing this wasn't the time nor was he in the position to be sarcastic.

 

"I've been following you for so long…hoping you would remember me like I remember you."

 

Greg found himself trapped in a corner as Daniel came closer.  He closed his eyes as the man reached out to touch the side of Greg's face; opening them only when the other man stepped back.

 

"We just have to wait for him…and then everything will be in place."

 

**

 

Nick tightened the grip on his gun, as he ascended the stairs. He already talked Sara into staying outside and waiting for back-up, not ashamed of using his background as a cop to convince her. They both couldn't go in and take the chance of something happening…especially not when the lights in the house were on as they pulled up, unnaturally bright against the night sky.

 

The notion that Greg wasn't alone didn't do much to quell Nick's fear as he stood with his back against the wall, waiting for the right time to come through the door. He already heard Greg's voice, desperate and something that tore at something inside of Nick.

 

But the feeling was pushed away when he heard the second male voice again, taking it as he cue to go in.

 

"Your eyes…they're as beautiful as I remember."

 

"Las Vegas Police!" Nick rushed into room, examining it quickly before his eyes focused on the other two men. His muscles tensed when saw that Greg backed in the corner, being held at gunpoint by the witness from the antique store.

 

The other man didn't seem surprised by his sudden entrance and the thought was enough to make Nick suspicious of his relationship with Greg…what he wanted with Greg. He knew it wasn't as simple as it seemed and that it somehow tied in with the Meads homicide and the missing revolver.

 

Especially since the one that Daniel was holding wasn't anything he'd seen from more recent decades.

 

"And there he is, now…just like I knew he would come. Always trying to take you away from me." Daniel stole a brief glance at Greg, laughing harshly to himself. "I'm surprised you didn't do anything when we first met like this," he said, motioning to his body with one hand. His other was holding the gun that was still pointed at Greg.

 

Not taking his eyes off Daniel, Nick spoke to him in a level voice. He hoped he could keep the other man at bay until Brass came. "Put the gun down…and step away from Greg."

 

Daniel looked at Greg strangely, face twisted as if he was appreciating some kind of cruel irony. "I like Greg…but I have to deal with father's name."

 

Greg found himself close to hyperventilating. He was on the verge of death, but strangely enough, the foremost thought travelling through his mind was whether or not Sara was with Nick. He couldn't help but wonder if he was just some kind of lure to trap Nick and Sara together…even if the thought didn't sit well with him.

 

Even so, he couldn't figure out who he would be from his dreams. If Nick was Kenneth and Sara was Emma…that left him as Jonathan, but he had a feeling that position was already taken.

 

"Tell me, Nick." Daniel said the name with disgust, raising the gun from Greg's chest and sliding the barrel upwards against his neck and stopping on his face, resting it on Greg's cheek. "Does this make you…uneasy?"

 

Greg felt his breath hitch, the cool metal of the gun pressing into his skin. He looked at Nick, panic in his eyes when he heard the gun being cocked loudly in his ears.

 

"All right…" Nick almost recoiled at the sheer terror on Greg's face. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, each beat making the seconds seem faster.  "…all right. It's obvious you don't like me, so just-"

 

"No," Daniel said almost petulantly, shaking his head adamantly. "You took her away from me!" he accused, his voice beginning to crack. He spoke again, this time making sure he was composed. The dramatic change made Greg shiver. "So, I'll take her away from you."

 

"No, look…" Nick held up his gun in surrender. "Look…I'm going to put it down…okay?"

 

Greg's breathing quickened when he saw Nick bending down to place his gun on the floor. He shook his head as he looked at Daniel, wondering what happened to never wanting to hurt him. "Daniel…" Greg decided to try something, anything. One false move could kill both him and Nick, but Greg didn't really think that's what Daniel wanted. "What are you talking about?" he asked slowly, trying not to jerk when Daniel's finger started shake…close to pulling the trigger of the gun.

 

He had to at least try to be the voice of reason.

 

Daniel wrapped his free arm around Greg's neck, peering at him with tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, making them glassy and distorting the visible portions of his eyes. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

 

Greg motioned his head as if he didn't know, truthfully not able to decide on a belief right now. Daniel was pressing the gun further into his cheek and it was pinching his skin. "I don't… don't-"

 

"Please…" Nick pleaded, using the other man's distraction as a means to get closer. His steps were slow and deliberate, but his voice was hurried, beginning to break. "Please…just let him-"

 

"Shut up!" Daniel yelled at Nick. "You don't have a right to speak." He turned back to Greg, voice immediately softening when he looked into the other man's dark eyes. "Do you believe in it…?"

 

Greg stared at Daniel…honestly trying to distinguish something about him and why Greg was so important to him. And then all the pieces were starting to fit…why he couldn't look at Jessica's dead body, how he found the music box, the dreams…why it hurt to think of Sara and Nick together. "Jonathan?" he asked breathlessly.

 

It was because Sara wasn't Emma.

 

He was.

 

"You remember me, now." Daniel remarked, a small smile on his face as his grip on the gun slightly loosened. "Now…all we have to do is get rid of him and-" He paused mid-sentence when he noticed Nick was closer to them than he was to the door.

 

"Stay away or I'll shoot her again, Kenneth!" Daniel looked at Nick warily as he tightened his hold on Greg. "You still couldn't make her happy. Even now, you still can't make her happy."

 

"Then, just take me instead, okay?" Nick offered amicably. Flashes of images were running through his head…images of something he'd never seen before but somehow had known all his life. And he finally began to understand…his feelings towards Greg…why he felt them so strongly.

 

He glanced at Greg, seeing something in the younger man's eyes that he was unconsciously waiting for.

 

"You're trying to trick me…and then you'll take my sister away from me again," Daniel said, sniffing as he narrowed his eyes at Nick.

 

"I promise…I don't want anything to happen to her, either." Nicked played along with Daniel, more concerned about getting Greg to safety. "I want her to be happy, too." The scenario was playing out like a nightmare he'd never had but always feared.

 

And he didn't think he'd be able keep himself together if it came true.

 

"LVPD, drop the weapon!"

 

Nick didn't know how they missed the sound of other people in the house, but he'd had never been so relieved to hear Brass' voice. He made himself breathe as he saw the detective and other officers pile into the room. However, it wasn't enough to make Daniel drop his gun.

 

Greg was still at the other man's mercy.

 

"I said drop your weapon!" Brass repeated, his muscles taunt as he held his own gun at Daniel. The only thing stopping him from shooting was the fact that the man had a hostage. And he couldn't risk Greg getting caught in the crossfire.

 

Daniel released the arm around Greg, shaking profusely as he suddenly aimed the gun at Nick, a barrage of weapons holding steady and furthering the sense of chaos in the room.

 

And then everything started to move slowly.

 

The world seemed to silence itself as Greg pushed away from Daniel, moving as fast as his body would allow and positioning himself in front of Nick.

 

He hazily heard his name as he fell on top of the older man, pushing them both to the ground.   The voice was beginning to sharpen as a barrage of bullets passed over them…the sounds of Daniel choking were violent and Greg could imagine the jerking of the other man's body.

 

And silence overtook the room once more.

 

Greg didn't want to believe it, but he knew Daniel would pull the trigger. And though they weren't truly related, some part of him had died, as well. He found himself dismayed by the fact that Jonathan still couldn't find peace.

 

Even in this life. 

 

And then he felt hands travelling over his body, eventually resting on his face. Realising he was squeezing his eyes shut, he opened one warily, deciding to open the other when he saw Nick look up at him hastily with no small amount of concern.

 

"Are you okay?"

 

"Yeah," Greg answered, surprised he hadn't been shot. He blinked, trying to control his breathing. "Are you all right?"

 

Nick sighed with relief, carefully framing Greg's face as he pulled the younger man down, their lips meeting in a chaste kiss.

 

"Nick…" Greg peered down at Nick, not sure what to say…not even sure how to take this whole night in. The fact that though Sara looked liked her, he was actually Emma…pairing that with the fact that the guy who was trying to kill him was technically his little brother…and Nick kissing him.

 

At least something good came out of the experience.

 

If he ignored whatever strange events it took to get there.

 

"You kissed me," Greg said, looking at the other man blankly. Not that he was adverse to Nick kissing him, but he wondered if that meant that Nick had gained Kenneth's memories like he did Emma's.

 

"I did," Nick replied simply, an endearing look on his face.

 

And Greg couldn't help but be enticed by it. "I hope you don't think I'm supposed to fall in your arms for something like that?"

 

Nick took notice of their position, his eyes communicating that it was good enough. "Is it working?" He smiled at Greg happily, running his hand through the other man's hair as he pulled him down again. Neither of them was paying attention to others in the room, more engaged in their kiss than anything else.

 

When he lifted his head, Greg laughed. He tried to contain his smile by burying his face in Nick's shoulder, his voice muffled against the other man's shirt. "Not even time, right?"

 

"I told you…for the rest of our lives."

 

 

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