Pandemic

title: Pandemic
fandom: CSI: Vegas
pairing: Nick/Gil
rating: R
series: The Seduction
sequel to: none
spoilers: none
author: nancy
email: the_tenth_muse1@yahoo.com
website: http://www.thetenthmuse1.madbrilliant.com/
feedback: yes, please!
archive: let me know!
summary: Grissom is the prize in a fight to control the future of Las Vegas.

Even as used to the weather as he was, after almost thirty years in what used to be Las Vegas , Gil couldn't help but think about moving to a more temperate climate as the summer sun beat down mercilessly. Long gone were the days of air conditioned buildings for those outside the relative protection and beneficence of Sam Braun. Or, to a lesser extent, the Sheriff. Neither man had any liking for Gil, though, so it was the sweltering ruins of the city for him.

Not for the first time, he wondered what kept him tied to a city where he was, essentially, persona non grata, left alive only because of the occasional use they had for him. He certainly wasn't left alone in the battered building which used to house the Las Vegas Public Library.

Scanning the fairly busy street as he adjusted the woven hat on his head, Gil found the food stall he'd been looking for and headed for it.

Brenda smiled at his approach and called out, "Grissom! Haven't seen you for a while!"

Smiling back, the clear and friendly green eyes a nice welcome, Gil replied, "I've been busy."

"You're the only man I know who actually has a job the way it used to be," she teased, holding out a smallish apple.

Taking it eagerly, Gil brought it up to his nose to inhale the long-forgotten scent. "How on earth did you get apples?"

She half-grimaced, half-smiled as she answered, "Braun and the Sheriff have put together some kind of consortium with people in farming states. Don't know the particulars, but it looks like some kind of government's coming back. And it only took thirty years. Not too shabby, huh, Grissom?"

Gil snorted at the sarcasm and decided against agreement, at least verbally. Braun had ears everywhere and he was already on the man's shit-list for better reasons. No need to add to the tally. "How much?"

Sighing, Gil agreed, "I know, I do, but I could use his help on an experiment. He's the only one I know that has ready access to iron ore."

"I told you, an experiment. Can you try to get hold of him for me?" Gil asked, flashing her his most pleading look.

Brenda heaved her own sigh and wagged a finger at him. "If I weren't married, you'd be tied to my bed, scholar."

Chuckling, knowing that she'd just agreed, he replied, "I'm much better looking with my clothes on, trust me, Brenda."

"Oh, I doubt that," she muttered. Louder, she continued, "You know that Braun's looking for you, right?"

"Just here and there, wandering the desert," he answered. "With the rainstorm a few weeks ago, it was the perfect time to study the flora and fauna that came directly thereafter."

Brenda's look was both fond and baffled. "Only you, Gil. Anyhow, you should hightail it on over to the casino."

After a quick kiss good-bye, Gil turned and headed down the boulevard to the Grande Casino from where Sam Braun ruled half of Las Vegas . Security nodded to him at the front door and let him through. Everyone knew enough not to mess with the pet scholar that Braun kept on a tight leash. It was a leash that chafed, but Gil submitted because he simply wasn't a fighter. As long as Sam gave him the equipment and materials he needed, and kept the Sheriff from skinning him alive, he would continue to make himself useful to the de facto warlord.

Walking to the back office where Sam spent his days, Gil nodded to the various women he knew who worked as waitstaff in the casino. Despite the worldwide devastation left in the plague's wake thirty years ago, there were pockets of ‘civilization' where electricity and air conditioning and food on demand were all available. Las Vegas was a shadow of her former self, but like a grand dame, she survived everything the world could throw at her.

Gil knocked sharply at the office door and waited until Sam called for him to enter. The office was as opulent now as it had been thirty years ago; more so really, given that the world around it had gone downhill. As he wasn't offered a seat, Gil stood before the desk. When Sam's cold gaze landed on him, he had the sudden thought that perhaps he'd just walked meekly to the slaughter, like a lamb.

The man's lips thinned a bit at Gil's continued use of his first name, something that he'd never given in on, in the fifteen years they'd known one another. Gil refused to be intimidated into calling Sam, ‘Mr. Braun,' like everyone else.

"I thought we had a pretty good arrangement," Sam announced, leaning back in his chair. "You do what I say and I don't kill you, or let anyone else kill you."

This can't be good, Gil thought, wondering what he'd done this time to piss off the other man. Nodding neutrally, he agreed, "We do."

"Then why is it when you were supposed to be here two weeks ago, you were nowhere to be found? Why it is that when you were supposed to lend your expertise to help cement a deal with those lunatics at the Dam?"

Gil froze, suddenly remembering exactly what Sam was talking about. He sighed and apologized, "I'm so sorry, Sam, I completely forgot. When the rain fell three weeks ago, all I could think about was getting out to the desert to study the resulting flora growth to document everything. So much was lost in The Fire and you know how passionate I am about recreating what I can."

"That it can get you killed," Sam snapped. "I'm tired of you running off to play scientist when I need you here, Grissom! I won't have it anymore. I won't have that kind of insult in front of people who can bring a lot of life back to this town."

Wary shifted into outright fear, but Gil controlled it enough to ask, "So what are you going to do about it?"

"You're going to accompany my son, Walt, out to that desert you love so much. Once he finds an appropriate spot, he's going to make his bones, on yours."

The words were so flat and unemotional that Gil knew there was no finding a way out of it. Sam had made up his mind, and that was that. Still, he also knew that life would always find a way and wasn't quite ready to give up. There was the trip out to the desert, after all, and if it was just Walt, Gil knew he could find a way free.

"And in case you get any ideas about escape," Sam continued. "If you do get free of Walt, then every person you consider a friend in the city will be paid a midnight visit."

It was a euphemism for being killed in their sleep and Gil flinched at the threat. He had a lot of friends in the city, even if only a few were close. The thought of their deaths being on his conscience was unacceptable. Steeling himself, Gil asked, "Is there anything I can do to change your mind? We've had a long, mutually profitable relationship until now, Sam."

A dark amusement surfaced on the craggy face and Sam replied, "Even when you beg for your life, you do it in a way that's dignified. Okay. You get down on your knees, right now, and beg me properly, and I'll consider sparing your life."

Gil wasn't a fighter and never had been. His weapons were words and a strong moral fiber that didn't allow him to bend. A double edged sword, he now acknowledged, as it refused to let him do the one thing that could save his life. Drawing himself up, Gil informed him, "You're making a mistake here, Sam, and I wish I could make you see it."

Turning and leaving the office, Gil couldn't help but wonder what he'd done in a previous life to merit such an end.

It was a gorgeous night. Not bitter cold like the desert could sometimes get, but just cold enough to sharpen the senses. Nick wasn't, unfortunately, in the desert enjoying what the night had to offer. Instead, he lounged against the alley wall behind the Grand, waiting patiently for Junior's exit with the scholar.

They'd had someone posted for over a week, once word had leaked out to them about what Braun had in store for the man. And while none of them save Catherine knew him personally, no one would let him die. He simply knew too much to let that happen. He was a true doctor in the old sense of the world, with the training and the knowledge to save lives, instead of the haphazard learning the rest of them had from growing up in a world without schools or teachers.

He knew that the old man wouldn't let Grissom go out the front. There would be too many witnesses, too many people who knew and liked the scholar. Too many people willing to question just where Junior was taking him. Grissom was the kind of spark of rebellion that men like Braun avoided lighting at all costs. All it would take was one shout for help from him and people would swarm all over the man to save him. Catherine insisted that Grissom wouldn't make that call, though, which was why they were staging a rescue.

It was close to midnight that the back door finally opened and by then, Nick was cold enough to be glad of the coming action. Walt was a solid wall of lean muscle, just like most of their generation. It took being fit and strong just to stay alive in most parts of the world where food was scarce and the powerful ones were the ones who called the shots. Nick was looking forward to finding out just how strong the bastard who stood to inherit the kingdom was against someone who could fight back. He'd heard too many tales of rape and assault on weaker men by Walt not to be eager for the fight, even if it hadn't been cold.

Sauntering out into the middle of the alley, Nick stated flatly, "I'm taking him from you."

Walt stopped short, looking at him in surprise. "What the hell would you want to do that for?"

"Because I value what you're throwing away," Nick informed him. "You gonna fight for him, or give him over like the coward you are?"

The two of them met in the center of the alley, Walt shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it aside. Nick wound his arms around a few times, warming up, then twisted side to side and cracked his neck. Giving the astonished scholar a look, Nick winked and told him, "Don't worry, Grissom, this won't take long."

Walt rushed him, almost taking him by surprise, but Nick stepped aside at the last second and let the man's own momentum carry him passed. Spinning neatly, keeping his balance, Nick waited for the next charge, hands loose and easy at his sides. When the other man turned back to him, Nick taunted, "What's the matter, Walt? Afraid you're going to lose and have to tell Daddy you fucked up? Couldn't even win a fair fight? Oh, that's right! The Braun's don't know the meaning of the words."

The fight started in earnest then, the punches fast and hard enough that Nick had to concentrate and keep his defenses up. They traded punches for several minutes, each getting past the other's moves. Nick's head rocked back a few times, his cheek and lip cut open from the ring on Walt's finger. He got his own licks in, though, cracking his fist against Walt's jaw hard enough to send the man staggering backwards. And then Walt proved his words true by bringing up his knee at Nick's crotch. He managed to deflect the blow, but lost his balance in the process and went down. A kick to his gut landed next, expelling all his air and graying out his vision. It was only the sight of Grissom's blanched and worried gaze that cut through the painful haze, focusing him.

Nick grabbed the foot as it came down again and twisted it violently. He both heard and felt the snap of bone that brought Walt down practically on top of him, the other man shouting in pain and immediately curling up into a ball. Rolling to his feet, Nick wasn't surprised to find Braun and his goons standing in the back of the alley by the casino exit. He spit the blood from his mouth and strode forward, stepping between Grissom and the ones who wanted him dead.

Smirking a bit, Nick answered, "The name's Stokes and this man is now under my protection."

Grissom seemed to startle a bit at the hand Nick put on his shoulder, but then recovered rapidly and exclaimed, "I didn't know this was going to happen, Sam, you have to believe me. I don't even know this man!"

"He doesn't," Nick confirmed easily. "But you both know Catherine Willows and I report to her. So suck it up, boys, and take Grissom off your hit-list before the shit really hits the fan."

Looking like he'd swallowed something unpleasant, Braun gave a wordless snarl then commanded a couple of the goons, "Pick up my son and get him out of my sight. And as for the two of you...tell Catherine I'm giving her this one."

Nick palmed the dagger on his belt and threw it so that it barely missed Braun's cheek, the blade slamming into the wall behind him with quivering force. "You didn't give her nothing. I took this man from you and if you want him back, you gotta come through me. Get it?"

Braun's lips twitched in something like amusement, but he turned and yanked the dagger out of the wall and returned it to him.

Turning his back on the men as he sheathed the dagger, Nick put his hand back on Grissom's shoulder and ordered not unkindly, "Move, Grissom, we've got territory to cover."

Grissom didn't protest, not that he really could have given what Nick had just done to secure his life, if not his freedom. It sucked, but that was the way things were. The strong ruled the weak or those unwilling to take power and Grissom, for all his talents and knowledge, wasn't the kind to fight. His willingness to go to the slaughter proved that.

Neither talked as they walked down the Boulevard, though Grissom jumped in surprise when Warrick joined them halfway down the block. He gave the black man a quick, nervous look, but didn't comment on his arrival, for which Nick gave him credit; the man was no coward. They walked a good mile before coming to the smallish hotel that they'd taken as their living space. It was in decent condition and only had two floors, which made it easy to get around even in the deadly summer heat. There was a pool which caught water to be purified into drinking water on the few days a year that it rained, which was a bonus. The iron fence surrounding the property was another bonus and they made sure that it stayed in excellent condition. He nodded to Jerry and Nina who were on guard duty at the front gate and they gave the trio a curious look, but let them pass without question.

Catherine had designated the room suite beside her own as Grissom's, but Nick and Warrick walked the man to her rooms first. It was both to check in with her and give the shell shocked man a familiar face with which to connect. Only seconds after Warrick knocked, the door was yanked open and Catherine let out a happy, wordless exclamation and threw her arms around Grissom.

Nick turned away from the reunion to give them privacy, smacking Warrick on the shoulder when his friend looked on, somewhat jealously. Gray eyes flashed the other man's irritation, but Nick ignored it. Warrick was all bark, when it came to his friends and family.

Looking back at them, he found Catherine's arm around Grissom's waist with her happily leaning on him.

"We've got a lot to catching up to do, so why don't you two get some sleep. We'll see you at breakfast."

"Wait, do you have a first name, or do you really go by Stokes?" Grissom questioned.

The older man half-smiled at him and replied, "Thank you, Nick, for the rescue. Are you going to be all right? I can clean you up."

"Nah, I'm good," Nick assured him, waving him off. "Go catch up. I'll let Warrick fix my ugly mug. Night, Cath. Night, Grissom."

He watched them go inside then looked at Warrick in surprise when the other man started laughing. Defensive without even knowing why, he demanded, "What is your problem?"

"Man, Nick, if you could see your face!" Warrick finally gasped out. "It's finally happened."

"I'm talking about payback for all the comments you've made about my love life over the last five years," Warrick told him smugly.

Feeling more exhausted than he could remember being in a long time, Gil all but collapsed on the empty bed, sinking into its soft depths with a groan.

With a soft laugh, Catherine teased, "You'd think you'd never been on a bed before."

"If you say this thing has magic fingers, I will be your slave for a year," he informed her, not opening his eyes.

He groaned again when the machine turned on, shaking the bed gently. "God, that feels so good."

Cracking an eyelid, he found her smiling down at him and questioned dryly, "Why do I sense a set-up here?"

Gil sighed and pushed reluctantly into a sitting position. "And what would that be?"

"A teacher. We have a lot of talented young people here, and no one to pass down the knowledge. If we don't act soon, what's left of the world will go back to just another stone age. Or, if we're lucky, a bronze one," Catherine stated.

Waving his hand vaguely at their surroundings, he asked, "So you're in charge of all this?"

Lips twisting into an unpleasant expression, Catherine explained, "The Sheriff decided that he wanted to play God one night and they lost three people when they didn't have to lose any. Jim soured on him after that and made his way here after a couple of years."

She half-smiled for real at that, tone distant as she explained, "Five years now. It's been a long, strange trip, my friend and later, when you're not so exhausted that you can barely see straight, I'll tell you all about it. Come on, let's get you into your own bed."

As intensely curious as he was, Gil knew that she was right. He'd been traveling for three days straight, on foot, and after the night's emotional turmoil, he was ready to collapse for real. That settled, he followed her into the next set of rooms to find them almost identical and gave her a wry smile.

"Not the Grand, but the company's better," she said, kissing his cheek. "I won't expect you at breakfast."

It wasn't until after she'd gone that he realized he hadn't thanked her for her part in saving him. Rubbing gritty eyes, Gil stumbled to the bed and simply fell upon it, not even attempting to stay awake.

Grissom didn't show up in the common area to eat until about one that afternoon, but there was no doubt he was the better for all that rest and a shower. Clean now, with his beard neatly trimmed, Nick could now see what the fuss was about. Instead of a scraggly, unkempt man in baggy clothes and a strangely effeminate hat, there was a distinguished looking man with a sharp gaze.

Seeing Grissom look around the somewhat crowded room for a familiar face, Nick stood up and waved to catch his attention. A relieved smile surfaced, practically illuminating the man's face, and he hurried over to the long table, sitting beside Nick.

"Thank you. I'm afraid I don't do well with new people. I probably would have gone back to my room and waited for Catherine to find me."

"Starving," Grissom confirmed. "But an introverted nature generally overrides physical needs. Or, mine does at least."

"Well, help yourself," Nick urged, grabbing a basket of rolls and holding it to the other man.

Instead of taking one, Grissom looked apologetic and reached for an apple. "I'm afraid that my stomach's been on the lean side for too long to just dive right in, despite my appearance."

Nick frowned, not sure what he meant, but Catherine arrived with Warrick and Greg before he could ask about it.

Holding out a hand, Warrick said, "We didn't officially meet last night, but I'm Warrick."

Grissom took the hand and replied, "It's good to meet you, Warrick. Thank you for the escort here last night. I'm sure you had other things you'd rather have been doing."

That was when Greg jumped into action, literally, hopping onto Grissom's lap with a loud cry of, "Daddy! I knew you'd come back for me!" and planting a big, wet one on his lips.

Jerking back from the unexpected contact, Grissom looked so aghast at Greg's actions that Nick couldn't help but laugh at his expression. There were chuckles all around, even as Warrick pulled Greg off the frozen man's lap.

Catherine giggled as she introduced, "Gil, that's Greg, he's kind of our welcome wagon."

"Yeah, and if you want a ride, you just let me know," Greg told him, winking, leaning back against Warrick.

"All right, I think you've freaked him out enough for one day," Catherine said, still smiling. "Why don't you boys go have fun while the grownups talk?"

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Nick got to his feet and nodded a goodbye to Grissom before tugging Greg into a neck-lock and giving him a noogie.

Nick swatted him on the ass as the younger man made a run for it, then grinned at Warrick and asked, "So where were you three earlier?"

"Got word from the boys at the Dam. Seems they want to talk, now we got Grissom," Warrick told him.

That sobered Nick up fast. "Word travels a little too fast for comfort around here."

"No kidding," Warrick agreed, grim. "We need to get things stocked up and fortified because you know that Braun's not going to take this lying down."

"What on earth was that about?" Gil demanded, still feeling the illusory impression of the thin young man on his thighs. It was more contact than he'd had with another person in a good number of years.

Gil looked at the uneaten apple in his hand and shook his head. "No, I just sat down before you got here."

Quirking an eyebrow at her, Gil decided that wasn't worth arguing over and filled his plate with a small portion of eggs and bacon.

Catherine thought a moment, then said, "Nick found Greg about two years ago, trading his body for food and safety. Only it didn't work out with his last sugar daddy because Nick found the bastard beating Greg to within an inch of his life. He brought Greg home and we fixed him up, but…the damage is done. Greg was abused from a very early age on by a series of men and women, most of whom either used him sexually or had him doing drudgery work for them. Sometimes both.

"It took a good year or so before he really understood that he didn't have to warm anyone's bed in order to stay. One of us would wake up with him in the bed every morning, the poor kid begging to do something for us. We made sure that everyone who stayed here understood that he wasn't to be touched, or ordered around about anything, on penalty of banishment, no second chances given. Now, well, he's still a lot freer with his body than I think is good for him, but I test him every three weeks to make sure he doesn't catch anything and make sure that he uses a condom. Or, I've let it be known to him that I'll be disappointed if he doesn't, which I think does the trick," Catherine finished.

Catherine smiled wryly. "A mother-figure that he still propositions about once a month, but yes, for the most part. He knows that I set the rules and expect them to be obeyed. He's really a very sweet kid, Gil, and if you could maybe instill a little discipline, I think we'd find out what he was truly capable of doing. He's so smart that it's a crime he hasn't had any real education. We all take turns teaching the kids and he sits in on the grammar and math lessons, but he's pretty much surpassed us in the science department."

"So what about the rest of them? Nick and Warrick? And how did you manage to get yourself set up here?" Gil questioned.

"Let's see. I knew Warrick from a little trouble he had in one of Sam's casinos about six years ago," Catherine explained, half-smiling. "We just clicked, you know? We've been together ever since."

"I remember Sam being very pissed when you took off, but then he never mentioned you again. What happened when you left, I presume, with Warrick?"

Eyes distant with memory, Catherine explained, "It was rough, that first year. But then we hooked up with Nick and Sophia and started this place. It seemed to just grow exponentially after that, people knowing that they would find safety and somewhere to raise their kids without fear of the casinos and lawlessness. Then Sara and Jim showed up a couple of years ago and it seemed like the team was missing only one more person. You."

Gil flushed a little at her warm tone, focusing on the eggs as he ate a few more mouthfuls.

"In any case, things are running very smoothly now," Catherine said. "And with you here, things will get even better."

"Catherine, my being here isn't some kind of miracle pill to fix everything," Gil cautioned.

Gil's first day at The Ranch, as everyone seemed to call the hotel, was a busy one. After brunch, he was given a full tour of the facilities and outbuildings; they held the two hotels to either side of the main one, as well. He was introduced to Sara and Sophia on the run, which didn't give him any time to form a real impression of the women, and they met up with Jim towards the end of the tour. It wasn't exactly a happy reunion, given how they'd last parted, but Gil was satisfied that he didn't have to worry about the man.

By the time it was dark, he was exhausted again and about to pass out from lack of food. The common area was packed, but he followed Catherine to a table that held a few extra spots open for them. Gil found himself sitting between Catherine and Nick, for which he was grateful. There was something about the solid young man that was reassuring, even comforting to him. Probably a leftover trauma from his brush with execution, but Gil didn't really care.

Dinner turned out to be hamburgers and French fries on homemade buns. Gil hadn't had anything like it in a very long time and ate slowly, savoring his food.

"So Catherine says you had enough education to have a specialty before the ‘demic hit," Nick said, smiling. "Mind if I ask what it was?"

Gil half-smiled in response to the open smile aimed his way and answered, "Strangely enough, it was pathology. I'd just finished medical school on an advanced degree program when it hit. I spent a lot of time in the lab trying to figure out what was going on, let me tell you."

Shaking his head, Gil replied, "The best that I could guess from what little information was available, was that it was a mutated virus from West Africa . Once it hit here, everything changed."

"Pretty much," Gil confirmed. "If I'd had the original virus, I may have been able to follow the derivatives, but without that, I had nothing to work with."

"So, what about the second ‘demic? Why'd that pop up?" Warrick asked, across the table. "I mean, that was twelve years later, man. Shouldn't the bug have been gone by then?"

Warming to his subject, Gil answered, "You would be amazed at how long, and where, a virus can lay, dormant, for decades at a time. Longer, even. Really, it was something of an anomaly that we hadn't been hit by anything serious since the influenza epidemic back in 1918. Modern medicine had all but eliminated the usual suspects, Polio and Consumption among others, so it really wasn't all that surprising that nature would find a more severe way to deal with the strain."

Gil motioned around the room and replied, "Humanity. We're a burden on the whole planet, when you think about it. We consumed everything in our path and gave back almost nothing. Wiping out so many of us was a way of resetting the clock, so to speak, ensuring that the planet wouldn't be overtaxed by a population that it truly couldn't support."

Everyone thought over his words for a couple of minutes, then Greg piped up, "So that means there could be another ‘demic at any time."

Gil nodded and confirmed, "There could, yes, but if it's anything like the last two, then there'll be nothing anyone can do. Those who survive, for whatever reason, survive and rebuild. Mankind is wonderfully adaptive, in that respect."

"I don't know about anyone else," Warrick said into the ensuing silence. "But that brought down my whole damn night. Greg! Go get Nick's guitar, we're going to have a little jamming session."

Abruptly flushing as he realized just how depressing what he'd said would sound, Gil lowered his head and started eating. At least if his mouth was full, he couldn't start talking again.

Nick briefly touched his shoulder and told him, "Hey, if we didn't want to know, we wouldn't have asked."

Gil washed down the fry with some water, then said, "I tend to forget that even when a question is asked, and an answer wanted, the most straightforward isn't always the best."

"The truth is always the best answer," Nick countered firmly. "We can take it, Grissom. Don't go easy on us because we're novices. We're here to learn."

Nick looked at him in surprise. "Well yeah. I thought Cath told you that we want you to teach us."

Catherine spoke up quickly with, "I'm sorry, Gil, I didn't mean to mislead you. I just wanted you to settle in first."

Teaching children was one thing, but adults? Gil opened his mouth to say that he absolutely couldn't do it but Nick beat him to the punch with, " Please, Grissom? You know so much and we've only been able to pick up scraps here and there. Even if you just dictate what you know to one person and then they go and do the teaching, that would be a hell of a lot more than we know now."

The dark eyes that met his were pleading and Grissom thought about what it must be like, to not have the kind of knowledge that you absolutely craved to know. To be teased with books that promised things you couldn't quite understand. He hesitated, then looked at Catherine and said, "I guess, I suppose if just a few people were in the class, I could manage?"

And while Catherine's word meant a lot more to her than most others, she was a Braun by nature, so Gil took it with a shaker of salt.

It was a good three hours later before the nightly get-together broke up, everyone going their separate ways, either to bed or guard duty. There was an impromptu meeting in Catherine and Warrick's rooms and Nick didn't waste any time once he'd settled on the extra chair with Greg on his lap.

"Man, I thought he was going to bolt, Cath," Nick scolded. "How could you just spring it on him like that?"

Greg made a protesting noise at Nick's movement, so Nick brushed his hand over his back. Heaving a sleepy sigh, Greg, snuggled in closer and muttered, "Comfy. Stop moving."

Catherine grimaced at Nick and pointed out, "You're the one who did the springing, Nick, not me."

"That doesn't solve the problem of who to put in the class," Warrick interrupted.

Sitting on Warrick's lap and leaning her head on his shoulder, Catherine said, "I'm too tired to think about it. You guys figure something out."

Warrick snorted, but rubbed a hand up and down her spine. "What do you think, Nick?"

"Well, I know I damn well better be in it," Nick stated, making sure not to disturb Greg this time.

Following the blonde into Catherine and Warrick's suite was Sara, who looked about as amused as Sophia. "You know, if you two want to get a room together, I'm sure Catherine wouldn't mind watching."

"Mmmm….absolutely not," Catherine agreed, drowsy. "One of my favorite fantasies."

Nick felt his face go hot, which meant he turned bright red at that revelation and he groaned, "I did not need to know that, Cath."

Trying not to get irritated, taking charge was just Sara's way, Nick said, "I think all of us would be a little much for Grissom. You saw him."

Sophia sat on the short dresser and tugged Sara down in front of her, putting her arms around Sara's waist and resting her chin on Sara's shoulder. "How about you, Warrick, and Sara? That would be small enough, right?"

Nick glanced at Warrick, who shrugged and said, "I got plenty to keep me going right around here. You go on to school without me."

Which of course, made Nick think about the fact that he would essentially be bailing. "No, I mean, you shouldn't have to do it on your own, man. I'll stick around and help."

"You're going," Catherine stated, not in the least bit sleepy. "I haven't seen Gil take to someone like he did to you since…well…ever, really. I think Nick and Sara are a good start."

Warrick grinned and said, "The woman has spoken. Now y'all get out my crib so we can get with some sleep."

Nick snorted, but nudged Greg to his feet and then stood as well. Greg immediately latched onto him, hands in Nick's back pockets, and sleepily followed him back to his rooms at the far corner of the ranch. Sara and Sophia's set were only two doors down from him, so they all walked there in companionable silence.

Nick waved and opened his own door, giving Greg a fond look as he observed, "I'm not sleeping alone tonight, am I?"

"I don't think that's a word, Greg-o," Nick teased, shoving him gently towards the bed.

It wasn't too long before they were both stripped down to boxers and under the covers, clothes flung wherever, to be picked up in the morning. With Greg attached like a leech, Nick settled in to think about the strangeness of his life. Going from a real ranch in Texas , the youngest of six, to a hotel in Vegas where he basically ran things with his two best friends. Not to mention Greg. And now Grissom. How would they fit together? Would they? Was Grissom even interested in him like that, or was it too soon for the other man to even think that way. It had only been twenty-four hours since he'd thought he was going to die, after all.

Nick sighed as he realized insomnia would, once again, be his unwelcome guest that night.

Gil watched as the group exited Catherine's rooms, minus Warrick of course, and headed down the sidewalk to other rooms. Greg was literally hanging on to Nick, which told him exactly how the land lay with them, and Sara and Sophia also seemed to be a couple. It seemed that, once again, he was the only one going without.

Sighing to himself, Gil walked over to his backpack and pulled out his journal, sitting at the desk to get some writing done, which he hadn't since his trek back from the desert.

Despite all the uncertainty and potential heartache the may come from lingering here, it feels as though I've finally reached a kind of Terra Firma. I have a great reluctance to give it up.

Gil closed the leather bound journal and rubbed his eyes before returning it to its place at the bottom of the backpack. It was getting late and, suspecting that the following day would be even busier than this one, he began to get ready for bed.

The first thing Grissom wanted to do was return to the LVPL to get as many books as possible. Not something that Nick was particularly looking forward to, given that the library was on the other side of town and they would have to bike it in serious heat, then load themselves and the baskets down with, presumably, heavy books. He wasn't even sure that Grissom could take such an exertion.

"Look, Grissom, just give me a list of what you want and me and Greg'll go get them for you," Nick said, squinting up at the sun that was climbing steadily higher.

Nick smacked his shoulder without even looking at him and continued, "I don't think it's a good idea for you to make the trip."

"The summer sun's nothing to mess with, man," Nick countered seriously, silently adding, Especially not at your age, whatever it is.

Grissom's smile increased at that and he questioned, "Especially not at my age?"

Man, that's spooky, Nick thought in surprise. Clearing his throat, he said uncomfortably, "I only meant that..."

Holding up a hand, Grissom told him, "I need to go. You'll never find the books where I've got them hidden, not without me present. As for expiring from the heat, I spend days at a time in the desert, Nick. I hardly think a cross-town jaunt will do me in. You can use the bike and I'll walk. I walk everywhere, so you'll find I can keep a good pace."

He'd lost the argument, even though he didn't know how. The man was stubbornness personified, and he'd only known him less than two days. Nick scowled and replied, "If you drop dead on the trip, Catherine's gonna hold me responsible, just so you know."

The neutral tone caught his attention, but looking over at Grissom, his expression was unreadable. Lips pursed as he thought how best to answer, Nick finally explained, "Well, we're not, really. Greg goes to whoever he wants, whenever he wants. He's...a free spirit, I guess they used to call his type."

Confusion surfaced on Grissom's face and he questioned, "You don't sleep together?"

Nick shook his head and clarified, "I didn't say that. It's just...Greg's...even if I wanted to tie him down, which I don't, I couldn't. I don't think he really understands that two people can be together like that and be equal partners. Poor guy."

Grissom made a noise that could've been taken for either agreement or dissent, which was the perfect opportunity for Nick to find out a little more about the scholar. "What about you? Ah, I mean, you have anyone special in your life?"

Surprised by the instant response, Nick opened his mouth to question him further when Greg arrived with the bikes. Silently cursing the bad timing, Nick took one of them and said, "After you, Grissom. We'll keep pace."

Shouldering the worn backpack that had been resting on the pavement and putting on that ridiculous hat, Grissom offered a brief smile and started walking. The pace was brisk enough that Nick doubted the man would be able to keep it up for long. He motioned for Greg to go on ahead of him and then started pedaling.

It was more than a surprise to find that Grissom could, indeed, keep up that pace the entire trip to the library. They stopped three times for a water break, but the man was absolutely tireless. Nick's respect for the man before then had been purely for his mind and reputation; after that walk, after getting a true measure of the man's grit, his respect surged ever higher. They reached the library just after noon and Nick was grateful for the coolness they found inside the dark building.

Nick laughed, sharing the good humor, and griped good-naturedly, "Yeah, yeah, go ahead and gloat. Let's eat and then we can find the books you need and start back."

Lunch was a relaxed affair of leftover chicken and raw vegetables and lots of water. Half the weight on the trip there was just water, keeping them from dehydrating. The trip back would be longer out of necessity, since they would be weighed down more, but have less resources.

Grissom was a workhorse when it came to loading up the books, too, though Nick was less surprised by that. It was fascinating to see the care with which the man handled the falling-apart books. The covers were worn, some even hanging partially off, and Grissom touched them all with a reverence that Nick had only seen on his father's face as he'd caressed his newly deceased wife, sixteen years ago. He had a sudden and fierce desire to be on the receiving end of that exact look and had to turn away to get control of himself.

Greg came up behind him, nuzzling at his throat and whispering, "You just gotta step up to the plate, Nick," before gliding away to help put the rest of the books in place.

It amazed him every time that he caught sight of Greg's romantic streak. Nick hadn't a clue how it had survived the younger man's growing-up. He'd been instrumental in bringing Sara and Sophia together and Nick suspected that a number of other couples at the ranch had gotten help from Greg-as-Cupid.

Offering his friend a wry smile, Nick returned to his work of filling his basket as Grissom and Greg chattered about the molecular makeup of ice, of all things.

"There are a couple of works of literature that I want to bring as well, but they're in another location," Grissom said when the last were put away. "I'll be right back."

Irritated, Grissom retorted prissily, "I can take perfectly good care of myself in my own home, Nick."

Nick just smiled pleasantly to show that he could be just as stubborn. He was Texan, after all.

Gil flushed on hearing Greg's words, sure that for whatever reason, the young man was mocking him. He briefly considered not getting the books that had come to mind, prompted by talking with Greg, but dismissed that as childish. Greg was young and ignorant, a bad combination. If he was to make anything of himself, whatever could be made from the ruins of their civilization, Gil had to make sure that he had a well-rounded education. That included Shakespeare as well as Newton , and Chaucer as well as Curie.

Glad that the flush had subsided by then, Gil checked his steps long enough for Nick to fall in beside him. Eager to keep the conversation from himself, Gil said, "They're just over here, in the office where I sleep."

Nick had a curious look on his face as he looked around the room that had become Gil's home over the years. Gil did his best to ignore the other man entirely as he packed the few belongings that he kept there into his backpack. Next were the treasured books he had memorized after so many readings.

A little suspicious, Gil searched his face for any teasing, but found none. His gaze dropped and he replied lightly, "If you mean by old and dusty, then you're absolutely right. I think I have everything, so let's..."

Nick stopped him with a finger over Gil's mouth and a frown as he asked, "Why do you put yourself down like that?"

Pulling back from the contact, doing his best not to respond physically, Gil answered, "I'm simply stating a fact, Nick. We'd better leave before we lose too much time."

Nick followed, but not immediately, for which Gil was thankful. It gave him time to reinforce the walls that kept him safe.

No one had ever accused Nick of being spontaneous, but that didn't bother him. He considered thoroughness to be a desirable personality trait and would rather be thought of as dependable, than fun. His talent for planning things out to the last detail had kept him and his friends alive more than once, over the years, and he'd grown to trust his gut instinct. It had only let him down once before, and he'd only been a kid at the time, so Nick figured that he was allowed.

He spent the next few days watching Grissom and forming an opinion about the man. He listened intently to all the lectures, taking notes and soaking in the information like a sponge, but he was more interested in how the information was dispensed. Greg had shown up unexpectedly on the second day, causing their erstwhile teacher to flush unaccountably at first, even as he'd motioned Greg to a seat.

Nick observed the way Grissom interacted with the others who lived at the ranch and came to the conclusion that he really didn't. Grissom invariably managed to either just be leaving when a big group descended, or took refuge in a book large enough to discourage conversation. The only people Nick saw him actually talk to were the ones in Catherine's immediate circle of friends, with the exception of Jim. The two older men circled one another like wary old bucks looking for an opening, which was just one more mystery to add to the rest.

After five days, Nick finally cornered Catherine alone after the nightly gathering had broken up. Warrick was out with Jim and Sara on patrol, so Nick knew he had a good hour to pick the woman's brain.

"You know what I could really go for right now?" Catherine told him, looking wistful.

She sighed. "A gallon of black raspberry ice cream. God, you wouldn't believe how bad I want a freezing cold bowl of it right now."

Chuckling a little, Catherine waved it off and said, "Never mind. What can I do for you, Nick?"

"Yeah, I was wondering how long it would take you to ask about him," Catherine confirmed. "You held out longer than I thought, actually."

Nick shrugged, then commented, "He really does think that he's not worth anything, doesn't he?"

Rubbing her eyes, Catherine sat on the bed beside him and rested her head against his shoulder. "I have never once, in ten years, heard the man say something positive about himself. Not even that he's got good penmanship, which he does. It's absolutely beautiful, when he's not trying to cram a gazillion things into a tiny notebook."

"But, why?" Nick demanded. "I mean, the guy's smarter than anyone I've ever known!"

Catherine sat upright again and replied, "Because he's Grissom. Who knows how his mind works? Honestly, Nicky, I don't understand half of what he says and I'm no dummy. I think part of it comes from having been alone for so long. As far as I know, Grissom's never been in a relationship with anyone, except maybe a college girlfriend before the virus wiped everything out. He was an only child of a deaf mother, who raised him on her own. I think his father died when he was about ten. If the world hadn't gone to hell in a handbasket...well...who knows? Maybe his brilliance would have been used to better the world, instead of used by Braun and the Sheriff for less than auspicious things."

Something clicked in Nick's head and he guessed, "That's why he and Jim don't get along. He doesn't trust that Jim's not still working for the Sheriff."

"You'll have to get that from Gil, if you can. And I wouldn't recommend asking, not at this stage in the game, anyhow."

Knowing that tone meant that he wouldn't get anything more on the subject, Nick moved on to, "Does he like guys? Do I even have a shot?"

Catherine smiled and cupped his face as she replied, "If anyone stands a chance, Nicky, it's you."

"But, how?" Nick exclaimed, frustrated. "I can barely get two words out of him that's not science related."

Catherine petted his hand and informed him, "He likes opera and roller coasters. You can start there."

"Great. One requires electricity and way more safety factors than I can account for, and the other depends on some fat woman singing. I can't see either happening."

Grinning, Catherine admonished, "Stereotypes, Nick! And hey, if anyone can find a way, it's you. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get some sleep."

The first few days for Gil were easier than he expected, which actually made things more uncomfortable. People were unfailingly polite and pleasant to him, which agitated his natural paranoia and kept him waiting for the other shoe to drop. The lectures he gave to Nick, Sara, and starting the second day, Greg, were unusually stimulating, because it held a lot more discourse than he recalled from his own college days. All three were exceptionally bright, with their own fortes, and Gil suspected that Catherine was right about Greg; he was brilliant.

He'd been there almost a week when Nick found him after the evening meal and asked, "You want to take a walk? Stretch your legs?"

Gil wanted to ask what was behind the invitation, but Nick's gaze held no pressure to accept, no expectation. He hesitated, then agreed, "All right."

They walked slowly around the hotel parking lot, navigating over the sidewalks along the building itself. For the first several minutes, Nick didn't say anything, though Gil could he was going to; it kept him on edge as they walked.

Gil quirked an eyebrow at him and replied, "Fine, thank you. Everyone is very nice."

"Good, good," Nick murmured. He was quiet a few seconds longer, then blurted out, "I like you!"

Nick flushed and continued hastily, "I don't hardly know what to say to you half the time, which is why I don't say anything, more often than not. You can ask anyone and they'll tell you I'm an idiot when it comes to the guys I like. One of them turned out to be a psycho and the other a stalker, so yeah, I'm not so great in the judgment department, but you're different and I'd really like to kiss you right now."

With a frustrated noise, Nick grabbed Gil's shirt and hauled him in for a hard, quick kiss, then stared into his eyes and answered hoarsely, "Because you honestly have to ask why."

Gil opened his mouth to protest that that was no explanation, but Nick pressed their lips together again. He took advantage of Gil's open mouth to slide his tongue in, further surprising and distracting Gil. He found himself pressed up against the nearest wall, the kiss deepening almost against his will. His body responded with a vengeance after so long without human contact, and he shuddered, moaning into the heady, demanding kiss. Nick's body was hard and warm against his own and his hands landed on the young man's waist, gripping tight to make sure Nick didn't go anywhere while his mouth was devoured.

Gil jerked away from Nick in shock at the woman's words. What the hell had he been thinking?

"No, Grissom, don't you dare think this was a mistake," Nick warned, keeping hold of Gil's shirt.

"You think way too much sometimes," Nick stated, kissing him again, though shorter. "We're both adults. We both want this. There is nothing wrong with it. Come back to my room, please, Grissom, just come back with me."

Nick sighed, but didn't let go of Gil's shirt. "Look. Greg isn't a threat to you, okay? I love him, but…I'm falling in love with you."

Shaking his head, Gil carefully pulled Nick's hands from his shirt and said, "You've known me for less than a week, Nick. Greg's been in your life for two years. It's not fair to him for you to just throw him over like this."

"I've told you what he's like, Grissom," Nick protested. "He doesn't want to settle down with just one person."

Gil countered, "It sounds to me like you should work with him, help him get over his fears and inadequacies so that he can be with you, if that's what you want."

Warrick walked over a minute or so after Grissom had left and observed, "That went well."

Gripping Nick's shoulder, Warrick counseled, "Give him time, Nicky. He's still getting used to being around people. You probably just jumped the gun."

But Nick had heard the finality in Grissom's voice and knew that wasn't the case. Maybe he had jumped the gun, but he also suspected that Grissom's mind had already been made up. He was looking for a reason to make this not work and he'd latched onto Greg.

"Come on. I'll buy you a drink and you can drown your sorrows," Warrick offered.

Nick snorted, but let himself be pulled along. He needed to think about what to do next anyhow.

Gil was a little leery about what would happen when Nick showed up for class the next day. He was even more on edge about the young man not showing up at all. If he'd driven a wedge between them, well, things would get even lonelier for him, without the bright smile and warm, low laugh that always relaxed him. He'd almost convinced himself that Nick hated him and would never want to see him again by the time he walked into the conference room-come-classroom.

Thankfully, Nick was not only there, but chatting easily with Sara and Greg, as though nothing were out of the ordinary at all. Relief was quickly followed by irritation, though, as Nick showed no signs whatsoever that their parting had made any impact at all on the young man. Gil had been up all night, unable to sleep with all the replays of their encounter running through his head.

Class went about the same as it always did, though Gil found himself annoyingly aware of Nick's presence. It wasn't that the young man did anything out of the ordinary, but Gil was nonetheless preoccupied with how he was acting and his demeanor. He kept looking for little clues that something was wrong, that what had happened was still on Nick's mind, but didn't find any.

When lunch came around, Gil was irritated enough to take himself out of the room to his own rooms for some solitude. The knock at the door surprised him, as no one ever bothered him while he was there, and he peered cautiously out the peephole.

Tweaking Gil's nose as he walked by, Greg looked around and commented, "You did this place up good!"

"Thank you," Gil replied, making sure to keep the door open. "Can I help you with something?"

Greg hopped onto the bed, bouncing a few extra times, and leered at him. "You sure can, big boy."

Praying for patience, Gil warned, "I'm not in the mood for any shenanigans, Greg. What do you want?"

"Ah. Well, don't worry, it's nothing like that," Greg assured him. "Just wanted to talk to you about Nicky."

Banging my head against the wall would probably be less painful than this, Gil mused, then promised, "You don't have to worry, Greg, I'm not going to take him away from you."

Greg frowned at him. "I know that. Fact of the matter is, Nick's a little, well, clingy. Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy, but he can be a little too intense for me. Love the sex, of course, he's really good at sex, but the rest? It's not for me. Thing is, you'd be doing me a favor giving him all the rest of that mushy mumbo jumbo if I can occasionally use him as a teddy bear. And sex."

Gil gaped at Greg, utterly unable to believe what he was hearing. He finally managed, "So, wait, you want to share Nick?"

Waving off the suggestion, Greg hopped to his feet and answered, "Not on a regular basis or anything. I get that you guys are into each other. Just, you know, if I'm feeling horny and Warrick's or the girls are busy."

Greg smiled at him then, a soft, shy smile, and said softly, "He's a great guy, Grissom, you'd be an idiot to let him get away."

Greg looked beyond him to some distant point in his past as he replied, "One-on-one's just not for me. I can't…too many bad memories…"

Gil's heart ached for the pain in the young man's face, but before he could say anything, maybe offer some comfort, Greg snapped out of it and flashed him a big smile.

"So tonight, go on over to his rooms and let him fuck you. Trust me. You'll be real glad you did," Greg informed him, smirking before he sauntered out of the room.

Feeling as though he'd just been hit by a cyclone, Gil just stood there, gazing after him.

Nick frowned as he waited for Gil to come back from wherever he'd gone for lunch. He hadn't shown up in the common area, but that wasn't altogether unexpected. Greg and Sara returned about fifteen minutes later and he asked, "Either of you seen Grissom?"

"The kind where I tell him it's okay for you two to get together and don't mind me," Greg told him proudly. "See? And you guys don't think I'm observant. I totally knew he wanted you from day one! I even kept my hands to myself, I'll have you know."

Nick groaned and said, "Thanks Greg, but I hope you haven't scared him off now."

Sara shook her head, amused. "You know, it's really annoying that the stereotype is that women have relationship issues."

Glaring at them both, Nick said, "I'll be back just as soon as I make sure Grissom hasn't taken off."

He hurried out of the room and outside the main portion of the hotel, jogging down the way to Grissom's rooms. He knocked on the door and called, "Grissom? It's Nick."

There was no answer so he knocked louder, then opened the door. A quick glance around showed Grissom wasn't there and he groaned in frustration. He was about to leave when he caught sight of a sheet of paper on the bedside table. Having a bad feeling about it, Nick walked over to the table and, sure enough, found a note from Grissom there.

"God damn it!" Nick snapped, crumpling the paper in hand and running for the door.

It was the cowardly way to go about things, Gil knew that, but he just couldn't face anyone after Greg's hit-and-run pep talk. He packed up his backpack and left the hotel, going out through the rear gate and heading south along the main street at a fast clip. Then he went east and doubled back so that if they did try to find him, they wouldn't be able to.

There was too much to think about, too many things hurtling towards him, and Gil couldn't even get the breathing room he needed in order to make sense of the whole situation. Nick and Greg. Greg and everyone, apparently. Nick and himself. The way people kept looking at him, smiling at him. For someone used to living alone his entire adult life and spending copious time in solitude, it was far too much sensory input.

It didn't take long to get to the marketplace and he found Brenda without any trouble at all. Relieved that she was all right, that Sam hadn't taken out his anger at being thwarted on Gil's friends, he smiled and greeted, "Brenda, how are you?"

She smiled, picking up an apple and tossing it to him. "I'm fine, but you look damn good! I think city life is finally starting to agree with you!"

Gil made a face, but only replied, "I'm not at Sam's anymore. I'm, ah, elsewhere."

Gil shrugged. "I did. Or, I should say that I was taken from him, but please don't spread it around. If Sam gets wind of people talking, he'll likely seek retribution in some form or another."

Brenda nodded soberly, then changed the subject with, "You looking for Little Rock ?"

Gil stiffened at the Sheriff's hail and turned to face him. The years hadn't changed Brian Mobley very much; he was still solid, almost beefy, with pale eyes and reddish hair that was almost gone. Glancing around the marketplace showed several ‘deputies' positioned at various, strategic points, all of them armed. Returning his attention to the man directly before him, Gil greeted coolly, "Sheriff."

Forcing a thin smile, Gil replied, "That's correct. I am located elsewhere at the moment."

"And yet, I don't see anyone around here to keep you safe from those who would hurt you," the man countered. "I think you need to come with me, so my men can keep you safe."

Knowing that if he went with them, he would most likely never see the light of day again, Gil said, "I'm perfectly safe, thank you Sheriff."

Pale eyes glinting dangerously, Mobley countered, "Oh, I don't think so, Grissom. You're coming with us."

The deputies all came forward at that and Gil knew that he had no choice. All he could do was look at Brenda and say, "Tell Nick and Warrick I said goodbye."

Thankfully, she didn't even blink at the unfamiliar names, instead just nodded and mouthing, "Good luck, Gil, be safe."

Gil had the feeling that he was going to need all the luck he could get, where he was going.

Gil couldn't remember being in as much pain as he was at that moment, ever before. His entire mid-section was on fire and his back felt sliced through by the crop that had been used. The Sheriff's head torturer, whatever his official title was, was very good at his job, though, because Gil had never lost consciousness throughout the interminable session. It was worse that he knew nothing he could do or say would bring him any surcease. This wasn't an interrogation, it was just inflicting pain for pain's sake.

Of course, it didn't help that the more he'd been hurt, the more cutting his words had been to the Sheriff, earning him still more pain. Gil wished, not for the first time, that he had some kind of self-preservation nerve connected to his tongue.

If you hadn't been so damn clever, you might be able to expect a rescue, but no. You had to make it impossible for anyone to follow you, he thought, trying to ignore the pain.

Then his impossibly optimistic nature reminded him that he'd given Brenda a clue, even if it wasn't much to go on. Maybe Nick and Warrick would go to the marketplace to look for him and she would tell them what happened. Of course, for all he knew, it had been days now and they had no idea how to find him. After the beating, he'd been tossed in this cell and not even given food or water. He'd slept a lot, and so he had no idea how much time had passed.

The door to his tiny, windowless cell opened unexpectedly and Gil forced himself to sit up, ignoring the flash of pain through his body. He didn't recognize the young man who looked down at him, a big, burly man with dark hair and eyes, and asked, only mildly ironic, "Can I help you?"

"You can help yourself by not being so contentious," the man replied, echoing the tone. "My name is Kel and I'll be your host, while at Chez Sheriff."

"Yes, well, that happens when you mouth off and humiliate the Sheriff and he spends eight years stewing over it," Kel pointed out. "From here on out, you'll only earn new beatings if you don't learn to curb your tongue."

Shaking his head, Gil said, "You might as well keep the crop handy, then, as I have no intention of biding this sort of future meekly."

Kel shrugged. "That's your choice. For now, I've secured permission to have a doctor look at you. Can you stand?"

Kel walked over to him and held down a hand. Eyeing it a moment, Gil finally accepted it and allowed the other to pull him to his feet. It turned out to be very necessary, and Gil leaned on the newcomer heavily for a few long moments to get his balance.

The walk to the infirmary was fairly arduous, as they went to the end of the cellblock hall, up an elevator, and then down to the end of the new hall. By the time they reached the medical area, Gil was sweating and ready to pass out. Kel barely got him onto an exam bed before he collapsed. The doctor, a man about Gil's age, came over to examine him while Kel stood off to the side.

"The good news is," the doctor announced almost a half hour later. "the Sheriff's man knows how to inflict pain without causing a lot of serious damage. He did crack two of your ribs and you'll be scarred, since the cuts weren't immediately seen to, but you'll be fine."

The doctor gave him a wry look, but didn't respond as he continued to tape up Gil's ribs. Turning to Kel, the man said, "He should take it easy for a couple of days and get plenty of fluids."

Offering a faint smile, Kel informed him, "That was the stick. This is the carrot."

Gil leaned on Kel as they left the infirmary for another floor that seemed comprised of living quarters. The room he was led into was spacious, with a bathroom, but mostly functional with bed, desk, table, dresser, and two wardrobes, for some reason. It was better than both his place in the library and at Catherine's, but he wasn't very tempted to relax his anger or vigilance for it.

Setting Gil on the bed, Kel motioned for him to stay put and walked to one of the large wardrobes, opening the double doors to reveal several shelves stocked with textbooks in pristine condition. Picking up a book and then facing him with that odd, faint smile, Kel walked over and said, "That is the carrot, not the room."

Gil accepted a copy of Gray's Anatomy with reverence, then peered up at the other man. "Well yes, it would be, wouldn't it?"

Warrick ignored the utterance, as it was about the hundredth time Nick had said it over the last four days. Catherine hadn't really believed the note, so they'd gone first to the library, along with Sophia, Sara, Greg, and Jim to make a thorough search, given how massive the building was. That had taken the rest of the day and, at the end, Catherine had ordered them all back to get a good night's sleep and start fresh in the morning. The next day had seen them all split up into teams to search the city, with Catherine giving them each a few names of Grissom's acquaintances to check out. That had proved fruitless, as well. The third day had been more of the same, and now he and Nick were checking out the marketplace.

So far, they'd talked to several vendors, but none of them admitted to seeing Grissom. Whether that was the truth or they were scared to open up, Warrick couldn't tell. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Warrick said, "Let's grab something to eat and we can figure out what's next."

"Nothing, is what's next," Nick snarled furiously. "We've got no leads, no clue of where the dumbass went! He's probably laughing his ass off at us wandering around the city like this, sipping cold water in some frickin' desert cave!"

Warrick barely avoided Nick's wild gestures as his voice grew louder. "You done?"

Snorting, Warrick headed for a cute redhead selling fresh fruit. He snorted again, silently this time, and thought, The wonders of civilization. Freedom to extort the farmers, as well as the city-dwellers.

Nick sighed when they stopped in front of the stall and said, "Sorry, ‘Rick. I'm just, you know, on edge."

"Ma'am? Well, there's something I'd hoped not to hear for another ten years," the woman replied, grinning. "What can I get you, and what've you got?"

"We've got some real coin," Warrick said. "And we'll take a bag of fruit. You can mix it up."

Nick scanned the crowd and pointed out, "He can't have just vanished into thin air. Someone has to know where the hell he went! Experiment, my ass."

The woman dropped the fruit in hand and exclaimed, "Which one of you is Warrick?"

Lowering her voice as she nodded, the woman told them, "Sheriff grabbed him four days back. God knows what shape he's in by now, but it's not like Braun would care and I didn't know who his knew benefactor was. Damn glad to see it's you young bucks!"

Never having been referred to as that, not in his hearing anyhow, Warrick took it in stride and fished out his change purse, but she waved him off.

"If you're getting Grissom out, you can have whatever you like," she stated firmly.

Nick took the bag from her with a forced smile. "We're definitely getting Grissom out."

Every so often, Catherine shifted her gaze to look at Nick, who hadn't moved an inch in the last two hours, so far as she could tell. He sat alone, perched very calmly on a useless a/c unit. He hadn't even looked at Greg when the meeting began, so the young man had wound up sitting on the floor against Warrick's leg while Jim detailed the security system and defenses in place at the Sheriff's hotel. Then had come the explanation about the same at the PD, which was even worse news. God help them if Grissom was being kept at the PD, because Catherine couldn't see a way of getting him out.

When Jim was finished, Catherine sighed and rubbed her eyes, asking, "Do you have any friends left there who can at least tell us where he is, and in what condition?"

"Maybe," Jim replied, noncommittal. "But my guess is that he's at the PD. With the third floor converted into living quarters and the tighter security, that's where I would put him."

Warrick's hand massaged her neck and she flashed him a grateful smile, however brief.

Sophia nodded agreement and added, "If he is in the PD, there's no way we can get him out."

When Nick stood and glared at them all, Catherine was abruptly reminded of the reason that she and Warrick had hooked up with him in the first place. The sheer determination and fierce look in those dark eyes were positively frightening; and she knew that he had no trouble backing up his words with violence. Texas wasn't exactly known for raising pacifists, after all. And being the son of a hanging judge hadn't really tempered Nick's sense of justice. He'd been the fist that had allowed her and Warrick's drive and dream to provide a safe-haven flourish.

"You all listen to me," Nick began, voice low and intense. "If you don't want in on this, fine, I'll do it on my own. But Grissom is not going to be left to rot. I won't allow it. Jim, you find out what you can and let me know by noon tomorrow. Greg, go find Nelson and tell him I want a meet, now. I'll be at the Fountain in half an hour. I'll see the rest of tomorrow at noon to hear what Jim has to say."

Catherine watched him stalk from the room, all fluid grace and solid muscle, every inch the predator, and shivered reflexively.

Greg had never seen Nick in this particular mode before. He'd seen the guy throw down with his fists and win only through sheer determination. He'd seen him get in a couple of vicious knife-fights and use every dirty trick there was to win. He'd even seen Nick take aim at a Bad Man's head from behind and pull the trigger like he was made of ice. He'd just never seen all of that rolled up into one seriously hardened, Don't-Fuck-With-Me-Nick. He couldn't decide if he was terrified, turned-on, or both.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, but otherwise stationary, Greg introduced, "You guys know each other."

Nelson nodded, skinny, cat-like face with golden eyes looking nervous, looking at Nick. "What do you want, man?"

"Grenades. Six of them. You get them, you bring them to the hotel, and you'll have a favor in the future, when you need one, no questions asked."

Nick's mild question prompted a quick headshake from Nelson as he replied hastily, "I didn't say that, man, don't be puttin' words in my mouth."

It was a several days after his visit to the doctor that Gil again found himself in the Mobley's presence. Despite turning out to be his personal bodyguard and/or jailor, Kel had been a surprisingly soothing companion. The big man said little and sat in seeming contentment in a chair, reading old magazines while Gil poured over the various textbooks. The few conversations they'd had, had revealed the man to be intelligent and possessing an innate inclination to all things mechanical. Aside from that, he seemed to have a truly generous nature. So much so that Gil was baffled as to how the gentle giant had become an enforcer for the Sheriff. When Kel had told Gil of the coming meeting with no hint of expression, the danger he'd been ignoring slammed into him.

Showered and dressed in new clothes, Gil followed Kel through the PD and into a car. The drive was fairly short as the Sheriff kept his assets all in the same general area. Too short, really, for Gil to get a grip on his composure. He did his best to keep positive, at least reassuring himself that the Sheriff surely wouldn't kill him now, but the feeling of impending doom was too intense to ignore.

They wound up in a ballroom with plenty of well-dressed guests and chatter amidst the music being played by a small band. The room itself was as glittering and decked out as the people within its walls. The music was unobtrusive, just the right accent to the party. It always amazed him how true musicians always found a way to perfect their art and craft even without any instruction. Then he stopped short, seeing Warrick at the piano.

Gil nodded and started walking again. Even though he was half expecting to see the others, now that he'd seen Warrick, Greg in a serving uniform was something of a shock. Hope began its inevitable battle against his fear as he watched Greg flirting with one of the prettier guests.

Jerking out of his stupor to change angle to match Kel, he hurried to keep up. They passed through a door to enter a hall, then traveled to the end of it and into an office. A very well-appointed office with luxury built into its very walls. Something that had always bothered Gil was that the styles had lingered, for obvious reasons, in the 70's, despite the year being 2005. Technology was moving at a crawl, but it was moving, at least; fashion seemed to stuck, which offended his sense of aesthetics.

Mobley sat behind the large, wooden desk, of course, and didn't rise to greet them. Instead, he looked at Gil for a long moment, then said, "You're going to go out into that ballroom and impress people. By the end of the night, I want your name to be on their lips so that when I contact them later to make deals, they'll remember my pet inventor and jack-of-all-trades who can fix just about anything."

They were back in the ballroom in short order and unfortunately, Kel stayed right at his side. Seeing Sara and Sophia dressed as guests, as well as several others he recognized from the ranch though he couldn't remember their names, Gil had the urge to warn Kel and tell him to make a run for it. Before he could do anything, however, there was a stir at the entrance to the ballroom.

When Gil turned his head to look, he was a little stunned at the sight of Nick and Jim striding into the ballroom as though they owned the place. Jim stood just behind Nick, subtly declaring both his allegiance and his rank. Gil didn't see any weapons, but knew instinctively that they were both armed. Nick's gaze locked onto him in moments, even though he hadn't appeared to be searching, and the breath left Gil in a rush.

Not very surprised when he was moved to the center of the room, standing with Kel just behind the Sheriff, Gil couldn't help drinking in the sight of Nick. He didn't even seem the same man, a hard expression locked in place, his eyes expressionless, and Gil wondered which was the real Nick.

Wishing not for the first time that he could just declare for himself, Gil sighed in irritation and crossed his arms at Nick's flat statement.

"You kidnapped Gil Grissom from my protection like the snake you are, through trickery and deceit. I want him back now."

Nick's lips twisted into a mean little grin as he stated, "You're going to hand Grissom over and we're going to walk out of here. If you don't, I'm going to let the bombs I've hidden around this hotel go off without telling you where they are."

"You haven't infiltrated my security," the Sheriff countered sharply. "That's not possible."

One by one, all of Nick's people came out of the crowd, numbering approximately twenty by the time they were all visible.

Nick pinned the Sheriff with a knowing gaze as he said, "Grissom taught us a lot in the short time he was with us. I've...tweaked that knowledge to make a few homegrown bombs. My friends here have them located in strategic locations that will bring this entire hotel down if they aren't disarmed in time."

The Sheriff looked at Gil and he shrugged, answering the silent demand with, "I have no idea if he's serious. I've only known Nick for a couple of weeks. He certainly looks serious."

"I'm not going to just hand him over. I can rebuild this hotel or take over another one," Mobley said firmly, calling Nick's bluff.

Gil was startled when Nick stepped back from them and called in a strong voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?"

Of course, all the attention had already been on the impromptu conference in the middle of the party, but now it was focused on Nick specifically.

Nick pointed at Gil and continued, "That man was under my protection. Sheriff Mobley decided not to respect that and kidnapped him. According to the rules, Mobley has to fight for him if he wants to keep him and use his skills in the future. I am challenging Mobley, right here and now, to get my man back. I could just set off the bombs I've hidden in this building, but I am going to play fair. Something the Sheriff seems to have forgotten how to do."

Gil tried not to show his glee when Mobley's face turned a darker red than his hair, keeping a straight face with effort.

When Nick returned to them, the Sheriff snapped, "I can't fight you and you God damn well know it! You're twenty years younger than I am!"

Smirking, Nick countered, "More like thirty, but okay, old man. I'll accept a proxy."

Nick measured the slightly bigger man and replied, "Two out of three, to make it fair."

Feeling like he was going to have a heart attack, Gil exclaimed, "Don't do this!"

"Who are you afraid for, Grissom? Me, or him?" Nick questioned, quietly furious.

The problem was, Gil wasn't sure. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Mobley grabbed him from behind and pulled him away. A circle was quickly cleared for the combatants and he was unsurprised when both pulled out knives. They circled one another, measuring, and then Nick moved so fast that Gil jumped, startled by the movement. The blade whipped in a graceful arc through the air, slicing across Kel's chest, the wickedly sharp blade easily drawing blood before he spun clear and out of reach.

Stunned by the lightening-fast move, and the blood, Gil abruptly realized he was holding his breath and gasped for air.

Kel offered Nick an ironic nod of approval and they began circling again. They came together in a vicious trading of punched, the knives meeting with loud clicks several times before breaking apart again, neither having gained any clear advantage. Both began to sweat from the exertion, the lights, and the body-heat of the spectators, shirts sticking to large frames and hair growing damp. They were primal fighters, cool and calm under pressure, not wasting energy or breath on insults to provoke, as lesser fighters would have, simply looking for an opening.

There was another clash, only this time it was Nick who came away with a bloody slice along his knife arm. From the amount of blood dripping so quickly onto the floor, Gil knew it to be a deep cut and wondered how long Nick could fight at such a disadvantage. Circling one last time in the opposite direction, he didn't see any lessening of Nick's focus or prowess as the young man moved lightly on his feet.

Whether it was to put Nick out of his misery or bring the bout to a fast end for other reasons, Kel lunged at Nick without warning. He grabbed Nick's knife hand when they crashed to the floor, wrestling for control, Nick's good hand clamped like a vise around Kel's knife hand. And then Gil couldn't see anything clearly as they rolled and writhed on the floor in a mockery of fucking. It was over with shocking suddenness, both combatants going still on the floor, Kel sprawled over Nick.

Heart in his throat, Gil tried to rush to them to see who was still alive, but Mobley's men held him back. There were almost simultaneous groans of pain as Kel was shoved off Nick's body to land with a thud and another groan. Gil's throat closed in horror at seeing the blade sticking from Kel's abdomen, knowing how deadly a gut wound could be, even with the best help available. Time was critical, so without thinking, he yanked free of the guards and rushed forward the same time as the doctor. Gil glanced at Nick, but Catherine and Warrick were already there, wrapping a makeshift tourniquet around his bleeding arm.

Turning his attention to Kel, Gil stopped the doctor from pulling out the blade and ordered, "Wait," before gently, but firmly, touching the fighter's body around the wound. Closing his eyes to concentrate better, Gil could tell that the placement of the knife was extremely fortuitous. Nick had missed the vital organs, sinking his dagger into the man's muscle and soft tissue, but not cutting into anything life-threatening. As a matter of fact...

Gil's eyes popped open in surprise as he sought Nick's gaze, but the other man was unreadable. Keeping his suspicions to himself, Gil looked at the doctor and asked, "Bandages?"

The doctor nodded and opened his bag, pulling them out as Gil took hold of the knife-hilt. When the bandages crowded the blade, Gil quickly yanked it free and dropped it aside, aiding the doctor in putting pressure on the wound. When the bandages were just blood soaked rags, they were traded for clean ones and more pressure applied. He was vaguely aware of a protective circle surrounding them, of Catherine and Mobley arguing about something, but ninety-eight percent of his concentration was on stopping Kel's bleeding.

When it looked like they'd succeeded, Gil helped put more clean bandages in place. Exhausted by the night's unexpected outcome, Gil just sat there a moment, trying to regain control of his body, which was shaking from reaction.

Crouching beside him, Nick gripped his shoulder and said, "Time to go, Grissom."

Wondering if he would stop being surprised some time soon, Gil just nodded and allowed Nick to help him stand. He watched as Kel was carefully placed on a stretcher, but then he was hustled out ahead of his new friend. Gil couldn't help himself from looking behind one last time at the Sheriff. This time he wasn't surprised, finding hatred and wrath on the man's face as he watched them leave. Gil sighed as he left the hotel for the cool night air. He had the distinct impression that Nick had made a very bad decision in coming after him.

Nick grimaced in pain as Warrick tightened the bandage on his arm, but said, "That's good, man, you got it."

"Nice fight, by the way, even if it was rigged," Warrick congratulated, grinning.

"You boys almost done playing doctor in here?" Catherine questioned. "I'd like to get to sleep some time tonight."

Nick stood from the bathroom counter and said, "Good as new. I'm going to check on Kel and then hit the sack myself."

Remembering the way Grissom had arrowed straight to Kel with barely a look at him, Nick shook his head. "I'm sure he's fine. And if he takes off again, he can damn well get himself out of trouble."

Nick held up a hand to stop her protest. "I'm tired and hurt, okay? Give me some room to breathe here."

Catherine stepped out of his way and let him by without further argument, thankfully, and Nick left their rooms for Kel's. He was reaching for the door when it opened on him, a surprised Grissom staring back at him.

Nick didn't even tense at the knowledge that Grissom had checked in on Kel before looking for him. If he'd even been going to, which didn't look likely anymore. "Grissom. I was just checking on Kel."

A half-smile surfaced on Grissom's face as he replied, "Kel is sleeping, but he's going to be fine. You know, for a heat of the moment knife-fight, that blade was surprisingly strategically placed."

Nick shrugged and countered, "You're not the only one who knows anatomy, Grissom."

After standing there another moment, Nick finally said, "I'll turn in, then, if he's already asleep."

Nick turned to leave, but Grissom grabbed his arm, saying, "Wait, Nick, we need to talk. Please."

It was the ‘please' that did it. So few people ever said that word anymore, that he was abruptly reminded of why he'd fallen for the other man in the first place. Sighing, Nick turned back and asked, "What?"

Closing the door behind him, Grissom said, "Thank you, for coming after me, you didn't have to. It...means a lot to me, what you did."

Nick waved it off and told him, "The fight was fixed, Grissom, you don't have to thank me for anything."

"I rather suspected that it was," Grissom replied. But then he countered, "I do need to thank you, and to apologize. If you hadn't come after me, or been able to get me free, then I most likely would have been stuck under Mobley's thumb for the rest of my life. Sam was bad enough, but he at least allowed me the freedom to come and go as I pleased, so long as I was there when he needed me."

Grissom nodded. "I missed one too many important meetings and insulted him, much the same way as I did the Sheriff. The main difference being that Mobley isn't nearly as old-fashioned as Sam. He was perfectly happy to beat the stuffing out of me and continue using me, where Sam was just going to put a bullet in my brain."

Nick stiffened as he realized the import of Grissom's words and demanded, "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

"I want to apologize for two reasons," Grissom said hastily, cutting off any words Nick might have said. "First, for running off the way I did. It put everyone in unnecessary risk and I won't do it again."

"We don't want to tie you down, Grissom, or keep you here. That would be no better than what Mobley wanted to do to you," Nick told him earnestly.

Grissom nodded and said, "I know that, I do, I was just...I'm not used to being around people. It's going to take me a while to get used to this."

Lips quirking briefly, Grissom continued, "I also want to apologize on a more personal note. I was...overly hasty...in rejecting you the way I did. I've had plenty of time to think over the last week or so and, I've come to the conclusion that if you're willing to try this with me, knowing ahead of time that I'm more than likely to mess everything up, well, so am I."

Not exactly an undying declaration, but it was heartfelt and Nick would take it. "I'm not going to pressure you for anything, Grissom, I swear. I know you need your space and that's cool."

For a few long seconds, neither of them said anything. When he was certain that Grissom was waiting for him to make the next move, Nick took Grissom's hand in his good one and drew him in close. So close that it was hard to see anything but the clear blue eyes staring back at him. The kiss this time was slow and careful, and Nick made sure not to crowd Grissom, not wanting to make the same mistake twice.

Pulling back a little, Grissom smiled faintly and said, "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. Let's go to bed."

For a second, Nick thought he meant sex, and gaped at him. Then reality intruded in the form of his throbbing shoulder and various bruises from the fight, as well as the real weariness on the other man's face. Nick smiled and, keeping their fingers laced together, asked, "Your place, or mine?"