Title: Left Pocket
By: Ericalynn
Fandom/Pairing: CSI: Vegas - Nick/Warrick
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #2- Bane on my table
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the recognizable characters, places, or storylines. I'm just borrowing.
Warning: minor for Grave Dangers, vague sex
Summary: Everything was as it should be. Then it came on, blind siding him, so powerful and choking he was forced to flee.

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He could feel it coming on once again as he lay there, arms braced on either side of his lover's head, their bodies flush in the heat of passion. Things were going great, those dark eyes shining up at him as their lips met. Those large hands he loved caressing his back. Their bodies aligned perfectly, singing in harmony. Everything was as it should be. Then it came on, blind siding him, so powerful and choking he was forced to flee.

He hated himself for it every time, hated the look in his lovers eyes, wounded and confused. He hated how he couldn't explain it, how he stopped trying after the first few times. But he pulled himself out of bed anyway, stumbling blindly for the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

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Nick sighed as he once again pulled the sheet up over his very interested body and stared longingly at the bathroom door. He didn't understand it, didn't know what was making Warrick up and flee all the time. It wasn't just in bed either. He'd do it at dinner sometimes, both of them sitting at the table talking, no deep conversation just light banter and casual chat, light touches and smiles, then suddenly Warrick was gone, locking himself in the bedroom or heading outside for a walk. He'd do it in public or private, work or home, he even did it once or twice in a store, just turned and fled out of the aisle.

He'd always find Warrick later, sitting in the car, hiding in a bathroom stall, or sitting on the front porch with a serious expression on his face as he gazed at something in his hands, like he was thinking or remembering too hard. But Nick never got close enough to see just what had captivated his lover so. Warrick would always look away as he tried valiantly to put the talisman out of sight. Out of sight but definitely not out of mind for either of them it seemed.

Nick had often wondered what it could be, what could be so important but so secretive. The first time it happened he tried to ignore it. But by the fifth time he began to wonder if maybe Warrick had someone on the side, someone to help him get by while Nick was recovering. He'd even gone as far as checking Warrick's phone. No mysterious numbers, no unexplainable texts, no evidence of infidelity whatsoever.

So he tried to brush it away. But it kept happening. No matter what he did or said, Warrick always ended up walking away. Maybe it was just time to face facts, he thought. Maybe their flash bang relationship would die with a whimper, ending how others had warned them it might. He didn't want to say good-bye to Warrick. Not yet at least. And while he had plenty of evidence before him to prove multiple theories correct, the investigator in him wasn't quite appeased. He couldn't resist the urge to find out just what was being hidden from view, the key piece of evidence that would break the case.

Quietly he slipped out of bed, bare feet padding softly on the carpet. He crept across the room and pressed his ear against the bathroom door. For a moment, all he could hear was water from the shower and the exhaust fan running. But his trained ear honed in on the soft muffled sound. Strangely enough it sounded like sobs. Nick quickly jerked his head away from the door as if it burned him. Was Warrick crying?

As gently as he could, Nick eased open the bathroom door just a crack, enough for him to see all he needed to in the bathroom mirror. He could see Warrick's silhouette through the foggy glass shower door. He hands planted on the wall, his head hanging dejectedly between them as his body shook with what could only be heart wrenching sobs. Nick was frozen in place, completely caught off-guard by what he was seeing. He wasn't sure what he had expected to see, or what he had wanted to see. But the reality of the situation was neither what he desired nor anticipated.

A million thoughts ran through his mind in the span of a second, but there was only one thought that stayed with him. He should leave Warrick alone. His lover was the kind of man that never showed weakness, hiding behind a poker face most of his life. Whatever was happening in there, whatever had happened, nothing good could come of Nick spying. So he quietly closed the door, slowly turning the knob until he heard the snick of the latch locking in the receiver. Then as if a weight had settled upon his chest, Nick leaned back heavily against the wall, sliding down until his knees were settled against his chest.

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He wasn't sure how long he sat there, legs hugged tightly to his chest, but it was long enough to decide that he was in no way, shape, or form capable of fixing this situation. He didn't even have a clue as where to begin. His anxious mind jumped to horrible conclusions. Was Warrick sick? Had something terrible happened to him that he never spoke about? Was he struggling, and losing, to a demon from his past? What was tearing his man apart, he had no clue. Admitting defeat was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he did it as he pulled himself up from the floor and headed back over to the bed.

On his way, his foot got snagged in the waistband of Warrick's jeans lying haphazardly on the floor. He was about to bitch about his lover leaving his clothes lying around when he saw a small shiny object tumble out of the left front pocket. Kneeling down, he picked up the small coin. A small smile pulled up the corners of his lips as he recalled what Warrick had told him one time when he was still gambling: Gamblers put what's most important to them in their left pocket.

It hit him then that this little coin was the object of Warrick's fascination. Obviously it was important to his man, but why? Curiously, he ran his thumb along the back of the quarter, eyeing it up in the dim lamp light. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. So he flipped it over. There, written on a tiny piece of paper and taped to the front of the coin was a date. May 19, 2005.

Nick's blood ran cold as finally all the tumblers fell into place. The moods. The coin. The date. Everything snapped together with crystal clarity. A flash of them standing in the lab hallway, Boy, better flip a coin. I'll hurt ya. The coin flying through the air, You keep it, its bad luck. The pressure of a hand squeezing his and a string of tear-strained whispers, You're okay. I've got you. Lay still, I've got you now. A voice, hazy and distorted from drugs on that first morning after, I almost lost you Nicky, I'll never forget that. I love you, Nicky. Please don't leave me again.

Instinctively, he dropped the coin and stumbled back a pace. His feet caught in the forgotten jeans and he went sprawling on his backside. He heard the shower water turn off but he was so stunned he couldn't force himself to move. Was that why Warrick had been acting so strange?

Like flashes from a movie scene he recalled the last three months and all its awkwardness. A simple 'I love you' while they moved about the kitchen preparing dinner. Discussions over which cereal or ice cream or beer was better. Arguments over where the mail or the remote control had disappeared to. Snuggling on the couch on a rainy day. Working side by side in the lab, exchanging easy banter and wild girl stories like always. In the middle of a passionate kiss or heated cuddling sessions. Nothing stood out about each and every instance except for the fact that they were normal, mundane things that Warrick ran out on. Things Nick would have missed if ...

He quickly shut off that line of thinking. It was way too deep to explore and would prove futile in the end. He'd come to grips with it, what had happened was in the past. He was looking forward to the future. So why couldn't Warrick?

Through the bathroom door Nick could make out the sounds of Warrick moving around. The creak of the towel rack, the groan of the floor tiles needing to be replaced, the running sink water; all signs that Warrick would soon be exiting the bathroom in a few moments. He quickly jumped up, kicking the jeans to the corner of the room, and shoving the coin back into the left pocket. Then he climbed on the bed, burying himself under the covers and feigning sleep as the bathroom door creaked open.

He lay there for almost a half an hour, listening to Warrick move about the room. Picking up laundry, brushing his teeth, pulling on sleep pants, locking up the house. Normal, mundane tasks that occurred every night. Nick smiled into his pillow, enjoying the small pleasure. But he waited. Waited until the light was turned out. Waited until Rick had crawled into bed. Waited through the tense moment until Warrick was curled up against his back, arms secured around his waist. Waited until those lips pressed gently to his jaw before he threaded his fingers with Warrick's.

"I'm still here, Rick. I'm not going anywhere. You know that right?"

There was a tense moment. Warrick was caught off guard that much Nick could sense. But after a moment, Warrick snuggled closer, their bodies melding perfectly to the other. "Yeah, I know babe."

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A/N: I know the coin symbolism is over done but it was an aspect of the GD plot line that I had yet to explore and something that I thought could be played with in many ways. I also really wanted to explore the gambler's left pocket theory, especially since Warrick used to gamble and in the episode he pulls the coin out of his left jacket pocket (watch it, no lie!). So there ya go. Thanks for reading. Feel free to friend this journal, I need more CSI groupies around here! And as always, comments are love and help feed the plot bunnies (who are always hungry!).