Title: Prettier and Younger But Not Any Better Off
By: jettblack0110
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex! Violence. Language. WiP
Summary: Some naughtiness in the lab, but then things get serious when the perpetrators figure out who is investigating their case.
Spoilers: All episodes

***

“This guy looks familiar,” Nick Stokes said to himself, snapping photos of the latest victim to be processed by the Las Vegas Crime Lab.  He was standing in a dimly lit hospital room at Desert Palm awaiting an SAE kit and diagnosis for the young man he was photographing.  Nick looked at the man again and felt a shiver sneak down his spine.  The man had sandy brown hair that was on the longish side, just starting to curl at the ends.  Beneath the purpling bruises on his face was a straight nose and round cheekbones; his skin used to be smooth but was now scraped in all possible manners.   Nick remembered where he had seen this guy before: he could have been the twin brother of three recent victims of similar crimes.

Nick passed a hand over his eyes, stopping to massage the bridge of his nose.  So they had a serial abuser running around on the streets.  This victim, like the others, had been found in a parking garage near the strip, no certain one in particular.  Each victim had been brutally beaten and robbed.  Worst of all, each had been sexually assaulted; the perpetrator had not left a trace of himself yet.  Nick gingerly lifted the hand of the drugged man and proceeded to gather any evidence under his fingernails.  As he slid the wooden stick under the last nail, Nick jumped nearly a foot when the hand he was holding clenched suddenly around his own.  His victim was awake and terrified by the sounds he was making.

“Where am I?” he wailed.  “What happened?”  He continued to babble until Nick placed a hand on his heaving chest and pressed gently.

“Calm down, sir,” Nick said warmly, “You’re at Desert Palm, you’ve been beat up pretty bad.  Do you remember anything that happened?”  The man stopped struggling and sank back into the pillows with his eyes closed.  He said nothing for a period of time; Nick thought he had fallen back asleep.  As he turned to pack up his kit, however, he heard the man’s voice.

“I didn’t see their faces,” he said, barely above a whisper.
 

“You didn’t?”

“They were wearing ski mufflers or something.  Black fabric.” 

Nick closed his mouth and breathed hard through his nose.  So there was more than one perpetrator, now, and they covered their faces. 

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Aaron Jones.”

“Can you give me a run-down of your night?” Nick asked.

The young man nodded slowly before swallowing.  “I turned 21 two days ago, so my buddies thought they would take me to the casino.  I actually won,” there was a little spark of emotion other than pain when he said these words, but when he continued, it was in the same monotone voice as before.  “I won three purple chips.  That’s fifteen hundred dollars, man.  After, we went out for drinks.  I don’t remember how many I had.”  He stopped there, looking sheepish.

“Hey, we’ve all been there, don’t worry about it.  At least you were legal,” Nick said.  “What happened after drinks?”

The young man’s eyebrows scrunched together as he struggled to remember the night.  “We went back to the parking garage.  My buddies were on a different level.  I was on the top, I love parking on the top, no one else parks there.  We said goodbye, and then I rode the elevator to the top.  When I got to my car, something hit me on the side of my head…” he trailed off apologetically.

“I understand.  Do you remember seeing anyone on your level or anywhere in the parking garage?”

“There was a group of older guys on the same level as my friends…I think there was a couple on the same level as me, but they were…busy.  The night guard, a couple of gang bangers, oh, there was a homeless guy on my level.  He was asleep when I passed him.  I remember because I was excited to go home and sleep off the alcohol.  Sorry, I know that wasn’t much help.”

“No, no, that helps.  Alright, I want you to feel better.  I’m going to talk to your doctor and go back to the crime lab to process your evidence.  Maybe these guys left something this time.”  Nick turned to leave, but stopped short when the young man asked a question.

“What do you mean, this time?”

Nick was not sure whether he should tell the man about the other victims; he was saved the trouble.

“There were other attacks, weren’t there?  I’m not the first.”  Nick nodded slowly.  He heard a slow intake of breath, and turned in time to see a tear slide down the man’s bruised cheek.  Not wanting to embarrass the man, Nick slowly retreated from the room, running into the doctor on the way out.

“Hey doc, what can you tell me?” Nick asked softly.

“This patient is the worst case so far, though all of them were bad.  He has several hairline fractures, one on his left ulna, two on his right.  Three ribs are cracked, telling me he was probably kicked,” the doctor said.  He was a rotund, cheery-looking individual, complete with rosy red cheeks, and so receiving this type of information waxed ironic.  “He is suffering from a major concussion; I’m amazed he could remember anything.  The worst is the area of his assault.  He suffered internal tearing and trauma from the assault; it seems this victim was actually penetrated fully rather than a couple of inches like the other victims.  Here’s the SAE kit, I sure hope you find something this time,” the doctor finished, handing Nick a large bindle of evidence.

“Thanks.  Can I get a copy of your diagnosis, too?” Nick asked.

“Yessir, I made an extra one.  I know how you CSI’s like that kind of stuff,” the doctor said, stuffing a paper into Nick’s already full arms.

“Nice to know someone’s paying attention.  Thanks again.”  Nick turned and shuffled awkwardly to his Denali under the weight of his processing kit, the SAE kit, his camera, and the new documents.

A short drive later, he parked his car in the parking garage and slid out despondently.  It looked like it was going to be a long night.  He flipped open the hatch door and began sorting through the mess in the back of the SUV.  While sorting, Nick failed to notice another Denali screeching to a halt in the parking space next to him, but there was no mistaking the roar coming from inside.  As the driver clambered out of the vehicle, Nick straightened up.  There was no mistaking who it was.  As if the gray sweater-vest over the pale blue button down paired with black skate shoes were not enough, the spiky hair and jaunty walk were definitely telling.  The fact that the man was still shaking his hips to the now silenced music confirmed Nick’s surmise without question.

“Hey, stranger,” he said to the retreating form.  Greg Sanders turned around, his features lit by a bright smile, the one that was all teeth and innocence. 

“Hey, Nick.  Just get back from the hospital?” Greg replied, walking over to Nick. 

“Yeah.  Gotta whole bunch of evidence to process and log.”

Greg patted Nick hard on the cheek.  “Poor baby.”

“I actually have something to show you, follow me.”  Nick walked back toward the driver’s seat of his Denali, Greg so close behind he could feel the younger man’s breath on his neck.  They were effectively nestled between both SUV’s, so when Nick grabbed Greg by the shoulders and pressed him against the vehicle, not even the security camera could see them.  Nick leaned onto Greg’s chest and brushed his lips against the tempting pink ones.

“I missed you too, baby,” Greg mumbled on the lips now furiously attacking his own.

“No talking,” Nick said roughly before diving back in.  He traced Greg’s lower lip with his tongue and growled happily when Greg opened his mouth, allowing the kiss to deepen.  Feeling Greg slide slowly down the Denali, Nick threw one arm around the slim waist and clamped another in the spiky hair on the back of Greg’s head.  Their tongues slid against each other, twining around one another and then exploring favorite places in the other’s mouth.  Teeth clicked as the kiss became more erratic with passion, but the need for oxygen forced them apart.

“Good god, Cowboy.  Miss me?” Greg asked, panting and slightly flushed, his dark pink lips wet and parted.

“Where have you been this week?” Nick replied while watching with fascination as his thumb traced random paths across Greg’s smooth cheek and down his neck, coming to a stop on the bony protrusion of his collarbone. 

“Working, baby, just like you.”

“Oh.  Yeah.”

“We’re both off on Sunday,” whispered Greg, using his fingertips to scrape lightly across one of Nick’s pectorals.

Nick growled, “I can’t wait,” before descending on the pink lips again.  As he ravaged his lover’s mouth, all other external stimuli failed to affect him.  That is, Nick stopped looking, stopped listening.  He focused on the smell, the taste, the feel of Greg’s lips against his own.  He felt the vibration as Greg moaned appreciatively into the kiss.  He tasted the general hint of coffee that was always on Greg’s tongue, and also mint gum and what Nick guessed to be powdered sugar from the left over dozen donuts that they had bought over the weekend.  Nick inhaled as he nibbled on Greg’s addictive mouth, smelling the oranges of Greg’s soap, the slight chemical smell of Greg’s hair product, and the hint of earthy musk that was Greg’s own brand and quickly becoming Nick’s favorite.  Nick threaded his fingers through the sandy brown hair as he lost himself in his lover’s presence.
 

Before he could register what was happening, Greg put both hands on his chest and shoved him hard; he bumped his head on the opposite vehicle.

“Stokes, you’ve crossed the line!” Greg raised his voice, “If you try that again, I’ll inform Grissom.”  Nick knew his mouth was wide open with shock as he stared back at his lover who had moments before thrown him against a car.  Greg was staring back, his eyebrows drawn in anger, but the anger did not reach his deep brown eyes.  What Nick saw was alarm and a hint of fear mixed with panic.  Nick felt his own eyebrows draw together.  Then he heard the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps.  He snapped his head to the right and realized that the security guard was ambling by, staring avidly.  It all clicked into place.

“Sorry, Sanders.  I was out of line.  I need to go, anyway.”  Nick dipped his head to hide the intense blush that was working its way up his face.  He gave a halfhearted wave to the guard before shoving his upper body as far as he could into the back of his Denali, ostensibly gathering his evidence.  He listened as the footsteps got quieter before dying off completely.  He heard Greg move closer but jumped when a warm hand settled on his ass.

“That was a close one.  Sorry I pushed you,” Greg said, giving Nick an affectionate squeeze.  Nick straightened up and grabbed Greg’s hand.

“Yeah, that was close.  It’s okay, though, I wanted a lump there,” he pointed to the bruising area of his skull.  “Makes it look like I have more hair there.” 

Greg’s eyes glinted and his mouth quirked into a small smile.  “Oh damn.  I forgot the Rogaine at the grocery store yesterday.”

“Oh shut up.”

“You started it.”

Nick wrapped his arm around Greg’s waist and planted a kiss on the mischievous smile.  “Yeah, I did.  I’ll see you later?”

“Griss called me to a scene; I had to come by and restock before I met him.  Someone attacked in a parking garage or something.”

“Yeah…hey, we may be working the same case, G.  Is it the parking garage behind the Luxor?”

            “Yeah,” Greg replied.  “I guess you’ll have to control yourself, boss.  Can’t be hitting on your inferiors on the job.”

“Yeah, yeah.  You’re wearing the jeans, though.”

Greg leaned his head to the side, twisting his body in an effort to look at his own ass.  “I am.”  With that, he slapped Nick on the ass and proceeded into the building, leaving Nick to wrestle all the evidence out of his Denali by himself.

--- - - -  -  -  -

Greg smiled to himself as he left Nick behind, feeling, as always, unbelievably lucky to have hooked a real winner like the Texan.  The years of flirting and dancing around one another finally came to a crescendo after his beating, when Nick broke down in the hospital room.  That day Nick confessed his slew of nightmares that kept him awake every time Greg got hurt, his endless nights of jacking off to Greg fantasies and his growing love of the exuberant ex lab technician.  It would be an understatement to say that Greg was surprised; Greg was floored by this onslaught of truths.  In fact, if he had not been lying down already, he most probably would have fallen over.  He had never really expected Nick to return his feelings.  Greg was content with flirting with Nick till the cows came home and then using any and all the memories to pleasure himself with Nick’s name on his lips.  Greg fell in love with Nick the day that he became a CSI because through his training and proficiency tests, Nick was the only one who did not deride him for failing his one proficiency test at the nightclub.  Nick was the only one who supported him and helped him whenever Greg needed it; Nick seemed to be on call whenever Greg wanted, and Greg admired the loyalty.  If Nick was this loyal to a friend, Greg could only imagine how devoted he would be as a lover.  So that day Nick confessed, Greg felt an odd weight lift from his chest.  He had not realized it then, but the weight was that of unrequited love.  As soon as Greg realized that he would get love from Nick, he realized how miserable his life was without it.  And they made out a few days later, and Greg knew he would never be able to go back to life without Nick.  Something about the broad arms felt like home, and Greg never wanted to leave.

Finally inside the building, Greg quickly gathered the necessary supplies to refill his depleted kit.  He waved a hasty hello to Mandy and Wendy, had a short bicker with Hodges, and joked around with Archie for a few seconds before returning to the parking garage, giving the guard an awkward wave, and hopping in his SUV.

Grissom was already processing the scene when he walked up, apparently absorbed in bug activity or whatever it was that interested him.  Greg always liked to know what interested Grissom because, as much as he hated to admit it, Grissom’s miniscule clues usually ended up being the case-breakers. 

“Hey, Grissom,” Greg said, setting his kit down carefully, so as not to disturb the scene.

“You’re late, Greg,” Grissom said, without looking up.

“I had to refill my kit.  I ran into Nick on the way, he said this is his crime scene too.  So we, uh, went over the victim’s details.”

“Good, what did he say?”  Greg bit his tongue.

“I actually don’t remember.  Nick will probably call you, though.”  Grissom was quiet for a moment.

“Look at this, Greg, tell me what you see.”  Greg shuffled over to where Grissom was squatting.  He looked at the area on the pavement where Grissom’s finger pointed.  Aside from a black spot of old gum, the cement appeared pretty plain.  Greg leaned in closer and noticed a faint spot.  “What do you suppose that is?”

“It looks like something is drying.  Have you swabbed it?”

“I was about to when you showed up,” Grissom said, handing Greg a Q-tip.  “I’ll let you do the honors.”

“Gee, thanks, Grissom,” Greg said moodily as he swiped the swab through the wetness.  It proved to be a little more viscous than water, but less so blood.  “I think it’s spit.”

Grissom raised his eyebrow, his mouth set authoritatively.

“Sorry, saliva.  I think it’s saliva.”

“Greg, you really need to work on your vocabulary, it makes the scene easier to process and the court doesn’t have to decipher colloquial terms.”

“Yeah, Grissom, thanks,” Greg grumbled as he labeled the swab unknown saliva sample. The one thing about working with Grissom, while informative and interesting in the extreme, was that he had to do everything textbook.  With the others Greg could joke around and speak how he wanted, but with Grissom it was only processing and protocol.  In fact, he wished Nick was here and Grissom was logging evidence, because at least then he could pick on his lover if he got bored.  But it was Grissom, and so the next three hours were spent in near silence as they combed over the rest of the cement and the nearby vehicles.  Just as Greg was stretching his aching back, something caught his eye.  It was wedged between the hood of the closest car and the windshield, in the one inch space occupied by the windshield wipers and the air vents.

He hurried over to his case, extracting his forceps and an evidence bag, before returning to the car.  As he fished the object out, he called to Grissom.

“Grissom, I may have something here.  It looks like a poker chip, but it’s wedged pretty deeply into this space.”  Grissom wandered over serenely, a slight smile on his lips as he watched Greg struggle with the forceps.  Finally, after much maneuvering and swearing, under his breath of course, Greg popped the purple plastic disc out.

“It may not be related, but bag it.  We’ll print it back at the lab, but I’ll have this car impounded to our garage just to be sure.  Nice eye, Greg.”  Greg felt himself grinning widely as he sealed and labeled the evidence bag.  It was rare that Grissom directly complimented him, so when it happened, Greg could not help but walk a little taller.  Ever since that day that he failed his proficiency test, he constantly second-guessed himself on the field.  It was nice to know he did something right occasionally.  As he packed the last of the evidence into his Denali, Greg sought permission to leave.  Grissom was talking on his cell phone, surely to Sara, but he gave Greg a little nod.  Greg did not wait for him to change his mind; he leapt into his SUV, cranked up the volume of the radio, and screeched out of the parking garage, eager to get back to the lab and maybe check up on Nick.

***

Nick watched the dark brown maelstrom spin around in his mug as he stirred his coffee.  His back ached as he sat hunched over the table in the break room, and his eyelids burned from the lack of sleep he was experiencing.  While he usually had no complaints about being a CSI, minus the whole risk of having psychopaths stalking or kidnapping you, Nick was not fond of the random sleep hours the job called for.  And this week had been particularly hard.  Las Vegas heat waves were always accompanied by an increase in crime rates; people seemed to go crazy as the mercury rose.  He and Greg had only seen each other in passing.  They did not even have an hour together to fuck, let alone talk or just be with each other.  Little moments like they had had in the parking garage were the only sustenance he had gotten over the past five days.  Their house was a mess, they were running out of clean clothes, and their refrigerator was empty.  It was the job, however, and Nick sucked it up as he sipped his coffee and fought off the sandman.  At least he and Greg would be working the same case this shift. 

Heaving a sigh and leaning far back in his chair to crack his aching spine, Nick looked through the glass windows of the Las Vegas Crime Lab to see if he could see Wendy.  Apparently at six in the morning, the lab was dead because he did not see anyone.  Nick took a large swallow of coffee and stood up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.  He set off down the hall, the heat of the coffee mug irritating his hand just a little, but it was comforting to know he was alive at least and not dreaming.  He rounded the corner into the DNA lab, and stopped.  The lab was empty, but there were signs that Wendy had just stepped out for a moment, seeing as a thermocycler as well as an electrophoresis gel were functioning.  So Nick slumped in the wheeled chair and gazed around the lab.  This had been the first place he met Greg, back in the day.  Greg was fresh off his college years and unknowingly alluring with his unruly hair, unrulier clothing, and utterly charming demeanor.  Nick was still a CSI 2 at the time, but he introduced himself arrogantly to the new lab rat.  Greg did not take his guff; he professionally told Nick that his results would have to wait their turn, contrary to what Nick requested.  Nick loved that Greg had put him in his place; he loved that now, but in an entirely different aspect of their lives.  Nick’s eyes fell on a shelf, completely bare except for a cheap black boom box.

A grin slid across his face as he thought of Greg dancing around in the showgirl headdress, completely grateful that Warrick had gotten a picture.  He remembered Catherine telling him about the time they walked in on Greg rocking out to some god-awful noise, a rubber glove on his head and his safety glasses and mask decorated.  Nick remembered the first time he touched Greg affectionately in this lab, just a couple of pats on the flat chest.  But the way that Greg stared at his hand and then into his eyes sent little electric jolts through the Texan.  Greg’s lab, although technically it was not his anymore, had been the place where they had developed their friendship.  To Nick, it was nostalgic, a place that fostered their eventual adoration for one another.  He wondered if Greg felt the same, or if Greg was still hesitant because of the explosion.

“You waiting for results?” Wendy’s voice cut into Nick’s meandering memories.

“Yeah, you get anything?”  He stood quickly, offering his chair, well, Wendy’s chair to Wendy.  She smiled and began shuffling through the pile of papers on the table, looking for any results pertaining to Nick’s case.

“Here are the results for the SAE kit.  There was actually seminal evidence, but not enough to be from ejaculation.  My guess is the condom broke or he pulled out.  I did get DNA off of it, but there was no match in CODIS, sorry.” 

Nick’s eyes flew across the text of the results as Wendy summarized.  “What about the fingernail scrapings?”

“Two donors.  One matches the seminal DNA, the other is unknown male.  That’s all I can give you for now; get me someone to compare it to, and I can give you more information.”

“Alright, thanks…” Nick trailed off, nodding.  So their perpetrators were either first time criminals or, more likely, last convicted before CODIS was established.  In any case, their DNA was not on file, and so Nick had to find the suspects the old fashioned way.  He set off down the hall, eager to find Brass so he could start questioning anyone who was in the parking garage during the attack.  At that moment, a cool female voice sounded over the intercom.

“Nick Stokes to the front desk, please, Nick Stokes to the front desk.”  Nick shrugged and turned around, heading toward the front of the building, wondering if he had a message.  As the big front desk came into view, Nick noticed Judy talking to a tall man in a police uniform.  She made eye contact with Nick, and then pointed the tall man toward Nick.  He was about four inches taller than Nick, with pale blond hair and pale blue eyes.  Broad shoulders and an even broader torso, the man held out a large hand.

“Mr. Stokes, I’m Clark Harper.  Captain Brass said the crime lab needed a little help roundin’ up some potential witnesses in your parking garage case?”  Nick noted a Southern lilt in the man’s words, and wondered where he grew up.  He was definitely a corn-fed farm boy, by the sounds of it.

“Call me Nick.  Have you found anyone for me to question?” Nick asked, wincing slightly as his hand was crushed in the man’s formidable grip.

“We have the night guard who was makin’ rounds on the lower levels, a group of bachelors, and a newly married couple that all claimed to be in the garage during the attack.  They’re all at the station, if ya’d like to question them.” 

Nick was pleasantly surprised with this man’s efficiency.   “That’s great, man.  Let’s go.”  They walked through the building to the outside parking lot, where the man’s patrol vehicle was parked.  The drive was quiet for a few moments, but then the silence was broken by a deep twang.

“If you don’t mind my askin’, are you the same Stokes that was abducted?”

Nick’s mouth went dry and a tiny spike of anger flared in his chest.  He quickly suppressed this feeling though, conceding that the question was innocent enough.

“Yeah.  That’s me.”

“I just wanna say, you’re an inspiration.  I would’na been able to go back to work after’n ordeal like that.  A bunch of us at the station respect ya.”

“Thanks,” Nick mumbled, hoping the guy would pick a different topic than his near suicide and possibly the darkest moments of his existence.  “Where’re you from?”

“Texas.”

“Hey, me too.  What part?”

“Roundabout Austin.  Dairy farm.” 

Talk of good old Texas occupied them until they reached the station, much to Nick’s relief.  The man was enthusiastic about the Austin PD, from which he had recently transferred.  He did not like Vegas as much; the people were a little too ‘crazy’ for his tastes.  Much of Vegas’s sins were brand new to a good, Christian country boy.  Nick knew he smiled then, because he had felt the same exact way when he had first transferred.  The talk turned to football, as it often did between two red-blooded Cowboy fans.  Nick was pleased to have met someone who finally understood his undying love for the team, even with their current record that was less than stunning.  He would have to invite Harper over one Sunday to watch the game, he thought.  But then his thoughts snapped to his home, or rather, with whom he shared his home.  He wondered if Greg would be open to Nick inviting a new friend over.

As if on cue, Nick’s phone vibrated in his pocket.  He pulled it out casually and looked on the illuminated screen.  One new message.  Nick rolled his eyes and opened the message, always feeling a little silly using text to say what words could say quicker.  Just wanted to say I love it when you wear the red tshirt, <3 labrat.  Nick let out a low chuckle as he punched the buttons in reply.

“Girlfriend?  My gal in Austin was always sendin’ me those text messages.  Good thing it was a company phone, otherwise we’d be dirt poor.”

Nick just nodded, “Yeah.”  He finished his reply and snapped his phone shut, making sure Harper did not see to whom the message was being sent.  The police station finally loomed into view, and Harper parked quickly. 

Once inside, Nick fell behind the cop as he led the way through the labyrinthine hallways.  As they neared the interrogation rooms, Harper slowed and pointed out who was in which room.  Nick opted to interview the night guard first, since he had most likely been in the garage the longest and might have seen someone besides the victim go to the top level.

“I’ll wait out here, if ya don’t mind.  Got some things to take care of,” Harper said, as he pointed Nick through the door.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.  And thanks, man,” Nick said.  Harper nodded in response and then set off down the hallway.  Nick closed the door to the interrogation room and turned to face his first potential lead.  He nearly dropped his case file.

The man staring serenely back at him was, in fact, the same guard who had snuck up on his and Greg’s little love fest in the parking garage earlier that morning.  Nick cleared his throat awkwardly and hoped whatever expression of surprise that flitted across his face was not entirely obvious to the man now sitting across from him.

“Thank you for coming forward, we really appreciate your help in this case,” Nick choked out, hoping to God all that the guard saw was him and Greg ‘fighting’.

“My pleasure, Mr….”

“Stokes.  Nick Stokes, Las Vegas Crime Lab.  And your name is…”

“Ted Rounds.  I just think it’s awful what’s been happenin’ to those boys.  I know our Lord would want me to come forward with information.”

“Well, thank you.  What can you tell me about that night?”

“I was doing inspections of the lower levels, you know, working up.  It was a pretty slow night, you know, not many people gamble on Mondays.  When I was on the third level, a guy got out of the elevator from the top level.  He could have been homeless, God bless him, he was dirty and disheveled.  Since I was done, I hopped on the elevator.  On the top level, I saw that poor boy laying there with no clothes, so I called the police.”

“You called 911?  So you found him first.  Do you remember anyone else that was around?  We have reason to believe that there was more than one perpetrator.”

“I only remember the homeless man.”  Nick nearly jumped out of his skin as his phone vibrated again.  He had another new message from Greg.  I like it even better when you aren’t wearing the red tshirt.  Nick bit his lip, half frustrated and half aroused.  He should not be getting excited while questioning a witness.  He returned his attention back to the night guard.

“Mr. Rounds, you’ve been a big help, and thank you for calling in the crime.  May I call you if I have any other questions?”

“Certainly.  I’m glad to have helped.”  Nick hastily shook his hand before stepping out of the interrogation room.  He leaned against the wall and tapped a response to Greg and snapped his phone shut.  It looked like he needed to hit the streets and look for this so called homeless guy.

--- - - -  -  -  -

Greg snickered at the latest message on his phone.  It’s hard to interrogate when I’m hard.  He loved toying with Nick during work hours; Nick’s pent up frustration often led to long nights of sex, of which Greg would welcome with open arms and open legs.  He was beginning to think that becoming a CSI was a bad idea, just for the sheer fact that he and Nick had not fucked in almost a week.  An undersexed Nick was bear to be with, but an undersexed Greg was someone to avoid completely.  So he contented himself with sending naughty text messages to Nick and awaiting his punishment at home.  Hopefully they would be able to put this case to bed soon, because Greg and Nick both had not slept in nearly 24 hours. 

So Greg groaned loudly as he lolled on the break room couch, waiting for fingerprint results from Mandy.

“Something wrong, Greg?” Grissom’s voice sounded through the room.  Greg lifted his head up to see Grissom’s ass, and he promptly shut his eyes.  Grissom had been bending over, no doubt putting some disgusting experiment in the community refrigerator again.  Opening his eyes slowly and carefully, Greg was relieved to see Grissom was standing again.

“No, Grissom, everything is hunky dory,” Greg said.

“Have you gotten our results for the poker chip and saliva sample?”

“No, I was waiting on those lovely ladies of the lab.”

“Greg, it’s been six hours.”  Grissom stared at Greg, and Greg stared at Grissom.  Grissom arched his eyebrow and set his mouth.

Greg leapt up from his supine position on the couch.  “I’ll just go get our results, then,” he said, shuffling out of the break room.  He dragged his feet down the glass halls of the crime lab, almost wanting to shield his eyes from the glare of the fluorescent lighting.  How he had worked in here daily for nearly five years, he would never know.  Nowadays, he was eager to be out on the field rather than inside this glass prison.  It did not help that he had been blown through one of the glass walls, and that his neurological spasms sometimes still shook his hands so badly that he would drop whatever he was holding.  But he was past that.  Well, he would just have to keep telling himself that.  Especially when felt nauseated and paranoid when he smelled burning plastic.  One would argue that the field was a more dangerous place to be, but Greg had to disagree.  Sure, he had already witnessed firsthand how brutal the outside world could be, both physically and mentally.  But it was not so bad, not so bad as waking up in the hospital alone.  Now that he was out on the field, he had Nick to protect him.  Maybe not literally, since he did, in fact, still have pain in his wrist that was broken in the beating, but rather the fact that Nick could make him forget about it.  Forget about everything but himself and Nick.  And that is why Greg hated having to wait for evidence results while his lover got to go gallivanting around the police station to question their suspects.

Greg rounded the corner and pushed through the sound-proof doors of what was once his DNA lab.  He noticed Wendy had taken some feminine liberties with the space.  Mostly the fact that the files were in alphabetical and case number order.  And books were actually on the bookshelf. 

“Hi Greg.  Your saliva?”  Wendy asked, not looking up from her microscope.

“What?” Greg asked stupidly.

“You’re here for your saliva results, aren’t you?”

“Oh.  Yeah.”  She quirked a dark, perfectly shaped eyebrow at him before pressing a case file into his chest.

“Your spitter is male.  No match in CODIS,” she said before looking back down the microscope.

“That’s all?  I could have told you that.  Come on, Wendy, we both know you’re better than that.”  That elicited a small smile from the DNA tech.

“Well, I can tell you that your spitter also donated the semen from the SAE kit.”

Greg grinned.  “Have I ever told you that you are the love of my life?”

“Only about every hour, Greg,” she said while pinching his arm.  “Now get out of here, I have work to do.”

Greg wiggled his way to the fingerprint lab, the new evidence igniting a bubbly rhythm in his step.  He saw a flash of dark brown hair as he entered the lab and he opened his mouth.  “Oh Mandy, well you came and you gave without taking, but I sent you away.  Oh Mandy,” he continued, as she peeked her head over her computer and grinned at him.  “Well you kissed me—“

“I don’t think so, Greg,” she said, swatting him on the cheek.

“Worth a try.  Get anything off my poker chip?”

“No hits.”

“Why can’t crime just take the day off?” Greg asked the ceiling.

“We all wonder that, some days.” Greg rolled his eyes in Mandy’s direction, but she was already working on a different case.

“I’ll see you around.  Thanks,” he said, walking out of the lab.

***

Nick wandered the hallways of the Las Vegas Police Department in search of his new partner. The new Texan was nowhere in sight, and that was saying something since the man was so conspicuous. But Nick needed a ride back to the crime lab, so he just kept wandering around, hoping to bump into Harper. As he rounded the corner, he let out a little sigh of relief as his eyes fell on the flaxen hair and huge frame. Harper was talking on his cell, but held up a finger as if to say just a moment.

“You saw ‘em together? You’re sure it was him? Alright, keep’n eye on the other, he might be useful later,” Harper said to the person on the other end of the call. He snapped his phone shut professionally before saying, “May’ve found the homeless man the victim saw.”

Nick was elated. “Really? That’s great, man. I was seriously thinking we would have to search the streets, and I was definitely not looking forward to it.” If this new cop was one thing, it was efficient. Nick was admiring him more and more as the case continued. They piled into Harper’s cruiser and sped through the back streets of Vegas; Nick was surprised that Harper had learned the short cuts so quickly. He sat back in the seat and started talking to his new companion. “Why do you think these guys are attacking other guys? Women are the usual sexual assault victims because they’re easier targets.”

“Maybe they don’t swing that way,” Harper said, his eyes glued to the road. “Or maybe they’re those religious types. The ones’at try’n save the sinners. Or maybe they’re on drugs, alcohol. Maybe they just wanna humiliate the guys.”

Nick nodded, digesting these ideas. While the last couple of scenarios were something depressingly common, it concerned him a little that there could either be a gay rapist team or an anti-gay religious zealot whose idea of saving someone was beating and raping the sin out of him. An odd little shiver ran up Nick’s spine as he thought of Greg. He wanted to call him and tell him to be cautious, because Nick would not be able to live with himself if Greg were hurt again. That day he processed Greg’s scene, when Warrick found the clump of Greg’s hair on the pavement, Nick worked hard to not vomit. In fact, if he had not punched that punk ass kid, Nick probably would have vomited all over their crime scene. Or cried. And Nick hated crying; he had done enough of that in the past few years to last him awhile. And maybe he cried a little when he had visited Greg earlier that day in the hospital. Okay, a lot; Nick cried a lot and told Greg that he loved him, even though Greg was comatose on painkillers. Nick made it up to him, however, when he confessed again, this time waiting until Greg was fully conscious.

As if Greg could hear his thoughts from miles away, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Hey G,” Nick said, keeping the pet names to a minimum in front of his new partner.

“Hi Cowboy. Where are you?”

“Harper and me are following a lead; the homeless guy was spotted,” Nick said, adding a little nod to Harper.

“Who?”

“The homeless guy our victim said he saw. We might have found him.”

“No, who are you with?”

“Oh. New cop, Harper. Took over for Brass, since Brass has to deal with that double homicide with Sara and swing.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? What’s up, G?”

“Nothing. I just thought that since we were working the same case, we could, you know, work together.”

“It’s not like that. We jumped on a lead. You’re welcome to join us; we’re heading towards Green Valley.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just wait here at the lovely lab for your DNA samples while you chase down the badguys.”

“You’re not seriously upset, are you, Greg?” Nick’s eyebrows cinched.

“No…”

“But…?”

“But I’m bored.”

“Go bother Hodges.”

“I’d rather bother you. You realize that besides today in the garage we haven’t talked in almost three days?” Nick thought about it for a second. Surely they had talked at home—but, no—both were either sleeping or showering before heading right back to work. Maybe they talked at the lab—no, again—both chased their cases with one-tracked minds until the cases were solved. Nick flicked his eyes to Harper, who had his head turned toward the driver’s window in an attempt to make a right turn without killing them.

Nick lowered his voice as Harper’s scanner radio started spouting static. “I’m sorry, G. We’ve been busy. It’ll lighten up soon, and then we could take a couple of days off and…”

“And what?”

Harper picked up his own cell phone and called someone, allowing Nick to continue the risky conversation. “And we can see just how much you love me without a shirt on.” Nick heard a long sigh on the other end of the line and grinned. “Gotta go, G. Risking some pretty embarrassing awkwardness if I keep this up. For you, I mean.”

“Screw you.”

“Yes, please.”

“Asshole.”

“You like it.”

“Bye, Nick.”

“Bye, Greggo.”

Nick snapped his phone shut with an affectionate smile, continuing to stare at the inanimate object as if it were really Greg.

“Your partner?” Harper asked, throwing a casual nod toward the cell phone.

“Yeah. I mean, not like that,” Nick lied quickly. “He’s the other CSI working the case. He’s at the lab waiting on results for some possible DNA evidence. Wanted updates.”

“You guys bicker like a married couple.” Nick felt the flush rise from his neck to his cheeks.

He put on a silly smirk. “Greggo? He’s like my little brother. We always bullshit each other…” Nick said, hoping to God Harper would buy it. He was silent for a fraction of a second longer than Nick would have liked, but he finally gave an easy nod.

“I had a pal like that back’n Austin. Always shootin’ shit with him.”

“Yeah, sometimes I think he’s the only thing that keeps me sane in this line of work.”

“I hear ya.” They were silent for the rest of the ride, which was short. Harper parked in front of a small brick building that served as a local homeless shelter for the area. Nick was eager to interview this suspect and wrap up the case, and he all but ran into the building. Harper followed more slowly, almost relaxed and uninterested. The entrance of the building was deceiving. It looked more like the reception area for a small business rather than a homeless shelter with a big front desk, several cushioned chairs, and a small coffee table littered with random magazines. Nick swiftly walked through the room, pausing at the front desk.

“I’m Nick Stokes, I’m with the crime lab. We were called about a homeless man that we want to question.” The frail woman behind the desk scrutinized Nick for a few seconds before answering.

“Yes, Mr. Stokes,” she rasped, sounding as though she had smoked for years. “He’s in a holding room, down that hallway.” She pointed to a wing branching to the left of the desk.

“A holding room?”

“He came in with a nasty cough,” she said, accurately reproducing the cough with a smoker’s hack. “He needs to see our resident physician before he can use the facility. Fourth door on the left.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Nick said as he started down the hallway. The fluorescent lights flickered in the small hallway as Nick’s boots squeaked on the linoleum. He stopped outside the fourth door on the left and took a deep breath before turning to Harper. “You wanna come in?”

“Naw, I’ll stay out here. Come get me if ya need me.” Nick nodded and pushed the door open. He was met with the sight of an extremely dirty man sitting at the table. The man had a long beard, and even longer dreadlocks. His fingernails had grown to a length that would make retro fashionistas jealous, although the dirt caked beneath them would not. He smelled of sweat and alcohol, and he looked as though he had rolled in the Vegas desert before settling down in the shelter. At this moment, his eyes were closed and he had not moved since Nick entered the room.

“Hi, I’m Nick Stokes. I’m with the crime lab, sir,” Nick said, edging around the room until he was facing the homeless man. At the sound of Nick’s voice, the man jerked his head up and opened his eyes. Nick recoiled slightly at the sight now facing him. In place of regular irises were enormous cataracts staining the man’s eyes a milky white.

“I’m Phil,” he grunted.

“This may seem a little forward, but are you completely blind, sir?” Nick noticed the man’s eyebrows move as if they were asking whether Nick was serious.

“Yes, young man, I’m blind,” he raised his left hand, which was clutching a battered fold-up cane. This complicates things, Nick thought to himself. There was no way this man could have beaten and sexually assaulted a healthy, albeit inebriated, young man, even if he did have help.

“Were you in the parking garage behind the Luxor last night, sir?”

The man was quiet for a moment. “That the one with six levels? Broken stop-arm on the second pay booth?”

“Yes, sir, that’s the one.”

“Yeah. That one is always quiet enough for me to sleep in. I pick the top level so I can look at the stars.”

“Do you remember hearing a struggle? I’m investigating an assault that happened on the top level.”

“I slept pretty well, but at one point I think they woke me up. I thought it was just a bunch of kids knocking each other around. Someone was assaulted?”

“Yes, sir. We have reason to believe that there was more than one perpetrator. Did you hear more than one person?”

The man thought hard for a moment. “There were three voices. One was pleading; I guess he was the victim. One didn’t say anything, he just kept laughing. And not the nice laugh either. The last one…he had a deeper voice. Kept talking about God and the Lord.”

“Did you leave and use the elevator?” Nick asked, remembering the night guard’s story.

“No. I only use my own two feet and my cane.” Nick bit his lip. Either the homeless man was lying, the night guard was lying, or both were lying. He was not sure which lead to follow.

“Thanks for your help, sir. Are you going to remain here for a while? I may need to contact you again,” Nick said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“Where else can I go?” It was a simple question, but it made Nick’s heart ache a little. The homeless situation was getting a little out of control in Vegas, but nobody noticed. He resolved to contribute to the annual fundraiser this year for poverty. It sounded pompous even to him, but at least he was doing something. Nick stepped back out of the room with a groan. He pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off the impending migraine.

“No luck?” Harper’s deep voice boomed near Nick’s ear. Nick started but then gave a sardonic smile.

“No. I think we need to question the night guard again, though. They’re statements conflict.” Nick sensed that Harper had stiffened a little when he said these words, but when he looked up at the cop, he was as easy-going as ever. It was probably his imagination, he was certainly tired enough to be creating body language. He and Greg both needed a day off to catch up on some sleep and…other things. As his thoughts strayed to Greg, Nick got a brainwave.

“You want to go back to the crime lab? I think I may have a plan to catch our guys.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Harper replied, tugging his keys out of his shirt pocket.

--- - - - - - -

The room was empty except for a desk and a wheeled chair. In the chair sat a swaying form that would lean to one side before catching itself and sitting back up. However, one sway was too much, and a sleeping Greg Sanders swore loudly as his slumbering head came into sharp contact with the edge of the desk. He rubbed the rising lump on his forehead furiously as he threw back a couple gulps of black coffee, the last of his at-work stash. Just as he was thinking of getting another mug of the sludge Hodges called coffee, someone flashed by the doorway to the office he was in. He could almost hear the squeak of sneakers as the person screeched to a halt and came back to the door.

“Greg, I’m glad I found you,” Wendy said through pants. “I just got a phone call, my sister’s in labor.”

“Congratulations,” Greg said with a yawn, not sure what Wendy’s sister had to do with him.

“I haven’t gotten to your witness or suspect DNA samples yet, they were next in the pile. But I really need to go, I’ve been waiting for this for—“

“Nine months. I got it, Wendy. I’ll run them myself, go be with your sister.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I need something to keep me awake anyway.”

“I owe you one.” And without a backward glance, Wendy was gone, running toward the locker room. Greg looked longingly into his coffee mug, only to be faced with a tiny dribble at the bottom. He heaved a sigh and hauled himself out of the chair where he had, for the last hour, almost slept.

Once in the DNA lab, Greg swallowed slowly. It was not that he was afraid of his—the—lab. It was more that he was afraid of the memories it represented. Though it was the place where he first met Nick and thereafter the setting of many fantasy-worthy flirtations, the pain and aftermath of the explosion eclipsed the good memories. Greg’s hands almost shook conditionally as he put on the latex gloves he used to live in.

But Greg had a job to do. He gave himself a little shake and shrugged on the spare lab coat. Gathering all the samples Nick had taken from those he had questioned, Greg got to work running the comparisons to both the saliva and semen samples they had collected from the crime scene and SAE kit, as well as the fingernail scrapings Nick had collected. As the samples incubated, Greg’s thoughts strayed, as they often did, to Nick. Thinking of Nick made Greg feel warm on the inside, and this time was no different. They had been dating for ages it seemed, although it was only a little under a year. To Greg, being with Nick just felt right; he had not ever felt as complete as he did with Nick. Some days they would just consume one another, reaching out for every inch of skin they could touch, and other days they would be perfectly content lying in bed all day. Greg never felt burdened by Nick, which was a big deal. He had dated around for a while, but all of his semi serious partners complained of Greg’s innate fear of flames and loud explosion noises. But not Nick. Nick knew what it was like. Well, not the explosion part, but the part where the fear stays with you. Greg no longer had an alarm clock with green numbers because Nick would panic if he woke up during the night with the green light shining on him. Greg paused a moment to curse Gordon for screwing up his boyfriend so badly, but also silently accepted the fact that had Nick not been in that box, he probably would not get Greg so well. They were screwed up together, and that was one of the most important bonds they held. Greg had never felt this way about anyone, but a week into dating Nick and he had already started planning out their house and backyard and pets and—no, maybe it was a little soon to be thinking about children, but Greg knew that eventually Nick would want them, coming from a big family and all. Ignoring the fact that the thought of fathering a child was terrifying, Greg was not sure that their work schedule could support a family, they barely had time for each other let alone a totally dependent being. So Greg kept the idea of children in the most hidden corner of his mind, at least for the time being.

Greg’s musings were interrupted by the harsh beeping of the timer. His samples were finished incubating and it was now time to throw them in the thermocycler. He did so mindlessly, calling on his latent lab autopilot. When the next timer was set, Greg looked around the lab with boredom. He wondered at how he had made this lab his home for so long; but then he got out on the field and he never wanted to go back. Especially now that sometimes he and Nick worked the same case and got to see each other at work more. As a lab tech, he only saw Nick when DNA analysis was needed, and that was one of the deciding factors for Greg. If being a CSI meant he could work more closely Nick, then Greg was happy to take the pay cut.

Greg shrugged the bulky lab coat off his shoulders and hung it on the chair. He decided to find something to eat while he waited for the thermocycler, since he and Nick had not been doing much of that either. Greg recalled that the last full meal they had together was about five days ago, when they went out to breakfast after shift. Shaking his head in disbelief, Greg left the lab and set off down the hallway. So caught up in his thoughts, he did not notice the supply closet door open beside him, nor the hand that shot out of it. He did notice when the hand grabbed the back of his now wrinkled grey vest and hauled him into the dark before shutting the door. It would be an understatement to say that Greg was alarmed; he lashed out as arms encircled his upper body and a hand covered his mouth.

“We’ll get caught if you keep making noise,” a voice growled in his ear. Greg relaxed completely, recognizing the slight drawl and the fact that the mouth was now delicately kissing his neck.

“Nick, not that this hasn’t been a wild fantasy of mine since I met you and all, but I’d like to keep my job,” Greg said breathlessly, turning to face Nick though seeing nothing in the pitch black closet.

“So be quiet.” And Greg was pressed against the door as Nick’s lips came into contact with his own. Nick kissed him silly, siphoning all his pent up sexual energy in the one lip-lock. Greg’s head was spinning so badly that he felt like he was on the teacup ride at Disneyland. He looped his arms around Nick’s neck so he would not fall down, because his knees were jelly.

“So much for Stokes’s resilience. Can’t even go a whole week without me,” Greg whispered as Nick returned to his neck. Nick bit him, a little harder than necessary, when he said this, eliciting a muffled yelp.

“Stop talking,” Nick said as he pulled the vest and shirt away from Greg’s collarbone before nipping at the soft skin. Greg could only lean against the door and take it. He was so far gone he did not realize Nick was working his way downward. His eyes, which had fluttered closed as Nick kissed him, shot open when he heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered. His own zipper.

“Nick! What has gotten into you?” he whispered, a little on the panicky side as Nick worked his pants down to thigh-level.

“Evidently the same thing that has gotten into you,” Nick said with a hint of laughter in his voice as he eyed the results of his quick and dirty assault on Greg.

“We can’t do th—unh,” Greg groaned as Nick engulfed him. And Greg swears that he will get his revenge, because Nick is working him in all the right ways, swirling his tongue, stroking with one hand and pinning Greg’s hips with the other. If his head was spinning before, it is nothing to what was happening now. He felt base, animalistic, primitive. He stopped thinking and just felt. White sparks exploded behind his eyelids. He did not realize he was even making noise until Nick let up for a second to tell him to shut up. Greg buried his face in the crook of his arm, biting the soft skin there to stop from making noise. His other hand was braced on Nick’s round shoulder, his fingertips biting into the bunching muscle that oscillated every time Nick moved his head. And then Nick opened his throat and Greg was gone. His threw his head back, thumping it on the door, as the orgasm washed over him. He was pretty sure Nick would have some serious bruises on his shoulder where Greg was hanging for dear life, and he hoped that he had not broken the skin on his arm as he bit down hard. He was vaguely aware of Nick putting him back together before standing up and wrapping his arms around him. Greg could barely stand, and hung weakly in Nick’s grip.

Greg felt Nick’s lips again and worked up an effort to kiss back. He tasted himself on Nick’s tongue and despite his current condition, felt a little aroused.

“Let me…” he gasped to Nick. He felt Nick shake his head.

“No need. I took care of it down there.”

“Oh God…what are you doing to me, Cowboy?”

“Thought I made that clear, G. Need me to demonstrate again?”

“You do, and I won’t be able to walk out of here.”

“Not so sure you can do that now.”

“Shut up. How was I supposed to know you were going to blow me in the supply closet?”

“You weren’t, that’s what made it so good.”

“Yeah…”

“Hey.”

“…what?”

“No sleeping.”

“I’m a guy, it’s reflex.” Greg straightened up in Nick’s arms. “I need to get back to the lab; our DNA samples should be done.”

“Alright. I had a great time, we should do this again.”

“Who would have thought that good ol’ Nicky Stokes would administer oral sex during work hours…” Greg said as he attempted to straighten his clothes in the dark. “You want to come to the lab?”

“I have to go find that cop that’s working with us. Said he’d help me with some leads. Text me the results.” Greg was a little sad to hear this, but he was in no position to argue with the man who had delivered possibly one of the most intense orgasms he had ever had.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, opening the door.

“Hey, G?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.” Greg could not stop the grin that spread across his face.

“Love you, too.” And with a quick peck, he was out of the door and on his way back to the lab. He looked at his reflection in the glass hallway, immediately blushing from his appearance. He hoped that Warrick or Catherine would not spot him, because he definitely had the just got some face.

Finally safe in the lab, Greg removed the results from the printer. His scowl became more pronounced as he proceeded, finding no matches. But on the last result, his eyebrows drew together. There were no matches for the saliva and semen samples, but the fingernail scrapings had a hit. The person that the victim had scratched was, disturbingly, the night guard. Greg slid his hand in his pocket to get his phone, but it was not there. He thought for a second, and remembered it to be in his locker, where he had placed it before a hasty shower. With an exaggerated and annoyed sigh, he set off toward the locker room.

The locker room was empty as he worked the combination on his locker. Pulling out his phone, Greg tapped out a message to Nick and started slightly when he heard a locker slam from one of the other rows. So the room was not empty. He heard shuffling steps and turned to see the same guard who had snuck up on Nick and his little episode in the parking garage. Feeling a slight blush tinge his cheeks, Greg nodded hello toward the guard, who paused and regarded him before answering his own cell which had begun to trill annoyingly. Greg toned out the conversation as he waited for Nick’s reply, laughing to himself about the Texan’s limited texting abilities. Sooner or later Nick would get it, but by that time, all phones would have full keyboards. As Greg chuckled at this, the guard finished his conversation and snapped his phone shut. Greg did not notice him moving toward the bench, nor the activity of his hands near his belt. But when the distinct sound of a gun-safety clicked and the chilled metal pressed against the back of his head, Greg was aware that he was in trouble.

“You will do everything I say, or the CSI’s won’t even have to leave their own lab to process the next crime scene.”

***

 

Greg’s dry throat made a dull thunk as he tried to swallow. He had heard from Nick all the emotions that ran through his head when he was confronted with a gun, but Greg never thought he would have to experience it firsthand. His heart was racing, he could hear and feel the blood pounding in his ears; the throbbing was already starting to give him a headache. His palms were sweaty as his knuckles turned white from his death-grip on the edge of the bench. He was like a deer caught in the headlights, completely frozen at facing his demise.

“Okay, boy. We’re going to walk out to your vehicle like nothing’s up, you hear me?” The man Greg had, moments before, believed to be nothing but an innocent witness pressed the gun a little harder into Greg’s skull when he asked the question.

Yeah, Greg tried to say, but his voice had apparently left him. He nodded his head quickly.

“Don’t talk to anyone, don’t look at anyone. If you even lift your head up, I will not hesitate to use this,” Greg felt the gun withdraw from his head, but kept his eyes glued to the floor. “Now stand up.” Greg complied, terrified to find that even if he had stood at his full height, the man would still be almost six inches taller than him. The man placed the gun back in its holster on the right side of his hip, leaving the clasp unbuckled for easy access. He then draped his left arm around Greg’s shoulders, proceeding to grip the muscle that joined neck and shoulder painfully. Greg’s lips parted in pain, but the man did not notice as he proceeded to steer him out of the locker room.

Although his head was down, Greg knew his way around the lab. He knew just now they were passing Hodges, and he prayed, and boy was it an ironic prayer, that Hodges would come out and talk to him. But there was no such luck as the guard continued to steer Greg forcefully through the hallways of the Las Vegas crime lab.

“You’re doing good, boy, don’t screw it up now,” the man hissed in his ear and tightening his already vice-like grip on Greg’s shoulder. Greg bit his lip to keep from making noise and his heart sank with every step further away from safety. He wondered where Nick was, he could not have left the lab yet. He screamed in his head to Nick, pleading to whatever power he could think of that Nick could hear him. But still the man drove him forward; the parking garage entrance was only a few yards away—his death was only a few yards away. The fear nauseated him and dark spots danced before his eyes as he began to hyperventilate. “A few more steps, there you go.”

Greg heard the squeak of rusty hinges and then felt a blast of hot air that felt like it was straight from Hell. They had left the fluorescent lighting of the crime lab and were now in the dim orange light of the parking garage, Greg’s SUV only feet away.

--- - - - - - -

After Greg had left the supply closet, Nick waited a minute or two, scuffing his shoe around in the small mess he had made while pleasuring Greg. When he felt the coast was clear, Nick exited the closet and walked right into Harper’s broad chest.

“Sorry, man,” Nick said, feeling the heat rise in his face.

“It’s fine,” he replied, apparently not detecting the smell of sex that seemed to cling to Nick’s shirt. Nick had hoped to high-tail it to the locker room and change before he ran into anybody, but that obviously was not going to happen.

“You ready to follow those leads?” Nick asked nervously.

“Definitely. I’m just waitin’ for a call and then we can take off.” Nick nodded and looked at Harper. Harper was looking back at him. It was an odd moment, like Harper was waiting for Nick to do something, except Nick did not know what. He was about to say something, to break the awkward silence and the slight tension, when he jumped at the vibration in his pocket.

“Oh, hey, we got results from some DNA under the victim’s fingernails,” Nick began. He flipped his phone open. DNA matches Ted Rounds, the security guard (!). Nick’s eyebrows were drawn together so tightly they were almost touching. He was barely aware that Harper had opened his own phone and was now talking to someone very quietly. Nick thought that Greg must have mixed up his samples or something, because there was no way that the security guard had been the one that the victim had scratched. Nick had interviewed him just a few hours ago, he did not have scratches. On his face. Now that Nick thought about it, the man was wearing a turtleneck, which would not have bothered Nick, except for the fact that it was during a heat wave. “Oh, God,” Nick moaned. The case was getting more and more convoluted. “We need to go find that security guard,” he told Harper, who was now off his phone. “It’s his DNA.”

Harper nodded slowly. “Let’s go.”

Nick was eager to get going. He sped through the lab toward the parking garage, intent on capturing their perpetrator. Harper was following close behind. In fact, he was pretty darn close behind, nearly pressing into Nick as they hurried through the glass hallways. Nick figured he was as eager to get the bad guy, it must be the Texas do-gooder in their blood. There was a tiny grin on his face as the excitement of the situation caught up with Nick. They were on their way to catch a serial rapist, always a plus for the crime lab.

Nick slammed through the parking garage door, bracing himself against the furnace blast of afternoon heat and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Harper was right behind him, and he bumped into Nick as Nick halted, his body frozen at the sight before them.

The security guard stood in the middle of the garage, a human behemoth. His brown eyes were alight with mischief, and the orange glow cast his long face in a sickly hue. His left hand rested on his hip casually, but Nick was more occupied with his right hand, which currently held a gun steadily against the back of Greg’s head. Greg was kneeling on the hard concrete of the parking garage, his right knee in an oil spot which had already started to stain his pants. His mouth hung slightly open as he sucked in air with difficulty. His eyes were wide with fear and surprise, and there was a slight blush in his cheeks. Nick’s hands immediately flew to his own weapon and he looked over to signal his readiness to Harper. But he was looking into the barrel of another gun, this one held by Harper, who had the same manic glint in his eyes.

“Give it to me,” Harper said, holding his free hand out to Nick. Nick slowly unbuckled his weapon from the holster and reluctantly placed it in Harper’s treacherous hand. “Now listen closely, Stokes. You’ve stumbled onto my little reform program, and that just don’t work for me. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna turn right back around and make that evidence disappear—“

“Oh really—“

“Shut up. Yeah, really. You’re gonna make that evidence disappear, and you’re not gonna open your mouth about anything.”

“You can’t expect to get away with threatening my partner and me. You’re at the crime lab. There’s no way that you’ll go free—“

“Which is why we’re lettin’ you go. You’ll get us free.” Harper turned from Nick and nodded at Rounds. The hand that was on Rounds’s hip twined itself in Greg’s hair and yanked his head back, eliciting a small noise from Greg. He pressed the gun harder into Greg’s skull. “You’ll get us free,” Harper said, “Or we’ll kill your friend. Or should I say boyfriend?”

“God,” Nick breathed, “G, are you okay?” He saw his lover’s eyebrows quirk sardonically at the question.

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“I’m sorry—“ Nick started, but he was interrupted.

“Shut up, Stokes. What’s it gonna be?” Harper also aimed his gun at Greg, who hung limply in Rounds’s grip. Nick was petrified. He either risked his job and probably his freedom by destroying evidence in an ongoing criminal investigation, or he let the man he loved die. For Nick, the choice was not complicated—he loved Greg with all his heart and he would not let the other come to harm—but his answer was delayed as he watched his lover struggle against his captor. “You have till the count of three,” Harper growled. “One. Two. Thr—“

“Okay! Damnit, I’ll help you. Just let him go.” Nick heard an audible sigh come from Greg, but it was eclipsed by a sickening thud as Rounds slammed his gun handle into Greg’s temple. Greg’s form slumped to the side, his head now resting in the oil stain his knee had been moments before. “You son of bitch! What are you doing?!”

“I figgered you needed a little incentive. He’s gonna hang with Teddy and me for awhile until you get everything sorted out.” Before he knew what was happening, Nick was charging Harper. He knocked the cop to the ground and was hitting every inch of flesh he could reach. Harper tried to throw Nick off, but Nick had him pinned between his legs as he his fists connected time after time with the blonde’s face. It was as if he had gone blind and deaf: Nick only felt the evil body beneath him and gave into the compulsion to cause it as much pain as it had already caused him. His fist was wet with Harper’s blood and he continued to punch. Nick only stopped when the butt of a gun came in contact with his own temple. Dazed and fighting off unconsciousness, Nick rolled to the ground. Harper scrambled up, pinching his bloodied nose between his finger and thumb. “You’ll pay for that, Stokes.”

Nick grunted as Harper’s booted foot came into contact with his ribs. He tried to sit up, but he wobbled violently. The garage, it seemed, was spinning. Nick could hear Harper’s voice, but he could not understand what he was saying. He heard car doors open, and then he heard them slam shut. The screeching of tires caused more pain to blossom in his head, and Nick finally gave into the darkness that was framing his vision.

--

Nick awoke alone and alarmed. His head felt as though it was caught in a trash compactor and every time he inhaled, his lung felt like it was on fire. For a moment, Nick could not remember why he was laying on the cement in the parking garage, but then the earlier events hit him like a freight train. With several choice expletives uttered for Harper, Nick carefully sat up. He winced at the pain in his side and lifted his shirt. In place of what used to be smooth oblique muscle, there was now a growing purple blotch and a dangerous gravelly feel when Nick drew breath: at least one of his ribs was definitely broken.

“Shit,” he muttered. He opened his phone to call Grissom and noticed that he had a new voicemail.

“Since you didn’t gimme time to finish our conversation, here’s what else you need to know. Don’t even think about going to the police, or anyone else for that matter. Don’t try to trick me, I’ll know if you’ve got us off. You mess up, Stokes, and Greggo here will pay for it. Don’t test me. I’ll call every now and then to check up on you. If you do what you’re told, maybe I’ll let him live,” Harper twanged pompously through the phone. Nick struck his fist on the concrete, the fear and anger coursing through his veins. He sat there, in the dark, hot parking garage, his breathing labored not only from his rib, but also from the frustrated tears that were leaking out his eyes. He had failed Greg. Nick could not protect Greg when he needed it, and now Greg was going to get hurt again. It was all his fault, he should have seen Harper for what he was, he should have warned Greg about Rounds, he should not have let Greg take the case. A little gasp escaped Nick’s lips as he realized what he had just wished.

Nick always tried to be supportive of Greg’s obviously lesser CSI skills. He was still learning—hell, Nick was still learning. Nick tried to be there during Greg’s proficiency tests; he provided the booze and porn when Greg failed his proficiency, and the booze, gambling, and sports when Greg passed his proficiency. But nothing could distract Nick from the cold knot that settled in his stomach the second Greg turned that dummy around in Grissom’s chair, the one that said he was officially part of the family, though he had been unofficially part of the family for years. Nick could not put his finger on what caused him such anxiety, until now. A CSI on the field was constantly in danger; God knows Nick’s life had been threatened enough as a CSI. Admittedly Greg got hurt while he was in the lab, but it was not the DNA tech’s fault; overall, Greg would have been safer if he had just stayed in the lab. Nick felt an overwhelming rush of guilt wash over him. He should not be wishing Greg back into the lab. The only time they got to spend together these days was when they were working cases together. If Greg was back in the lab, Nick would only see him to drop off or pick up sample reports. Nick was torn, but, with a jolt that caused a flash of pain to course through his side, Greg was gone, and it was up to Nick to get him back as unharmed as possible.

--- - - - - - -

Greg groaned and reached his hand out to shut off the radio alarm clock. He would have to remember to adjust the station later—all he could hear was white noise. But when his hand struck something hard but covered with carpet, Greg realized, in fact, he was not in his bed. Sounds were becoming clearer as the buzz of unconsciousness dimmed. He could hear the hum of a car engine, and he could feel its vibrations through where his head met the carpet. Why was he on a car floor? His head ached with fury, and there was something heavy on his back. His other arm was pinned underneath his body, but he tried to maneuver it to reach his phone. And then it hit him. The memories came flooding back and Greg’s eyes snapped open.

He was laying face down on the floor of the backseat of his own Denali. He knew it was his because of the herd of empty coffee cups that kept rolling toward and away from him with every acceleration and brake of the driver. He picked up his head a little, trying to find out where the driver was taking him. That’s when the weight on his back increased.

“Lay back down and don’t move,” a deep voice growled. It had a strong southern accent, not like Nick’s which was usually only detectable when Nick was emotional. Greg laid his head back down on the dirty carpet as the speaker decreased the pressure of his foot. This had to be the Harper guy that Nick had been talking about. Greg was startled out of his slight reverie by Harper’s voice. “Gimme your other arm.”

Greg tried to roll off his pinned arm, but it was admittedly difficult for a six foot tall grown man in a 5 foot by 2 foot space to move much of anything. His arm was completely numb, and Greg could not get it free.

“I said gimme your arm,” Harper said, raising his voice a little. Greg felt the depressingly familiar metal of a gun barrel rest against his sore temple.

“Get your damn foot off of me and maybe I can,” Greg rasped before he could control it. He had very little patience with violent people. He was not about to be the meek, wimpy hostage, not when Nick was most definitely already compromising his job for these idiots. No, Greg was not going down without a fight, he just needed to find the right opportunity.

Opportunity did not come then, however, because Harper added a fresh bruise to the already formed purple blotch on Greg’s temple. He drove the butt of the gun down in a burst of rage, detesting the backtalk of the young man in their control. As his eyes shuttered closed with unconsciousness, Harper used brute force to wrench the Greg’s trapped arm out from under him. He wound a length of duct tape around the slim wrists before winding another piece around the blonde head over the offensive mouth. Greg’s last thought as he gave in to the darkness was of Nick, as they often were, and whether or not he would be able to find them.

***

 

“Nick? Have you seen Greg? He was supposed to report his findings for our crime scene to me.” Nick nearly jumped out of his skin, wrenching his broken rib excruciatingly. He had been staring at the computer screen for the past forty minutes, specifically the GPS tracking program. The second he had left the dark parking garage, Nick raced to the AV lab and began tracking Greg’s Denali. Unfortunately, the tracking program revealed that Greg’s Denali was parked in an alley two blocks from the crime lab. Since Nick was not stupid, he knew that the tracking device had been removed—obviously Harper knew what he was doing when he stole the Denali. And Greg. Nick had sat, staring at the tiny red dot for forty minutes. It mocked his failure. Nick did not know how long he would have sat there if Grissom had not come in. “Nick? Did you hear me? Are you okay? You look like you’re in pain.”

“Yeah, Griss, sorry,” Nick said, panicking and trying to calm his face although his wound throbbed. He knew he could not tell Grissom about Greg or Harper would find out. “I haven’t seen Greg. He’s probably hiding in the DNA lab…” Nick trailed off, hoping that the quiver in his voice would not give him away.

“What happened?” Grissom asked, letting his forefinger rest lightly on Nick’s bruised temple.

Again, panic. “The damndest thing, I…hit my head with the car door. So stupid.” Grissom looked at him for a long moment before glancing at the computer screen.

“What are you looking at?” He asked, in the tone of voice that signaled slight fascination. Nick’s eyes shot to the screen where the red dot of Greg’s tracking system laughed at him.

“Nothing. I was just testing the GPS program. We might need it for our case. Hey, have you found anything else out about our perp yet?” Nick tumbled over the words in milliseconds it seemed as he shut off the monitor; his heart rate was extremely elevated and little pricks of sweat spanned his forehead. He prayed Grissom had not seen the Denali’s identification number.

“That’s why I need Greg. He was supposed to report to me about the saliva sample we found. He also needs to follow up on a purple poker chip he found embedded in a car’s hood. Some days it seems like he would rather be in the lab. Has he said anything to you about being out on the field?” Nick wanted to laugh, cry, and yell at Grissom. He wanted to scream that Greg had been abducted and Nick was being blackmailed because of this case and that the reason Greg was not working on the poker chip was because he was in the custody of two criminals. But then Nick remembered what Harper had said about killing Greg, and Nick closed his mouth with a frustrated snap. He shook his head at Grissom and gave a small shrug. “You two have been close lately, I figured I’d ask.” With that, Grissom stalked out of the AV lab and down the glass hallway.

Close. Yeah, one could say they were close. Seeing as Greg probably had not slept in his own apartment for months and they were looking at real estate ads every night and, oh yeah, Nick had blown Greg in the supply closet not an hour earlier. They were close. Sometimes Nick wondered at how they had kept their relationship secret for so long, especially in their line of work. It was a mutual decision, to keep it under wraps, at least for a little while. They were still getting used to one another, working out the kinks in their coupling. Once everything was working out, they would probably discuss telling the team. But they had to consider the possible consequences—neither wanted to move to swing or day shift like Sara had. Not to mention the fact that being a gay couple in the police force was bound to be a hard time for both of them. But that did not stop them from loving each other. Nick was amazed that no one had caught them making out in the garage or the men’s bathroom, God knows they did it often enough. The touches, the looks, the innuendo—Nick sometimes was amazed that the CSI’s did not pick up on the bond between Greg and him.

Nick was lost. He had no idea how to go about his predicament. His fingers hovered above the keyboard. Looking down at his hand, he noticed with alarm that his right knuckles were rusty brown with Harper’s blood. He let out a huff as fear coursed through his body. Already he had come within centimeters of being caught, and he had barely even started the task ahead of him. Nick wanted Greg back, and back in one piece. But he also would never be able to live with himself if he compromised the case, and he knew Greg would not either. He needed a way to get Greg home safe without committing serious criminal acts himself. He set to work.

People passing the lab for the next hour figured Nick was hard at work on his assault cases. He was staring hard at a computer screen in front of him, presumably surveillance video from the parking garage where the victim was assaulted. No one bothered him. By the time Nick emerged from the AV lab, he had a tenuous plan in his head.

--- - - - - - -

Greg’s eyes snapped open. The room was small, just a standard hotel double. Two beds, a tiny bathroom, a television on a dresser, and a small table with two chairs in the corner. The heavy curtains were drawn, one ray of morning sunshine slicing through the gap and right into Greg’s face, aggravating his already excruciating headache. He was lying on the bed nearest the window. The spread smelled like smoke and bleach; Greg did not want to think about what kinds of samples the CSI’s could swab from that bed. His hands were bound painfully behind him, his mouth covered by what felt like several layers of duct tape. Breathing was a little difficult, as he was lying on his stomach and his face was crushed into the pillow. Greg laboriously rolled onto his side, facing the rest of the room.

“Good mornin’, stud. Wasn’t sure you’d be wakin’ up,” a deep voice boomed. Its speaker rose and flicked on the lamp next to Greg’s head. It was the Harper fellow that had blackmailed Nick.

Fuck you, Greg said. Or rather, tried to say through the tape. It felt like it had been wrapped completely around his head instead of just a strip where it counted. He could feel hairs being ripped out as he tried to loosen the tape around his mouth by working his jaw. Harper had heard him try to speak and he gave Greg a little pat on the cheek.

“Comfortable?” Greg glared at him, trying to set him aflame with his eyes alone. It did not work, and Harper kept talking. “You’re pretty young, ya know? How’d you get so high up in the food chain for such a youngin’?” He had left his fingers on the cheek he had patted, and now they were stroking slowly up Greg’s face, into his hair. Greg shuddered—that was something Nick always did after a hard shift and a hot night. They would lie for hours in the dark, cool of the bedroom, and Nick would run his fingers lovingly through the lab rat’s disheveled hair. But the perverse nature with which this guy emulated Nick made Greg a little bit nauseous and absolutely terrified. “Let’s get to know each other, a little.” With that, he slid his stubby fingernails underneath the tape on Greg’s cheek, and several moments of ripping epithelials later, Greg was gasping air through his mouth with the bunched up tape resting just below his bottom lip. It was still stuck to and pulling out his hair.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Greg said, still sucking in the stale air of the old hotel room.

“Well that’s too bad. Ya see, in the south, when someone talks to you, you talk back. It’s common courtesy,” Harper twanged smugly. Greg snorted with laughter as his abductor lectured him on common courtesy. “How long have you been in Las Vegas?” Greg did not reply, true to his word. But then Harper grabbed a fistful of his hair, wrenching his head backward. “I said, How long have you been in Vegas?” Each word was punctuated by a yank on Greg’s hair.

“Almost ten years,” Greg conceded.

“Ten years, that’s quite some time. You don’t look a day older than 25.” Harper had not let go of Greg’s hair.

“I’m 32,” Greg said tersely. “Can you let go?” He hated asking, but he felt like he was going to go bald if Harper held on any longer. The Texan seemed to contemplate it for a second before pushing Greg’s head away from him. He flopped onto the other bed. Greg struggled to sit up on his own bed, resting his aching back against the headboard and leaning his head against the wall.

“Thir-ty two,” Harper said idly. “I remember when I was that age. That was about the time that I saw the light, actually.”

“The light?” Greg asked skeptically.

“Are you a Christian?” Greg hesitated, but when Harper looked his way, he shook his head. “Then you haven’t seen the light, my friend. I am a messenger from God. I was sent to this earth to rid it of its dirtiest sinners.” Greg could not help his jaw from hanging slightly open as he digested those words. The man thought he was doing God’s work, assaulting sinners—in Vegas. “You’re surprised? Most of them are.”

Greg’s eyebrows cinched as he tried to think of who “them” could be. “You’re not a police officer,” Greg stated rather than asked. Harper confirmed his guess with a shake of his head.

“Nothin’ so low. You see, stud, the Lord don’t need laws, so I don’t need laws. Sometimes ridding the world of evil is outside of the law. I am a police officer for God, if you will.” Greg was torn between laughing his ass off and being gut-wrenchingly terrified. The man obviously was not affected by the acts he had presumably performed. “It gets complicated when people think they can preach the law to me,” Harper said, staring at Greg pointedly.

“I was just investigating an assault…” he trailed off in his defense.

“You’re one of them.” The tone of the room had changed from light-heartedness, in Harper’s case, to one of cold fury.

Greg’s breath caught in his chest as the blue eyes stared him down. “One of who?”

“One of the ones that spit on God’s plans. That aren’t satisfied with what the Lord has given ‘em in the opposite sex.” Greg realized, with growing dread, where Harper was headed. “You’re one of those sodomizing freaks, you and Stokes. Your filth is what I am trying to rid this good world of.”

Greg was at a loss for words. “No one knows…” he tried lamely.

“Let’s just hope that boyfriend of yours clears us soon, otherwise things’ll get a little unpleasant,” Harper drawled. Greg settled with closing his mouth and his eyes and trying to wrestle his hands out of the duct tape. “Now, now, stud, can’t have you doin’ that. Hey, Teddy, you got your cuffs?” Greg heard a slight jingle before a pair of handcuffs came flying from the left side of the room into Harper’s outstretched hands. “I’m gonna let your hands go. If you do anything stupid, you’ll be sorry.” His icy blue eyes were boring into Greg’s brown ones, and the CSI gave a short nod.

As if he would listen to an oaf like that. The second the tape was cut, Greg swung his fist as hard as he could. With a rewarding crunch, his fist fell on Harper’s nose, bloodying it for the second time that day. Only Greg was pretty sure he had done more than that, if the crunch was anything to go by. He was halfway through the room before he was slammed to floor, presumably by the other guy, the security guard. It all happened so fast, that before he knew it, he was thrown over the table, the security guard holding his freshly cuffed hands. Harper’s hand was pressing on the small of his back, effectively pinning him down. Greg’s pants and boxers were around his ankles, and he heard the distinct sound of a zipper being pulled down.

--- - - - - - -

The irritating smell of antiseptic assaulted Nick’s nose as he stepped over the threshold into the hospital. After having spent nearly two hours trying to come up with a plan to rescue Greg, Nick decided he needed to get more details about the initial crime. So here he was at the hospital, walking up four flights of stairs to Aaron Jones’s room. Nick’s stomach felt queasy, like there was a cold ball of lead being jumbled with every step. He sincerely hoped Jones could offer some new memory that would help the case, otherwise he would be out of ideas. Pushing through the heavy door, Nick paused at the nurses’ station to inquire about the victim. Apparently he was healing just fine, and was awake eating his dinner.

Nick knocked but did not wait for an answer. He found the victim to be slurping down green Jello, the staple hospital food.

“Hi there, Mr. Jones. Do you have a minute?” Nick asked. He was met with a cynical, what-else-would-I-be doing gaze before Aaron nodded. Nick dragged a chair over to the bed before tiredly settling into it. “I just wanted to ask if you could remember anything else about your assault.”

It was a loaded question, especially so soon after the kid had been raped, but Nick was desperate. He didn’t want to see Greg in the same position, or worse. The victim pursed his lips and scratched his nose. The back of his hand was taped over with the IV, covering a black smudge. Nick silently waited, noting how the mood of the room had just died.

“I don’t think I could tell you anything that would help,” came the answer.

“What can you tell me?” Nick asked. Anything, he prayed, any detail would help. Jones shook his head and shrugged. Nick tried a different tactic. “What casino did you gamble at?”

“The Monte Carlo.”

“Okay, good. You said your friends took you out drinking. Do you remember where?” The man closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “Do you remember anything about the bar?” For a minute Nick thought he had fallen asleep because his eyes were closed and he was dead silent. But then he spoke with a voice barely above a whisper.

“It was a—a gay bar. I never got the name.” A slight blush crept into his cheeks and he kept his eyes fixed on his hands folded in front of him. Nick knew why the boy was experiencing the sudden wave of embarrassment, he often suffered it himself.

“You’re gay,” Nick stated simply. Aaron nodded, still not looking Nick in the eye. So Nick took a chance.

“Me too.” Brown eyes slowly looked into Nick’s own. Nick saw reflected the look of relief intermingled with fear left from the attack.

“You are?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re a police officer…” Nick shook his head.

“I’m a CSI. But that’s not what’s important. You said the bar was close to the casino?” Aaron nodded. “Okay. We’ll search the area; maybe we can find out when your attackers started following you.” Another nod. “Thank you, you’ve helped a lot.”

Nick left the hospital room, trying to make it to the stairwell before he passed out. He leaned against the wall, forcing the bile back down his throat that had threatened to make him ill the second he found out the victim was gay. Though he had not confirmed that the previous victims were the same, Nick was pretty sure that Harper was preying on young, homosexual males, although he did not know why. Nick had not felt this hopeless since the Plexiglas box fiasco three years ago. But this time the worry was not for himself. When Greg had been attacked by the mob, Nick barely slept and he was sick several times. He realized then it was not because of the deteriorating state of Las Vegas society, but rather because that society had injured the one person he loved. But that worry was utterly eclipsed by Nick’s feelings now. He felt like running away and screaming and crying and killing someone all at once. It was probably a good thing he had learned to keep his emotions in check for the most part, otherwise he would be hospitalized with the world’s largest anxiety attack.

When the dizziness set in, Nick bent at the waist, placing his head between his knees and taking deep breaths. If he passed out now, there would be no one to follow the lead, and every minute he spent wasting time was another minute Greg was in the hands of two possible sociopaths. With a shaky hand, Nick grabbed the railing and slowly started to descend. He had not gotten a call from Harper, which, he reasoned, could be good. Or it could be really, really bad.

“No,” Nick growled, forcing the gruesome thought from his mind. If he was going to succeed in what he had planned, he had to believe that Greg was okay. It pained Nick to think of the ghastly things Harper could do to Greg. And that Rounds guy, he was nearly twice Greg’s size—Greg would not stand a chance in a fight. Nick quickened his pace through the hospital lobby, the smell of antiseptic still stinging his nose and starting to make him nauseous. The automatic doors slid open and the warm evening air washed over Nick’s face. He took a deep breath of the dry desert air, feeling somewhat comforted. He walked slowly towards his SUV parked a couple of blocks away. As he traveled down the sidewalk in the dying light, Nick noticed a form walking toward him slowly. Its head was down and one arm was holding the other. As it neared, Nick realized that there was a dark stain spreading on the tattered shirt of the figure. It clicked, and Nick rushed to help the injured man who was obviously heading to the ER. It was not until the figure fell into his arms that a familiar smell hit Nick. It was the smell of coffee, oranges, hair gel, and lab chemicals.

“Hey Nicky,” Greg moaned before losing consciousness.

***

“Greg, you gotta tell me what happened,” Nick said, concerning brimming over in his voice. Greg was sitting calmly on one of the emergency room beds as the attendant stitched and bandaged his left arm. His other hand was holding an ice pack to a swollen right eye, and the swelling in his lip had gone down considerably. Five round, livid bruises adorned Greg’s pale neck—someone had wrapped his hand around Greg’s throat, and Nick was absolutely horrified, hoping that the strangling had not had any adverse effects.

After Greg had collapsed in his arms, Nick carried him to the ER, flashing his badge to cut in line. They settled the limp form onto a bed and cut away the bloody shirt. Nick was nearly sick when he saw the wound on Greg’s upper arm. It looked as though he had first been stabbed, but then that the knife had been ripped out at an angle, effectively leaving a large flap of skin and muscle separate from the arm. Blood had stained Greg’s arm red and it was the cause of his dead faint. Nick had his CSI objectivity to thank at that moment—without it he would have been freaking out. He was pretty sure that if he had not been able to keep his calm, the hospital staff would have thrown him out. But they let him stand off to the side while they stuck a fluid IV in Greg’s good arm and cleaned off the blood around the wound. Nick had the strong urge to dance around when Greg’s impossibly long eyelashes fluttered and then unveiled his dark chocolate eyes.

“Nick…” Greg started. Nick shook his head and placed his hand over Greg’s good hand.

“G, wait until they give you the anesthetic. You gotta be hurting pretty badly,” Nick replied. Greg nodded and closed his eyes again.

A few moments later Greg was anesthetized and stoically receiving approximately one hundred stitches. The fingers of his right hand were intertwined with Nick’s, and Nick was using his free hand to rub Greg’s thigh soothingly.

“G, what happened?” Nick asked again. Greg had not said anything in reply to Nick’s first attempt. When Nick asked again, Greg turned slowly and looked Nick in the eye. Nick was startled to see a hunted look, like Greg was still running away from captivity. Nick moved his hand to cup the soft curve of Greg’s chin. “Please G.”

Greg closed his eyes briefly before starting his story. His voice faltered when he reached the point where Harper had him spread on the table.

--- - - - - - -

Greg closed his eyes, waiting for what would inevitably follow the lowering of Harper’s zipper. He had heard how badly it hurt and hoped he would not delight these radicals further by screaming. His legs were kicked as wide as they would go with the jeans still tangled around his ankles and he felt the heat of Harper positioning himself behind. Greg gritted his teeth and lowered his forehead onto the table, willing himself not to get sick or cry. But the fear he felt at this second was worse than anything he had felt before. With the explosion and the beating, he did not have time to be afraid. The Plexiglas box came close, but Greg feared that what was about to happen would tear him and Nick apart. He had heard that rape victims often separate from their significant others for various reasons; the thought of life without Nick petrified him.

Greg realized that he had been waiting for the inevitable for a while as he was caught up in his fear. Harper had not moved. As if the imposter cop could read his thoughts, a hand gripped the hair on the back of his head and pulled backward. Greg’s neck was arched painfully, then Harper twisted his head to the left, using his other hand to roughly grab Greg’s chin.

“You want this, stud?” Harper growled thickly through the blood of his broken nose. “I swear to God I’ll make you sorry for that.” As well as he could, Greg shook his head, cricking his neck painfully. Harper removed the hand on Greg’s face and proceeded to slam Greg’s face into the table. He could feel his eye already starting to swell as Harper ripped his pants back upward, and Greg could hardly believe his luck. Apparently Nick held more power over these two than Greg suspected, otherwise Harper would not have held back. Greg lay across the table dazed and trembling, the security guard still holding his cuffed hands above his head as Harper gathered himself.

“Put him in the bathroom, he’ll be easier to watch. I need to get this taken care of,” Harper told Rounds. Greg assumed he was talking about his broken nose.

The security guard gripped the chain connecting Greg’s cuffs and began to walk toward the dingy bathroom. Greg struggled to get his feet underneath him, not wanting to be dragged by his wrists which were growing increasingly raw from the biting metal. After a short scuffle, Greg found himself thrown into the bathroom trying to avoid smacking his head on the tile. The door slammed and Greg heard a thud—they must have blocked the knob with a chair. He lay on the cold tile floor still shivering and suddenly exhausted; the adrenaline rush moments earlier had left him with a debilitating low. Sucking in relieved breaths, Greg willed away the tears that were on the verge of spilling over and he tasted bile as his stomach rebelled against him. He heard muffled talking on the other side of the door and then another door slamming. Harper must have left, leaving Greg alone with the brutish security guard. So Greg, despite his exhaustion, set to work trying to get his cuffs off. There was no way he was just going to sit there; waiting for someone to kill him was just not in his bones. The motivation to see Nick again and get these sick men behind bars was overwhelming, so he pushed himself off the tile, though he was still quaking quite violently. He quietly—ever so quietly, and with much difficulty due to his cuffed hands—began to go through the cabinets in the bathroom, hoping that the janitorial crew had left behind a screwdriver or something that would easily pop the locks. There was no such luck.

Greg slid back down to the tile with his back against the cabinet and swallowed down a wave of hysterics that was threatening to spill over. He hoped that whatever Nick was doing right now was working to get him back, because Greg was feeling pretty much useless. Just like the beating, just like when he helped at the bus accident, just like when Nick was abducted. Greg was beginning to think that the crime lab just kept him around in case the DNA tech ever got back logged, because he sure as hell had not made a difference as a CSI. It was amazing that Grissom had even passed him with the Sherlock case, Greg was certain he failed that one. A stray tear slid down the soft curve of his cheek bone before it was hatefully wiped away. The slight trembling still had not left his body as he sat there on the cold tile hugging his knees to his chest. His head ached fiercely from the several blows it had received today and he was incredibly jumpy from the near rape experience. He bet if he looked in the mirror, he would see the same reflection he saw after the beating—a bruised face and haunted eyes. Greg’s head shot up with a dull thunk on the cabinet. The mirror. He had broken the mirror cabinet enough at Nick’s place to know that there was a pin holding the hinge together, much like a regular door. Only the mirror door was much easier to disassemble.

Greg awkwardly left his sitting position and worked the mirror door of the cabinet open. He paused, a grim smile on his face, as he recalled how he had first broken Nick’s cabinet. It was during the first couple of months together when they could not keep their hands of one another. Nick had jumped him in the bathroom while he was doing his hair, and certain vigorous activities had loosened the pin from the hinge, resulting in the entire door crashing to the floor. The thought of seeing Nick again spurred Greg into action. He wedged his fingernail beneath the head of the pin, raising it up a fraction of an inch. He then moved his cuffed hands to wiggle the door upward, pulling the pin up a little more. After several repetitions of this, the mirror was hanging onto its hinge by a half an inch of steel pin. Greg gave the door one final tug.

Instead of simply coming off in his hands, the mirror slipped from his clumsy grip and crashed to the floor, littering the tile with lethal-looking shards of glass. Greg watched as if in slow motion as the pin fell from the hinge into the sink. It spiraled in the porcelain basin towards the drain. Panicking slightly, Greg threw his arms into the sink, feeling the pin settle against one hand. He breathed again.

“What the hell?” Came a muffled yell from the other side of the door. The security guard had heard the glass shatter. Greg quickly gripped the pin and worked it into the left cuff as several thumps against the door ensued. His fingers were growing sore as he jimmied the pin in the lock. A couple times, he almost dropped the pin because his hands were shaking so much.

“Yes!” Greg rejoiced as the lock popped on the left cuff. Then Rounds crashed through the door. There was a moment of sheer silence as the opponents studied one another. Greg was gasping for breath as a new rush of adrenaline heightened his senses. The bulky man across from him let out a growl.

“You little shit,” he said before punching Greg across the mouth and then knocking both of them to the ground. Greg let out a cry when his already battered head hit the tile. Rounds must have weighed twice as much as Greg, because his weight was crushing the CSI 1. But that was not the main reason why Greg could not breathe. One of Rounds’s massive hands was wrapped around Greg’s throat, fingers digging into the muscle and brute strength crushing his windpipe and his cries for help. Greg was kicking his legs and thrashing his arms, but each movement was growing slower as his brain was deprived of oxygen. He turned his head side to side to look for something, anything, that would help. His fingers closed around a shard of glass, cutting his palm. He gripped the shard and raked it across Rounds’s face. The huge man bellowed with pain, and the hand around Greg’s neck was torn away. Greg lay in a daze as blessed oxygen rushed back into his system, but he did not have that much time to recover as Rounds pulled not his gun but a long, malicious knife from his belt. Scrambling away from the broken glass and the menacing man in front of him, Greg found himself even with the bath tub and toilet, balanced on his back and elbows. There was no escape, as the door was behind Rounds, and Rounds did not look very happy with a deep, oozing cut across his cheek.

There was nothing he could do but move slightly to the right and watch as the knife hit his left arm rather than his heart, as was its intended destination. With the adrenaline rush, the pain was negligible, but Greg knew what kind of damage had been done, especially since the knife was buried to the hilt and he had heard the sound of metal hitting the tile. The hand had resumed its position around Greg’s neck, a knee settled heavily on his chest, and Greg felt the familiar feeling of death circling close. Just as he was about to give up, a strange image popped into his sluggish mind—the image of Nick holding that gun to his chin. Nick had not given up, he never pulled that trigger. Now was not Greg’s time to give up, he would not disappoint Nick like that. Steeling himself for further damage, his vision graying, Greg let out an unmistakable roar. He wrenched his entire body out from under the security guard’s knee. He shouted as he watched the knife tear through the muscle and skin of his upper arm as Rounds held it steadily, knowing this would be much worse than a stabbing. But he was free from Rounds’s grip, and the man was stunned by Greg’s momentary burst of strength. Greg took advantage of those moments to rise and grab the toilet tank lid, approximately fifteen pounds of porcelain. He gripped the lid in his right hand and swung as hard as he could. The porcelain met Rounds’s head with a resounding crack, and the giant man slumped onto the tile with several pieces of the lid, unconscious.

Greg stood for a second trying to catch his breath. His chest was aching with fear, but it was nothing in comparison with how his arm felt. He could not even bear to look at the wound—he knew how bad it was by the amount of blood that was flowing down his arm. He was sickened by the steady drip drip drip sound on the tile, and he needed to get out of there before Harper came back. Greg slowly and warily kneeled by Rounds’s form and searched the pockets carefully for the handcuff key. Finding the tiny silver trinket, Greg, though it was difficult with his shaking hands, unlocked the cuff that still dangled around his right wrist. Without another thought, he hightailed it out of the bathroom and out of the hotel room and onto the street. He was chagrined to see that the dingy hotel was only a few blocks away from the hospital, and about three miles away from the crime lab. Nick was probably searching the highways and airports for Greg right now, and Greg was just a few blocks away. The throbbing in his arm grew in magnitude with every step, so Greg figured he would take refuge in the emergency room and call Nick from there. He stumbled along, blood loss making him dizzy and nauseous. About a block from the hospital, a form was walking toward him. It was probably a good thing, too, because Greg was certain any moment now he was going to pass out. Hopefully this person would be kind enough to drag him to the ER. The man finally realized that Greg was injured and he rushed over. The second the man’s hands closed around him, Greg realized who it was.

--- - - - - - -

“So then I guess you brought me here, which is a good thing,” Greg finished. Nick was staring at him with his mouth hanging open, amazed at what his lover had done.

“You…he…your arm…” Nick sputtered. Greg just looked at him steadily, his brown eyes veiled. “G, I’m…you have no idea.”

“What?”

“If people could die from relief, then I’d be a goner,” Nick said. “I can’t believe you did that to your arm.”

Greg shrugged, but then winced at the pain it caused. “It was either that or die. I still need to repay you for that little rendezvous in the supply closet…so…death was out of the question.”

“How do you do it?” Nick asked, with a slight tremble in his voice.

“Do what?” Greg replied quietly. Even with the anesthetic, his arm still ached badly, and sweat was starting to bead on his forehead.

“How can you joke after you…after they—“

“I just can. It helps,” Greg said. He gripped Nick’s hand and pulled it to his mouth, placing a chaste kiss on Nick’s thumb. “That helps too. Someone must be watching out for me, who would have thought it would be you that caught me?”

“I’m always here to catch you, G.” Greg said nothing in reply; he only heaved an almighty sigh, finally feeling a little safe, despite the overly saccharine statement.

“Nick, they’re targeting homosexuals.” It was an ominous statement, one Nick had been afraid of since Aaron Jones admitted he had partied at a gay bar.

“We’ll get them, G. We got their biggest bargaining chip back, so it’s safe to get the team to help us out. God knows what Grissom has been doing all this time. Last I checked he was in the evidence garage with about twelve cars that were present at the crime scene. For all we know he’s printing every single one of them.” Nick starting stroking Greg’s dirty hair, still and always loving the feel of the spiky locks between his fingers.

“ALL done Mr. Sanders!” The nurse practically yelled, causing both men to jump slightly. “Now I want y’all to STAY AWAY from that junkyard, it’s a DANGEROUS place,” she said, referring to the story they had fed her about Greg’s wounds. “Mr. Sanders, do you have an EXTRA shirt? Short-sleeved would be BEST.” Greg winced as her loud voice was funneled directly into his ear. He looked at Nick questioningly.

“I have one he could borrow,” Nick said tersely, wanting to get out of the ER as soon as possible.

“EXCELLENT! Then you’re ALL done here! You’ll need to come BACK in about two weeks to get those OUT. We will be CALLING you.”

Greg was sliding off the ER bed already, trying to hide from the woman’s booming, overeager voice. “Great. Thanks. Let’s go, Nick,” he said, wrestling Nick’s jacket over his naked torso and over-bandaged arm. Nick thanked the nurse and grabbed Greg’s painkiller prescription from her 80’s claws. How someone could suture a wound with two inch fingernails was beyond him, yet he lost interest quickly as he followed the flattened spikes out the door and into the cool Vegas night.

Greg was already leaning against the car as Nick approached, looking at the few stars in the sky that could penetrate the neon glow of the city.

“You got out of there fast,” Nick said, unlocking Greg’s door.

“I’ve always hated how hospitals smell. They remind me of retirement homes,” Greg said, as Nick handed him a t-shirt. He unzipped Nick’s jacket, goosebumps rising on his chest in the chilly air. Nick stopped his rummaging in the car at the sound of the zipper. He turned to see Greg naked from the waist up, standing on the sidewalk as if he were in the privacy of his own home.

But propriety was not on Nick’s mind. He gripped Greg’s good shoulder and pulled him forward, crashing their chests together. With an awkward, one-armed embrace, Nick proceeded to kiss Greg breathless.

“You’re staying home from now on. There is no way I’m ever letting something like this happen again,” Nick said.

“Just how often do you think I’m going to be abducted?” Greg quirked, detaching from Nick’s grip and pulling the too-big t-shirt over his head and working his bulky arm through.

“I don’t care, I just can’t deal with this. If you would have di—“ Nick’s thought was interrupted with Greg’s lips on his own.

When Greg pulled away, Nick’s mouth still hung open. “I didn’t. And let’s not think that way. Let’s get these freaks, Nicky. Let’s go back to the lab.”

“Okay, G. Sorry. Back to the lab.”

“Besides, I think Hodges misses you, I think I caught him checking you out the other day.”

“Don’t you even joke about that, I’ve already come close to vomiting today.”

Both men shared a smile before crawling into the Denali.

Across town, a young, gay man looked down a busy bar to see the guy who bought him a drink. A man with blond hair and a bandaged nose gave him a little wave.

***

“When this case is over, you both will take a one week suspension. I can’t believe you kept this from me!” Grissom exclaimed, his voice high with disbelief and disappointment. He was sitting behind his cluttered desk, glaring at the doorway to his office. Standing opposite him were two men, their heads bowed in shame. “And then when you get back, there will have to be an IAB investigation into how you handled the case as a result of your relationship. Nick! How could you keep this from me? You could be considered an accomplice to abduction for not reporting the crime! Not to mention the fact that you two have had a relationship for who knows how long. You’ve already experienced how relationships can affect the job, even with people outside the lab.”

“I’m sorry, Griss. I never thought that the fact that me and Greg were together would ever affect our work. They were…they had a gun to his head and I acted like an idiot,” Nick lifted his head in his rebuttal, swallowing down the jibe about Kristy. Greg lifted his as well, turning his head to look at Nick with hooded eyes. Nick glanced at him quickly before turning his gaze back to Grissom. “Can we talk about this later? Those guys are still out there,” he extended an arm, pointing nowhere in particular.

Grissom stared at both of them for a long moment, his eyes darting from the injured lab tech to the sheepish Texan. The moment was incredibly tense; Nick and Greg instinctively shifted closer to each other as Grissom stared them down. They could almost see the cogs turning in under his grey hair and the simmering embers in his eyes under the thin wire frames of his glasses as he decided what to do with them. He could very well send them home right now, they had violated lab protocol and kept the superior member of the case out of the loop concerning developments that could lead to an arrest. Grissom had a right to be angry, Nick and Greg knew that. Finally the deafening silence was broken. “I found something on one of the cars I was examining. Greg, you remember the purple poker chip you found in that car vent?”

Greg’s head snapped up, a surprised look painted across his features. He was sure that Grissom would just send them home. But now he was carrying on as if nothing had happened. “Yeah, it was the white sedan, right?”

“Right. I fumed the whole car. We don’t have a database for the print I found.”

“What are you saying?” Nick chimed in.

“I found a full body print across the hood of the car.” Silence fell over the three men. Nick took the picture from Grissom’s hand. Sure enough, in the eerie white color of fumed oil, water, and proteins was a torso shaped pattern horizontal across the hood of the car. Greg leaned over Nick’s shoulder and eyed the picture with a look of disgust.

“That’s where they raped him,” Greg said in a quiet voice. “Did you find any other prints?”

Grissom frowned and then pursed his lips together. “No,” he said grimly, hating to admit defeat. “These guys cleaned up well. They must have known that their DNA wasn’t in CODIS, though, because they left enough of that evidence behind.”

“They probably had informants in the police department or something, they’re stories were pretty believable,” said Nick bitterly. “What I want to know is how they leeched into our law enforcement without having to do a print card and DNA sample.”

“Right now, I wouldn’t put anything past them.” Grissom rose from his swivel chair clutching the case description in his hand. Nick and Greg looked at each other questioningly as their boss passed between them through the maze of shelves. He stopped in front of a bulletin board shaped like a fish and pinned the case file securely to the cork.

“You’re giving up?” Nick all but yelled. It was the Ones Who Got Away board where the case file had found a new home; they had nothing that would lead them to Harper and Rounds.

“Nick, we have nothing. Unless you gathered some evidence I don’t know about, you two better go home,” Grissom replied. Nick turned to Greg, who was staring at the floor with large, frightened eyes.

“Can we just go through what we have one more time? If we all work together, finally, we might be able to come up with something,” Nick begged, hoping he would never again have to see the fear he saw in Greg’s eyes right now. Grissom sighed and scratched his head.

“Meet me in the conference room in ten minutes, and we’ll go over all the evidence. I’m going to go pull the evidence from the other assaults for comparison.”

“Thank you, Grissom. We’ll be there.” The supervisor nodded before walking out of his office. Nick let out a steadying breath and turned toward Greg. His partner swayed slowly where he stood, catching himself before leaning too far. Nick furrowed his brow and wrapped his arms around the young man. “G, are you okay? Is it your arm?” Nick tunneled his fingers through the wilted spikes as Greg exhaled slowly and shakily into his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt grew instantly warm with Greg’s slow breaths, the slight trembling betraying just how close to tears Greg was.

“We have to get them, Nick,” Greg said quietly but resolutely. “If we don’t stop them, they’re just going to keep attacking people.”

Nick pressed his lips to Greg’s temple before murmuring, “I know, G. I’m so sorry this is how things are going, it shouldn’t be like this. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, just a little sore. The Percocet they gave me is working a little too well. I don’t think I’ve felt this loopy since I got out of the hospital after the beating,” Greg said, tipping his face up to look at Nick, a lopsided, wry smile on his lips. Nick hugged him closer and pressed their lips together. Greg relaxed into Nick’s embrace, yielding to the slow kiss with a sigh. The kiss lasted for minutes, days, years: neither man knew. They were lost in each other’s presence, if only for a moment. Nick tightened his grip around his lover, never wanting to let go. He had almost lost Greg because of his stupidity. Nick could not understand; after his kidnapping, he spent a week in the hospital and another two in his bed, refusing to face the world. But the man he held in his arms had not only survived the murder attempt, he also was ready, just hours later, to use his skills to catch the bad guys. That was the difference between him and Greg: Nick tended to dwell and ask why, while Greg moved on and asked why not. Nick was slowly spiraling out of control as the kiss continued. It felt as though he was soaking up Greg’s life force, the incandescent energy, the glowing light that had attracted him to Greg in the first place. Greg was the perfect triangle of yellow flame, and Nick was the hopeless moth. Nick wanted to stay like this forever. But a loud noise sounded from just outside the office, and the two men broke apart, blushes spreading. Standing in the doorway with a pile of case files at his feet was David Hodges.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see the Do Not Disturb sign on the door,” Hodges snarked. “Does Grissom know that you’re besmirching his office?”

“Did you have something for us, Hodges?” Nick asked as Greg backed away and ran a nervous hand through his hair.

“You only recovered biological and fingerprint evidence.”

“So what are you still doing here?” The Trace Lab Tech was quiet for a moment as he considered what Nick said.

“I’m avoiding what will momentarily be a heartbroken Mandy and a smarmy Ballistics Tech who will no doubt seek me out to say ‘I told you so.’”

“What are you on about, Hodges?” Greg chimed in.

“It’s common knowledge that Mandy has been after Nick from the beginning, she’ll be devastated to learn that another lab rat beat her out. Bobby Dawson has been saying it for years that you two have a thing. He’s not a modest winner.”

“You guys talk about us?” Nick asked incredulously.

“Greg should know, when the CSI’s are away the lab rats will play. Gossiping about your lives, however pathetic they are, is how we pass the day,” Hodges whined in his slightly nasally, tired voice. Nick looked at Greg, and Greg gave a slight shrug.

“It’s true. When I was still in the DNA lab, gossip about Cath and Warrick, and Griss and Sara was our bread and butter. I guess the second you step out of the lab you become a victim to the lab rat gossip column.” The last sentence was directed towards Hodges with a hint of accusation.

“Don’t look at me. It was your choice to leave the lab and get your ass kicked.”

“Get lost, Hodges,” Greg said menacingly, his mood changing instantaneously. Hodges quirked his humorless, cold smile before scooping up his files and scurrying off to no doubt tell the newest gossip to the other lab techs. “Come on, Nick. Grissom probably has already solved the case,” Greg muttered. He began to walk out of the office, but Nick grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

“Hey now, what’s this?” Nick asked holding Greg’s hands in his own. Greg sighed and avoided Nick’s eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing. What just happened?”

Greg was silent for a moment. Nick watched as the muscles in his jaw bunched and relaxed. “Maybe I just didn’t want to hear the truth from Hodges.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why did Grissom pass me?”

Nick knew where this was going. “He passed you, G, because you’re a good CSI.”

“A good CSI,” Greg echoed. “But not a great CSI. I haven’t solved a case. I got my ass kicked. I took a life to save a life. The department threw me under the bus to cover its ass.”

“That’s bullshit, Greg, and you know it. What about the Lois O’Neil case? You blew that PanAm heist right out of the water—“

“I had help—“

“And the casino Indian—“

“Only because I knew some history—“

“And before you even became a CSI, that case where we sent you to find a soda bottle and you came back with the cop uniform—“

“Yeah but you guys—“

“Shut up, Greg,” Nick snapped. Greg’s mouth hung open in mid-speech. “Grissom wouldn’t have passed you if you weren’t worth something to this team. You are part of our family now, and nothing will change that. If I ever hear you say something like this again, I will lock you in a room with Hodges. Make you appreciate what you are a little more. Now let’s go see what Grissom is up to.”

Nick led a stunned Greg by the hand through the glass labyrinth of the lab to the conference room where Grissom had set up the case files. Photographs were methodically organized in sequential order, and each case had a corresponding colored thumb tack pinned on a map of the Strip indicating where the victim had been found. Grissom looked up as they walked in and removed his glasses.

“What’s the matter, Greg?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Greg, who had been drug along in a state of shock, snapped his mouth shut. “Long night,” he grunted in reply before turning to stare at the man who had metaphorically hit him over the head with a ton of bricks. Nick stared steadily back with a small smile before turning to the table and examining the photographs.

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” Nick said. “Peter Bourgalt, attacked two weeks ago. Found in a garage three blocks from the Monte Carlo. His assault consisted of battery and object rape. No biological evidence, but we did find a print on his belt buckle.”

“Well that doesn’t get us anywhere,” Grissom began. “I assume nothing came up in AFIS.” Nick shook his head. “Who’s next?”

“Patrick Greene, attacked a week ago found in a different parking garage, this one six blocks from the Monte Carlo. He was beaten and sexually assaulted, but just barely penetrated. The perpetrator left no prints, but there were some hairs.”

“Have we matched the hair to the saliva we found?”

“I’ll have Wendy process it now. Okay, Eric Brown, found five days ago in the same parking garage as the first victim. We found both biological and fingerprint evidence, but nothing conclusive. His condition was the same as Greene’s.”

“So far the only thing that is linking these crimes is the location,” Grissom sighed. “Nick, I’m not seeing anything new.”

“I don’t know, Griss. I feel like we’re missing something.”

“Greg, you’re quiet. Are you sure you don’t want to go home?”

Greg’s head snapped up in surprise. He had been staring at the pictures of the victims in the hospital as well as the map of the Strip. “Nick, do you know which bar the last victim went to?” Nick shook his head. “I think they all went to the same bar. Do you know any details about the bar?”

“Yeah, he said it was a gay bar, not far from the Monte Carlo.”

“That’s it then. The bar must be where Harper finds the victims. Look,” Greg said, laying the four case photos in a row, “Each victim has a black stamp on his hand. That must be a stamp to get into the bar. We just have to find which bar uses this stamp, which gay bar not far from the Monte Carlo uses this stamp, and we might find them.” Nick and Grissom crowded around Greg to stare at the photos. Sure enough, each victim bore a large black smudge on the backside of a hand.

“What is it shaped as?” Grissom wondered aloud. Nick picked up the nearest picture and held it closer to his face, squinting slightly.

“It looks like a crown to me,” Nick said, “Here, take a look, this one is less smeared.” He handed the photo to Grissom, who confirmed Nick’s conclusion.

“Do you think the crown relates to the name of the bar?” Grissom asked. Both Nick and Greg shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out. Greg, bring up all the bars within a ten block radius around the Monte Carlo.” Greg pecked in the specifications as Grissom recited them, his fingers moving deftly over the keyboard of the laptop.

“There are almost forty bars, Griss.”

“Okay, now eliminate all the bars that aren’t gay bars.” Greg nodded and typed in the new data.

“Were down to five, all within six blocks of the Monte Carlo.”

“Do any have the word ‘crown’ in their names?” Greg shook his head.

“No, just really cliché names: Midnight, Blackout, Ray’s, Velvet, and Alexander’s. We’re going to have to go to each of them and see what stamp they use for admission,” Greg sighed, resting his head in his hand.

“No we won’t,” Nick said suddenly.

“Nick, none of the names suggest that a crown stamp is used, this is the next best thing,” Greg replied insistently, lifting his head to look at his lover. Nick was staring at the laptop screen with a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

“Greg, you didn’t mention that one of the titles was in Spanish.”

“What now? None of the names were Spanish.”

“Yes,” Nick said, pointing. “Rey’s. It’s spelled with an ‘e’, not an ‘a’. Rey means ‘king’ in Spanish. And what does a king wear?” Greg opened his mouth slowly, but said nothing. Grissom smiled with satisfaction and flipped his phone open.

“Brass, we need backup at Rey’s bar. Yeah, that’s the one, near the Monte Carlo. Suspects should be considered armed and dangerous. We’ll meet you there.” Grissom hung up the phone and turned to his case partners. “Greg, I need you to stay here and inform Ecklie of our whereabouts. Nick, let’s go.” With this order, Greg leapt out of his chair, wrenching his wound a bit.

“Grissom! I’m not staying here!” he yelled. “I need to see these guys put away!”

“Greg, you’re injured. You’ve done enough for this case, you can do nothing more.” Greg received the comment like a physical blow. It was confirmation of the fear that had been growing at the back of his mind. His supervisor had realized that all Greg was good for was getting beat up, and now Greg would never be allowed to leave the lab again. Greg turned his back on the two others, willing himself not to cry in front of Nick.

“Grissom, I’m injured too,” Nick’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere unexpectedly. Greg stopped walking and lifted his head a little, listening hard.

“You’re injured? Where?”

“Harper kicked me. I’m pretty sure he cracked a rib.” Greg turned around, surprise writ plainly on his face.

“You hid it from me,” Greg said grimly. “I didn’t know—“

“I didn’t want you to. I was more concerned about you, and this case,” Nick replied. “I had some Vicodin,” he added as an afterthought.

“Where did you get it?”

“Leftovers, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not in pain, and I’m going. Greg is going too,” he said to Grissom. The supervisor looked from one CSI to the other hesitantly, so Nick began speaking again. “Grissom, no one else is acquainted with this case. Both Greg and I have spoken to the perps. What if I let them think I’ve gotten them off, get a confession for the assault cases? They won’t take it from anyone but me. And Greg has the right to nab these guys, he’s done more than either of us.” The Texan had taken a step toward his supervisor, using his height and brawn to loom over the older man. Grissom was unyielding as he looked into blazing brown eyes. He sighed and waved his hand acquiescently.

“Alright, Nicky. But you talk to them, Greg stays with Brass. I don’t want to compromise his injury.” Nick let out a puff of air he did not realize he was holding, and nodded his head tersely. “Meet you both at the car in five minutes.” Grissom stalked out of the room shaking his head, leaving Nick looking to Greg, whose expression was akin to a deer in the headlights.

“Nick, I—“ Greg stammered, “You—not necessary—injured—“

“Greg, you have just as much right as I do to see these guys arrested, I wasn’t about to let Grissom forget that.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I know I can’t do anything to help.”

“What did I say about that attitude?” Nick asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Greg looked at him with doleful eyes. “Sorry. Come on, Grissom is probably waiting for us.” He walked away forlornly, hand rubbing the back of his neck and eyes glued to the floor. Nick was about to call after him, but thought better of it, figuring he would talk to Greg after they caught the bad guys. Nick walked after the man he loved and readied himself to interact calmly with two people he would rather dismember.

------

Greg drew in a deep breath as he and Nick stood in a dark parking lot next to the Denali. Several plainclothes cop cars were parked next to them, and roughly ten burly police officers were receiving orders from Captain Brass. All were armed with their 9 mm pistols, bulletproof vests, and stony expressions as Brass explained the nature of the case they were currently assigned. When Brass finished, he turned to Nick, Greg, and Grissom.

“Bouncer says a man with a bump on the head and a man with a bandaged nose rented out the private room of the club. He said they had a friend when they went in there, so I’m treating this as a hostage situation as of now. The room is straight back from the front door,” he directed to Nick. “Did you get hooked up?”

Nick nodded and lifted his shirt to reveal a miniscule microphone taped across his abdomen.

“Nick, you don’t have to do this, we have negotiators on hand,” Brass said.

“No, Jim, it’s something I need to do. If we can get the victim out and get a confession to the other assaults, we’ll have enough with Greg’s kidnapping to put these guys away for life.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. My guys will be right outside the room if something should go wrong. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I just need a second,” Nick said, putting on a brave smile. Brass and Grissom walked away, arguing about where the police officers would be placed. Nick turned to Greg. He was at a loss for words, gauging the unpredictability of how the current stint would play out.

“Greg, I—“ Nick began, but his mouth was stopped by Greg’s, as the younger man kissed him forcefully.

“If you get killed, Nick Stokes, I’ll kill you,” Greg said grimly. “Please, baby, be careful. Harper has a short temper, and that Rounds guy is huge.” Nick was taken aback. He slid his fingers through the bleached hair like silk. Looking to lighten the mood a little, he replied.

“I won’t let them do anything to me. You owe me a blowjob, remember? No way would I miss out on that. Don’t worry.” He cupped Greg’s chin and pulled him into another kiss, thankful for the shelter of the Denali that was currently shielding them from view. Greg’s hand balled Nick’s shirt and he pulled him closer, and Nick held Greg closer.

“Nick!” Brass’ voice cut through the air. “We’re ready.” Nick pulled away from Greg’s lips, letting his thumb wander from the round chin to the full bottom lip of his lover. Nothing more was said, and with a small peck, Nick was gone, leaving Greg sick with fear.

-------

“You’re tellin’ me that there ain’t any cops waitin’ to arrest us? We’re home free?” Clark Harper asked Nick skeptically.

“Not even a post-it note with a list of your crimes survives,” Nick replied stiffly, watching the blonde man nervously. The second he walked into the private room of the club, he was met with the brute strength of Ted Rounds holding him against the wall as he took Nick’s gun. He was then marched to a chair where he was now sitting, Rounds’s large hands pinning his shoulders against the back of the chair. Harper had not moved from his spot on the sofa as all this transpired, although his eyes constantly flicked to a corner of the room. At Nick’s first glance, he thought someone had just passed out from alcohol, but Nick realized that this was a new victim. Drinking did not give one bruises the size of cantaloupes or a gruesome pool of blood. No, they were too late to prevent another beating; Nick only hoped they had held off on the rape at this point. He turned back to the conversation.

“Like I said, you’re free, I did what I promised. You will not even be connected to the assaults of Aaron Jones, Peter Bourgalt, Patrick Greene, and Eric Brown,” Nick droned.

A smile grew on Harper’s face. “We taught those boys the errors of their sinful ways.”

Inside, Nick wanted to scream with happiness. He had gotten the confession to put these guys away forever. But on the outside, his face remained expressionless. “Whatever, man. Just letting you know. I’m going back to the lab now, maybe you should get out of Vegas.” He moved to rise from the chair, but Rounds pushed him back down promptly.

“Not so fast, Stokes. I have a little bone to pick with you.”

“What more could you possibly want?”

“Like I told little Greggo, you’re one of them.” Nick bristled slightly when Harper used the familiar, lovable nickname.

“It’s not your place to punish us, Harper,” Nick growled. He tried to rise again, and this time Rounds ground his fist into Nick’s broken ribs. Nick gasped and sat heavily in the chair.

“Teddy, find somethin’ to block the door. I have a feelin’ Stokes wasn’t bein’ as truthful as he said.” Rounds left Nick heaving in the chair and flipped a heavy chrome table to its side before placing it in front of the door. Nick blinked the tears out of his eyes and looked up at Harper. He was staring down the barrel of a gun. Though it was not the first time, the fear was always breathtaking. The years before, he only feared for his life. When the guilt-crazed wife held him at gunpoint, when Nigel Crane threatened him, he was afraid of dying. But now it was so much more. It was the fear that he would die, yes, but also that he would leave the one thing he cared about more than his own life. The one person. He could not bear to leave Greg.

So Nick relaxed into the chair and took a deep, shuddering breath. And that was when a skylight shattered and admitted a body into the room, falling to the floor with a thud and a curse. Immediately Rounds lifted the form up, thrusting it into the light. Nick knew, though, even before he saw the face, that it was Greg.

“Well isn’t this nice,” Harper drawled, “One big happy family.” The man finally rose from his sitting position, keeping his gun trained on Nick as he eyed Greg struggling in Rounds’s grip. Nick turned to look as well, catching Greg’s eye. In the chocolate orbs he saw embarrassment but also a blazing wrath, hatred so deep that Nick swore he could feel the heat rolling of Greg in waves. Harper walked over to Greg slowly. He looked to Nick threateningly before lowering the gun. Instead of pointing it at Nick, he pressed it under Greg’s chin to lift his head up. “Miss me, Greggo?” he asked mockingly.

Nick stood quickly, his anger flaring violently. Harper glared. “I could just shoot him, you know. It would be far worse than the punishment I have planned.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Nick said. And then he turned to the door. “Now, Brass!” he bellowed. A split second later there was pounding at the door as the police officers tried to get in. Harper and Rounds looked over, and that was when Nick pounced. He rammed his shoulder into Harper’s side, sending the gun flying and both men to the floor. Greg threw his elbow into the solar plexus behind him, relishing the grunt of pain he earned. His arms were freed and he turned around to face his captor.

Nick and Harper rolled on the floor, fists flying as fast as the curses, as the police battered at the door. Greg dodged swift uppercuts and hooks from his huge assailant, using his nimbleness to outrun the behemoth. Nick got a lucky shot on Harper’s broken nose, allowing him to gain the advantage. But then Harper slammed his fist into Nick’s ribs. They rolled again and Harper was on top. He swung his fist, and Nick caught his wrist, holding it tightly. The same happened with the other, and the men were locked in a measure of strength. It seemed an eternity that they stayed matched with each other, but soon Harper began to push Nick’s arms downward. Feeling he was about to overcome Nick, Harper leaned down. “I’m going to take that boy with me, and he’ll wish he’d never been born,” he growled sadistically in Nick’s ear.

The hatred grew to such an intensity in that moment that Nick felt he was going to explode. With unknown strength, Nick crashed the crown of his head into Harper’s temple. Harper fell to the side, unconscious. Nick lay on the floor for a moment, gasping in painful breaths as his cracked ribs screamed painfully. He then remembered he was not the only one engaging in hand to hand combat and leapt up. Greg was trapped in a corner, breathing hard, as Rounds closed in on him.

“Hey!” Nick yelled, distracting the man so Greg could get away. Instead of running, Greg threw a massive roundhouse kick, catching Rounds right on the chin. The giant man crashed to the floor, down for the count. Nick gaped at Greg, his Greg, who had just kicked a beast into submission.

Greg looked a little embarrassed but also a little pleased. “I guess the kickboxing lessons did come in handy,” he said with a small shrug. “Is the victim okay?”

“I don’t know,” he said, walking over to the prostrate form of the new victim. Greg joined him as he pressed his fingers to the carotid artery of the man, relieved that there was a pulse. “We need to get the paramedics in here. See if you can elevate his head, I’m going to unblock that door.” Nick watched as Greg took his jacket off and balled it under the unconscious man’s head. He walked to the table blocking the door, and carefully threw his weight against it.

“We’re not finished here, Stokes,” came a crazed voice. Harper, it seemed was not fully unconscious as they believed. He was standing in the middle of the room, his shaking hands clutching the discarded gun. It was pointed right at Nick’s heart. “You’re a walkin’ sin, you and your filthy lover. I will punish you!” Nick watched helplessly as Harper squeezed the trigger, watched as the pistol recoiled. He also saw that Harper fell out of sight. He felt a sharp pain in his torso, and he was on the ground, something heavy resting against him.

Greg laid back against Nick, gasping raggedly, Nick’s gun laying limply in his hand and a crimson stain spreading quickly on the right side of his shirt. Nick’s throat constricted as he realized Greg had been shot in the chest.

 

***

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