South

Disclaimer: CSI and its characters are the intellectual property of CBS, Alliance Atlantis, and Jerry Bruckheimer. All original characters are the property of YS McCool.

Summary: The team heads to Silver Lakes and temptation. Chapter One -- Gil has surgery and Sara needs to be put in her place.

Greg Sanders stared at the questionnaire on the computer screen and grinned. He got why they wanted his neck and shoe size, waist, hip, and chest measurements, plus height, and weight, because they were going to be issued official Silver Lakes Crime Lab coveralls, boots, and other gear, but the long section about his eating preferences rang the "recruiting" gong in the back of his head. They might pass it off as 'Southern Hospitality', but Sanders was not fooled.

SLCL had positions to fill and the people filling them had to meet very strict experience and educational guidelines. His contacts had told him that Rayburn had already successfully lifted personnel from LA, DC, and New York. Las Vegas was next on her radar. The rumor mill insisted that Rayburn had been threatened with death by the crime lab's director if she tried her luck in Miami.

Greg typed in the information and brought up the next page. It asked for the expected things such as preferred shift and courses he'd like to offer, but he was almost thrown by "preferred introduction music". He hit the question mark beside the field.

That sounded cool and he chose "Madman with a Microscope" by Lydia Hipp, a Silver Lakes native. It was about a 'not that mad' scientist revealing the truth about his cheating girlfriend and Greg almost fit the physical description in the lyrics. He strummed his air guitar, Lady G, who was always in tune and ready to wail.

Besides, the driving bass line and powerful guitar riffs were enough to get him hard.

Speaking of getting him hard, Warrick was easing into the lab, sexy smile at the ready, and swabs held in front of him like a shield. Sanders blamed Brown's more protective physical stance with him on Nick, the jealous greedy bastard. There was more than enough of Warrick to be spread around; preferably spread around Greg's best sheets.

"Hi, Greg. More samples, I'm afraid," Warrick said apologetically. He glanced at Greg's screen. "I've already sent my questionnaire in. That had to be the most original form I've ever had to work with."

"Lucky you," Sanders responded. "It seems every time I get started on it, more work arrives." He eyed the tray Warrick placed beside him. "Like now."

Sanders twirled his chair toward the taller man. "Speaking of crimes, it would be a crime if you didn't go to see Tina Turner with me."

"You've got tickets?" Warrick asked, sounding impressed. "Man, who did you have to kill? Don't worry, I won't turn you in."

Sanders grinned. "I called in some favors and I have two premium tickets," he said casually. Greg didn't want to tell the man exactly what he'd done to secure the tickets. Sanders pulled them out of his wallet and waved them under the taller man's nose like expensive chocolates.

"Are you sure you don't want to take one of your many ladies instead?" Warrick asked, his eyes tracking the tickets.

"Warrick, there is no one I'd rather have on my arm than you to see Tina," Greg assured the other man as he moved closer.

Warrick's face shut down. "Greg, as much as I'd like to go to the concert, if you're thinking of this as a date, then I can't encourage that. I'm not the player everyone seems to think I am."

Mister Fucking Perfect, also known as Nicholas Stokes, had struck again and he wasn't even in the building. Sanders bit down on the bitterness rising in his throat. "It's not a date, Rick, it's a concert."

A concert where the excitement of the performance would have been eclipsed later by the passion in the bedroom. Greg would have thrown his legs wide for Warrick and taken every inch the man had to offer. He would have crawled in to work the next shift with his body marked by his surrender to the larger man.

"There you are," Stokes declared as he swaggered in. He waved an envelope. "I have tickets to Tina Turner's 'Last, I'm not kidding; Really, I'm not' Concert Tour. We'll be so close she could sweat on us."

"Tina does not sweat, Nick, she glows," Warrick corrected. "Greg also has tickets."

Nick crossed his arms and made sure Greg noted the muscles there. "Which of your many conquests were you going to take with you?"

"I wanted Warrick to go with me," Greg answered. He placed his hand on Brown's arm. "He and I are almost soul brothers when it comes to music."

"Really?" Nick tugged Warrick toward him. "Well, Warrick and I are much closer than that."

Greg tugged Warrick back toward him. "He'd much rather attend the concert with someone who is a true fan of Tina."

Nick pulled Warrick back hard, plastering the taller man against him. "I love me some Tina."

"Greg, you're about to tear my clothes," Warrick warned, his voice oddly calm. Did nothing unsettle Brown?

"No one tears this man's clothes but me," Nick hissed, his good guy mask broken at last. "Back off, Greg." A vein rose on Stokes's forehead that made Greg think about escape routes, hand-to-hand combat, and his living will. He released Warrick.

And there it was. The closest either man had come to admitting they were hitting the boards together. The visual image was instantly burned onto Greg's retinas where it could not be dislodged. The scene was hard, it was hot, and it was painful to think of Warrick with a man who was not Greg Sanders.

"I have work to do and a questionnaire to complete," Greg said flatly. He turned back to his screen.

"I'm working here," Greg interrupted. The two other men left without another word. Sanders returned the tickets back to his wallet. There were literally one hundred people he could take with him, but the only one he really wanted to take with him had left with Stokes.

"Were you about to agree to go to a concert with Greg 'Let Me Paw You' Sanders?" Nick asked, his voice still rough with testosterone.

Warrick wasn't going to lie. "If you'd walked in just a minute later, I would have told him that I'd go with him. You missed the part where I told him I wouldn't go if he thought it was a date. I wouldn't play him like that," Brown insisted. "Not even for Tina Turner."

"But he's not getting it, Nicky," Warrick assured his dangerous and possessive lover. "Now calm down." He leaned closer. "Or do I need to put you across my lap and spank your gorgeous bottom until it is as red as your cheeks are right now?" he asked, letting his lips almost touch Nick's forehead. Brown knew how much the smaller man loved to feel Warrick's breath on him and the more public the occasion, the hotter Nick was for the fucking later.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Catherine quipped as she walked into the break area. "I had plans. Big plans. Haughty and naughty plans. I was going to have to ice my arm like a major league pitcher." She pouted. "How about you, Warrick? Make my day, big man."

"Only if I'm giving," Warrick answered, his voice dropping low on its own, "and you have to wear those wicked black high-heeled sandals with the rhinestones." Catherine had wickedly great legs and an ass for the ages. If she really would allow a spanking, Warrick would have been the first to volunteer.

"My list of kinks is very long, Catherine," Brown confessed. "I'm an ass man, a breast man, and I have a thing for women in high heels, no stockings, with polished toenails." Warrick waffled his shirt at the collar to release the steam. "That barely scratches the surface of the door to my enormous kink closet," he added. "Don't make me talk about my love of women who run their nails down my back -- sweaty skin, nails scraping along, and the sensation that twists pain and pleasure together so tightly just makes me ache. I'm a bad boy."

"Everyone in this room is hot," Grissom declared as he walked into the break room. "Hot on the trail of criminals." He held out a slip. "Warrick and Nick, I have a Humvee in the fountains at the Golden Sands with two dead bodies in the backseat."

Warrick snagged the paper before Nick could. "There's something you don't see everyday."

Brown looked back over his shoulder before he left the break room. Grissom gave him a little wink. "I think he's going to tell Catherine about us," he whispered to Nick.

"There's a conversation I'd love to hear," Nick quipped. The two men headed out.

Grissom led Catherine to his office and closed the door. His bass sang out a few bars, then quieted.

"I see that you've pulled out of the Silver Lakes training trip. Can I ask why?" he inquired.

"My sister was supposed to watch Lindsey while I was gone, but now she has a conflict and can't keep her longer than two weeks," Catherine explained. "I don't want to cheat them out of the full three weeks of training. Silver Lakes is really counting on this opportunity."

Gil had a seat. "Doctor Rayburn made it plain that you were one of the reasons the team was selected." He frowned. Losing Catherine was not an option. "Lindsey will be out of school. Is there any chance she could come with us?"

"Gil, we'll be staying in Rayburn's home. Don't you think she'd notice the extra person, no matter how small?" Catherine asked.

Grissom held up his hands to ward off any further protests. "Catherine, it can't hurt to ask. Doctor Rayburn is far more likely to be insulted that you weren't bringing Lindsey with you in the first place. She has a different mindset than we do." He placed his hand on the phone. "Let's call her."

"It's a waste of time, Gil," Catherine insisted, but she accepted the phone, checked the number on the notebook Gil held toward her, and dialed. "She's probably going to kill me for calling her this late."

"Doctor Rayburn, it's Catherine Willows. Yes, I did. You see my sister was supposed to watch my daughter but --" She paused and listened. "We wouldn't want to be a burden and you've been so nice already by allowing the entire group to stay in your home." Another pause. "You've arranged a sitter and a playgroup?" Again she paused. "Oh, she'd love that, Elaine. Okay, so we'll both be there. We'll do her questionnaire right away. Thank you so much."

Catherine put the phone down. "You called it, Gil. She was expecting me to bring Lindsey all along. Just like she was expecting Al to bring his wife Sonya. She's even fixed up a third-story bedroom that has a balcony so Lindsey can play princess."

"Good, that's resolved. I'll add her name to the passenger list." Their team was arriving via an Ivory Towers company plane, along with lab equipment and field gear. Part of the team's duty was to train the SLCL staff on using that equipment.

Gil wasn't looking forward to the next part, but it had to be done. "Catherine, I've scheduled myself for some surgery and I'll be taking two weeks of sick leave. You'll be in charge of the graveyard shift while I'm gone."

Catherine frowned. "What's wrong?" she asked. Her expression was tight and concerned.

"I have Otosclerosis, also known as 'stapes fixation', where the bones of my inner ear are being fixed in place by extra bone growth. The condition is hereditary in my case and my mother went completely deaf from it. Warrick has talked me into having the surgery now rather than waiting." 'Let it slip past her,' he silently begged. Gil had not meant to mention Warrick by name.

"Is it dangerous?" Catherine inquired. Her expression was schooled. Gil had seen it many times when extra calm was needed in an emotional situation.

"Not as dangerous as doing nothing," he answered. Good, he'd dodged the bullet. His friend was concentrating on his health and not on his slip of the tongue.

"How long is the recovery?" she asked, leaning forward with concern clear in her eyes.

"Just a week but I'm taking off a second week to be safe. It also means that I can't fly to Silver Lakes and Nick and Warrick have agreed to drive there with me." Gil hoped he projected an air of casualness.

Catherine arched an eyebrow. "Is that going to bother you to have them in the car with you for three days?" she asked.

"Because they're a couple?" Gil asked, ready to look offended. He knew people considered him a hopeless stiff, but he'd thought that Catherine knew he was not prejudiced when it came to same-sex couples.

"Why should it bother me?" Gil huffed. Damn the woman and her insight. How had she known? How long had she known? How much longer did they have before she realized Gil was loving both men?

He pushed Brutus's cage closer to Catherine in hopes of the large bug frightening her away. It didn't work. Catherine could be quite tenacious.

"Oh. My. God," she moaned. "You smirking, smiling bastard. Which one? Do they know? Of course they know, what am I thinking?" she asked herself. "That is just so wicked. Which one are you sending back and forth? Do you even let him bathe between bouts? I bet he smells good with the other guy's scent mixed with his. Jesus, do the three of you share a bed and feast on the guy in the middle?"

Gil was almost enjoying this little monologue. His ego would have loved to admit that he was the man in the middle, but once you crossed that line there was no going back. "I don't think this is an appropriate conversation."

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "If I had one of them I'd be on the roof doing the happy dance, which equates to you buying new underwear."

Ow. Gil winced. He had bought all new underwear, but that was to be more sexy for his guys. "I think my work life and private life should remain separate."

"Gil, you don't get it." Catherine took his hand. "You're not talking to your second-in-command, you're talking to your friend. Your friend who is worried about you facing an operation alone. Your friend who thinks over one thousand miles with two men you want so badly but can't touch is about two thousand miles too long unless one of them is also making you happy. Make your friend feel better about that."

"Kind as in helping you drive to Arkansas because your ears can't take the change in pressure or as in almost pulling your hair out by the roots in passion while you're making them cum?" Catherine asked, seeking clarification.

Gil smoothed his hair back, noted that his hands were shaking, and stilled them. "Both," he admitted.

"Well, hot damn," Catherine stated. "You are the man, Gilbert Grissom. I symbolically snap my garters in your honor." She placed her elbows on the desk and rested her chin on her palms. "Now, what are you going to do about Sara?"

Catherine didn't even blink. "Because he didn't want people making a fuss over it," she answered, trying to sound reasonable. "I need you to get your questionnaire in before you leave tonight."

Sara groaned. She'd forgotten about the thing. "Rayburn must run a tight ship if she needs all of that information."

"She's trying to impress us so we'll flee the evil city of Las Vegas and come and work for her," Catherine explained. "She's offering equivalent pay, better housing, Federal positions with Federal benefits, and regional jurisdiction."

It would take more than that to get Sara to work in that little 'dip in the road' city. Besides, she and Rayburn would butt heads far too often. "And all she wants to know is our food preferences, allergies, preferred shift, and clothing sizes."

"What did you pick?" Sara asked, almost expecting "The Stripper" as no one in Silver Lakes would get it.

"Lydia Hipp's 'Busted'," Catherine answered. "Greg turned me on to it and I have to admit it's totally rock and roll."

Did you think all of your tricks were good enough to save your sorry ass this time?

Sidle should have grabbed that one, but she couldn't use it now that Catherine had claimed it as her own. "Do you know what everyone else is using?"

"Grissom's got 'A Little Help from My Friends' by Joe Cocker. Warrick is using Usher's 'Yeah'. Nick chose 'Life in the Fast Lane' by The Eagles. Greg selected 'Madman with a Microscope' by Lydia Hipp. Jim surprised me with Josh Dillon's 'Night Detective'. Archie is pushing The Police's 'Every Breath You Take', which proves to me that song was about stalking. Doc has decided on Chicago's '(I've Been) Searching for so Long'. Bobby's rolling out Enrique Estevez's 'Empty Chamber'." Catherine smiled. "We're pretty diverse. Have you got one yet?"

Sara shook her head. "I mostly enjoy instrumentals. It's hard to get your meaning across with one of them."

Catherine shook her head. "What about 'Seeker of Light' or 'Supernova' by The Wayward Girls?"

Sara almost blushed. Catherine thought 'Supernova' and Sara Sidle could co-exist? It was quite a compliment. "I think 'Supernova' might be the one for me."

"Good, that only leaves you about ninety questions to go." Catherine headed toward Grissom's office, which immediately reminded Sara she was mad.

"Desert Palms and he needs total quiet," Catherine said firmly. "Leave him alone, Sara. You know how private the man is."

Sara crossed her arms, ready to dig in. "I bet Warrick and Nick are invited. I noticed that they are driving to Silver Lakes with Grissom."

Catherine sat down at Grissom's desk and carefully eased the cage with the giant beetle toward herself. She shivered. "That thing just looks evil."

"No, you're talking about Grissom," Catherine corrected. "And talking and talking and talking. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you sleeping with a handsome young stud who calls you every day? Why are you obsessing over another man?"

Sara almost jumped. "I'm just taking an interest in a colleague, Catherine. Derrick has nothing to do with Grissom."

"And Grissom has nothing to do with you, Sara." Catherine pulled a rotting bit of orange out of a plastic tub with tongs, opened the beetle's cage, tossed in the fruit, and quickly closed the door. The bug scurried over to the food and began to eat it. "I so want to call Orkin."

"Catherine, you've got it all wrong," Sara insisted, not letting the bug derail the conversation.

Catherine gave Sara a very tired look. "Sara, Gil Grissom thinks of himself as your mentor, your boss, and your friend, but that's as far as it goes. If it were different, don't you think he would have told you he was going into the hospital and why?"

Catherine closed the tub of soggy fruit. "Sara, take this as coming from a friend. He's not interested. Not at all. You have a man. Take him and leave Gil alone."

Sara turned and stalked out. Catherine could be so infuriating when she thought she was right. Sara was so caught up in her thoughts that she nearly ran poor Archie Johnson and Greg Sanders over. The two young men were caught up in a hug. "Well?" she droned.

"Greg's taking me to see Tina Turner," Archie gushed. "What a pal." He turned back to Greg. "You have got to let me make you dinner before we go."

"Sorry, Greg, there is nothing authentically Japanese in my apartment, including me," Archie declared. "Would you settle for Italian? I do some great Mediterranean style dishes."

Sara slipped on past without looking back. She thought Turner was overrated and far too old to still think of herself as a rock queen. Why would anyone part with the kind of money those tickets were going for?

She found Nick carefully trying to piece a rifle back together because someone had decided that if they sawed it apart and left the pieces sticking out of their trashcan, they wouldn't get caught. It was amazing how dumb people could be. "How's it going?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"I lifted some excellent prints off the pieces and now I just need to show that all of these pieces go together," Nick answered without looking up. "How are your baking soda tests going?"

The cops had busted a kid for selling baking soda as cocaine to his elementary school friends. Sara had the great joy of getting samples from every bag into Trace. "Finished," she reported. "Did you know that Grissom was going into the hospital before yesterday?" That was when it was announced Grissom was driving and not flying to Silver Lakes.

"Because he needed to drive to Silver Lakes and I'm very familiar with the trip," Nick answered. "Remember that I drove here from Dallas with all of my stuff."

"Did he tell you not to tell anyone else?" Sara inquired, ready to get even angrier if there had been no order to exclude her.

"No, but he didn't need to, Sara," Nick said testily. "The man doesn't like for people to know he's got a cold. He certainly wouldn't want it spread far and wide that he had to have surgery."

Nick looked up and stared. "Sara, have you been drinking?" he asked. "Grissom would put a deadly assassin to guarding his door if he could afford it. He needs quiet and he doesn't want visitors. He's not even reading email."

"Not that he ever does," Sara commented. "I just don't understand why I wasn't told he was going into the hospital and why?"

Nick tilted his head to the side. "When did you and Grissom start seeing each other? Does Derrick know?" he asked, sounding serious. "Or were you promoted to being his supervisor?"

"Why?" Nick asked. He was no longer paying attention to the disassembled rifle. His dark eyes were focused totally on Sara.

She didn't have the perfect answer and only the perfect answer was going to get that look off of Nick's face. "I wanted to know."

Nick bent back over his rifle. "I wanted to know the numbers to the Big Lotto before it was drawn, but no one told me that either."

Sara left before she said something stupid. She'd never expected Nick to be so mean. She was fuming. Didn't anyone get it? She was concerned about Grissom. She needed to see him and make sure he was alright. He couldn't have been that determined to be alone.

A quick call to the Desert Palms let her know that Grissom was unable to take phone calls and that he had a strict visitor's list. Sara had to wait until almost three hours after the shift ended because she had forgotten about the stupid questionnaire yet again and Catherine told her she couldn't go home until she'd completed and emailed the thing to Rayburn. By the time she'd finished it, the sun was fully up and normal people could be seen visiting their loved ones at the hospital.

Sidle found Grissom's room and was stopped from going in by a male nurse only slightly smaller than a professional wrestler. If he shaved his head and grew some unnecessary facial hair, the man would have been on his way to a lucrative career. They could call him "The Big Pink Doorstop".

The nurse looked at his clipboard, but Sara could see that the list was so short that he needn't have bothered. Her name was not there. "You're not on the list."

Renata Hill? Was she the reason Grissom had been "I've got a juicy, sexy secret" smiling for months now? Was this the mysterious lover who had kept Grissom from making a move toward her all this time? Now the competition finally had a name. A name Catherine must have known. No wonder the woman had practically told Sara the Grissom ship had sailed without Sara.

The big man smiled. "You know it," he responded as if her memory was causing his pants to get tight. "She's a very faithful visitor. The lucky bastard."

Sara smiled and walked away. Renata Hill? The name didn't sound too intimidating. At least it wasn't Renata Grissom, not yet anyway.

The door to his room opened, but instead of a nurse to wheel him out to the sidewalk, it was Nick Stokes.

"Hi, Gil," Nick signed. "Warrick with truck, front, dump now, wheels, go." The man had maybe another three sentences in his hands before he would give up and write Grissom a note, but Gil loved that the guy tried.

Grissom interpreted that rather cryptic sentence to mean that Warrick was waiting at patient loading in the truck and Nick was here to wheel Gil out to the front. That or he'd finally decided to take Grissom out to the desert so he could have Warrick all to himself. "Thanks," he signed back.

Nick smiled and kissed Gil on the forehead. If the other man was up for kissing, there were better places than Gil's forehead for those lips. He accepted a note from Nick.

Grissom could feel his heart rate rising and not for something fun. Damn, damn, damn. What in the world could the woman see in him? He'd done nothing to encourage her.

Nick massaged Gil's neck. Without speaking, the other man managed to convince Grissom that not only were things going to be alright, Nick was personally going to make them alright.

Gil's doctor slipped into the room, passed Gil a note, and then placed a clipboard in his lap. The note laid out all the things they'd discussed about his care, including the no loud noises, no flying, and taking it easy. He had medications and ear protection he needed to have with him at all times for the next ten days. He signed the release and returned it.

A bag with his possessions, medications, and papers were passed to him and Gil moved to the wheelchair and sat down. Nick gave his hand a quick squeeze before rolling him out of the room.

They took the patient elevator, therefore avoiding cell phones, crying children, and other pain-inducing noises. Emerging in the lobby, Nick confidently rolled Gil to the patient loading area where Warrick waited.

It was a good thing that Gil wasn't the sentimental type or that would have made him teary. He smiled instead and rose with a little wobble out of the wheelchair. Grissom was loaded into the back by Warrick, buckled in by Nick as if he didn't know how, and kissed stealthily by both men. That warm kiss buzz kept him smiling all the way home.

Renata Hill, one of Gil's neighbors and a dear friend, was waiting on them at the townhouse. Renata, a widow, had enrolled herself in a French cooking school and expected Gil to eat her homework. She was going to take care of Gil's place while he was in Silver Lakes, as well as accepting his packages and mail.

Something smelled good and Gil's stomach, which had threatened to go on strike during its three days of torture at the hospital, awakened. Grissom wobbled to the bathroom with Warrick's help, had a shower, did not get molested despite his best butt wiggling attempts, and then was dressed in his new pajamas, and moved back to the dining table where a feast awaited him.

Nick and Renata were furiously passing notes back and forth, which Renata tried to hide when Gil came into the room. He held his hand out and Renata reluctantly handed them over.

Gil read the notes. Sara had called the townhouse, Renata had answered, and Sidle had tried to grill Renata over her relationship with Gil. Renata was willing to be Gil's beard if it would make things easier. Nick wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. In fact, Gil would guess that this kind of lying would eat at the younger man fairly quickly.

Gil didn't want Sara to know his shoe size, why would he tell her who he was sleeping with? Unless it directly impacted their work, he saw no reason to share anything about himself. "It's none of her business," Gil signed. "Now, what about lunch?"

It was the quietest meal he'd ever shared with his friends. Gil thought back to the first time Renata had met Nick and Warrick.

Grissom was nibbling on Nick's neck and squeezing the younger man's ass when the doorbell rang.

"Can she see through the door?" Warrick inquired, his face caught in an evil grin.

Gil released Nick after placing a kiss on his lips. "That's Renata," he explained before opening the door.

Renata Hill had probably saved Gil from a broken nose the first time they met. Grissom had been shopping at a local grocery store when a man caught his attention. Or, rather, his shirt caught Gil's attention. On it was a hand drawn picture of a very rare jumping spider.

They'd dated for a bit, but Gil's single-minded devotion to his job had ruined it. Despite his many failings, they'd managed to remain friends.

When Renata stepped through the door, Nick and Rick saw a petite woman with long black hair, dark eyes, and the Mediterranean complexion you would expect for someone born in Venice. Both of them gave Gil the "you never said she was beautiful" look before helping her inside.

"Oh, you must be Warrick and Nicholas," Renata gushed. "Gil never said you were so handsome."

"He wouldn't," Nick assured her. "He also failed to mention how stunning you are." Gil got a second dose of the evil eye, though he couldn't imagine why he was getting it. It wasn't Gil's fault he was surrounded by so much beauty.

"Renata Hill, this is Warrick Brown and Nick Stokes," Grissom introduced. "How is your cooking class going?"

"You will tell me," Renata replied. "It is a souffle." She uncovered her latest creation from her cooking class.

"Good height," Gil declared as he placed dishes on the table. Warrick helped serve.

It had been all so innocent. They were talking about Venice and Renata's recent trip there to see family and friends. Nick was smiling and laughing but there was this tiny dab of cheese on his cheek. A thinking man would have told Nick to wipe it off. A semi-thinking man would have used his own napkin to remove the offending cheese. The sex-crazed idiot part of Gil Grissom licked it off.

A move like that clearly stated Grissom wanted Renata to know about them. They still could have been saved if Nick had reacted like your typical heterosexual male and leapt away from the table before bashing Grissom over the head with something of lethal weight. Instead the man had said... "Thanks, babe."

Warrick started to laugh. He fought it, but he was laughing. He started humming Josh Dillon's "(It Looks like I'm) Out of the Closet", which strangely wasn't about being gay but about liking nice things, and Renata giggled.

"What part of Nick are you going to smear it on, Gil?" Warrick asked, his eyes absolutely dancing with joy at Grissom's predicament.

"I could spread it on your ass because I know you'd love it, Rick," Gil responded. He kissed the big man hard and possessively and Brown's nipples made little hills against his tight shirt. Warrick did not get to play straight in front of Renata when Gil and Nick had outed themselves.

And he'd accused Warrick of adhering to antiquated schoolyard rules. Yet, Gil was very satisfied to have put Mister Cool in his place.

"Count me in," Nick said as he licked his lips at Warrick, who had begun to blush.

"If you spread it on his chest I could have some," Renata stated. "Having it on his bottom is too close to cheating, but his chest is almost pure."

They did end up placing that torte on Warrick's chest and spoon-feeding the man. When some of it slid down to his stomach, Renata left because her "willpower would hold up no longer that close to cheating".

Now Renata was ready to protect them from Sara after filling his refrigerator with gourmet food. Gil didn't deserve a friend that loyal. He leaned over and gently kissed her. It was a brotherly peck and taken that way.

"The mountain is conquered even by the smallest steps," she signed. Her English was much better in sign. "I will broom Sara."

Now there was an image. Renata would have to find a chair to pummel the much taller Sara. He had to smile and kiss her hand. "You are very dear," he whispered.

Grissom could talk if he wanted to, but he sounded funny to himself and it put him off. Nick shushed him and Renata placed three fingers over his lips. Warrick lightly swatted Gil's ass, which naturally caught Grissom's attention. Gil so loved being Warrick's "bad boy".

Gil giggled. He really tried to stop but that was just so funny coming from Renata. Funny and true.

Nick went stern. Gil loved his Nick stern. No laughing and Gil had to take his medications now that he'd had some food. Gil grumbled, which made Warrick baby him and Renata roll her eyes.

They put him to bed and went back into the kitchen to tackle the dishes. Their soft voices drifted back to him like the sweetest music. He was supposed to be relaxing and reading, but his eyes were too teary to see through.

"I nearly let it all go out of fear, Rick," Gil answered before choking up. If Warrick Brown hadn't put his foot down, Grissom would still be trying to hide what was happening to him instead of doing something about it.

Warrick was kissing his face and holding Gil so gently. His large hands massaged Grissom's neck. Gil hadn't cried in a long time but he couldn't stop this time. Warrick just held him tighter.

A second set of arms surrounded him. Strong arms. Arms that by their mere presence swore they would never let him down. They rocked him and held him together. Gil let it all out until he could not manage another tear or sob.

Renata washed his face with a warm cloth and helped tuck him into the bed. Nick stripped down to his briefs and climbed in, while Warrick saw Renata to the door. Gil knew they were kissing at the doorway, but it didn't bother him because Renata was a kisser. She'd grown up that way. Friends and family kissed each other. Gil had always been grateful for that tendency.

Rick returned, slipped out of his clothes and climbed into the bed. He and Nick squeezed Gil between them as they had so many times, but this time Grissom didn't wiggle until he got the cock he wanted and needed. This time he was content to allow his two strong men to protect him from the big bad world. He was safe.

Brutus nibbled on his squishy banana, ignorant of the creepy crawlies he caused.

"No, Gil would kill me if I managed to cut off his fancy meals," she grumbled. "Renata cooks better than I bargain shop."

"Willows, do you know a lady named Renata Hill?" Officer Sikes inquired. He asked from the doorway, not because he feared any bug inside, but because Grissom had banned him.

Sikes grinned. "Oh yeah," he assured her. "Is she... taken?" he asked with the kind of glee normally reserved for large stacks of money.

"Show her in, Sikes," Catherine said impatiently. "This isn't about your love life."

"No matter how big they get, they're still little boys," Catherine noted. The bug had nothing to add to the conversation. Gingerly, she picked up Brutus's cage and placed him on his display shelf.

"Catherine, we have a problem," Renata declared as she strode into the office. Sikes melted away.

"Is Gil alright?" she asked. Renata was a photographer and set her own hours. She worked from home, just a few doors down from Gil, and had promised to look in on him while he was recovering. Besides, Grissom was sure to have a relapse if he had to eat his own cooking.

"He is most upset, and I blame Sara Sidle," Renata declared. "Where is this female?"

Catherine could feel her first migraine coming on with a vengeance. Renata barely made five feet and some of that was high heels. If she passed one hundred pounds, it had to be the humidity clinging to her clothes. Sara was twice the woman's size and Sidle didn't stand a chance against the Italian sub-Bantam weight. "What happened?"

"She called Gil's home and grilled me as if I were some trollop," Renata reported. "I intend to set her straight."

Convinced this "setting straight" might involve either knife or gunplay, Catherine decided to step in before she had to process the scene. "Renata, I will speak to her and make sure she understands --"

"You have already spoken to her. Nicholas tells me this." Renata's hands did an elaborate dance. "Nicholas is too sweet to deal with this woman. Warrick would leave much evidence of her painful demise. Gilbert is helpless. I shall handle this. My people have been rolling our trouble into the sea for generations and Lake Meade is not that far away."

Catherine had a mental image of Renata guiding her gondola along the canals of Venice and dumping a chained, bleeding, and sobbing Sara into the water. Renata would probably sing some old song as she headed away while Sara sank like a stone to the bottom. The woman might actually get away with it.

"Your Gilbert?" Sara inquired from the doorway. Catherine hadn't heard the door open. "Are you Renata?" The tone of dismissal was so evident that Willows knew Sara was as good as dead.

"Yes, I am Renata and you are Sara. I recognize your nasal tones from our unpleasant phone conversation," Renata replied, her hands going to her hips. "You will leave Gil to rest and recover in comfort and not foul his home with your nonsense."

Sara's face set into her normal stubborn lines and instead of taking the opportunity to grovel or at least run, she moved further into the room. "I was checking up on a friend. If you're so insecure that a call from a friend has ruffled your feathers, you might want to step back and take a good look at your relationship."

"Oh, damn," Catherine moaned as the line that cannot be uncrossed was crossed right in front of her.

"Apparently no one here has the balls to tell you what is what, but I do not have this problem, Sara Sidle," Renata promised. "You are an idiot; a stubborn pushy child who is demanding attention simply because you exist and I will not have it. I will see you dead before I allow you to place another tear on that man's cheek." Only a fool would not recognize the deadly earnest in those words and despite some of her actions, Sara Sidle was not a fool.

Renata moved forward, finger pointing at Sara's heart as if she were practicing putting a bullet there. "Puttana, ti insegne io il significato del dolore. Nessuno turba il mio Gilbert," she declared, her dark eyes going even darker. "Ti strapperò il fegato e te lo serviro come stufato."

Sara backed fully out of the room, hit the opposite wall and then fled down the hall with Renata in close pursuit.

"Torna qui, gru dal collo lungo," Renata declared, racing after Sara. "Torna indietro ed affronta la mia giusta collera."

"Bitch, I will teach you the meaning of pain. No one upsets my Gilbert," Hodges translated for Greg. "I will have your liver and serve it up in a covered dish."

"Stew," Archie corrected. "Come back here, you long-necked crane. Return and face my righteous wrath," he finished.

"He's with me," Greg declared as he took Archie's arm and held onto the other man possessively. "We're going to see Tina Turner together."

Catherine didn't get to hear the rest of the no doubt juicy gossip as she took off down the hall to observe most of the staff clinging to the walls. She found the women, with Brass acting as a human shield between Sara and Renata. Jim was going to lose his balls if he didn't move.

"Oh, dear God," Nick gasped as he came up behind Catherine. "Renata, honey, Sara is as sorry as she can be." He placed his arm around the diminutive woman's shoulders. Stokes was seriously brave as Renata was at the perfect height for her knees and elbows to do a lot of damage to a man. "Let's go have some of Greg's good coffee and calm down."

"And eventually she will," Nick soothed, "but not where I have to see it. Please? They'll make us clean it up, Honey, and my stomach isn't up to that. Greg has great coffee and Warrick brought in croissants." He guided the dangerous woman back down the hall.

"Sara, God as my witness, I'll never help you again," Jim declared. He turned to glare at the woman. "What the hell did you do to get Renata down here and in such a snit?"

"Man, I just saw Renata and she looks ready to bend steel," Warrick declared. "What's going on?"

"She's going to break Sara's neck and serve her up in a stew for making a move on her man, Grissom," Greg declared as he arrived, his voice steady. "I gave up some of my coffee stash without a whimper to calm her down."

Sikes strode down the hall like he was ready to catch a murderer. "Willows, why didn't you tell me she was with Grissom?" the big cop demanded. "What a woman," he sighed.

Greg, Warrick, Jim, Sikes, and Catherine all turned and stared. As a group they growled in frustration and walked away. Catherine headed back to Gil's office. She'd rather sit with the damn bugs than be anywhere near Sara Sidle. At that moment, she could happily strangle the woman with her bare hands.

This sudden switch from fiercely independent to "don't leave me alone" was bothering Warrick. Brown blamed Sara. She'd made Gil worry that she was stalking him.

Gil lined up some silent movies for his DVD while Renata set out her cameras. She was going to complete several black and white studies of Grissom. Warrick had no idea how she'd beaten the man down to get him to agree to model. Nick and Warrick were going to be allowed to pick two poses each for their personal use.

The padded ear protection was gone and Gil was wearing simple hearing aids. He was going to take them off during the shoot.

Warrick pulled Gil into his arms without warning and kissed the man hard. Even though Renata was mere feet away, he couldn't stop his hands from roaming over the older man's body and settling quite naturally on his ass. Brown had spent many happy hours fucking that ass and he loved to caress it. Nick got groped, grabbed, and squeezed, but Gil normally received the much more gentle treatment until they were horizontal. Not tonight. He had his hands on Grissom's ass and he was hanging on tight. Renata began snapping their picture. It didn't make Warrick want to stop.

"If you're still awake when we come home, I'm going to fuck you stupid," Warrick warned. Gil's eyebrows did their little dance of confusion. Warrick had been the one to insist they be gentle with the older man after the operation, now he was promising to bruise him up during a sexual romp that was bound to destroy some furniture. "That's right, baby. I think you've rested enough. I'm so hungry for you right now that I almost bit your lips." Reluctantly, Warrick released the older man. "I better let you go before I do something that is going to make me very, very late." He'd seen headlights and knew Stokes had arrived.

Nick breezed in after using his key. "Ten minutes and ten minutes only, then we're out of here," he declared. He gave Renata a soft peck, Warrick a full kiss, and Gil got bent over, fondled, and kissed with enough suction to lift a stone from the ground. "Ten minutes," he repeated. He gave Gil a starved look. Not hungry, starved. "Nine minutes and counting." He pulled Gil into the bedroom and slammed the door behind them.

"Nick, oh, Nick. Nick. Damn, damn, damn." Stokes was the man. He had poor Gil cussing in less than a minute. It had to be a record.

Six minutes later, Nick emerged from the bedroom, straightening his clothes. "Gil is going to have a little nap," he announced. "Make sure he has something to eat, Renata. Rick and I both have our cell phones and they're set to vibrate." Stokes grabbed Warrick's hand and started to pull him out of Grissom's townhouse. "Look, we're leaving early."

Warrick couldn't go without one last look at Gil. He eased into the bedroom to find Grissom flat on his back across the bed with his pants and briefs around his ankles and his shirt pushed up to his armpits. He was panting heavily.

Brown removed Gil's shoes, shirt, and pants. "I'll tell Renata that my shots can be of you in the nude," he whispered to the older man. "You're so beautiful. Holding myself back has been torture and, quite frankly, I've run out of restraint." Warrick licked Gil's slightly parted lips and cupped his face. "If I didn't know Nick would pull me out of here by my balls, I'd climb in the saddle right now."

Gil closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against Warrick's left hand. "I don't feel so broken down now."

"Broken down?" Warrick asked, shocked. "No, Sugar Bear, you were never broken down just healing." He kissed the older man softly. "You're lucky I love you so much. Otherwise, I'd have made Nick drive so I could fuck you on the way home from the hospital."

Gil grinned. "I can just imagine that traffic stop. No, officer, I'm not killing him. He needs it like that."

Warrick laughed. "Do you think they'd try to print my cock when they hauled me in?"

"Only for their own private collections to fuel their Warrick lust," Gil answered. He kissed Warrick softly. "Go on or Nick will get us both." He let his fingers play in Brown's thick hair. "I love you," he whispered almost as if he weren't allowed to say the words.

"Damn you," Warrick cursed. Gil's face caved in, the shock and horror plain to see. "You're supposed to say that when I have all night to lick 'I love you too, my one and only Sugar Bear', in capital letters, all over your body," he sighed in exasperation. "You've ruined my nefarious scheme and I was really proud to finally have one."

Gil smiled and it was like the sun coming from behind the clouds. "Pretend I didn't say it yet," he suggested.

"Oh, hell no. You don't get to take it back," Warrick informed the older man. "It's been caught by my heart and it won't let go." They kissed again. "See you in a few 'Tina makes me want to fuck' hours."

Grissom's eyebrows shot up. "O-kay," he responded slowly. One more kiss and he released Warrick.

Brown strolled out with one last look over his shoulder at Gil. "I love you," he promised the other man. He stepped out of the room and almost into Nick's arms. "Ready to go, lover boy," he declared. He gripped the smaller man's hand.

Warrick didn't get to reflect on how much his and Nick's thinking had been in sync that night. The concert rocked, Greg and Archie left the concert hall with two women each on their arms, and Gil was sound asleep when they got back to his place.

Grissom had no trouble sleeping alone after that. Brown wasn't sure exactly what the turning point had been. It didn't really matter because they had "their Gil" back.

Renata's photos of Gil were so gorgeous that Nick and Warrick had whined, pleaded, and begged their way to four poses each. She was such a softy.

Their easy friendship had blown up when she'd foolishly started their first post-Renata invasion conversation with "you really didn't need to apologize for me". Things went downhill from there.

Warrick, Mister Easygoing, visually sized her up for a coffin every time they were in the same location. Greg handed over reports without a single word of banter and wouldn't look her in the eyes. Archie avoided her whenever he could. Hodges wouldn't flirt with her. Sikes treated her as if she were worse than an escaped spider. Catherine spoke to her but only about official matters. It was like being dead.

Derrick had dropped her the day after Renata's visit. He didn't want to stand in her way since she was "so in love with another man that she'd take on an enraged Italian for him". Derrick was so dedicated to the idea of not being in her way that he'd transferred to another station and switched shifts.

Most of the patrol officers began to treat her as if she were poison once Derrick was gone. He'd been very popular. More popular than she'd known.

Sidle kept a countdown to Grissom's first official day back on the job. Once he'd spoken to her, she would be forgiven by everyone else. Everyone had to be mad because that crazy Italian woman had said her phone call had upset the man, they couldn't be mad for any other reason.

Balloons, a cake, and a poster from the 1950's movie "Realm of the Ants" waited for Grissom as he strolled in. He seemed genuinely surprised and delighted. Not only was he missed but his return was an event.

Ecklie gave a nice speech, Catherine gave a funny one, and the Greg-Archie-David-Bobby skit of "what Grissom's bugs had to endure while he was away" was so funny that Brass developed hiccups from laughing. Ecklie was wheezing as if he needed an inhaler after Bobby/Brutus Maximus declared "only Ecklie could understand what it was like to be the big magnificent bug trapped in a small mesh cage". Sikes nearly lost it when Greg/Bugsy the Spider declared his desire to "climb up Sikes's leg and hear him scream like a little girl". The big cop had laughed himself red in the face.

It seemed to take forever for the rest of the staff to finally go to work and leave her and Grissom alone.

Grissom tented his fingers and gazed at her. "From several sources. Do you want to give me your version?" he asked.

"I went overboard in questioning Renata, which upset her and obviously you, and she came here to kill me. I was rescued by most of the graveyard shift," Sara reported. "Those are the highlights."

"No one is talking to me," she reported. "If you'll just officially forgive me, I think this will blow over. Or I could transfer out." Grissom had made it plain he liked having her on his team. Nothing would get him to patch things up faster than her offering to leave.

"If you want to leave, I won't stop you," Grissom announced, shocking Sara into silence. "But if you stay, there are going to have to be some strictly enforced rules of conduct concerning you and me. My time off has made some things crystal clear."

Sara smiled. She knew that time apart would make the man realize how much he wanted her. She didn't even have to wait to let Derrick down easy. Sara and Grissom could start fresh. Sara would have to switch to the day shift and that would limit their time together, but it would be worth it.

"I am not interested in anything but a working relationship with you, Sara," Grissom continued, unaware of the 16-ton weight he'd just dropped on her heart. "I can't and won't dance around that. My affections lie elsewhere and that's the closest you and I will come to discussing my love life."

"I see," Sara managed to reply without croaking. "I need to finish up some reports."

"Right," she agreed. Sara rushed into the locker room and was grateful to find it empty. No one saw her break down.

"On the road again," Nick sang. He grinned at Warrick, who peered at him through one eye only. The other one seemed to be closed in extreme pain.

"But singing is not one of them," Warrick finished. "Maybe we can listen to one of Gil's CDs," he suggested. "It's his turn."

"Revels of Spring," Gil called out as he passed the CD forward. He seemed quite eager to end Nick's singing.

"That'll put me to sleep," Nick complained, refusing to show hurt feelings, especially since there were none. He didn't sing because he harbored dreams of being on stage at 'American Idol', he sang because it was fun.

"Me too," Gil agreed as he pulled the blanket up to his chin and rested his head on his pillow. The man was dangerously cuddly-looking back there.

Unfortunately, if Nick gave in to his impulse to grab the man and hold him every time that thought came up, they'd still be in Nevada. "Put it in," Stokes said as he signaled for a lane change.

They were well ahead of their schedule because they'd left early and driven straight through the first day of travel. With three drivers and more than enough room to stretch out and nap, they'd seen no reason to stop. The second day pure horniness had demanded they stop, get a room, and fuck.

"Okay, we're about fifteen miles out of Fayetteville," Warrick noted. He was riding shotgun and being the navigator. "That's a college town, so there should be several hundred places to stop for gas and food."

"Do you think we should call Doctor Rayburn to let her know we made it to Arkansas?" Nick asked.

"Yes, we should," Gil answered from the back, "but make it plain we'll get a hotel room for two days so we won't be a bother. Make sure she has all of our cell phone numbers."

"Bossy, bossy, bossy," Warrick mumbled as he looked up the phone number and dialed. "Hello, Doctor Rayburn, this is Warrick Brown. Yes, we're all fine and we haven't tried to kill each other yet." He chuckled. "Grissom did tempt us by kicking the back of the seat and asking 'are we there yet?' over and over again." He snickered. "Make sure we get a clear tape if you do decide to spank him. I know where I can sell many, many copies."

"He's doing it again," Rick complained. "He's such a brat." He laughed again and wiped his eyes. "I'll have to bow to your superior experience in dealing with bratty men." He chuckled again. "No, we're just about to Fayetteville. We're going to stop for gas and a meal, then power our way down to Silver Lakes. We'll put up in a hotel since we're so early."

Warrick looked over his seat and blew a kiss at Gil and Grissom grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. "We wouldn't want to be a bother, Elaine." He paused. "Okay, I'll ask them." He moved the phone away from his luscious mouth. "Elaine says that while the guest rooms aren't all ready yet, except for Lindsey's, she does have a cottage with three bedrooms, two baths, its own kitchen, and water views sitting on her estate we can use if we don't mind the isolation and quiet."

"We'll take it," Warrick declared. "Any recommendations for food in Fayetteville?" He took out his notepad and began writing. "So, should we drop your name?" he asked after a minute. "Okay, you're the expert. Thanks. Let me give you our cell phone numbers." Warrick rattled them off from memory complete with area code.

Nick was not looking forward to this month's cell phone bill. Especially since they could easily wait two months before their reimbursement checks flowed.

Stokes followed Warrick's directions and they ended up at what looked like a private home except for the parking lot to the side. Cassidy's had begun its life as a large house but now was a restaurant. You could read a brief history of the place on the sign by the front door. Once inside they were warmly greeted as if they were old friends at last back from the wars. Rayburn had called ahead. They were led to a side porch with a view of a creek, rocking chairs, and a wrought iron table big enough for six. It was the only table on the porch.

Their waitress, Minnie, told them about the specials. Grissom couldn't resist the frog legs and crawfish. Warrick decided on a steak and made Nick trade seats with him so he could get away from the impending frog legs and crawfish. Nick ordered the roasted chicken special, complete with cornbread, corn on the cob, butterbeans, and a jug of ice-cold lemonade. He was almost home.

They didn't talk about much because it seemed all they'd done was talk since they'd left Nick's place. It was nice to just stretch his legs out, rock softly, eat some good food, and enjoy the quiet and the company.

"You really ought to try this," Gil insisted after Nick demonstrated the proper way to "suck the head" of his crawfish.

Warrick was not interested in them or the frog legs but he did try Nick's chicken and butterbeans. Nick couldn't believe the man had never eaten butterbeans before. How was that possible? Stokes was going to have to gently introduce his man to Southern cuisine.

"Ya'll save room for dessert?" Minnie inquired when she returned to refill their glasses.

"What's good?" Nick asked, which was an accepted way of asking for a recommendation.

"Honey, everything is good," Minnie promised. "But the strawberries and blackberries are in season and nothing beats them when they're fresh picked. We have cobblers, tarts, and shortcakes with those. If you love chocolate, you cannot beat the Sinful Chocolate Pie, but if you must have cake, and don't we all have to have cake sometimes?" She paused while the men nodded. "You have your choice of the chocolate bundt cake with caramel glaze or the really extraordinary coconut cake."

"Man, I haven't had coconut cake since I left home," Nick admitted. "I'll take that."

"I'd like to try the Sinful Chocolate Pie," Warrick said, "and can I have a glass of milk with that?"

Nick waited until Minnie had left before he sighed. It was the official end of his childhood.

"A great Southern place like this offering soy milk." Nick sighed again. "It's the end of an era."

"No, it's not, it's just a change," Warrick said comfortingly. "A real end of an era would have been for me to have eaten one of those crawfish." He shuddered.

"No, we'll be changing elevation too much," Nick replied. "I want you to have gum in your mouth and just chew it. Don't worry about talking to us."

Their desserts arrived and after about fifteen minutes of wordless bliss, they were gone. Warrick's milk mustache was begging Nick to lick it off, but he restrained himself. A lucky napkin got the duty.

When the check arrived, Nick saw that they'd been given a discount, but they ended up giving it back as a tip. Minnie was a treasure. She was there to keep their glasses filled and to answer questions, otherwise she'd left them alone.

Stokes spent a penny, washed his face, and had a good walk around before climbing in the backseat. The three men settled into the truck and headed back to the interstate. The combination of the good meal and Gil's soft music let him drift off. When he awoke they were just passing Conway.

They flew through Little Rock just ahead of the rush hour, but hit it full-blown in Silver Lakes. Nick called Rayburn for final instructions to get to her house.

Stokes had grown up in a comfortably upper middle class neighborhood, but this was Cotton Row. They passed the home of Tony Montrose, the media mogul, and his gates were open.

"That's Tony Montrose's house. I recognize it from TV. They say he has snipers in his trees," Warrick noted.

"It's true," Grissom assured them. "They might not be there all the time, but some Mafia types tried a home invasion and were shot to death from the trees."

"There's a driveway to avoid," Nick insisted. "That's the home of Barry Winthrop. He owns the Silver Lake Silver Wolves football team." They passed the Italianate mansion.

"I bet their mailboxes cost more than our homes," Warrick said as they passed three more gorgeous mansions.

"Rayburn sent me some literature that showed how I could buy a place out here and get money to fix it up," Grissom reported. "It's not the house that gets you, it's the land. You usually lease your land or sell it outright to get that money back."

"Have you been thinking about moving here and buying a big house?" Warrick asked so smoothly you could almost believe he wasn't bothered by asking the question or receiving the wrong answer.

"Only if the two of you were coming with me," Gil assured him. "I couldn't leave you behind until you told me I couldn't be with you anymore." He did the eyelash trick, but Warrick was driving and missed it.

Wow didn't quite cover it. It was Georgian, with four two-story columns holding up an arched roof section over the front doors. The front porch was slate and the steps leading up to it were wide. The place was huge.

Nick knew from the grapevine that Rayburn's family had money, but this was the home of someone with serious money.

Warrick stopped the truck. "Maybe we should find the servant's entrance," he suggested, semi-seriously.

Gil swatted him and climbed out of the truck. Nick and Warrick followed. Grissom rang the doorbell and Lydia Hipp answered the door.

"Is this the Rayburn residence?" Grissom asked. Even he recognized the young singer/musician.

"Yes, it is," Lydia promised. "Mom asked me to come over to get things ready and hang around to let you in because she's at a scene and didn't know when she'd get back."

You could hardly blame him. Rayburn had very, very light brown skin, but she was still an African-American and Hipp was a six-foot blonde with blue eyes and a tanned complexion. Plus, there was the age thing. Rayburn looked to be in her late thirties, but Lydia Hipp was in her mid-twenties. Even in the south that was cutting it close for a mother-daughter relationship.

"She's got the film and the headaches to prove it," Lydia swore. "Let's climb back in your truck and I'll show you where to park."

Nick couldn't believe he was sitting in the backseat of Gil's truck with Lydia Hipp. Greg would eat his own fist in jealousy. "So Lydia Hipp is just a stage name?"

"Follow the driveway beside the house and take the second branch to your left. You can park under the cover," Lydia instructed. "Yes, I prefer to be called either Elizabeth or Beth offstage."

Warrick guided the truck along the hedge-lined drive and took the second branch. They passed the swimming pool pavilion, vegetable gardens, fruit trees, and came to a stop in front of a very pretty cottage.

"Home, sweet home," Beth declared as she climbed out of the truck and grabbed a suitcase out of the back. She lugged it with her as she led the way to the front door of the cottage.

The cottage had a front porch that stretched the entire length of the structure and there were four rocking chairs and a porch swing calling out for Nick to sit on them. The front doors opened up to a wide hallway that continued down until it hit two more French doors that opened to the back.

To the right of the hall was a living room and to the left there was a formal dining room. Behind the dining room was the kitchen and behind that was a laundry area and a bedroom with a private bath. Behind the living room was the family room, which connected with the kitchen and was the largest room in the structure. Past the family room were two other bedrooms with a bathroom between them.

The cottage, which had long porches on every side, had a river view all along the rear and west sides, a view of the swimming pool from the east side, and a view of the fish pond and gardens from the front.

"There's central air, but I doubt you'll get to use it while you're here," Beth informed them. "It's early days and it won't get very hot this close to the river. I've loaded up the fridge and pantry. There are dishes, towels, sheets, and all of that stuff. If I forgot something, just come up to the main house and grab it." She reached into her pants pocket and withdrew four keys. "The blue one is to the kitchen door of the main house and the silver ones are to this place. Each silver key opens all of the outside doors in the cottage."

She pointed to the wall phone. "There's a land-line phone in the living room, master bedroom, and kitchen. The number is 501-555-8945. There's a desktop computer with a DSL modem set up in the living room and a wireless router that reaches out to all of the porches and maybe a bit beyond." She closed her eyes and seemed to be concentrating. "I know I'm forgetting something, but you guys have roughed it before."

"Roughing it? What, is there no cable television?" Warrick asked with an exaggerated look of terror on his face.

"Satellite," she guaranteed him, patting his arm reassuringly. "Mom even remembered to turn it back on. Aunt Gwen moved out of here over a year ago and it's been off ever since."

"Is this cottage new?" Gil asked as he got up from his inspection of the hardwood floors that ran through every room in the cottage except the bathrooms.

"Yes, Mom and Dad built it for my Aunt Gwen and cousin Suzanne to live in back in 2000," Beth reported.

"It looks like it's been here since they built the main house," Nick said appreciatively.

"That was the plan." Beth pulled down a paper towel and wrote a phone number on it and her name underneath. "This is my cell number. If you call me Lydia, I hang up automatically," she warned.

"I'll remember that, Beth," Gil swore. "Can we give you a lift back to the front of the main house?" he asked.

"Are you kidding?" Beth arched an eyebrow at him. "They'd take my 'Hurt Me, I'm a Runner' t-shirt away. I only rode in the truck to give you directions." She patted Gil's cheek and Nick reminded himself that his lover was old enough to be the young woman's father. "You're sweet." She softly smacked herself on the forehead. "I meant to ask you, how is Brutus getting along in Las Vegas?"

"Fine, he's staying with Hank, a friend of mine," Gil reported. "How did you know about Brutus?"

"Mom took him to Vegas to give to you," Beth explained. "An idiot judge had ordered him destroyed after the murder trial was over, but Mom got him a stay of execution by saying she was taking him to the foremost forensic entomologist in the country."

"Who did he kill?" Nick asked flippantly. "He's big enough to actually wield a knife."

"He looks more like a garrote guy to me," Warrick threw in. "It's all of that raw strength."

She had a great laugh and a musical voice, for lack of a better description. "He was part of a petting zoo that was attached to an animal sanctuary. You know what a shoestring those places exist on, but if they weren't in business a lot of animals would be destroyed. Anyway, one of the workers, Sal or Saul someone, decided that he could get a big raise if he recovered one of the vicious animals and made himself a hero."

"Oh, lord," Nick moaned, knowing that a disaster always followed that kind of thinking. "What happened?"

"The animal he picked was an aged black leopard that was toothless, partially blind, and limped. He let him out but the owner, Frank Hutchins, caught him doing it. So, faced with losing his job, Sal or Saul decided to kill Hutchins, thus putting himself out of a job. He also decided to run for it. He forgot to put back the leopard.

"The leopard, who in leopard years was close to 100, limps down to a neighbors' house where he comes through the extra large doggie door, eats their chili supper out of the crockpot, and goes to sleep on their couch after apparently ordering some pay-per-view wrestling. He'd gnawed on the remote." She paused because all three men were laughing their asses off.

"The neighbors find the cat and call the county sheriff, who coaxes the cat into the back of his squad car and drives him back to the sanctuary. The cat falls asleep in the squad car, no doubt weighed down by all of that chili and mind-numbed by the wrestling, and they have to roll him onto a blanket and drag him inside. There they find Mister Hutchins and arrest Sal or Saul not an hour later.

"With Hutchins dead, they had to redistribute the animals, but no one would take poor Brutus. I would have taken him myself, but I was just on a break from my tour and had no way to care for him on the road. Mom thought of you."

"I'm glad she did," Gil said sincerely. "He's quite the conversation starter in my office."

"Conversations that usually start with the word 'eeeww'," Warrick informed her. "I've gotten used to him, but some people still fear him."

"I thought Catherine was going to scream the one time she let Brutus crawl into her hand," Nick recalled.

"But Lindsey loves him," Gil reminded the younger man with just a hint of pride. "She's always saving him some fruit."

Beth snickered. "True," she agreed. "Mom will call if you need to fend for yourself for supper, otherwise she'll feed you."

"Mom loves to cook. With all of the kids moved out, she's down to dinner for one and that's a sad thing," Beth reported. "We need to find her a man with a big appetite. Are any of you interested?"

Nick chuckled. He liked this woman. "If I said yes, I would die on the spot," Nick said pulling Warrick to him. With such a beautiful and single young woman so near, he felt a need to mark both of his men in front of Beth.

Warrick placed a playful nip on Nick's shoulder, thrilling him. "Just a little territorial mark, since you've become so forgetful."

"Lucky gentleman then," Beth restated. "I'll leave you hot bachelors to rest and relax." Beth strode out.

Nick wanted to say his only thought as he watched her leave was "nice lady" but, truthfully, it was "spectacular tush".

"I see that booty is inherited," Warrick announced, agreeing with Nick. "Like mother, like daughter." There was definite lust in the man's voice.

Grissom was normally a stickler for unpacking as soon as possible, but when Warrick grabbed him and pulled him out to the front porch swing, there was nothing he could do but go along. When Nick began stripping him down, etiquette alone declared Gil should allow this. And when both Warrick and Nick began sucking his cock and balls, who was Gil Grissom to remind them that they had left their suitcases sitting in the family room?

Gil's new definition of heaven? It was to have your cock half-way down Nick Stokes talented throat while Warrick Brown's thick cock was deep in your ass as the three of you lounged outside. The swing moved slowly, the breeze and the scent of wild flowers it brought was intoxicating, and the river gently lapped at the rocky shore with a soft whooshing sound that could not compete with the deep guttural moans of Warrick as he thrust deep and hard into Gil's bottom.

For men who went on and on about how much they loved Gil's voice, Nick and Warrick did seem to go out of their way to make sure Grissom was too mindless to speak. In a few years, Gil might even call them on it. Might. Right now he just had to survive so much attention being paid to his every weak spot.

"Oh damn," he cursed as his control frayed and he came in Nick's mouth. Grissom could just imagine the smug expression on Nick's face. Gil did not like to curse and when they made him do it, it was a triumph for his young lovers.

"So sexy," Nick whispered before he began to lave Gil's navel. Was the man a sadist? Gil had already cum, there was no sense going after his sensitive navel unless the younger man needed to hear Grissom beg.

Warrick's entire body seemed to rumble underneath Gil before his short, panting breath told Grissom the taller man was cumming. "Sugar Bear," Rick moaned.

Men Gil's age would normally disdain such a sappy nickname, but Grissom loved it almost as much as he loved Warrick himself.

Gil was turned around and settled on Warrick's chest, where even the most timid lover would feel safe. He moaned deep in his throat as Warrick parted his cheeks so Nick could apply a fresh ampoule of lubricant. Grissom wanted to shake the hand of the mad genius who had come up with those things.

Normally Nick would fuck Gil like a madman if Warrick had loved Grissom first, but this time he was tenderness personified. The slight rocking of the swing was all the motion he needed to please both himself and Gil.

"You look so beautiful, so satisfied, Gil," Warrick stated, his voice extra deep and slightly rough. "Nicky, you are so sexy with your muscles bunched up for the kind of thrust that would bring down this swing and maybe the porch, but then you give it to our man so soft. It makes me want you so bad, Nicky. Why are you working a brother so hard?"

"Warrick," Nick said in a warning tone. Stokes planned to fuck Gil for a long, sweet time, but Warrick's soft, desperate tones were snapping his control.

"You're as hot as a Habanero chili to me right now, Nicky. No wonder I burned my player's card over you." Warrick sighed as if he were receiving a massage and not supporting all of their weights. "Show me your conqueror's face, my stallion. Show me the power that makes me worship you and makes Gil your love slave."

"Hugrrrrrrrr," Nick growled as he arched his back and thrust twice into Gil, going so deep it was as if the younger man had suddenly gained several inches of dick.

Gil moaned because he was pressed tightly between his men, thoroughly plowed, and so relaxed and happy that he couldn't explain it to anyone. For a man who normally prided himself on being able to describe anything, this time Grissom had to admit he simply didn't have the words. "Love you both," he swore.

They lay like that for some time. Gil was close to drifting off when he heard the phone. Nick got off him and went inside. Grissom sat up and found Warrick grinning at him, his eyes absolutely dancing with joy. "What?" he asked.

"I've fucked outside many, many times, but I've never 'made love'," Gil answered truthfully. Despite what some would think, there had been a time when Grissom couldn't keep his legs closed. Men, women, threesomes, foursomes, blindfolds, cuffs, leather, lace, and chocolate sauce were mundane items in his love life at one time. He was lucky to have gotten out of it alive and disease-free. "And I think the first Bush was in office the last time."

"You were wonderful," Warrick swore before he gripped the back of Gil's head and kissed him as if he'd never get another chance to make sure Grissom didn't forget him.

"Wow," Gil said when they'd parted. "Can I expect those kind of kisses outside?" 'Please, please, please?' he almost added.

"And inside, possibly in doorways, and that big shower in the master bedroom has possibilities too," Warrick answered before he pulled Gil back for another explosive kiss.

Nick returned and began gathering up their clothes. "We need to shower and look reasonably respectable," he warned them. "Elaine is on her way home with steaks, tuna, and brews."

"My kind of woman," Warrick declared, rubbing his hands together gleefully. He found himself being glared down by two men. "I meant philosophically," he explained. Brown looked back and forth between Gil and Nick, both of whom were frowning at him. "She's bringing steaks and beer," he tried.

"We're watching you," Gil warned, flicking his finger against Warrick's left nipple.

"Hey, I was on the bottom of the pile," Warrick reminded them. "That should count for something."

It would on other days, but not today. "We're all going to have to be careful," Gil warned. "Rayburn wants us body and soul. She will find our weaknesses and exploit them. She will please and tease until we swear to serve her."

"Damn, I like the sound of that," Nick confessed. "Can I be a little bit seduced?"

Gil collected himself before he spoke. "We're sticking together, aren't we?" he asked. "All of us here or all of us going home... right?"

"Is there something you need to tell us, Nick?" Gil asked, giving his head the little tilt that said you had his complete attention.

"We've covered ourselves pretty well, guys, but if Ecklie, Mabley, or Renault ever got the word about us, the three of us, we'd be gone," Nick stated simply. "Silver Lakes can be our fallback position."

The shower in the master bedroom did fit three, even if the three were in a playful mood. Gil gave up on holding onto his towel after they'd emerged because Nick kept snatching it away and Warrick would give it back and put it around Gil while stealing a kiss. Grissom realized he'd become a little plaything. It was nice.

They unpacked, spreading their clothes amongst the three closets in the cottage, and put away their suitcases before dressing themselves. Gil passed out the keys but they didn't bother to lock the doors before heading toward the rear of the main house.

There was a pavilion with an outdoor kitchen. Elaine and a big, gorgeous brunet man were fussing over food while two Beagle puppies sniffed at their feet.

"Chris!" Warrick shouted as he rushed ahead of them. He performed an elaborate handshaking ritual with the other man before hugging him and slapping his back. The two men grinned at each other and talked too quickly. Gil was so jealous he could barely see straight.

"Warrick, you have got to come here, man," Chris insisted. "This is a great place to work."

"Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes, this is my L.A. running buddy, Jade McKenzie," Warrick announced. "When he's in doctoral candidate mode, he goes by Chris, but I knew him back in the day." Brown gave the larger man a playful nudge.

The pups bounded over to Nick and begged his attention. Dogs always seemed to know who would fuss over them. They'd run right past Gil.

"So, you have a nickname, Chris," Elaine said, sounding intrigued. "Can I use it?"

"Only if you're begging for a kiss," Chris answered in an equally teasing manner.

"That does it," Warrick declared. "The name will never pass my lips again. Did you finish your degree, Chris?"

"Yes, I did. Now you may call me Doctor McKenzie," Chris declared. He held his hand out to Gil. "It's great to finally meet you in person, Doctor Grissom. Warrick always had the nicest things to say about you."

Nick picked the pups up and tucked each one under an arm. He walked to the pavilion and set them down. "Hello," he greeted.

"So, you're Nick Stokes," Chris said with a slightly impressed tone in his voice. Gil's overprotective hackles raised. "Warrick had great things to say about you also, but it was the stories Sadie Hopkins shared about Phoenix that really stuck with me."

Nick found himself on the other side of three stares from Warrick, Gil, and Elaine. He grinned. "I plead the fifth, the sixth, the seventh, and possibly the eighth."

"Sorry, Guys, but if I talk, Sadie will slice my balls off with a small rusty blade and feed them to her ferret," McKenzie explained. "That's a quote." He smiled innocently.

"Wash your hands, Nick, and then I need all of you guys to pitch in," Elaine ordered. The subject of Phoenix had been officially dropped. "Chris and I are touring some of the houses for sale in the area after dinner. Would you guys like to come?"

"Not really. You don't have to grab a place this size. There are some beautiful smaller homes that are still technically in Cotton Row but are much more affordable," Elaine countered. "If you and Nick went in together, you could buy a really big house."

Chris looked surprised. "You're with Nick?" he asked. "Oh man, I am so glad I'm not the one who has to tell Sadie she missed out on Nick Stokes. Vhonda, Charlene, and Cindy will be weeping over you, Warrick." McKenzie began chopping up a pineapple.

"Well, Nick and Warrick, you always leave an impression," Gil noted. 'Don't be jealous. Don't be jealous,' he told himself.

"And you just waltz through life unnoticed, don't you, Gil?" Warrick asked. He handed Nick a towel as the other man finished washing his hands. With no sign of a visible signal between them, they tackled Gil and dragged him down to the lawn where he was tickled until he was helpless with girly giggles.

"I didn't bring my wallet," Gil hiccupped. If they didn't stop soon, he was going to wet his pants.

"Toll is never cash," Nick insisted, "and now you must be punished for your insolence."

"What?" Gil managed before Nick kissed him right on the mouth in front of witnesses and with two puppies bouncing around them. Grissom was breathless when Nick pulled away and was unable to better his breathing as Warrick took his turn.

"Toll paid," Warrick declared, jumping to his feet. He pulled up Nick first and then the two of them pulled Gil up. Both men cupped his ass. The Beagle pups clamored for attention.

A big blue ball rolled past his feet and the pups chased after it while Gil tried to work his mind around what had just happened. Had his men been overcome by cooking fumes? Was there too much fresh air? Was he lying concussed on some curvy Arkansas highway?

"Damn, boys, my kink closet can only take so much stuffing," Elaine complained. "Now quit trying to set my lawn on fire by smoldering on it and help."

"Okay," Warrick agreed as he tugged Gil back into the pavilion by his belt loop.

Grissom had never felt so owned in his life. Brown had him by the belt loop and Nick's hands were still on Gil's ass.

"Kid, stick with me," Elaine said as she draped an apron over Warrick's neck. "Rule one, never poke your tuna, sausage, or chicken with the fork and never flatten your steaks or hamburgers with the spatula. Rule two, don't keep turning your food, it dries it out."

Nick had limited himself to two Silver Lakes Bolds, a local micro-brew that was exceptionally good, with dinner but he still seemed to be buzzed. It must have been the company.

He really thought he was stoned when Colt Sampson, gay porn's mainstream crossover sensation, came out to the backyard as if he were expected. The man behind him also looked familiar. After he spoke, Nick realized that this was Samuel Cross, the city's lead prosecutor and a guest lecturer in Denver where Nick had represented the lab at a law enforcement conference.

The two new men were both African-American, tall, and handsome. Both had great voices and easy smiles. If Nick had been on the prowl, he would have had a hard time choosing between them. Perhaps he could have managed a three-way.

Colt was light-skinned, though still several shades darker than Warrick, with a goatee and dimples. His eyes were so dark brown, they appeared black. Nick had several of the man's tapes, which all heavily featured the man's 14-in monster dong. Nick never felt the men on the receiving end of that cock were faking their screams for the camera as they were plowed. Nick could have done it, but only if he were very, very drunk.

Sam Cross was beautifully dark and Nick had always had a weak spot for very dark-skinned men. Not that he would send his honey-toned Warrick away for any dark berry who might come Nick's way. Stokes was very satisfied with Warrick.

Cross and Sampson had something to eat while Chris laid out the parameters of his dream house. He was looking for a four-bedroom, two-bath house with a good yard that was near a wooded area for peace and quiet.

"I've got the place for you," Cross promised. "It's on South Gate Road, but it has three bathrooms."

"This one will do nicely," Nick quipped as if money were no object, which it was. "I'd take it just for the backyard and the way it looks from the outside."

"When we first got it, there was about twenty years of deferred maintenance we had to overcome first," Elaine told them. "It took us two years to finish the first round of remodeling."

"First round?" Gil asked, looking relaxed and happy. He sucked the neck of his beer bottle while looking at Warrick, who grinned back. Grissom rubbed his neck with the bottle while puckering his lips at Nick. Nick grinned at the older man. Colt and Sam nudged each other like teenagers.

"Roof, interior walls, floors, woodwork, and windows during round one. New kitchen and four bathrooms during round two. Pool, barn, conservatory, and some landscaping during round three. Round four included an outdoor kitchen and more landscaping. Round five was a second kitchen remodel and the rest of the bathrooms. I'm through for now," she swore. "I plan to wait until my future grandchildren are old enough to swing a hammer. For a place this big, you need a crew you can pay in chocolate chip cookies."

"You betcha," Elaine answered. "Child labor laws be damned, I worked those kids until they dropped." She leaned toward Warrick. "They never tore this house up because they knew how much it took to get it to look like this." She leaned back. "Funny, every one of them bought a new place when they moved out."

"Never," Elaine replied. "They'll just hire someone else to do the work." She checked her watch. "Come on, guys, let's get going."

The pups were corralled into a pen that was about nine by ten feet, more than enough space for the temporary keeping of two little dogs, and about half of that was shaded. They were abandoned there with food, fresh water, and toys.

Sam and Colt cleaned the grill and explained to Nick, Warrick, and Gil how to do it. There wasn't much in the way of leftovers, six big men tend not leave much food standing from a barbeque, but what was left was gathered and carried into the main house via the kitchen.

Nick had always felt that if you had a sink with running water, a refrigerator that worked, and a stove that didn't catch fire, then that was enough kitchen for him. Now he was in envy mode.

Gil looked into the oven, always a dangerous development, which opened to the side instead of down. The dishwasher was raised instead of almost hugging the floor. The sink had an open area underneath it so you could sit in a chair while washing dishes at the sink. Nick concluded the kitchen had been configured for someone in a wheelchair.

'Elaine's husband Terry must have been in a wheelchair in the end,' Nick guessed.

Warrick prowled the room like it was on the auction block. He opened cabinets, ran his hands along the granite counters, and checked out the walk-in pantry. "This is one of the best laid out kitchens I've ever seen and it is just gorgeous."

Gil had his head cocked to the side as he looked into the pantry. "What's in the little safe?" he asked.

"Saffron and my handwritten recipe cards," Rayburn answered, with just a little bit of pride showing.

"I've been called anal retentive a time or three," Elaine admitted. "Would you guys like a tour when we get back? I know Sam and Colt are anxious to get going while we still have the light."

"I'd love it," Warrick answered. He had a quick peek into the next room. "Oh man," he moaned. "You could invite the Queen to eat in that dining room."

"No queens yet," Elaine assured him. "I have had a sitting president, two ex-presidents, their wives, some senators, and lots and lots of musicians and actors to eat with us."

"I want this spice rack," Warrick confessed as he slid the drawers in and out. "I could be this organized."

"Of course you can," Nick said condescendingly as he patted the taller man's hand. "This from a man who has four boxes of baking powder sitting on his counter."

Warrick frowned. "I kept buying baking powder to stop myself from lusting after you, Nick," he confessed. "You were messing with my mind without even trying."

Nick could only hug his man after such a sweet confession. He dreaded the day when what they had lost any of its wonder for Warrick. Brown squeezed Nick's ass as if to say 'this is mine". 'No loss of wonder here,' Nick assured himself.

Colt slid over, whipped out a small notebook, and let his pen hover over the page. "Go on," he prompted.

"We are not ready for prime time," Warrick insisted, without letting go of Nick.

"Come on, Brother Man, share with this humble scribe how you managed to grab not one but two spectacular honeys?" Colt pleaded.

"Ah." Warrick glanced at Gil, who was mesmerized by Elaine's sorting bins. Grissom placed a soda can in the crusher and grinned as it fell into the appropriate trash bin. "I'd rather not."

"It's out, Warrick," Colt insisted. "I'm a trained observer of men. Licking your beer bottle at a man pretty much lays it out buffet-style. Nick and Gil wanted me and Sam to know that you were off the market, and we got it. If we'd been so stupid as to not get it, then Nick would have killed us, slowly and painfully, and Gil would have helped him bury the bodies and cover up the crime." He glanced back at Gil, who had moved on to inspecting the silverware drawers. "It'll go no further with your name on it," Sampson promised. "Spill it."

"There was a club, a masked, half-naked male dancer who looked a lot like Nick, and me clinging to my sainted heterosexuality as hard as I could," Warrick began, his voice deep and confessional. Nick stepped back so everyone could see the soft look on Brown's face.

"I can't tell you how close I was to running, then Nick took charge of me, of us, and I let it all go because I trusted him. I trust them both. He's owned me since the first time we kissed. Gil came to me as a friend and he allowed me to comfort him. He's owned me since the night." Warrick looked down at his hands and flexed them. "Weren't we going to see some houses?"

Nick put his arms back around Warrick and hugged him very hard. It was good to know that Brown understood he was owned by Nick and Gil.

Colt was scribbling away as he went out the back door. Nick, Gil, Chris, Warrick, and Elaine followed. They all climbed in Sam's van, a tricked out affair with nine seats, a DVD player, and more speakers than Nick could count.

Sam pointed out four houses his company had remodeled and sold before they came to the Arts and Crafts place he'd been talking up. It was spectacular. Nick fought the temptation to do a Tom Cruise on the hardwood floors in his socks until they were safely back in the van.

"You were itching to slide across those floors, weren't you, Nicky?" Gil asked in a whisper against his ear.

The van pulled up a short driveway, short by Cotton Row standards where a private driveway could be almost as long as a city street, and stopped in front of a farmhouse. It could have been Nick's maternal grandparents' place, but it was in much better shape.

"Ohmigod, ohmigod," Chris chanted as he exited the van. You wouldn't think a guy his size could move like that. The man was at least 6'6" tall and over three hundred heavily muscled pounds, but he moved swiftly and quietly. Chris dashed up the stairs, raced back and forth along the porch, and all but climbed into one of the windows while Sam went through his keys.

Chris rushed past him and into the house as if he were running from a fire. "Ohmigod, ohmigod," he continued to chant.

"Look at this kitchen!" Chris shrieked. Elaine went after him, perhaps to check his heart.

"Easily," Gil answered as he let his sensitive fingers touch the plasterwork. "It's really stunning."

Chris dashed past and went up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Elaine and Colt followed more sedately. Gil, Warrick, Nick, and Sam went through the other rooms on the first floor. Chris's shouts of joy could occasionally be heard as they completed the downstairs tour.

"You guys ought to see the Victorian we're finishing up," Sam insisted. "It's got soapstone in the kitchen, laundry room, pantry, wine cellar, and the butler's pantry."

"Seven, and two of them are master suites, with six full bathrooms, two half bathrooms, and eight fireplaces, three floors, a full basement, and a finished attic," Sam ticked off.

Sam looked up toward the ceiling. "I should be more worried that my man is upstairs with a big beautiful guy who is making that kind of noise."

Sam snorted. "Nick, I've known Elaine for over thirty years. If anything were going on, she'd film it, direct them, and sell the video on the internet."

That cracked Nick up. When he'd first met the woman, he'd thought she was very serious and formal. Then they'd worked two cases together and he found out she had a wicked sense of humor, especially about her own image.

Elaine had the prostitutes talking to her as if she were one of them as she moved the conversation from shoes to a hit and run. Nick had no proof, but he was certain Elaine was the one who had the ladies calling him "sweet cheeks".

They'd had to rappel out of a helicopter and drop down close to two hundred feet to get to their hillside murder scene. The wind was brutal and forced the pilot to circle and back off several times before giving them permission to descend. Nick had been close to coming up with a way to leave Elaine behind, without coming off as a chest-thumping prick, when she went out first. After Nick joined her on the ground, she knelt down by the body and asked the corpse "couldn't you have managed to get murdered in a better spot?"

She'd invited Nick and Warrick out for breakfast after they'd filed their reports and with no obvious preplanning, snagged Gil on the way out. They'd had a very nice time.

The group went up the stairs to check out the bedrooms and bathrooms. Chris was stretched out in the tub in the master suite. He looked good, but McKenzie would have looked so much better if he'd been nude. Naked. Legs open and inviting with a hint of moisture on his lips as--

Warrick bit Nick's ear just as Naked Chris was waving Stokes over in Nick's imagination. "Ow," Nick complained. "I can look."

"Come here, Nick, and let Mama do that for you," Elaine offered with a wink. She answered her cell phone as the ring tone, Lydia Hipp's 'Lethal Woman', rang out.

"Only if you can fly when I toss your gorgeous butt off the balcony," Warrick assured her.

Nick couldn't stop himself from smiling. Normally, he was the jealous one. It was good to see the road wasn't a one-way after all.

"Hello?" Elaine responded into the phone, ignoring Warrick's threat. "Hi, baby. Thank you for taking care of the guys for me. I really appreciated it."

"This house is so great," Chris declared from his bathtub nest. "Now all I need is a wealthy relative to kill off so I can afford it."

"What did you forget?" Elaine asked her daughter. "No, I'm sure the guys can handle putting out the deck furniture."

"It's not that bad," Sam promised. "Remember, this is Arkansas, not California. I could sell this house for over two million, without the acreage, in Los Angeles. Plus, this house qualifies for the $25,000 Restoration Grant."

"Borrow my what?" Elaine asked, sounding aghast. "Darling, Mama would give you a kidney if you needed it, but you are not touching my Dior."

As a group, the men stopped talking and shamelessly listened in to the conversation between mother and daughter.

"Sweetheart, you have a bedroom you turned into a closet to house your mostly free, diva, Hoochie Mama threads. Why can't you wear one of those?" Elaine asked.

"No, I'm not a hooker, Officer, I'm just clubbing," Warrick answered in a feminized voice.

Gil chuckled, but probably mostly at Warrick's feeble attempt at a female voice. There was just too much testosterone bubbling through the man's veins.

"Really?" Elaine gasped. "Wow. No, you cannot wear Hoochie Mama clothes to go out with him. Come over and grab what you want, but you better have it cleaned before you bring it back, young lady." She paused and rolled her head and eyes in exasperation. "Yes, you can bum some earrings, but stick to wearing just one pair."

"I remember when Beth was a baby," Sam told them. "Now she has Hoochie Mama clothes." He pouted. Colt patted his man on the back.

"No, Bit, I'm absolutely smothered in men," Elaine declared. "I wouldn't toss any of them back, Sugar. It's a butts, eyes, and thighs feast here. Hey, Chris is already on his back. He's in an empty bathtub, but it's a start."

Chris climbed out of the tub. "I've got a dream house to finance, I can't be cheap or easily had any more," he huffed.

Despite him being tall, muscular, and so gorgeous it made you want to throw yourself on him, Nick liked Chris McKenzie. Even if Rick was too friendly with him and they had a non-sexual past.

Stokes needed to check himself. The only man Warrick was looking at who wasn't Nick was Gil.

"We're heading to the next place, Sugar. Love you, and don't you dare have my dress altered," Elaine warned. She closed the phone.

"You and Beth are almost the same size," Gil noted. "Why would she have your dress altered?"

Elaine patted his face. "So you have a silver tongue to go with your silver fox good looks. That's good to know. I appreciate the lie, Gil, but Beth has booty and Momma's got back." She sighed. "You know, I used to be hot stuff, but that was long, long ago, when the dinosaurs roamed the earth."

"She's a brick... house," Warrick repeated as he swayed his hips and snapped his fingers.

"The lady's stacked and that's a fact, ain't holding nothing back," Gil sang with them. He began to dance very badly, but it was so endearing.

"She's the one, the only one, who's built like an Amazon," Warrick sang with passion.

Elaine laughed. It was a deep, throaty laugh and instantly made Nick glad he'd helped make her laugh. "You guys are absolutely precious. I might even part with some of my homemade ice cream."

"Holler!" Sam called as he and Colt high-fived each other. That could only mean the ice cream was very, very good.

"Hey," Chris protested as Colt and Sam gripped him by the arms and escorted him down the stairs and out the door. "Don't scuff my floor."

They placed McKenzie in the van. Everyone else was allowed to get in on their own power.

The next two houses were very nice, but they didn't spark anything for Nick, Warrick, or Gil. Chris was mooning over the farmhouse and no other house could turn his head. Nick was thinking about homemade ice cream and using it as a topping on his two favorite men when the van paused at a white wrought iron gate. The name Dragonfly House was entwined into the gate's design.

Sam got out and unlocked the gate. He swung it open and Colt drove the van through. Sam closed the gate behind them. "The gate isn't connected up yet," he apologized as he climbed back in the van. "We don't have much trouble with things being stolen out here, but we have a big problem with gawkers," he explained. "Sooner or later one of them will fall through something and try to sue my company."

The driveway had a serious slope and they climbed for a bit before leveling off in front of a picture perfect Victorian. She was a painted beauty with sage green cedar siding, red sashes, white trim, with red brick along the bottom. It was gorgeous.

"Can we go in?" Gil asked softly. He was staring and almost shaking with anticipation.

"I would hardly tease you, Gil," Sam assured them. "Not with a house," he added.

The group walked into the house, carefully staying on the cardboard that had been placed on the hardwood floors to protect them. The house was being painted and most of the walls were already primed. The kitchen was close to completion but none of the drawer and door handles of the cabinets had been installed.

"At least you guys are putting in a refrigerator," Warrick noted as he opened the empty unit, which had panels to make it blend into the rest of the cherry wood cabinets. Beside it was a Sub Zero freezer. "I always hate being shown a place without a refrigerator," he announced. "It makes you wonder, did one person hang onto their refrigerator and that started a ripple throughout the country where not only existing homes were short a unit but new places were being offered without one too because they expect people to drag their last one with them?"

"I like that theory," Sam stated, "but refrigerators are considered personal property. I always include a fridge, a stove, and sometimes a microwave."

The tour was so much fun. Even the parts of the house that weren't finished were lovely. No one mentioned the price, the acreage, or the landscaping, which needed serious tending. It was as if Gil, Warrick, and Nick all knew that even a single question about the place meant they were coming to Silver Lakes. They weren't ready to take that step. Not yet.

"You do brilliant work," Gil said once they were safely back in the van. They headed toward Elaine's house and the promised ice cream.

Warrick could not believe that ice cream this good could be made at home. Why wasn't Elaine selling this stuff? Man, if he didn't stop eating soon, he was going to be too heavy to get off the lounge.

Gil gripped the base of Warrick's waffle cone, covering Rick's hand with his and licked the entire surface of Brown's double dip chocolate-chocolate chip walnut ice cream. Even if Beth had run out to the cottage and performed the same act while begging to bear Brown's babies, she couldn't have held Warrick's attention the way Gil was.

"Hmmmm, chocolate," Gil moaned. Warrick shivered. "I love chocolate," he swore in a throaty voice. "Where, oh where could a man track down something hot and chocolate to lick?" He looked down at his hairy chest where a drop of the melting chocolate was making a run for it down toward his navel. Gil's shirt was in the laundry basket, along with his pants and shorts. "I need you to clean that up, Nick."

"Of course, Sugar Bear," Nick responded as he leaned over into Warrick's field of vision. Nick was naked too. Was Warrick the only man left dressed?

"Jesus," Warrick moaned as Nick made it down to Gil's cock, which had to be chocolate-free, but Brown wasn't going to point that out. "You missed a spot," Brown informed his lover as he wiped the head of Gil's cock with his ice cream cone.

"Oh, yes," Gil hissed as he threw back his head, "but I need more chocolate in my mouth."

Warrick wiped Gil's lips with the cone and then licked then clean. He carefully pulled Gil down onto the lounge and stood up. "How much chocolate do think you can handle?" he asked.

Warrick almost yanked Nick to his feet in his haste to do the "double-dip" with Gil.

"Easy, Ricky," Nick warned. He yanked down Warrick's pants, all but purred at Brown's skintight yellow briefs, and then helped the taller man out of those.

Stokes stroked his cock against Warrick's then smeared both with the chocolate walnut treat. Little chips of chocolate and walnut slid unlamented off Brown's cock as he and Nick pushed the heads of their penises into Gil's mouth.

The first time Warrick had seen Gil do this, he'd nearly fainted. Warrick barely made it to the halfway point with one cock in his mouth, but Gil could do that and more with two cocks.

Gil kept one hand stroking Nick and Warrick's balls while the other gripped his own meat and worked it. He was in charge here. Neither Warrick nor Nick would pump into the older man's mouth as they could hurt him. Only Gil knew how much he could take and how much he needed and both men were happy to leave him in charge of their "double dipping" party.

Warrick's thighs were screaming for him to move by the time Gil threw his head back and groaned. His cum surged over his fast-moving fist and spurted into the air.

Nick moved between Gil's legs, squirted Grissom's sensitive hole with lube, and eased in his sheathed cock. "I love going in while you're still twitching."

Warrick had been so mesmerized by Gil's cries of pleasure that he hadn't noticed Nick preparing himself. That's how turned on Warrick was. So turned on that he decided what he needed was a sandwich to go along with his ice cream.

They'd done this before, with Gil directing their moves. Warrick suspected Grissom's sexual past pointed more toward "freak" than "connoisseur". Brown had little room to talk when it came to freakiness.

Warrick kissed the back of Nick's neck as he slowly and softly prepared his lover. "I want to be in you, Stallion," he whispered. "I want to drive you into Gil."

"Yes," Nick agreed as he came to a halt. Gil moaned and tried to encourage Nick with a pelvis thrust. "Easy, Sugar Bear, Rick is filling me up."

It was done. Warrick rested a moment so he wouldn't end their union too soon. He draped himself over Nick's broad back but kept most of his weight off the other man. "I love you, Nicky," he whispered before he began to stroke inside his lover. Nick responded to Warrick's thrust by thrusting into Gil. It was so sweet. Warrick could see Gil's response and feel Nicky's reaction.

"Harder now," Nicky commanded. He thrust back onto Warrick's pole to emphasis his point that he needed it and wanted it. Warrick obeyed.

They lost speech. All of Warrick's senses seemed to have become enhanced. It was as if there was an electrical field surrounding their bodies; joining them together; for now, perhaps forever. The pleasure became more intense with every stroke and every stroke seemed to bring them more in sync with each other.

They'd come close before, but this time Warrick knew it was going to happen. They all three came at the exact same time. It was as if Warrick felt not only his orgasm but Nick and Gil's as well. Intense.

Warrick eased out of Nick and pulled the smaller man off Gil. With his arms full of Nick, Warrick indulged himself in some intense Nick worship, not only kissing the man's mouth, but his eyelids, eyebrows, nose, earlobes, and cheeks. "I love you, Nick," he repeated. Brown sat down on the lounge and pulled Stokes down with him. With Gil on his left and Nick on his right, Warrick became the center of a

The two men squeezed Warrick tightly between them. They were a sweaty, sticky, cum-stained mess. It was wonderful. "We love you, Ricky," Gil promised, "and you keep amazing us."

"Damn straight," Nick added tiredly. Stokes was getting sleepy and needed to get headed toward the bed. "Let's try the outdoor shower," he suggested.

Brown smiled. "I love the way you think, Stallion." He stood up and gently helped the other two men to their feet. Warrick started the shower, which dropped water on their heads like a gentle warm waterfall. The liquid soap made slippery bubbly contact with their skins and if they hadn't been so tired, Warrick might have managed another three-way in the shower. Oh, well.

Warrick turned off the water, toweled down his men and himself, then guided them into the master bedroom where they all collapsed onto the bed. What a day.

Catherine watched Lindsey rush down the tunnel and right into her Uncle Warrick's arms. He picked her up and swung her around as if they hadn't seen each other in months. Nick chimed in something Catherine couldn't hear, causing Lindsey, Warrick, and Gil, who was almost unrecognizable in his happy and relaxed persona, to laugh.

She caught up to her daughter. "I see you tracked down our wayward boys, Lindsey."

"They didn't get lost because everyone was telling them where to go," Lindsey quipped. She giggled.

Warrick placed Lindsey back on her feet and held her hand as they walked into a party in the lounge. A banner declaring "WELCOME LAS VEGAS CRIME LAB" hung from the ceiling.

Doctor Rayburn was there to introduce the LVCL staff to some of the SLCL members and a few prominent citizens. After the pleasantries were finished, they were loaded into limos while their equipment was sent to the Crime Lab in vans.

Their driver, Burt, kept a very entertaining patter about local spots of interest they passed and his opinion of them. Catherine had made sure that Sara did not get anywhere near Gil, Warrick, or Nick. So she, Bobby, and Lindsey joined the trio in the lead limo.

"It was great," Gil answered quickly. "I don't know if I can drive long distances alone again."

Gil was finally using the subtext he'd gone on and on about over a dinner at Hank's place. Lindsey, Nick, Warrick, Catherine, Renata, and Hank had been mesmerized by his stream-of-consciousness rambling about why his lack of ability with verbal subtext had nearly ruined his social life. Hank had switched the man from wine to water and made sure Warrick did the driving when the four of them had left.

"I'm pretty sure you won't have to," Catherine responded, showing she had long mastered subtext.

Nick then launched into a fascinating lecture about the grounds of the Rayburn place. It sounded like nature could leap out and get them if they weren't careful, but Lindsey positively responded to the promise of dirt to come. Not even a princess bedroom could compete with fresh dirt.

The Rayburn place was a full-fledged mansion, complete with a housekeeper and two maids. The grant gave each member of the team one hundred dollars a day for housing, plus a fifty-dollar per diem for food. For fifty of that one hundred and fifty dollars, they could stay in the Rayburn house and pocket the rest. That fifty-dollar fee also included breakfast and dinner during the week plus lunch on the weekends.

Catherine's bedroom was on the second floor, faced the river, and was decorated in teal, cream, and gold with royal blue accents. She shared a Jack-and-Jill bathroom with Sara, whose room was royal blue, cream, and lemon yellow with bronze accents. Both rooms had walk-in closets and a seating area that took advantage of their river views.

Lindsey's princess room was just as advertised. It was a gold and palm green affair with curtains that pooled on the floor. The only thing to mar it was Lindsey hadn't really believed it existed until she was standing in it.

There was a canopy bed with sheer bed curtains, a deep balcony with two chairs, a table, and a lounge for a princessly repose. That was a nap for the rest of the folks. The closet was huge with racks low enough for Lindsey to use with no help from anyone and she had a private bath with a pedestal sink, clawfoot tub, and a separate shower.

"Wow, this is really nice," Catherine said as she helped Lindsey put away her clothes.

"It's beautiful," Lindsey agreed, almost wide-eyed. She closed the now empty suitcase and placed it in the closet against the back. She walked around the room, carefully touching everything. "I wonder what this is for?" Lindsey asked as she sat down at the writing table.

Catherine half expected to find a quill and an inkwell on the desk, instead there was handmade paper with Lindsey's initials embossed on the corner, standard-sized but thick envelopes, a fountain pen with Lindsey's name in gold and a little emblem on it, and a roll of first-class stamps. "It's so you can write your friends back in Las Vegas and tell them what you're doing."

Lindsey looked a little hurt. "I don't have anyone to write," she said gloomily. She was probably thinking about her father and Catherine was at a momentary loss.

"Maybe you could write Hank a letter," she suggested. Her daughter and her lover got along quite well. Hank had two nieces close to Lindsey's age and he was encouraging his sister to bring them to Las Vegas for a visit once Catherine and Lindsey had returned from their trip.

Lindsey smiled. "Yeah, he'd like that. He's got no one to talk to but Brutus and he doesn't talk back."

'Thank God for that,' Catherine thought. The bug still gave her the willies. Someone knocked on the door. "Come in," Catherine called.

Gil poked his head in. "Is Her Highness receiving guests?" he asked, his face dead serious.

Gil, Nick, and Warrick slipped into the room and had a look around. From their expressions, Catherine could tell they hadn't been inside before.

Nick and Warrick stepped onto the balcony and looked out. From the balcony, you could see some of the gardens, a bit of the pool enclosure, and a smidgen of the river. It was really pretty.

"What's this?" Warrick asked as he tugged at the mesh-like curtain Catherine had noticed when she'd been on the balcony.

"This, my man, is a very high-end mosquito netting system," Nick answered. He pulled the netting along its track at the balcony's perimeter until he reached the center point, then he moved to the opposite wall and repeated the action with the netting on that side. When the two panels met in the middle, they locked together at three points. "It's secured at the top and the bottom by tracks, keeps out the bugs, and doesn't cut down much on the breeze." Stokes pointed out the rope ladder that would allow Lindsey to escape to the ground should the house catch fire.

"This is a lovely room, Lindsey. Elaine wouldn't allow us even a peek. Do you like it?" Gil asked.

"Oh yeah." She lowered her voice. "I didn't really think it would be this nice."

Again Catherine felt that pain close to her heart. Her daughter was getting used to being lied to. 'Damn you, Eddie.'

"I've observed that Doctor Rayburn tends to go over the top when she's promised something," Grissom noted.

"We're staying in the cottage on the riverside of the property," Gil answered. "It's gorgeous and quiet."

"Slept like the comatose every time I tried," Warrick announced. "Elaine had a huge crew in this house getting all the rooms ready and I slept through a lot of it. We couldn't hear a thing."

Warrick bobbed his head, glanced at Lindsey, and smiled. "Just a few," he answered cryptically.

"Cool," Greg acknowledged as he looked around. He stepped into the bathroom. "Oh, wow, look at that tub. I wonder if it's an original?"

"I would guess that it is, since the manufacturer went out of business in the 1920's," Gil answered. Everyone looked at him. "I remembered the name from a case I worked when I was in Los Angeles."

"Bugs, Shakespeare, and bathtubs; you are a true Renaissance man, Grissom," Catherine noted.

One by one, the rest of the team stopped by to admire Lindsey's princess suite. Catherine got them all back downstairs, where Nick and Warrick conducted the "it could have been mine" tour. Elaine followed along and asked them questions about "their belongings".

In the dining room, the oil paintings of Elaine's parents, in-laws, and her own family were quite breathtaking. Elaine's father was an average height, blue-eyed, blond and her mother was a very regal looking African American with green eyes and light skin. Her in-laws were tall, white, blond, and blue-eyed. Her husband and two of her children shared that same coloring. Two of her sons were brown-haired but had green eyes. All of her children were stunning.

"My daughter, Beth, lives in town and she's a musician and a songwriter. My son, Stuart, also lives in town and works very, very hard for Ivory Tower. Kevin is in England doing research at the Farrell Institute in Manchester. Michael is at the Harvard Business School, but will be spending his summer and one semester in Kyoto Japan working on his accent and making some friends in an exchange program. The nest is empty."

"That's Lydia Hipp," Greg declared. "She can't be more than 17 here, but this is definitely her."

"She's very nice," Warrick answered. "She helped get us settled when we arrived."

"Gorgeous young lady," Gil added. "Very, very charming, just like her mother and almost as lovely."

"The ladies would ride the elevator up, but the gentlemen were expected to walk up the stairs," Nick explained.

"Lydia Hipp laid down tracks for her first album, Glass Bowl, in this very room," Warrick pointed out. "See the large balcony on that end of the room? That's how they got the grand piano up here. It was such a nightmare getting the instrument in, they decided to keep it."

"Elaine is the drummer," Nick informed them in a conspiratorial tone. "She beats them instead of her staff."

"Maybe you should get some drums, Grissom," Jim suggested as he picked up the guitar and played some chords. "This is going back," he said. "I learned to play to impress the girls."

"Unfortunately, yes," Jim answered as he did the soft and slow version of Eric Clapton's "Layla". "Then I found out that I didn't like the girls who were impressed by my ability to play guitar." He put the guitar down.

"I wanted to be a drumming rock goddess," Elaine admitted, "and have endless affairs with handsome actors before ending up living in exile in France because the French just didn't care about my wicked past."

"What happened?" Greg asked running his finger along the edge of one of the cymbals. "Didn't you have the skills?" He meant it as a challenge. You could tell.

Elaine smirked. "I should be bigger than this, but I'm not." She climbed aboard one of the biggest and baddest set of drums Catherine had ever seen. Rayburn started out with some rim work, just giving them a taste of the show to come.

Rayburn twirled her sticks and drummed up images of writhing bodies in smoky clubs before moving onto a hard rock rhythm that had Catherine dancing with Bobby and Greg while Warrick turned it out with Nick. Archie pulled Jim onto the dance floor and Brass shocked them all by being able to dance very well. You just never knew about those Jersey boys.

"No, they're not," Greg agreed. "Why didn't you pursue it? You're really, really good."

"I promised my parents I'd finish college first since I was underage, then I fell in love with science," Elaine ticked off. "I never stopped playing, but I never went any further with it. At least I got to play on two of Beth's albums."

"That's me," she admitted. "There are mats in this closet," Elaine pointed out, changing the subject, "and these panels come off and there are mirrors behind them. This is a great space to exercise, dance, meditate, and just look at the grounds."

Lindsey, who had plopped down in a window seat after her exhausting dance with Gil, let out a squeal that should have shattered all of the glass in the house. "Horses, there are horses out there."

Catherine had a look. There were seven of them: two black, one white, one russet, and three chocolate colored. They were standing around in a field that was shielded from the house by a line of trees.

"Do you ride, Lindsey?" Elaine asked. Lindsey shook her head 'no'. "Well, maybe your mom will let Nick give you a ride on one. He's quite the horseman."

They headed back downstairs where a meal was being set up buffet-style. You could find something to fill your plate even if you were a lactose-intolerant vegan, who ate raw and was allergic to corn, wheat, and barley.

The table buzzed with lively conversations and Catherine gave up on trying to hear what everyone else was talking about and simply enjoyed her own. Sara, who was just easing back into the fold, was mesmerized by Nick's adventure during their tour of Warner Interface.

"They scan your skin, check for blemishes and moles, and then burn the data onto a self-running CD," Stokes explained. "All three of us had it done. I told Tina Coleman, she's their Chief Financial Officer, that it had great forensic potential. Can you imagine being able to digitalize the entire surface of your victim or of some evidence."

"Nick talked them into letting us field test two of the units while we're here," Gil added proudly. "They'll be sending over two techs with the equipment to train us."

"Yes, we have five in the department," Elaine answered. "Darren Smythe gave us the two that used to belong to Jake Chasen and we already had three."

"I can't believe Jake 'The Snake' Chasen ended up here," Gil said sadly, shaking his head. "He operated for years without a conviction in Vegas, but he was brought down by Silver Lakes."

"But not before he'd killed quite a few people," Elaine countered. "He won't be missed."

"Sure," Elaine responded. "It directly benefits the department to have a wide pool of pilots. So does language lessons, defensive driving classes, and advanced degrees. If you want to finish up an advanced degree at Silver Lakes University, then you'll only pay ten dollars a semester hour and we'll pick up the rest and go half on books and a new computer."

Archie looked at Gil as if the man had somehow failed them. "We could never get a deal like that in Vegas."

"Vegas has a bigger pool of potential employees than we do. I have to work harder to get to the same place," Elaine explained.

Gil accepted Nick's help to get up on the horse. He felt as if he were too high up. Nick climbed up behind him, wrapped one arm around Gil's waist, and kissed Grissom's neck. "Easy, baby," he whispered.

"To you," Nick answered. He made an almost whistling noise and the horse eased forward. The horse was walking, slowly picking up speed until Gil was bouncing in the saddle.

The horse, whose name was Faramir, began to gallop in answer to some signal from Nick and they raced along the pasture, down a dirt road, and out to the river. It was one of the most romantic moments in Grissom's life. The sun was setting, the water was being painted red, gold, and orange, and the horse flew along the wet sand.

"I love you, Gil," Nick swore, elevating the moment again. The horse slowed and eventually stopped. Nick turned Gil's head and the two of them kissed deeply. "Do you trust me?"

"Lean forward and wrap your arms around Faramir's neck," Nick prompted. "He won't mind."

Gil nervously obeyed. He couldn't say what was frightening him more, gripping the horse's neck or what Nick was planning. Faramir tolerated the touch and blew out a lip-flapping gust of air.

Nick gripped the waistband of Gil's running shorts and pulled them down to expose Grissom's naked ass to the air. "You have such an inviting bottom," he whispered. "I'm quite sure I hear it inviting me in."

Gil groaned in response. He felt the lube being squirted into his ass and moaned even harder. He turned his head and muffled his scream with his arm as Nick pushed full force into his ass. It was like being a virgin again.

"Yes, you are," Nick agreed. "You're full of my cock, you wicked, wicked man." He clicked at the horse, flicked the reins, and they went trotting off, letting the motion of the horse bounce Gil back and forth on Nick's cock.

"Yes," Nick agreed. He assaulted Gil's neck, surely leaving marks that anyone could see. Would see, as Gil had packed nothing but opened-necked shirts. "I should be so ashamed of myself," Stokes admitted, "but I had to have you. I had to be inside you."

Gil couldn't think of anything to say. Nick flicked the ends of the reins against Grissom's chest, causing the older man's nipples to ache.

"Warrick is going to use leather straps to tie you to the bed tonight, Gil," Nick warned. "He's going to fuck you so long and so hard, you're going to need an ambulance to make it to the lab tomorrow."

"It's your own damn fault, Gil," Nick insisted, as his cock was pistoned in and out of Grissom's ass by the movements of the horse. "You make us both want you so damn much."

Gil managed to get his cock out of the front of his shorts mere seconds before he was cumming.

"Yes, Sugar Bear," Nick groaned as he came. "Sweet, sweet, Sugar Bear." He turned the horse and they slowly trotted back to the barn. Nick's cock stayed in Gil's ass until Nick lifted him off the horse and almost into Elaine's arms, who was there to help Grissom down.

"How was your ride?" Elaine asked as she removed the cum-stained saddle from Faramir. She didn't even flinch.

Nick cleaned the saddle. "Elaine, I have to admit that I haven't had a better mount in my life. You were absolutely right, Faramir was the right horse to take out." He finished cleaning the saddle and placed it on the rack while Gil received his first lesson in horse grooming.

Elaine demonstrated the way to brush the animal and while Gil did that, she checked the horse's hooves. "Gil, you could be out of the closet here. You don't have to worry about fraternization because we have married couples working at the labs and you wouldn't be Nick and Warrick's boss, I would be."

"What about your local cops?" Gil asked. "The boys in blue have never been kind to the bent wrist."

"Gay people saved this town, Gil, and no one here is allowed to forget that," Elaine assured him. "They brought jobs, good jobs, to this town when we lost almost every well-paying manufacturing job we had. This town could have died if some very prominent gay people hadn't decided it was worth saving. Our boys in blue know who writes their checks."

"That's good to know." Gil accepted a moistened napkin from Elaine and after some prompting from her, wiped the cum off his belly. He must have looked so slutty.

Nick led Faramir into his stall and added oats to his feeder. "You're a great horse, Faramir. Thanks for the trip." The horse playfully nudged Nick before lowering his head to his oats.

"Come on, Sugar Bear," Nick said as he placed his arm around Gil's waist. "Warrick awaits." He paused long enough to kiss Elaine's cheek. "Goodnight, Elaine."

Gil let the cooling night air clear his head a little. He could hear laughter coming from the direction of the house and the security lights were popping on, uplighting trees, parts of the wall, paths, and the bottom of the pool.

Bobby, Archie, Greg, Catherine, Sarah, Jim, and Lindsey were swimming. Al and his wife, Sonya, were lounging by the pool and engaged in a chess game. Everyone looked like they were enjoying themselves. Nick and Gil didn't call out as they walked by. It was as if they'd agreed on some level to maintain this perfect private moment between them.

Archie came off the diving board in a cannon ball, sending up a plume of water. Gil estimated that if the young man had weighed just twenty pounds more, the water would have reached Al. Oh, well.

The couple made it back to the cottage and found it illuminated by candles and the outdoor fire pit. More romance for a man who'd only realized lately how starved for romance he'd become.

"Nick fucked me while we were riding on the horse. Elaine saw the evidence. She never flinched," Gil reported. "She also told me we could be out here."

"She knows our weak spots," Nick said as he stripped Gil down and placed his clothes on a chair. He got naked too and then turned on the outdoor shower. Talk about decadent. They were under a rain shower of warm water while soaping and rubbing against each other. Once clean, both men were expertly toweled by Warrick.

Donning robes, the three men flopped out on the deck furniture around the fire pit and sipped drinks. There was no music playing, they hardly spoke, but Gil had never felt more in-sync with his guys. It was heaven.

"Did the horse and Nick leave you too sore for me?" Warrick asked. He picked up Gil's feet and placed them in his lap. Brown rubbed a soothing circle into the sole of the older man's right foot.

Nick stood up and watched someone approach. Whoever it was, his stance relaxed as they got closer. "Hey, Catherine, come to make yourself jealous?" Stokes asked.

"Foot massages do have that effect on me," Catherine admitted. She stepped up onto the porch. Willows was swimsuit clad with a white mesh robe thrown over it for convention's sake. "I was hoping to talk you guys into coming to the pool for a bit and fraternizing with the team."

"I'll bet you're the only one who missed us," Warrick stated. He kept rubbing Gil's feet, which was going to make Grissom sink into the cushions like melted ice cream.

Ice cream. Now there was a wicked thought. Nick had done some seriously naughty things with that ice cream. Gil would never be able to look at a scoop of the stuff the same way again. He certainly would never like it as much without a Warrick or Nick topping.

"Guys, you're distancing yourself from us and it'll make the rest of the team think you have no intention of coming back to Vegas," Catherine pointed out. "Unless that's true, come out to the pool for a little while."

"I should warn you, Catherine," Warrick said as he lowered Grissom's feet. "Nick and Gil went gay boy mad when it came to our swimsuits. While I was in court sending the bad guys to prison, they were finding the tiniest excuse for bathing attire ever made."

Catherine grinned. "This I've got to see. Come to the pool and give us all a thrill."

Warrick went into the cottage and the second bedroom where his clothes were kept. His swimsuit was brown, almost exactly the same brown as his skin, and looked like man-panties. If he'd been stupid enough to not pack them, Nick would have pouted, or worse, Gil would have pouted. The two were so proud of the find they could barely contain themselves.

Brown stepped into the suit and pulled it up into place. He put on his sandals and didn't bother with a towel. Elaine kept a huge stack of towels in the pool pavilion just for such an occasion.

Nick's suit was red and looked like it had been painted on. There was almost a sign on them that read "in an emergency, please pull down and lick". Gil owned a pair of black trunks with white spider webbing on them. They weren't sexy, they were fun. Sexy was easy for Gil, going fun was hard.

The three men left the cottage arm in arm. Okay, Warrick had his hands on each of his men's asses. It had been hours since he'd fucked either man, and he wanted to remind them that Warrick Brown still claimed the space.

The lights were on now and the pavilion was well lit for swimming, eating, lounging, reading, listening to music, and playing games. Al was holding his own against his lovely wife, Sonya, in chess. Elaine, now wearing a swimsuit, was explaining a card game to Greg, Archie, and Bobby. Warrick recognized it immediately as Bid Whist.

"Are we tipping the kitty? Are the jokers in? Do I smell fresh meat at the table?" Warrick asked boldly. It was hard to say what got more attention from Elaine, his words or his suit.

"Amen," Sonya added. She smiled at Warrick and then at Nick. "And I've always enjoyed red."

Al patted his wife's hand. "They're off the market, my dear," he assured her. "Check."

She glanced at the board, made her move, and smiled. "Check. Mate in three moves."

"What!?!" Al protested. He stared at the board and muttered as the circumstances of his inevitable defeat were made clear. "Concede."

"Come play some bid whist, Al," Elaine encouraged. "We need more teams for the big tournament next week. The Fire Department has to eat our dust."

Thus began a three-table game, where people rotated out to find the most effective partnerships. Naturally Warrick had expected to be with Nick or Gil, maybe Catherine, but it was Greg he clicked with when they were playing cards. The two of them routed almost everyone else until it was only Warrick, Greg, Gil, and Elaine at the final table. Nick and Jim did give them a hard time before going down in defeat.

It was late, Lindsey was long in bed, and Gil was trying not to yawn as he provided support for Elaine's ballsy 6 No-trump downtown bid. The No-Trump bid had rendered Warrick's two jokers worthless and the downtown part meant his high cards were just spinning their wheels. The only fun part was playing footsie under the table with Gil.

"Boston," Elaine declared, taking the last trick. That was it, the mini-tourney was over.

"Bedtime," Warrick announced as he gathered the cards and placed them in their boxes. He loved this game cabinet. It held chess, backgammon, checkers, cards, poker chips, and a roulette wheel with sexual play instead of numbers on it. "Elaine, can I borrow this?" he asked hopefully.

Warrick placed the device on the table and spun it. Greg dropped the ball and it settled in "Sit on his cock". The lab tech turned beet red, glanced nervously at Nick, then all but vanished from the table in a puff of smoke.

"Greg," Brown called before the man could get out of earshot. "You were a great partner, Greg. I'm sorry I let you down on the 4-Low bid in hearts." Winning that hand would have held off Elaine and Gil for another round, maybe two.

Greg stopped and smiled. "You didn't let me down, Warrick. The cards were against us." He walked away, leaving Warrick to ponder subtext in all of its manifestations.

"Bedtime, Warrick," Nick insisted as he collected the roulette wheel from the table. "I had a wonderful time, Elaine."

"Great, because I plan to work all of you like dogs tomorrow," Rayburn promised. She opened a drawer in the game cabinet and extracted a garish purple felt bag. "Here are the chips that go with the wheel. Strictly consenting adults only." She closed but did not lock the cabinet.

"Thank you, Gil," Elaine responded. "Don't forget that we're all eating breakfast together and I expect you three to help."

"Of course," Warrick agreed. "We owe you something for letting us use the cottage."

"If you move here, you can stay there until your own place is ready and I'll only charge the three of you utilities," Elaine offered, getting in her final bit of seduction for the night. "Goodnight." She walked away without waiting for a response. Her words, and the images they provoked, hung in the air.

The three men walked back to the cottage. The night was still and quiet and the air smelled like fresh flowers and newly mown grass. It was a little eerie to Warrick that he couldn't hear any cars while they were outside.

He took the wheel from Nick, placed it on the coffee table in the living room, pulled his men down onto the couch, and spun the toy. "Lick her tits" came up. Warrick sucked Gil's nipples that were already peaked and waiting for his attention. Having the older man in a swimsuit saved a lot of time.

Warrick spun again. "Lave his navel," was the winner and so was Nick. His entire body swayed softly as Warrick spread his licks around the smaller man's belly.

"Pull his hair," came up next. There was several ways to go with this, and Warrick decided the only way he wanted to pull Gil's hair was to bury his fingers in the other man's thick pelt and pull his head back while sucking Grissom's vulnerable throat. The man's beard was soft and Warrick enjoyed the sensation.

Warrick placed a final lick on the man's neck before spinning the wheel again. "Lick her pussy."

No pussy in this room, unless you counted Gil's man-pussy. Warrick pulled the older man's trunks off, split his thighs, and began licking the flesh surrounding Gil's hole. Nick had given Grissom a little rougher ride than Warrick had thought, so he was gentle with the man.

Gil made such sweet sounds of surrender that Warrick had to extend their play beyond the older man's hot man-pussy. Warrick gripped and possessed Gil's tits. Gil began to babble. The harder Warrick twisted, the more nonsensical Grissom's words became until he gave up altogether and simply panted. Just when Gil was to the point where Warrick could have blown air across Grissom's hole and the older man would cum, he stopped.

Warrick smiled at his older lover and spun the wheel again. "Fuck his ass" came up. Nice. Warrick pushed his trunks down far enough to free his cock and then rolled a condom down himself with both Nick and Gil's help.

Nick lubed him up while grinning at Gil. "Rick is going to really stick it to you, man," Stokes warned. "I'm working on my excuses for your absence tomorrow. Is there a medical term for 'fucked into a coma'?" he asked, giving them his best "butter wouldn't melt in my mouth" look.

"Yes," Warrick answered as he pulled Nick into his lap. The tiny swimsuit was pushed out of the way just before Warrick speared Nick's ass with his cock. Nick groaned helplessly as inch after inch went into him. "It's called Nickfuckeduptheassidus and I think you're about to come down with a terminal case."

Gil spun the wheel and used his finger to guide the ball into the "suck his cock" slot. Cheater. But Nick came out the winner as he got it up the ass from Warrick while his cock was going down Gil's throat.

It could have been so much awkward fumbling and knees and elbows going in the wrong spot at exactly the wrong time, but Warrick found his rhythm with Nick and concentrated on that. Nick's spectacular ass was the only thing Warrick could concentrate on as he got closer and closer to his own orgasm.

"Shit!" Nick shouted as Gil milked the cum from his cock. Grissom smiled at him with slightly swollen lips before the two men were caught up in a long hot kiss. Watching the two of them sent Warrick off and he spilled what felt like every bit of cum he'd ever produced. Nick was so tight that it felt like it was going to take the jaws of life to extract himself, and wouldn't that make a great scene report, so Warrick decided to just hold his men where they were and let nature pull them apart. It worked.

Sara seriously doubted she'd fit in her new jumpsuit after that big breakfast. She really should have controlled herself, but after Elaine had gone so far out of her way to have so many of Sara's favorites on hand, how could she resist?

How many people could start their day with fresh strawberries and blackberries picked by Nick Stokes? Or eggs still warm from the hen delivered by Greg Sanders? Or mushrooms harvested by Gil Grissom? There was even soy milk, which she and Archie devoured, in the refrigerator.

Silverlode Taxi Service picked them up, after the drivers snagged fruit and muffins and filled their thermoses with Rayburn's good coffee, and carted them to the lab. Sara knew this had once been a Marine training base, so she'd expected it to still look like one, but Sidle was fairly certain that Marines would shy away from so many flowers and they'd march to where they were going, not rush around on bikes or in golf carts.

They were issued their temporary ID and badges, picked up their gear, and changed in front of their new lockers. Rayburn had to dash off to "put out an administrative fire", leaving them in the hands of Billy Strayhorn.

Sara had read about his attack, but she'd expected him to either be dead or retired, not back on the job, even if he were in a wheelchair. Strayhorn gave them the "$2.50 tour". The staff had bunks for naps, a huge mess hall, a swimming pool, a co-ed sauna, a big exercise room, and a snack room that dwarfed the one back home.

"Notice Rayburn's subtle attempts to wean us off junk food. Not." Strayhorn pointed to the carbonated drinks machine. "Two bucks for a half-liter bottle of the good stuff, but bottled water, fruit drinks, and sports drinks are free. Free bowls of fruit, scoop your own granola, and shelled nuts, but a candy bar costs a buck from the machine. We encourage you to donate to the 'keep the good stuff flowing' coffee fund if you imbibe."

Greg inspected the coffee beans and gave them a thumbs up. Even the grinder passed muster. Sara laughed at the sign on it. "This machine grinds coffee that your fellow workers drink. Use it on an experiment and die. Signed Your Loving Boss."

"Moving on," Billy called as he pointed his fancy wheelchair down the hall. "Trace is on the left, DNA is on the right, and they're both so new that you might slip on the packing popcorn. Do not peel off, Greg."

They passed the AV lab, which was buffered for sound infiltration by being surrounded by storage. Ballistics was in its own stand-alone building. The complex also had a huge incinerator, which allowed them to not only destroy their own evidence once it was no longer needed, but they provided that service to other cities for a fee.

Grissom was given a corner office on the third floor in Building Three. It had a long bank of windows with a view of the woods that were part of the property. Catherine's office was across the hall and mirrored the appointments of Grissom's. Warrick, Nick, and Sara were given offices on the second floor. They shared a lounge area, but each office had its own bathroom. Doc Robbins had a suite of offices in the Forensics building, three assistants, a secretary, and two training residents assigned to him. Vegas might never see the man again.

Sara sat at her new, but temporary desk, and gave her chair a test spin. The computer had a protective film over the keyboard, the case was behind plexiglass and vented away from her, and the screen could be raised and lowered almost three feet. Nice.

She put in the temporary passwords, read the warnings that said this was a strictly work computer and keystrokes were logged, and set her new passwords. There was a library in the same building as the mess hall and there were computers there for personal use. Sidle already had email.

This was so strange. It was totally quiet in her office when Sara had become very used to the low-level babble that seemed to always permeate the labs. She didn't know if she could get used to this. Not that Rayburn was likely to offer it after the way Sara had treated her in Vegas.

Sara had resented being stuck with "the charming hick from Arkansas" and just knew the woman was going to fuck up her scene, so she had checked the woman's work. Again and again. Rayburn had never complained. She did, however, point out six separate errors in the report and suggest a test that had saved them nine hours of processing. Rayburn didn't bust Sidle out to Grissom. In fact, if they hadn't overheard Elaine talking to her friend that night at dinner, no one would have known how Sara had treated her.

The ringing of the phone startled her. "Sidle," she said as she answered her new silver and dark blue SLCL cell phone.

"Sara, this is Rayburn," Elaine announced. "I have an assignment for you. It should be coming up on your computer screen now."

A new window opened and the address, lead officer, and situation of a crime in Hot Springs was displayed.

"Grab your kit and take the elevator to the roof," Rayburn ordered. "Chloe Margolis and Bo Thompson will meet you at the helicopter pad."

Margolis turned out to be a semi-pro body builder who specialized in weapons and split her time between the field and ballistics. Bobby was probably drooling in his shoes over her. Thompson was a big, bald white guy, complete with goatee, who looked more like a suspect than a CSI. Rayburn had lifted him from New York. He was heavily muscled, covered in tats, and did not speak except to tell Sara to buckle up. The pilot allowed Bo to fly them from Silver Lakes to Hot Springs.

The scene turned out to be a stabbing in a private yard that had sold parking spaces for people attending the racetrack just up the street. The victim had already been transported to the hospital and had not made a statement. Witnesses gave lots of conflicting statements and the physical evidence was sketchy at best.

Margolis crossed the street and spoke to a gentleman who was selling racing forms and tip sheets in Spanish. Within a few minutes, not only did Margolis have the man talking, she'd gotten him to cross the street to the rest of the team.

"The guy who was stabbed had the knife," the man said. His shirt was so multicolored that it looked like it was used to clean up after painting jobs. His jeans were so worn along the legs they were almost white. Women paid top dollar to get jeans that looked that worn.

"They park in front of that house and pay 10 bucks. That house is 8 and those are 6. Why do they pay 10 for this house? Because it had a 'no parking' sign up until the rest of them were full. Then they opened up." The old man laughed. "Supply and demand," he explained.

"The man parked and the woman parked behind him. He starts yelling and she tries to walk away. He grabs her arm." The old man danced his hand in the air. "Out comes the knife and he waves it under her chin like he's going to cut her throat." The man stopped.

"It's not unpleasant, just puzzling," the old man corrected. "He had the knife, he was threatening her, but she left after turning it on him."

"She must have feared prosecution," Sara suggested. Knifings always bothered her. Two decades wasn't long enough to wipe away the memories of some unpleasant family history. It was a pity and a shame but it was true, a man could repeatedly beat a woman, but let her successfully fight back and she's the one who goes to prison.

"No, no. He attacked her, he was larger, and she was pregnant." He shook his head. "No jail for her."

"She got in her car and drove away," the man reported. "He scared her bad; she urinated on herself."

"Or her water broke," Sara suggested. Sidle looked at the ground. Among all the shoe impressions was one wet spot. She swabbed it and labeled the evidence. Margolis logged the swab and the man's statement into her laptop and sent it back to HQ.

"Only one hospital in the area has had a self admitted OB patient," Thompson reported. "Garland County is giving us a lift there once we're finished here."

"But we process what we have," Sidle said firmly. After sketching out the scene, a lot of the discrepancies of the witness statements made a lot more sense. From the rear the woman looked average sized, from the side, most definitely pregnant, but from the front, she just looked chubby. Most witnesses agreed the man had the knife first. Those who didn't also hadn't seen the argument that had led up to the fight.

They rode to the hospital in a squad car as the helicopter had to stand clear of the landing pad unless they were transporting a patient. Sara hated to interrupt the woman while she was trying to push out her baby, but they flashed their badges and went into the labor room.

Gwen Talbot was two weeks overdue and decided a day at the track would bring on her labor. Then a "nutball" came after her with a knife. She executed a reverse, snapping his wrist back and jamming the knife against him. The blade penetrated his chest and when he went down, her water broke. Panicked into thinking she could lose her baby, Talbot rushed herself to the hospital and told hospital security what had happened.

Hospital security had reported the attack and stabbing to the State Police and it would have eventually made it to them. The irony was that both victim and attacker were in the same hospital and the guy with the knife in him was the one facing charges. Sometimes the good guys won, but it was rare.

Sanders was in tech-boy heaven. He was surrounded by gadgets, people were fascinated by him, and no one had asked him to shut up.

Sylvan, who could have played an Elf in the movies if they'd been interested in showing someone with some cleavage, was separating the components of a complicated stain from the back of the victim's shirt. They had really done a number on the man. "Honey, I have an intact seed," she declared.

Greg was still getting used to being called Honey, Sugar, Darling, Sweetie, and Dimples by people who weren't immediately ready to fall back and spread them for him.

"That's my girl,' Sanders encouraged. "Place it on a separate slide so we can identify it later."

She looked at him as if he were kidding. "It's Zoysia grass," she declared. "You only look up the hard ones." She went back to picking through the stain.

"I would have had to look up Zoysia grass because it is not native to Nevada or California," Greg explained.

"It's not native to Arkansas either," Sylvan corrected. "It comes from Southeast Asia, China, and Japan. That seed is a Chinese hybrid. The Japanese ones tend to have ribbed pods."

"It's amazing how much knowledge you have in that beautiful head of yours," Greg remarked.

"The same can be said for you, Greg." Sylvan pushed her hair back behind her ear. "Are you busy tonight?"

"Doctor Rayburn probably has something enlightening on the calendar, but that doesn't mean I can't get out of it," Greg answered. The Southern Pussy Project was looking up.

"Great, I'd love to take you home and squeeze you between myself and my husband." She left the bench and turned the computer screen toward Greg. "This is Steve. He loves a hot cock up his ass while I'm taking his dick."

The Southern Pussy Project was looking way up. Steve was gorgeous, bespeckled, and had the most intense blue eyes Greg had ever seen peeking out from under his curly brown hair. Spread that man on toast.

"What do you say?" she asked. "Don't worry, I'll buy some dinner so you won't be poisoned."

"Can I get back to you?" Greg asked, being mature. "I really need to check and see if anything is being planned."

"Okay," Sylvan agreed, tossing her long, blond ponytail behind her. She snagged a card and wrote a number on the back. "This is my private cell phone number. Call me."

She went back to the stain, extracting three fibers that were from worn denim, a leaf from a tulip poplar tree, and glass shards from a brown bottle. Greg left her to research the glass while he made his way to the bathroom.

Strayhorn was at the trough with his wheelchair seat raised and slightly forward so he could piss without wetting his legs.

"Yeah, it is," Billy agreed. "A local company gave it to me to use in the field." He lowered himself and rolled over to the sinks. He washed his dick and then his hands, leaving himself with a major boner that Greg couldn't help admiring.

Since Strayhorn had suffered such a devastating back injury, Greg guessed that the need to wash and dry his penis was more about preventing rashes from urine dribbled down his length than giving Greg a show.

Billy looked down at his dick. "Yes, he's as cute as he can be, but he doesn't want to play with you."

Greg couldn't explain exactly why he did it. He was after all representing the city of Las Vegas, but the sad, sad look on the other man's face decided him. Greg leaned over and took Billy's cockhead into his mouth and gave him the "hurry, hurry there's someone banging on the changing room door" blowjob special. His record was eighty-two seconds, but Billy may have broken it. He shot off in Greg's mouth while holding Greg's head with an impressive grip.

Sanders stood up, winked at Billy, and then drained his dick into the trough. He washed his hands and left Billy sitting stunned by the sinks. For all he knew, Strayhorn spent the rest of the shift in that same spot.

An older black man stood outside with a stack of baskets, boxes, and a cart of fruit. "I have a delivery for Doctor Rayburn."

"You must be one of her husband's kin," the man guessed as he held the clipboard toward Stokes.

"Oh," the man said. "Yeah, that's right, her daddy is white." Satisfied that he'd solved the mystery he rolled the goods into the foyer and then trotted back to his truck and drove away.

Nick went downstairs to the basement level. Elaine, Archie, Jim, and Lindsey were busily making handmade paper. Nick could see the introspective Archie enjoying this, but he'd been stunned to see Brass there forming pages and having a good time.

"Elaine, a man just dropped a bunch of baskets, boxes, and a cart of fruit," Nick reported.

She read through it. "I don't believe this. They refunded the cost to assemble the baskets instead of putting them together like we'd negotiated."

"What do you need to do?" Lindsey asked as she lifted up her screen where a soggy rectangle, that would dry into a sheet of soft pink embossed paper, lay.

"The baskets were supposed to have been here, assembled, two days ago, but they called and swore they'd have them here today," Elaine explained. "These are your welcome baskets, Honey, and they should have been in your rooms. All of you were going to have fruit and goodies waiting for you."

"Elaine, you have really gone overboard as it is," Jim soothed as he lifted up what would become an aquamarine sheet of paper. Nick noticed that Ellie Brass's initials were embossed in the corner. Jim's daughter was going through her third attempt at drying out. Nick wished her well.

"The point, Jim, is that I have fruit, gifts, and empty baskets," Elaine moaned.

"Nick, I can't ask my guests to put their own baskets together," Elaine complained. "It's not done."

Nick helped Lindsey, Jim, and Archie place their paper against the windows to dry. They would fall to the floor when they were ready and the embossing in the corners would tell who they belonged to when they were gathered. That and Lindsey's princess color choices.

Greg had a "date", but everyone else gathered in the dining room after dinner, told stories about their day, and helped put together the baskets.

Jim's basket held fruit, peanut brittle, the first cashew brittle he'd ever eaten, a set of monogrammed silk handkerchiefs, an invitation to use the private box of Arthur Hellstrom at the Oaklawn Racing Track with a gold pass that assured him secured parking and free entry into the track, a week's rental of a Farrell Magnate, their top of the line luxury sedan, and two trips to the Sensuous Solutions's Day Spa.

Brass had spent most of the day hunting a fugitive from Alabama who was wanted for killing his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. They nabbed the guy trying to break in at his grandmother's place.

Archie's basket had fruit, meditation bells, a meditation rug, several scented oils that whispered "playtime" to Nick's overactive imagination, a ride in a hot air balloon, and a hiker's guide to the surrounding areas.

Johnson had conducted two classes in video enhancement at Silver Lakes University and mysteriously wrangled a fine lunch out of that.

Bobby's basket was almost all chocolate. Chocolate cookies, chocolate candy, chocolate candles, chocolate-flavored sex oil, and an all chocolate body wrap at Sensuous Solutions's Day Spa. He had minimum fruit.

Dawson provided vital information for four crimes in one day, a personal record, by matching up bullets to guns in some cold cases. He even did some field time in the investigation of a "hunting accident" that occurred well out of hunting season and smelled of murder for profit.

Sara loaded up with fancy bubble bath liquids from Sensuous Solutions and scented candles to complement her collection of exotic fruits. She nearly lost her mind over the figs, star fruit, and pears so big it took two hands to hold them.

Sidle told them about the knife attack victim who put her attacker down then drove herself to the hospital to deliver a seven-pound daughter. Now that was a Southern woman.

Warrick was given fruit, chocolates, several sensual oils, a bath mitt, some very nice feeling towels that he wickedly tested on the nape of Nick's neck. Where Stokes came from, it was put up or shut up when you started playing with a man's nape. And Warrick did it when there was a child in the room. Talk about torture. The man was going to pay and pay when Nick got his hands on him later.

Brown had worked a DUI where the driver of a golf cart left the country club with a few too many under his belt and promptly ran his neighbor and the neighbor's dog over before dragging them half a mile to the house. The wrong house. The victims might have survived the initial hit but not the dragging. The driver was a lawyer and had lawyered up before he was taken away. The victim was also a lawyer, who had been married to a judge. Nick suspected the upcoming court battle to be the stuff of legends, if someone didn't end up dead before then. Rick's description of the combatants sounded like bloodshed in the making.

Nick received wine, grapes, and cheeses, plus scented massage oils and a monogrammed bathrobe with slippers. His favorite thing in the basket was six para-sailing flights. In other circumstances, Nick would have felt honor bound to sleep with Elaine for treating him so well. He did give her his "I'm taken, but if I weren't" look, which got him elbowed by Warrick and scowled at by Gil. Man, they really were watching him.

Stokes's call had been some unearthed bones at a construction site. The bones were so old that they had partially fossilized. The position of the body suggested the victim had been crushed up against the rocks in what might have been a flash flood, covered in silt, and left for discovery. He was waiting on carbon dating of the bones.

His most exciting news was that while wearing his fancy helmet-cam, he managed to film the Ivory-billed Woodpecker. A discovery which caused the landowner to pass out cold. First they find ancient bones and then the rarest bird known in the United States flies by. Nick's only comfort for the man was to tell him that only the nesting sites were being protected and that an adult bird could range as far as fifteen miles in search of food.

Greg's basket consisted of fruit, jars of nuts, spicy oils, chocolate-dipped nuts, and some defensive driving lessons. Sanders was going to eat that up.

The word at the table was that Greg had spent his day instructing other techs while running tests of his own.

Catherine's basket included several bottles of natural beauty enhancements: cranberry juice for her hair, strawberry facial mask, cucumber eye cream, palm oil lip balm, cocoa butter skin lotion, mayonnaise hair conditioner, and oatmeal facial scrub. Nick had no idea why the woman worried about losing her looks so much, she was stunning and would die, a very, very old woman and still be stunning.

"You're not giving us poor men a chance to survive, Catherine," Nick drawled. "You're intelligent, witty, charming, and very, very beautiful." He waved his hands over her basket. "This is like going out with a bazooka when everyone else has a slingshot."

Doc Robbins chortled. In addition to the body Warrick had sent to his table, Al completed the autopsies on two young girls who had been used as mules to carry black tar heroin. It was very sad.

The good doctor was cheered up by a set of hand-carved chess pieces, fruit, salt water taffy that almost made him and Sonya cry, something about a first date, and several rolls of black and white film. The film puzzled Nick until they found an envelope with Al's name on it that contained a card with a number on it for him to schedule some studio time with professional models.

"What are you going to do, Al, if you walk into that studio and it's full of beefy men?" Nick asked, ready to tease the older man.

"Make sure I get plenty of shadow and light studies and print several 8 X 10s that I can gift to my lovely bride," he answered before kissing Sonya's hand. The man was as smooth as silk.

Sonya was delighted with her chocolates, fruit, and sea sponges. An invitation for lunch at the Garden Club of Silver Lakes topped everything else in her basket.

Mrs. Robbins had spent most of the day shopping and going through the pile of invitations that were stacking up for her and Al.

Lindsey's basket was shaped like a horse-drawn carriage and had fruit, nuts, t-shirts, gardening gloves, athletic gloves that could be worn while playing golf, tennis, or even baseball, and a pair of roller blades. Eddie had "lost" her last pair, but Nick suspected he'd given them to someone else to cover a debt or to curry favor. Neither of which should have made him betray his daughter's trust, but with Eddie, you never knew. Nick was sorry Eddie was dead, but he didn't miss the guy one little bit.

Young Willows had spent part of her morning at the Children's Museum on the waterfront, had lunch on a riverboat, and then helped deliver food baskets to the elderly as part of Project Pantry. She'd enjoyed herself.

"Elaine has a huge metal tumbler outside. You put in the grass clippings, the stuff from the garden, and some of the peelings and stuff from the kitchen and it gives you dirt," the young lady explained.

"She's talking about the compost tumbler," Elaine explained. "It's solar-powered and automatically turns the contents once a day. It sure beats the old compost pile and pitchfork routine. Especially now that I don't have the kids to do it for me." She sighed. "I do miss their labor." That got a laugh.

Gil had spent a quiet day lecturing at the University. Give the man an appreciative audience with the time to speak and he was in heaven.

His basket included the expected fruits, nuts, and candies, but knowing smiles whipped around the table when Elaine popped the three bottles of edible body paints into his basket. Who knew the man could turn that red?

"Yes, and I suspect very soon," Gil answered. Sara stared at the man, almost demanding to know who he was going to paint. Grissom wasn't giving up any answers but his eyes were filled with promise when directed at Nick and Warrick.

Gil spread the blanket, sat down, and pulled Warrick into his arms and almost into his lap. "See what we miss by being an only child," he whispered.

Warrick chuckled. "I've been told that when two sisters went at it, the best place for a man to be is anywhere else."

Gil almost snickered, you could tell he wanted to. The corners of his mouth raised and his lips pursed.

Warrick wondered if he could get away with calling the man "cute". Nick would dump Warrick in the river, but Gil might just let him slide.

"I'm just admiring you for your looks, which I know is not PC, but I can't help myself," Warrick confessed. "Promise not to bust me out over it?"

"You look so cute," Warrick whispered against the older man's ear. "Did I tell you that I love the beard?" he asked as he leaned the older man back until he was reclined on the blanket.

"You may have mentioned it a time or two," Gil replied, trying to play it cool when Warrick could feel the other man's heart pounding against his fingertips.

Warrick cuddled his man, finding himself just as comfortable lying on Gil's chest as he was when he had either Nick or Gil lying on him. Gil's heart rate slowed, his body relaxed, and his hands settled on Warrick's ass.

Strangely, Warrick wasn't thinking about nailing Gil to the blanket or even offering himself up for nailing. He was content. So few times in his life had he felt any kind of contentment. Yet, here he was cuddling with another man and totally content. "Sugar Bear," he whispered.

Sara was pumped and ready for action. She'd had the previous day off to turn her sleeping schedule back to the daytime. Sidle arrived at SLCL to meet the shift personnel only to spend the first ten minutes trying to keep her mouth closed.

The graveyard shift supervisor was a flagrant queen named Jeremiah "Generator" Taylor. He was an ebony-skinned African American with short wavy hair, large lips with a hint of lip gloss, huge brown eyes made more dramatic by mascara, and a surprisingly deep voice. Yet the guy was highly respected, if a little feared, by the rank and file.

"Child, it's going to be hell," Taylor groaned. "A man went into the Jugular and tried to pull his almost ex-wife out. He threatened her and her companions with a gun and that was it."

The rest of the shift groaned as if, short of setting himself on fire, this was the dumbest thing the man could have done.

"It's a lesbian bar, no men, not even deliverymen, are allowed inside," Taylor answered. "These are the serious women."

The way he said "serious" made you think. "Will they let you in?" Sara asked. "Could you pass?" she asked. "You're pretty enough." All of the chatter that had been surrounding them died out. Sidle had managed to put her foot in it.

"If I were there for a drink, then no, but as this is a crime scene, my crime scene, then the answer is yes," Taylor informed her. His eyes had gone from open and friendly to glacial. "Mount up!"

Sara climbed into a truck with Bridget Hart, the person closest to normal the graveyard shift could seem to field. She was much taller than Sara; slender, with long black hair she kept in a braid, dark blue eyes, and deeply tanned skin. The other woman was quiet until they were on the freeway and headed to the less genteel section of the wharf.

"Yet you succeeded in doing that very thing," Hart noted. "I know you come from the big bad city, but you'll find that Generator is simply one of the best investigators out there. When I first started, I was really disappointed that I was given the graveyard shift because I knew the only person who could teach me anything was Doctor Rayburn. I was wrong."

"I was surprised by his appearance and my mouth started running," Sara admitted. "He's wearing makeup."

"And quite well," Hart countered. "A lot of women could take pointers from the man. If I were you, I'd keep my head down and show the rest of the team why Doctor Rayburn praised you guys so much."

The Jugular looked like a converted warehouse that opened up to the river on one side and had a crowded parking lot on the other. The patrons seemed to favor big motorcycles, muscle cars, and a few rides that came with vintage license plates. There was not one minivan or SUV that didn't belong to the police to be found.

They stepped inside. Male cops guarded the perimeter and female cops protected the scene. Most of the inside cops were being hit on. They ignored it for the most part though some of the more clever lines earned smiles.

Sara was a little disappointed at the interior of The Jugular. She'd thought she'd find peanut shells on the floor, flattened beer cans, and ratty looking bowls of stale pretzels. Instead there were oversized leather chairs and ottomans, leather and wood bar stools bolted to the floor and snuggled up to the bar that ran almost the entire length of the room, and people were being served real food. The room was modestly lit, except for the pool tables that were illuminated by hanging Tiffany-style lamps. It looked so normal, except for the patrons.

The ME, Doctor Lucille Cameron, had already pronounced the victim deceased and was waiting on the team so she could transport the body. "Hello, Generator." The ME, who Robbins had referred to as "a real pistol", was a petite woman, with long, thick blonde hair the color of wheat artfully stacked on top of her head, green eyes, and a bronzed complexion.

"Doctor Lucille Cameron, this is CSI Sara Sidle, on loan to us from Las Vegas," Taylor introduced as if that were an excellent thing.

Cameron offered her hand to Sara. "It's nice to meet you. I wish you'd leave Al behind, he's been a real help in the morgue and we're going to miss him and his jokes."

Sara was a bit surprised. She hadn't known that Robbins told jokes, but when did she spend any real time with the man? "Our director would hang us if we left Doc Robbins behind."

"I can't blame him." Cameron knelt beside the body. "Single gunshot to the forehead, the bullet is still lodged inside, and a human bite on his left hand."

Detective Joe Bonaventure, an absolutely gorgeous man with a wide smile, dimpled chin, brown eyes, black hair, and a Mediterranean complexion, stepped forward. She was surprised this hairy armpit crowd wasn't harassing the man.

"Mister Forest Baybridge entered the premises at approximately 2300 hours, ignored the bouncer's attempt to evict him, and pulled his weapon, which you see is still clutched in his hand. He grabbed Morgan Wilde by the hair and pressed his weapon into her head." Bonaventure flipped to the next page in his notebook. "He stated that Ms. Wilde was the reason behind the breakup of his marriage and then promised to 'blow her brains all over her bull dyke friends'," the detective reported with obvious distaste.

"Ms. Wilde then bit the hand of her assailant and lunged forward. He cocked the weapon and was shot dead by the bouncer," Bonaventure concluded. "Hendrix is getting a copy of the security tapes."

A muscular woman with short-cropped red hair, a squarish head, and broad shoulders stepped forward. "That would be me," she answered. "Barbara Cole, I'm an off-duty police officer."

Okay, this just got a little more complicated. When a cop killed someone, everyone wanted to know if it could have been avoided. Sara swabbed the woman's hands while Taylor accepted her weapon.

"I'm not seeing that right now, Generator," Cole responded, almost choking. "I killed that man."

"The alright part is on a time delay," Taylor explained. It made Cole smile. "Bridget , start interviews and get the patrons out of here," he ordered. "We need as much as possible done before the Press gets hold of this story."

"I bet you get a lot of calls from this place," Sara stated, looking around. "There are some pretty dangerous looking customers in here."

"This is the first call that has been logged for The Jugular and it's been open for close to twenty-five years," Taylor answered. "Gay does not equal trouble, Sidle. Lesbians are usually our most law-abiding citizens."

Sara swallowed because she realized she had dug herself in deeper with Taylor. Hart just shook her head and went back to speaking to the patrons.

Nick and Warrick rolled up in a navy blue Expedition with 'Silver Lakes Crime Lab' emblazoned down the side. It was bedecked with lights and outfitted like a mobile crime lab. Silver Lakes had four of these trucks in service with a further six on order. Catherine had sent the specs back to Las Vegas for Ecklie to see. Conrad had been anxious to match what Los Angeles had to work with in the field and she knew he'd want to see what a "backward little place" like Silver Lakes had in their arsenal.

The two men emerged, joked with the Bomb Squad team, and then headed toward Catherine, Steele, Vincent Holcraft, and Donna Rhine. Holcraft and Rhine were senior members of the SLCL. Willows had expected trouble since she'd come for just three weeks and had been put in charge of the day shift for the duration. Yet, there was nothing but cooperation from them and an honest interest in her observations.

"Decisions, decisions," Steele mumbled. "Pretty boy on the right or straight sexy man on the left? That straight chocolate man is working me with those bowed legs."

Catherine laughed. "Steele, let me save you. They're a couple and the smaller one will kill you. He's Texan."

Steele smiled. "Then I'd lock Mister Straight Man back in his closet and concentrate on Mister Fabulous Ass." He dropped his shades into place and smiled big. "Or you could end my wicked ways by promising to be mine."

Willows shook her head. "Steele, you are notorious. I've already heard several stories about you."

"Where would you like us to start, Catherine?" Warrick asked as he came to a halt beside Catherine and Steele.

"Warrick Brown and Nick Stokes, I'd like you to meet Harrison Steele," Catherine stated. "He's a private detective with the Sandavol and Eddington Security firm. He found the bomb in his client's car this morning. His client is Cynthia Haslet of the Long Island Haslets."

"Her Granny Pearl is from Silver Lakes and the Haslets have maintained a vacation home here for decades," Steele reported as he shook the other two men's hands.

"This is my second day," Steele reported. "We maintain two shifts on her for 16-hour coverage, but that's going to be bumped up to 24 hours."

Steele smiled and he had a very disarming smile. "She was here, but I doubt the lady was alone. Cynthia doesn't maintain her Ice Princess role once she's 'back home'." He cocked his head to the side. "I'm not telling any tales out of school here, but she does get a bit wild. Maybe one of the temporary 'loves of her life' saw something."

"Can you show us the setup around here?" Stokes inquired. Nick seemed a little surprised when Steele's beefy arm settled around his shoulders.

Warrick peeled Steele's arm away from his man, showing more strength than Catherine would have credited Brown with. "Stick to the evidence, man," Rick warned the big ex-cop.

Steele lifted his shades and grinned. "I'm a man who appreciates both white and dark meat on his plate."

Warrick once again missed a blatant flirt. Willows used to think he'd been just letting it slide with Greg Sanders because he didn't want to hurt the younger man's feelings, but this was ridiculous. How could a man normally so observant miss that come on? Or was he simply only interested in two men -- Nick and Gil?

The same question was in Nick's eyes. He looked back and forth between Warrick and Steele, testing and retesting some mental theories before speaking. "Which way do you want us to work the scene, Catherine?" he asked.

"Nick, I'd like you to speak to Haslet with Donna present and, Warrick, dust all of the doors, check the alarm, and test the windows. Take Steele with you," Catherine ordered.

Steele gave Catherine a quick flash of wiggled eyebrows before leading Brown away.

"That's him," Patrick Valencia responded. He ran two crossing lines of blue tape on top of the car's roof, forming an 'X'. "This is how the helicopter will be able to track us when we hit traffic," the well-built man explained. Valencia was dark-haired, light-eyed, full-lipped, and sexy. He had a great laugh and nice sense of humor. "The senator didn't get her party's nomination this year. She came in behind a Jesuit priest, a former lieutenant governor, and a car salesman who eventually went to prison for selling stolen cars."

"Man, when it's over, it's over. The public can be very unforgiving," Nick said before heading into the house.

Catherine's group found a case for a flash card, the kind that would go into a digital camera, in the hedges on the property line, along with two gum wrappers and shoe prints.

Nick must have worked his magic, because Cynthia Haslet was dry-eyed and leaning on his arm. She gave up the names and addresses of her overnight guests. Nick handed the woman one of his cards so she could contact him if she remembered anything else. The way she took it and held it, Catherine thought Nick might have bought himself some trouble even if he were only following protocol.

Steele looked at Warrick's ass and mouthed "and so is he" at Catherine. She nearly laughed.

Warrick looked over his shoulder and scowled before turning back toward Catherine. "The system reports no ins or outs after 9:12 p.m. and no window or door was opened."

"We have a nesting area. It rained pretty hard yesterday afternoon, so all of this activity has to be fresh," Catherine pointed out.

"This house has redundant backup power," Steele reported, sounding all business. "It would be days before they would be left in the dark."

The car was loaded up onto the trailer, the bomb components, now rendered harmless, were handed over to Catherine, who signed for them, and the crew headed back to the lab.

Catherine strolled into Gil's office, where Grissom was viewing a streaming video of an experiment in Los Angeles. Chris McKenna had gotten Gil access and Grissom was in heaven.

"Just thought I'd let you know that the bomb components are in Lab three in Ballistics," she informed her colleague.

Gil looked up. "Second building on the left," he responded, denoting his memorization of the complex's layout. Willows had a map to use as a cheat.

"They have made significant progress in neutralizing the waste from drug manufacturing," Gil reported. "It's a shame we have to dedicate so much of our resources to that."

"Don't I know it," Catherine replied. She had a seat. "I like your refrigerator."

Gil looked back at the tall black appliance as if he hadn't noticed it before. It was a regular-sized model, a side by side, without water or ice on the door and marked with a white skull and crossed bones symbol and labeled with the words "Mad Scientist at Work".

"Elaine rolled that in about an hour after the shift began," Grissom reported. "I'd suggested a test for a bloodstain someone had tried to clean up with a homemade concoction and she made it plain I wasn't keeping separating blood in the snack area."

"She's seducing you, Gil," Catherine warned. "You're halfway around her little finger."

"I know," Grissom agreed. "Nick pointed out we might find ourselves in need of a fallback position and Warrick made it plain we shouldn't let ourselves be had cheap." He rolled over to the refrigerator, opened the right door, and wrote down some observations on the clipboard hanging inside. Only Grissom would leave it on a shelf on the inside of the appliance.

Gil turned and rolled his chair back to his desk. He ignored the streaming video to look Catherine in the eyes. "I am very much tempted," he admitted. "The pluses are large and the drawbacks are few."

"We'll miss you," Catherine admitted, though she had no plans to attempt emotional blackmail.

"That's one of the drawbacks," Gil explained. "All three of us will miss you, Lindsey, Jim, Al, even Greg, but if we have no place in Las Vegas, we are wanted here."

Catherine's stomach tightened at the thought of the family breaking up, and they were a family. When you'd endured as much as they had, you either killed each other or pulled together as a unit.

"How was your first day as Assistant Director?" Willows inquired. Going emotional on Gil and sniffling about "lost brothers" would send Grissom running.

"You missed a great Rayburn speech," Gil informed her. He rubbed his chin with his left hand.

"And that includes us while we're here," Gil added. "How was your first day as Shift Supervisor?"

"Great," Catherine reported. "All the locals fell right in line and working with Nick and Warrick was as smooth as I knew it would be." She leaned a little closer. "You should have seen the big muscled private detective at our car bombing. He crushed himself against the Wall of Warrick and yet again, Brown failed to notice."

Gil's smile faded. "He's not gay and he's barely bisexual. Warrick doesn't notice other men, no matter how blatantly they flirt, but even the most unattractive woman will get a respectful smile when they try."

Catherine could see what he wasn't saying. "You're worried that he'll put his gay experiment back in the box and walk."

Gil nodded. "Nick and I can compete against any man. That's not ego talking, Catherine, that's a fact. Between us we have things covered, no one man could compete for Warrick's attention with us. But a woman..." He didn't finish, but Gil didn't need to. Catherine understood.

Willows patted her friend's hand. "You're in luck, Gil, Warrick is in love with you and Nick. You don't walk away from that."

"You did," Gil reminded her. "I remember a time you would have done anything for Eddie."

"And it was never enough," Catherine informed the man. "Eddie killed my love for him. Yet, when he died, I still mourned the love we once had. It's human nature. It's also Warrick's nature to hold onto the ones he loves. If he leaves, it will be because you pushed him away."

Gil's eyes were brightened with unshed tears. "I could never do that. I've waited too long. I almost let this life get away from me, which means I cherish it more than most people."

"Do you tell Warrick and Nick that you cherish them?" Catherine asked, imagining Gil stumbling through that speech.

"Not enough," Gil reluctantly answered. "You'd think I'd do better considering how much I enjoy hearing it."

Catherine was momentarily startled. "Warrick tells you he loves you?" she asked, hoping she'd gotten it right.

"Does he have a secret name for you that you would curl up and die if I heard?" she asked, again hoping for the best.

"Does he touch you when there is no sex being offered or expected?" Catherine inquired.

"Oh gawd, yes," Gil responded and his blush deepened. "We sat on the sand on a blanket for hours, just holding each other. It was marvelous."

"Has she eaten dinner with the three of you at your place?" she asked. Gil, Nick, and Warrick had eaten at Hank's place, along with Catherine and Lindsey, and sometimes Renata. The same group had also broken bread at Warrick, Nick, and Gil's place. Gil was never allowed to cook.

"Down the aisle," Catherine teased. "You've got that man, Gil. You can push him away, but he doesn't look like he's walking away."

Gil sighed. "I ruin relationships, Catherine. It's an official part of my resume."

"I know," she agreed, "but I've never seen you trying harder than you're trying right now. You just need to stay in the game and don't become complacent." Catherine patted his hand again.

"Every day when I wake up and either Rick or Nick are in sight, I feel as if I must still be sleeping because something this great cannot be happening to Gilbert Grissom." Gil looked back at his computer screen instead of Catherine's eyes.

"That's great, Gil." Catherine tapped his wrist until he looked into her eyes. "Tell them that. Don't use the existence of Silver Lakes to not work on your relationship."

Grissom looked offended, and yes, she did recognize the look. "I may be inept, Catherine, but I'm not an imbecile."

"I'm just giving you a heads up." Catherine sat back. "What are you guys doing for your birthday?"

"Nothing? How in the hell do those two think they can skirt by with nothing?" she asked. Then it hit her. "Oh. You're the one who doesn't want to do anything."

"I wanted to have a nice dinner out with the two of them, but I thought it was best that --" Gil was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in, Elaine."

Rayburn strolled in. Her once pristine coveralls were covered in cobwebs and soot. "Sometimes I'm absolutely convinced we have not evolved from our primal state at all."

"Skeleton in a very dusty and overflowing attic," Rayburn reported. "It had been there for decades. But the thing I wanted to tell you in person was that the carbon dating puts the skeleton from Nick's scene at over 1200 years old. We get to digitalize the entire site and prove it is or isn't a sacred anything."

"Nick is still the lead investigator and I'll be there to hold his hand," Elaine continued. She dusted off the butt of her pants and had a seat. "Cheer me up or it will be drums for most of the night," she warned.

"It's saved many a citizen's life," she answered. "How's your experiment going?" Rayburn inquired.

"I'm still puzzled by the presence of onion juice in the formulation." Grissom frowned. "It makes no difference in the relation to the concoction, other than smell."

"The jar probably started out as a container for pickled onions," Rayburn suggested. "It's the right size. She used what she had." She sighed. "You're failing to cheer me up."

"Gil's birthday is next Saturday, and he's trying to back out of having a little party," Catherine informed Rayburn, an ally if there ever was one when it came to romance.

"We're having a party next Sunday," Elaine assured them. "The men have rented tuxes, and the ladies will be wearing borrowed vintage gowns from the 1920s. Lindsey gets to keep her dress."

"It is important, Gil, it's your birthday." Elaine flipped out her phone and dialed. "Stokes, this is Rayburn. Grab your gear, snatch up a team that includes myself and Grissom, and get ready to roll back out to that construction site. Your skeleton was carbon-dated to approximately 1200 years ago. We need to see if that was or wasn't a burial site." She smiled. "I thought Texans only made that noise when they had a horse underneath them. You have one hour to rendezvous on the loading dock with your team." She snapped the phone closed. "Okay, that cheered me up. Nick's engines are all red-lined."

"I know that's right," Rayburn agreed as she and Catherine high-fived each other.

Grissom arched an eyebrow at Elaine, but it had no effect on the woman. "Why do you want me on this expedition? I don't think I'd be much help."

"You're a criminologist, Gil, even if the 'crime scene' is very, very old. Put on your scientist hat and get it in gear," she ordered. "Don't worry, Chris is burning the LA experiment to a DVD for you. Ask one of the lab techs to record the observations on your refrigerator experiment." Rayburn got to her feet. "Meet you on the docks."

Nick was going to bust in front of everyone. This was so exciting. "I can't believe Elaine is leaving me in charge," he said to Chloe Margolis.

"It's still your scene, Nick. Rayburn will not take our scenes from us unless we fall on our face or we plead for her help," Margolis explained. "It also means we're in charge of the paperwork," she added in a conspiratorial whisper. Nick could tell she was teasing.

Stokes sectioned off the scene with the help of *his* team. He had seniority over almost everyone there, except for Grissom and Rayburn, but this was the first time he'd directed something like this.

He'd pulled Greg Sanders from the lab to do in-the-field testing of the soil samples as they dug through the layers. Archie Johnson was videotaping the scene and sending the video feed back to the lab. They would be expected to narrate the tape and make it available for any legal mess that might follow or for other labs or universities to study. Archie was also digitalizing the scene, something rarely done on site, but with a generator to run their equipment they could do it.

Captain Evan Nighthawk, the head of the Silver Lakes Major Crime Unit, was there with two tribal leaders, who were very interested in the site and how any artifacts might be handled. They remained at a respectful distance and did not interfere with the work.

The construction work had been moved to the far side of the property so that the contractor would not have to pay for idle workers while this section remained a "crime scene". It was quiet and warm here and they were making phenomenal progress.

"I have a bear claw," Elaine announced, pointing out a curved claw that had to be almost nine inches long.

"Great," Warrick said, not looking up from where he knelt and screened dirt, "Pass the pastry, I'm starved."

"This includes part of the finger bone, but I'd say we're looking at a nine-footer for sure," Elaine answered. "It's got to be a grizzly."

"That's a lot of bear," Greg noted. "It certainly would have made a bearskin rug worthy of the name."

"And our vic was no more than five foot one," Nick noted without having to consult his case notes. "That would have made him run."

"He wasn't fast enough," Elaine announced. "These claws look like a very good match to the marks on our victim's ribs."

A bank of the former river was demarked and this was where the body had settled, pressed against the higher ground. Plant and fish fossils were uncovered, all mostly unchanged from their modern kin. Nick was grateful he had a laptop to handle his notes as he would have run out of paper by now.

As each item was uncovered, it's depth and position was added to Archie's ever increasingly complicated electronic map.

"Here you go, Nick," Warrick said as he passed Nick an ice-cold root beer and a paper bag.

Inside the bag was a deli-style ham sandwich thick enough to choke two horses, a crunchy sweet apple, two macadamia nut chocolate chip cookies, and a bag of Lazy Bones Potato Chips. Nick hadn't had Lazy Bones chips in years. Those regionally made chips, and not the big manufacturers' brands, defined his childhood. Just like the Barq's Root Beer in his hands.

Warrick licked a bit of potato chip off Nick's lips and Stokes didn't even call him on his thievery. "I know," Brown assured him before walking away. Damn, the sexy bastard. If there had been any room in the back of one of the trucks or Elaine's van, Stokes would have taken the man up on what he was so obviously offering.

It was dark and the portable lights had replaced the sun two hours earlier. Nick adjusted the aperture of his digital camera to ensure he recorded the two small skeletons nestled inside the mother bear.

"Stokes, a word, please," Nighthawk called. Nick couldn't believe the captain and the two elders were still on the scene.

"Chief Carlton and Chief Trout would like to know what the Lab intends to do with the four remains once the case is closed?" Nighthawk inquired.

"There is no DNA left, so he can't be matched to a particular tribe. None of his belongings were with him or survived entombment." Nick looked apologetically at the three older men. "I'm afraid we have no way of saying who he belongs to. No next of kin, if you will." Stokes rushed to forestall any kind of argument. "I'm sure that the State will agree that the body should be given over to the local tribe."

"Nine feet, seven inches," Greg called out from the head of the mother bear. "You were close," he teased Elaine as he retracted the tape measure. "Want to guess the girth?"

"Were you scrunching that tape?" Elaine asked suspiciously. Rayburn gave Greg a playful nudge.

"That could be a problem, Nick," Nighthawk stated, drawing Nick's attention back to the three men. "Silver Lakes was never tribal land. It was always communal ground for meetings and ceremonies until it was settled by the Europeans. Four tribes have equal claims."

"While we would build a proper display to illustrate exactly how he died," Trout countered.

"Our ME says he was no more than fifteen years old," Nick stated. "Would he have been a warrior that young?"

"At fifteen, he would have been married with a tent of his own," Nighthawk informed him. He turned toward the two chiefs. "Gentlemen, it is highly disrespectful to argue over our brother's bones as if they were used car parts. It is doubly so to do it within sight of where he fell."

"I'm sure the Natural History Museum would make a great display of the bears. It would be a tribute to the largess of Nature we couldn't appreciate until it was gone." Nick's words, lifted from a Grissom speech, struck the right chord. The three men thanked him and left looking, if not satisfied, more relaxed.

Warrick knew the sauna was going to be crowded before he headed there, but if he didn't relax his muscles before he got back to the cottage there would be no play that evening.

Chris, whose towel was hanging heroically onto his waist, was helping Flip get Billy comfortable on one of the benches. Billy had arrived on Nick's scene with extra lights, supper, and a much appreciated resupply of water. Being in the chair kept the CSI from working the ground, but he could do lots of other things to help finish the work. He took over the lab unit and directed Greg in sifting for artifacts. It had been Billy and Greg, working together, who had discovered the first near-term bear fetus.

Warrick could see Billy's injury now, a ragged tear across his lower back where the vest had failed. Strayhorn should have been dead. The SLCL group must have all felt as if they'd taken the bullet with him. They were that tight around here.

Brown tried and failed not to see Gil, Nick, Catherine, Greg, even Sara taking a similar hit. He closed his eyes as if the physical act would make the mental images go away. It almost worked. He opened his eyes and reassured himself by noting that Billy had survived.

Chris began massaging Billy's left leg under Flip's direction. Technically Flip, who would not tell Warrick his real name, worked for Billy, but when he wasn't needed, he pieced together shredded documents. They had a pile higher than Warrick's head to go through on a child pornography case and Flip wanted, or perhaps needed, to contribute to the pursuit of the criminals.

"Hey, Warrick," Billy called as he looked up through half-lidded eyes. "Great work out there."

Three ladies walked in together and sat across from him. The first two days Warrick and his team had used the sauna, the ladies had made a point to wear swimsuits, but now that they knew the Las Vegas group was not the kind of people to make them uncomfortable, they wore only towels. Just like Warrick was doing. The point of a sauna was skin.

Gil walked in, pulled the towel around his hips off, and placed it over his shoulder. Nude and in a cuddling mood, he moved in beside Warrick and rested on the taller man's side. Warrick placed an arm around his man and breathed deep. This was really relaxing.

"Warrick, Lulu's is having open mike tomorrow night," Penny informed him. "Rumor has it you play the piano."

"I do, but I might not have the strength," Warrick responded. "They've kept me hopping around here."

"Try," Penny encouraged. "I'd love to hear you play. It's a great location, the acoustics are marvelous, and they have a grand piano."

"He sings beautifully, too," Gil informed them, his eyes closed. He sighed. "It's a pity we can't get something like this back home."

"This was the officer's sauna from the time this complex was a Marine base," Billy explained. "Elaine could have torn it out, but she decided to keep it and put us on the honor system so everyone could use it." He worked his neck a little and Flip's expert hands immediately began to massage the indicated kink. He seemed to relax immediately. "Better," he moaned.

"Honor system?" Warrick asked. He picked up Gil's right hand and began to massage it. Gil was prone to muscle cramping in his right hand from extensive mouse use.

"No sex, no fights, and no drooling over or comments about someone else's body," Daria explained. She stretched and Warrick did not let his eyes linger.

Nick walked in and most of the occupants clapped. "Thank you," he replied, grinning. The ladies made room for him and he sat down with them.

"Me first," Daria begged as she turned her back to Nick. Stokes's large strong hands gently descended on her neck and began to work the woman's muscles. "Ooooo," she moaned. "You have got to teach my lady how to do that," the CSI whispered.

Warrick smiled. He had no trouble with Nick satisfying his need to help a woman in distress this way. Brown wasn't too bad at giving massages, but Nick had a true gift.

"Oh, Nicky," Daria moaned from her nearly prone position. "I didn't think I'd ever moan a man's name like that," she whimpered. That got a good laugh, especially from Nick.

Stokes started on Stella, who Warrick had worked with on what turned out to be a staged car wreck. Unfortunately for the squeeze, the innocent car owner with insurance, it had turned out deadly when his SUV had rolled several times. City Attorney Sam Cross, a much-feared man amongst the criminal element, was going for first-degree murder charges against the other drivers and the doctor they were working with.

Stella was very thorough and had stuck to Warrick like glue while they were in the field. It only occasionally became obvious that she'd been on the job a mere six months. And that was one of Elaine's problems, two-thirds of her staff were green. Some were fresh out of the academy. That's why additions like Chris, who was now giving Gil a foot massage, and Bo Thompson were so important. She needed their experience.

"Chris, you're going to make some woman a great husband," Gil swore as he sprawled out, nude, calm, and relaxed, across Warrick.

"What if Greg sets his sights on you?" Billy asked, his infectious grin fully on display.

The big man frowned in concentration. "I'd just have to run from that man," Chris responded.

"I'd just have to give in," Chris answered. "Greg might lose interest if I kept moving long enough, but you're more tenacious."

"Room for one more?" Catherine asked. Assured by several voices, Willows slipped in draped only in a towel. She took up the spot on the other side of Chris. "How long is your waiting line, Nicky?" she asked.

"It's worth the wait," Catherine declared, closing her eyes. "Everyone is talking about your dig, Nick."

"No work talk," Billy admonished. "You may, however, declare your undying love and total lust for me." He gave her a bit of profile.

"Is it over between us, Billy?" Chris asked, crestfallen. "Just a minute ago I was your ultimate goal."

"Who could blame you?" Chris asked as he switched to Gil's left foot. "I've always had a weakness for beautiful redheads myself."

"Tomorrow is my half-day, and I thought I'd go then," Catherine answered. "I received some of their products in my welcome basket and they've got me curious about their services."

"I went yesterday," Gil reported. He purred softly as Warrick rubbed his temples. "I quite enjoyed myself."

"Don't you think I'm worth the effort?" Gil asked with a hint of hurt in his voice.

"Of course I do," Catherine responded vehemently. "I was just surprised that you finally realized that."

Warrick rewarded that thought with a full kiss, or as full of one as the "no sex rule" would allow.

Warrick tucked his Sugar Bear into bed and turned off the lights. His older lover was exhausted and had an early morning class to lead the next day. Gil needed his rest, so after a double blowjob from Warrick and Nick, he was bathed by Warrick and firmly put to bed. Brown closed the door so they wouldn't wake him up.

Nick was outside on the deck, sprawled naked on the oversized lounger the three men favored. The lounge was so wide, it was virtually an outdoor bed. Unfortunately, not one of them had an outdoor space in Las Vegas for this kind of furniture.

Warrick climbed on top of the smaller man and hugged him tightly. "You know I was ready to run that Steele character over with the truck, don't you?"

Nick chuckled. "You'd never make it out of this town alive. Billy was telling me the man's fan club numbers in the thousands." He placed his hands at Warrick's waistband and divested him of his running shorts.

"It wouldn't matter, the guy was trying to paw you," Warrick insisted in his best "jealous boyfriend" voice. "I had to defend my territory."

Nick captured Warrick's face and laid a long, hot wet kiss on him. "My hero," he whispered.

Nick gave him the patented Steely Nicholas Stokes Glare, which was guaranteed to silence idiot boyfriends. "We're not going to play that game, Ricky, but the answer is 'no'. Before you, I liked my men smaller than myself. I'm sure some psychiatrist or psychologist could come up with an entire book of reasons behind it, but for me it was just a preference."

"So, I'm not your type?" Warrick found himself asking before he could stop himself. Man, he sounded pathetic. Why didn't he just cry too?

Nick smiled. It was his indulgent smile that was normally reserved for boisterous children. "Sugar, you weren't my 'get it, hit it, and quit it' type, but you are my 'hold on as hard as I can without crushing him' type."

Nick stroked Warrick's neck with his strong fingers before coming in for another long, slow kiss. "You're very welcome, Ricky."

Warrick attempted to roll them over so that he could go on his stomach and present his ass to Nick. It had been weeks since Gil and Nick had taken him and neither man brought it up. Rick thought it was time he brought it up. Nick wouldn't let him go. "Nicky, do you want to make love to me?" he offered.

Warrick was genuinely surprised by that response. He and Nick were already making love? Brown thought about their positions. They were naked, outdoors, and holding onto each other very tightly. Nick was right, they were already making love. "Would you like to ramp it up?"

Nick planted another deep kiss on Warrick before helping him get into position. "Just settle, lover," he instructed.

Warrick moaned into the cushions as body temperature oil was poured onto his back. Nick must have had it under his body all of the time. 'Warmed by Nick' was a nice thought.

Nick had magical hands. Warrick had been sure that his lover's daily horse ride was going to toughen up the man's hands, but it hadn't happened. Nicky's hands continued to be instruments of exquisite pleasure. He could go from barely brushing Warrick's flesh to almost pushing him into the lounge's frame.

Warrick's body was rising up so that his flesh never lost contact with Nicky's hands. Slowly, so damn slowly, Nick managed to get Warrick up on his hands and knees.

Brown had never learned to want penetration as much as Nick and certainly not as much as Gil, but that was alright with his men. It had taken him a while, but Brown had finally come to accept what he'd thought of as an imbalance in their relationship.

Yet there were times when he wanted this type of intimacy. Times when he needed to surrender to his men and let them touch his inner self. Sometimes, he needed the physical evidence that he could fulfill that need for Nick and Gil.

Nick entered him slowly and sweetly while whispering Warrick's name like a prayer. It was rare when Nick would fuck him hard, as they both preferred it tender when Warrick was on the bottom. But there were times when tender did not even enter the room with the three of them.

Once, after a particularly physical session with Nick and Gil, Warrick had pushed Nick off, climbed on top of him, and ridden the other man's cock hard. "Give me a ride, my stallion," he'd demanded. Warrick had clutched Nick's shoulders so hard as he'd reached his climax that he'd left bruises on the man.

Warrick had apologized over and over again for losing control like that, but Nick would always silence him with a kiss. "I enjoyed it," he'd insisted.

Not a week later, he'd left similar bruises on Gil while fucking the older man in perfect sync to Josh Dillon's song 'Jungle Fuck'. Gil had brushed off any attempt at an apology and had rushed out and purchased the CD for himself.

Warrick had run to his "mother confessor", Catherine, and without too many embarrassing details, had told her about losing control and bruising his men. Catherine had listened quietly, excused herself, and gotten both Nick and Gil to show her the damage. Brown had sat in Catherine's office, waiting for the woman to return with either the sheriff or a shotgun.

Catherine returned to her office, took out her nailfile, and did not run it through Warrick's eye. "They're going to tie you up tonight and, I'm quoting here, 'fuck some sense into you'. I'm hoping for some video or, at the very least, an audiotape. They consider the matter closed, and so do I."

The woman was no help at all. He should have gone to Renata for punishment, but his diminutive friend wouldn't have left enough of Warrick to be buried. No one messed with Gil Grissom with Renata around.

His men did tie him up and toyed with him most of the night. Warrick had to begin the next shift standing and only sat down when it was absolutely, positively necessary. Catherine took every opportunity to ask him about his tender bottom. Man, she'd gotten off on doing that. The more he'd stammered, the bigger her grin.

Nick reached under Warrick and took control of the taller man's cock. Sometimes, Nick seemed to know more than Warrick about what Warrick enjoyed when it came to being jacked off.

Warrick felt his orgasm slam through his body, starting at the base of his spine, going down to his ankles, and back up to his earlobes. Nick had to help him lower his body back down to the deck of the lounge.

"That was inspiring," Nick whispered, still working Warrick's ass with tenderness. He gripped Warrick's shoulders and pulled his body up along Warrick's oil-slicked one, going deep into him.

"Gawd," Warrick moaned. He tried to dampen it down so they wouldn't wake up Gil.

Nick did it over and over again, forcing Warrick to bite into the cushions to silence himself. After every stroke, Warrick was convinced Nick could not possibly manage another, but he did. Again and again and again, sending another powerful orgasm through Warrick's weak, conquered body. Warrick might have passed out; it was that good.

"Almost," Nick announced as he removed himself and flipped Warrick onto his back without any help from the larger man. "Look at me," he commanded, making Warrick open his eyes. "That's it," Nick encouraged. "Look at me."

Those dark, dangerous, loving, soulful eyes captured Warrick completely. He was totally exposed to this man.

"Yes," Nick gasped as he came. His captured Warrick's face again and kissed him gently. "I see all of you, lover. Thank you."

Warrick nodded, too spent to voice his response. They lay there for some time before they could manage to make it to the outdoor shower, which had become a favorite spot for the three of them. Washed and partially refreshed, they slipped into the master bedroom and squeezed a quietly sleeping Gil between them. Grissom immediately cuddled right in.

Warrick turned to see what the woman trying to get his attention was talking about. He hoped she wasn't asking for directions as he'd gotten turned around twice in the huge mall. A mall this big in a town the size of Silver Lakes looked a great deal like compensating for something.

"Hello, young man, I'm Isabella Kauffman," she announced in that way people who expected to be instantly recognized had of saying their name. Her name meant nothing.

"You're not local, are you?" she asked, looking and sounding disappointed. She couldn't be jacking him for a contribution. The woman had more than the value of Warrick's townhouse in bling on just her left hand. Her right hand covered every car he'd ever owned and several years' salary. That included his gambling years.

Her hands were pink and looked as if they'd never done a day's physical labor in her lifetime. Her hair was gorgeously styled and professionally blonde. No woman stayed that blonde past her twenties and this woman was definitely past her twenties. Her face said "skillful facelift", but Warrick believed she'd been nipped and tucked one time too many.

"No, I'm only in town for three weeks." Warrick explained. He needed to be tracking down Gil and Nick as they only had two hours to "get pretty", as Lindsey put it, before the big party.

The lady pouted and she did it very well. "That's too bad, young man, I was going to nominate you as a 'Hometown Hottie'." The little crowd began to applaud and some whistled.

"The Silver Lakes Hospitality Commission has several programs in which we encourage the locals to get involved in putting our image forward. Last summer the Hometown Hotties helped visitors find area attractions, got them back to their hotels, and were basically men a woman traveling alone could approach without fear."

"Based on his looks?" Warrick asked, aghast. Several women tried to soothe his ruffled feathers.

"Oh no," Kaufman assured him. "You would go through an extensive background check, interviews, and some training. You also have to be certified in CPR. There's a photo ID, a t-shirt, and additional income and area discounts."

"Sounds great," Warrick admitted, "but I'm only here to train some of your personnel at the Crime Lab."

"We love our Crime Lab," Kaufman assured him. "It's a great point of civic pride." She stopped and looked past Warrick, her eyes going wide. "Holy Jesus."

Grissom was lecturing some young man, who was practically a stick figure with a shock of platinum blond hair. The kid was holding a tape recorder toward Grissom as they walked.

This rich, beautiful woman was about to drool on his man with Warrick standing right there. Oh, hell no.

"There you are, Baby," Warrick declared possessively before he pulled the older man in for an unhurried, powerful kiss. Gil blushed a deep red and smiled.

"Doctor Grissom, if you could spare us some time to view our simulations, I'd really appreciate it," hyped up Blondie declared, totally ignoring Warrick's signals. "We'll pay you your normal consulting fee."

"If the attraction is being geared toward kids, then being more accurate means being more frightening," Grissom explained. His arm went around Warrick's waist and he seemed to be comfortable that way.

"Hi, Mrs. Kaufman," the blond kid said brightly. "Are you rounding up more worker bees?"

"Doctor Gilbert Grissom, this is Isabella Kaufman," Warrick introduced. "I think she was about to offer you a nomination as a 'Hometown Hottie', but you're just visiting, like me."

"They get all of the women," the kid complained. He offered his hand to Warrick. "Trickster Rhodes."

"I'm also, The Third, and the other two are still living. Thank God. It gets confusing around the holiday table," Rhodes explained.

"'Hometown Hottie' ?" Grissom tried again. Several of the women surrounding them assured Gil he was more than worthy of the title. Gil looked back at Warrick nervously. He wouldn't be able to get past this until someone explained.

"Local men who help visitors and new arrivals acquaint themselves with our fair city," Kaufman explained to Gil. "It was my daughter's idea to call them 'Hometown Hotties' and the title stuck."

"That would be the totally delicious Margaret Kaufman," Rhodes explained. "She wouldn't give me the time of day if she were standing in a room full of clocks."

"Come to dinner tonight, Tristan. We dine promptly at seven." Kaufman looked him up and down, taking in his oversized jeans, ratty cross-trainers, and very faded Megadeth t-shirt. "I would suggest a suit and tie." She started to turn away and gasped when she saw Nick. "Three in a row and me without my heart pills."

The nearby women began to applaud loudly as if to say "surely this one belongs to us".

"There is no justice," Kaufman mumbled as the applause died down. "Hello, young man. I hope you're enjoying your visit to Silver Lakes."

"Yes, I am, Ma'am," Nick assured the woman. The crowd broke up as they and Kaufman headed off, perhaps in search of fresh prey.

"Man, you were this close to being offered a nomination as a 'Hometown Hottie'," Rhodes explained to Nick, holding his fingers only a hair apart.

Stokes beamed. "I'm flattered, but I'm not a local," Nick insisted to the younger man. Trust Nick to know about 'Hometown Hottie' .

"Nick Stokes, this is Trickster Rhodes," Gil announced. "He's working on an Empire of Insects exhibit for the new theme park."

"I'm also designing a series of roller coasters," Rhodes added as he shook Nick's hand.

Grissom's head whipped around as if he were a hawk and Rhodes was a juicy mouse. "What kind of roller coasters?" he asked, eyeing his platinum blond prey.

Nick and Warrick shared a resigned look. How could a quickie session of hot man-sex compete with an unconquered coaster or two?

"Well, we have to be careful and not let any details slip out to the public," Rhodes temporized. "Everything has to be on the down low. There's a lot of competition in the business and the moment you say you have the most whatever coaster, someone tops you." Rhodes looked around. "I've got to buy a suit."

"We'll help you with that," Warrick offered, "while you speak to Gil, who happens to be a roller coaster expert of the sitting and screaming type. Speaking to him is safer than confessing to a priest," he assured the younger man.

Brown steered the group toward the men's shop he'd just left before the 'Hometown Hottie' thing had started. If Gil didn't get to hear about the roller coasters then he would pout for the rest of the night. Warrick couldn't let that happen. It was going to be a special night for his special man. One of his special men. He gave Nick's bottom a fond pat.

Archie stood before the mirror and admired the classic tux that fit him so well. No one at home would recognize him as the sophisticate looking back from the mirror.

Someone whistled and Johnson turned to see Greg Sanders leaning against the doorframe as if he'd spent his life wearing a tux. "Archie, you look absolutely edible, man. Yum, yum."

"It's very kind of you to say so." He walked in and took over tying Archie's bowtie. No clip-ons for this tux. "Archie, would you be my date tonight?"

"Won't your playmates object?" Archie asked. His own count of Greg's local bedmates had ended at twenty-three, when he'd grown tired of counting.

"I'm not asking them, I'm asking you," Greg stated as if Archie had simply misheard. "I can't see myself going to this party with anyone but you."

"So you're just asking now that we're ready to leave?" Archie asked, incredulous. "When did you remember I was going too?"

Greg lowered his eyes and the cocksure attitude dropped from his voice. "I knew you were going, Archie, I just didn't know you were going alone until now. Ford made it plain that he intended to have you all to himself tonight." He lifted his chin. "I heard from Bobby that you sent him packing."

"He seemed to think he was going to fuck me," Archie reported. "I had to persuade him that he wasn't."

"Did he hurt you?" Greg asked, sounding as if he were fully ready to kick the man in the head.

Archie placed his hand over the other man's heart. It was beating as rapidly as a little bird's would. "Still yourself, Greg," he instructed softly. "Tai Chi is not the only martial arts discipline I know. I bent him down, told him what I would do to him with his nightstick without the aid of lube, and sent him along."

Archie smiled. If he got Greg into a vulnerable position, he wouldn't waste the opportunity by putting a nightstick up his ass, it would be Archie's cock. But Johnson had promised himself long ago that he wouldn't allow Greg to roll him up, use him, and toss him away as he'd done to so many other people.

Archie tapped the end of the taller man's nose. "Okay," he agreed. "Just don't forget who you arrived with."

So what was dragging her down? Renata and Hank had arrived from Vegas Friday afternoon. Hank had dominated Catherine and Lindsey's time, leaving Sara to fend for herself. Normally she liked that, but Sara had been feeling as if she were in a foreign country for almost her entire visit. People being this nice to a stranger was just unnatural.

And Renata... Renata had been moved from a second-floor guestroom to the cottage. A place Sara had not been invited to at all. Catherine stopped by there almost every day, and sometimes with Lindsey . Archie, Bobby, and Greg made a point of saying hello on their daily pilgrimage to the boathouse where Rayburn's cigar boat, a police confiscation she'd purchased at auction, and four wave runners sat for anyone to use. Jim had taken a date there. Al and Sonya felt welcome at anytime and could often be seen walking slowly from there, arm-in-arm like a couple who were still courting.

Sara didn't go. It still hurt to have Gil so close and yet totally out of her reach, no matter how hopeless it would have been for them to get together.

Renata did not have that problem. She played in the pool with "her boys", walked the estate with Archie, got boat driving lessons from Bobby, rode horses with Nick, shared photography tips with Al, cut and arranged flowers with Sonya, and cooked with Elaine. By Saturday, Renata was receiving the neighbors as if she lived there. She had accomplished in two days what Sara hadn't in two weeks -- Renata had made friends.

The final blow was the arrival of Michael Rayburn, Elaine's youngest son, from Harvard. The dark-haired, green-eyed man was so gorgeous it made you ache in all of the best places. He was icily polite to Sara while everyone else was treated like a long lost relative. Even Greg's outrageous and useless flirtations were met with amusement.

Apparently Sara's reputation had preceded her. Mike and Generator were the best of friends. Generator had lived with the family when his own parents kicked him out of the house for being gay. Mike called Generator his "older, but little sister" since he was so much smaller than Mike.

No one said anything, but Sara was betting the Rayburns had put Generator through college as if he were really one of their children. Sara would have loved to attribute Generator's position as Graveyard Supervisor with his tie to Elaine, but she couldn't. If he wouldn't have been harassed to death in Vegas, the man could have been an excellent addition to any shift. But why would he leave here? Here Generator could be himself while surrounded by people who loved and respected him. Something Sara would have liked for herself, but she'd sabotaged that and there was no going back.

Lindsey walked into the room and turned around so Sara could admire her outfit of a pale green gown with a slightly darker green sash and dancing slippers that matched the sash. Her hair was brushed back and she was wearing a pearl necklace that had been doubled so it fit her slender neck better.

"So do you," Lindsey assured her. "I wanted you to see the dress before I got it dirty," she explained. "Dirt and I are on a first name basis," she said, quoting Elaine, who had still been laughing over the ten bedraggled kids she found in her kitchen.

Sara would have sworn that someone as over organized as Rayburn would have popped her cork at finding ten kids and their two adult minders soaked to the skin and covered in mud, standing on her pristine and expensive wood floors.

The kids and minders got showers, beach towels to wear, a hot meal, and their clothes cleaned while they entertained everyone with their rendition of "how I got this dirty and wet". When Sara had asked Elaine why she'd been so calm about the mess, Rayburn looked puzzled.

"Hurting those kids' feelings over floors that can be cleaned is really stupid, Sara. These floors have been here over one hundred years. They survived my four, they can make it under a few more." Elaine had allowed Gil to clean the floor, the only work the man was allowed to do in the kitchen was to clean.

Sara had received approval to chop, slice, and puree fruits and vegetables. Warrick, Sonya, and Renata had free reign in the kitchen and could go so far as to order food using Elaine's accounts. Everyone else fell into the "kitchen helpers" category, except Princess Lindsey, who was being taught to cook.

"Every princess needs to know how to cook so if she has to sack the servants, the thought of going hungry won't hold her back," Elaine had explained. You could tell she got a big kick out of teaching Lindsey and Sara didn't want to see the tears from either of them when it was time for the group to return to Vegas.

"Yes, she and Hank are in the library talking," Lindsey reported. She leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. "They missed each other."

"Yes, he likes me for me. Most men like me for my mom," Lindsey answered. Sarah thought that was a very adult statement for a ten-year-old.

The little girl twirled around. "Still clean," she announced. "I need to find Greg."

"Knock first," Sara warned. There was no telling what Greg could be up to in his room. The southern breezes seemed to have eliminated the last of his inhibitions and Greg was determined to leave a high number of well-satisfied lovers who remembered him fondly.

Only after Lindsey had left did Sara realize she was brooding. She'd like to say that wasn't her style, but she spent a lot of time brooding lately. Either no one cared or they thought she really wanted to brood. No one was going to come and get her, even when the limos arrived.

Someone knocked on the door. Archie opened it and peered around the edge. "Come on, Sara, we're getting our pictures taken while we're 'still clean'." He chuckled and offered Sara his arm. Sidle almost ruined the moment by laughing until she was in tears. She took Archie's arm and walked out into the hall. They descended the stairs just behind Bobby, Greg, and Lindsey.

Renata was posed with Gil, then with Nick, and finally Warrick, before the four of them stood for several group shots. She looked best when she posed with Jim later, but that was just Sara's opinion. Gil posed with Nick and Warrick, then with each man separately before he stood alone. Grissom was in a perfectly cut black tux with a silver shirt that emphasized the silver in his hair and in his relatively new beard. The beard looked really good on him and lots of people complimented his appearance. Sometimes Sara missed seeing the man's handsome, almost boyish, face.

Lindsey posed like the princess she was meant to be while the photographer snapped her picture. She made an even more spectacular sight when posed with her mother. Catherine looked like she had never smiled as much or as big in her entire life. The two of them posed with Hank was just so sweet.

It wasn't the big smile on Hank's face. Sara knew how easy it was to fake that. It was the way he held the Willows women's hands. That was tenderness and caring. Sara could use some of that. Not that she would go after Hank because Catherine was much more dangerous than Renata.

The photographer, a surprisingly young looking man named David Eason, had Nick posing like a professional model. He flipped his braids back, chewed his lower lip, then looked up. "Nick, slip your jacket off, turn away, and look back over your shoulder.

"And cumming," Warrick added. Only Lindsey didn't get it and therefore she and Sara were the only ones not laughing.

Nick blushed and his grin spread further across his face. "Stop it, guys, The David Eason is taking my picture."

Suddenly Sara remembered the name. Eason had produced a gut-wrenching collection of "abused men" photographs that Grissom had the team study so they would recognize the signs and not automatically cast the man in the villain role. It was a prejudice Sara recognized in herself.

Sara was ushered forward by Archie and she posed alone. When she turned to walk away, Sidle was joined by Greg. He wrapped his arms around her and did his best James Bond pose. David directed them for a bit, then called Archie over to pose with her. Sara was almost dizzy as she got her picture taken with Greg, Archie, Bobby, Warrick, Nick, Catherine, Lindsey, Al, and, finally, Grissom.

"Thank you," she replied. "You've never looked better, Grissom. You're gorgeous."

She had no response and Sara just relished the feel of the older man's body against hers.

"Group shot," Eason announced. He arranged everyone from Vegas, plus Elaine into an attractive composition that Sara could admire in the hall mirror.

"Fabulous," Eason declared, before separating everyone out for "head shots". Only then were they allowed to leave for the party.

Sara rode in the limo with Bobby, Greg, and Archie. The three men were lamenting they only had a week left before they had to return home. There were still things on their lists they wanted to try, as well as things they wanted to try again. Sidle wanted to go home, even if she couldn't think of anything that was waiting on her except work. How pathetic was that?

"My goodness," Sara stated. This was the Butterman Manor reborn. Elaine had gone on and on about it, what a showplace it had been when she was a child, back in the Dark Ages. How the children of the then owners had let it run down. How now it was going to be a bed and breakfast and a new place to hold weddings, receptions, and birthday parties. Sidle owed the woman an apology. If it was half as beautiful inside as it was outside, then it was more than worth the long speech.

The building was four stories tall, very deep, and surrounded by columns and porches like Oak Alley. It was white -- white columns and a white limestone body, with black shutters and black wrought iron. The whole place was lit up with lanterns. Four different fountains defined four different courtyard areas and the water was set to go high without dousing the guests. A canopy protected the slate path from the main road to the front door so the guests could walk dry from their cars.

Sara was escorted by Bobby from the car, up the steps, and into... heaven. If Heaven had been modeled on a 1920's nightclub.

"Miss Sara Sidle and Mister Robert Dawson, our honored guests from Las Vegas CSI," a throaty-voiced female announcer declared. Polite applause greeted them.

"Mister Greg Sanders and Mister Archie Johnson, our honored guests from Las Vegas CSI," the unseen woman announced again. Wild applause greeted the two younger men, who walked down the steps and onto the floor arm-in-arm. Greg immediately twirled Archie onto the dance floor and slow danced with him as the live band, all decked out in white dinner jackets, played.

"Captain James Brass, an honored guest from Las Vegas CSI and Doctor Lucille Cameron from our own Crime Lab," the lady announced. Jim and Lucille got almost as much applause as Greg and Archie had.

Bobby walked with Sara to their table and held her chair. Sara's chair was still cold when three female technicians from the Trace Lab descended on Bobby and carted him away in a whirlwind of soft feminine laughs. Sidle accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and gulped it down. It was a sad state of affairs when even Bobby Dawson, who used to hit on her all the time, had abandoned Sara.

"Her Highness, Princess Lindsey of Las Vegas," the lady announcer proclaimed with grave seriousness, "who is escorted by her mother the Lady Catherine and Doctor Henry Dayton, all of Las Vegas."

Everyone, except Sara, stood up as if they were in on the joke. The waiters bowed and the waitresses curtsied. The band began to play "Las Vegas on the Horizon". It was one of those songs that someone was always trying to make the "official" song of Las Vegas, as if one song could truly encompass that city. Silver Lakes could and did have an official song. It was "Silver Lakes, My Only Home".

Catherine whispered something to Lindsey, who was looking both shocked and delighted by the greeting.

"Rise, my loyal subjects," Lindsey declared with a limp-handed wave. The staff went back to serving and the crowd applauded Lindsey and her escorts. The group was directed to the table of honor.

Sara flagged down another glass of champagne and was politely told she would not be served any more alcohol until the food arrived. The nerve. Sidle always knew when she'd had her limit. She didn't need some snide little poofy-haired hick waiter telling her when she could and couldn't drink. She decided not to raise a fuss because it was Grissom's birthday. Sara ordered a club soda and received it promptly once her second glass of champagne was gone.

"Doctor Elaine Rayburn and Doctor Christopher McKenzie from our own Crime Lab," the lady informed the crowd. McKenzie must have sewn two suits together to get across that chest and shoulders and cut one in half for his waist. He was definitely V-shaped. The man was so massive that he made Elaine, who was a big woman, look positively dainty beside him.

Sara tracked Chris and Elaine as they made a beeline toward this gorgeous dark-skinned woman in a clingy white gown. Sidle couldn't get over the thought that she knew this woman, but she could not place her.

"Grant Mitchell and Tony Montrose, from Silver Lakes," the unseen lady announced. Sara was impressed. Rayburn had gotten one of the most famous men in entertainment to show up at a birthday party. That was clout. The guy with Montrose looked like an underwear model, but if he were the same Grant Mitchell she'd heard discussed before, then he worked for Sandavol and Eddington Investigations, just like Steele.

"William Ivory and Bradley Wilson, from Silver Lakes." Good grief, it was getting better and better. The Bill Ivory of Ivory Tower Communications, Ivory Tower Satellite, Ivory Tower Software, etc., etc was seated just to Sara's left. He smiled, asked her how she was enjoying his city, and said he'd see her at the Rayburn Barbecue. Sidle had planned to skip it, even though Rayburn swore there would be plenty for her to eat.

"Michael McShawn and Dillon Walsh, from Silver Lakes." Sara didn't know who either man was, but the babble of conversation hinted that the older white man was extremely rich and very, very important. His date was gorgeous.

"Damien Coleman and Paulo Hernandez of Silver Lakes." Coleman produced movies, music, and cable specials. He was known for his New York lifestyle, but now he was living in Silver Lakes. Sidle had heard some local gossip about Hernandez and a dress he'd designed that made some tramp of a movie star look like a lady. Surely that had to count as a miracle.

Coleman, who towered over the older man, struck up a conversation with Montrose while hugging the very pretty Hernandez to his side.

"Kyle Lawson and Stephen Brown of Silver Lakes," the announcer declared gleefully.

Sara remembered seeing Kyle play when he was with the Dodgers and Stephen Brown was the guy behind "Your Personal Chef". She had eaten her fill of his Stuffed Blossoms, Vegetable Tempura, and Meat-less Meatloaf. Sidle had to admit they were a handsome couple. Maybe she'd had too much to drink after all or she was getting mushy.

"Renata Hill , a guest from Las Vegas, and Professor Andrew Macon from Silver Lakes University." How in the hell did Renata end up with that long-haired beauty on her arm? Was Grissom going to go ballistic? That would be sight. A welcomed one.

"Barry Winthrop and Doctor Tina Coleman from Silver Lakes." Coleman worked for Warner Interface and Nick had her wrapped around his little finger. The man had sweet-talked the lady out of some very expensive and experimental equipment to test in the field for jobs it was never meant to perform. At least none of it had been broken. Winthrop owned the city's pro football team and looked like he could also play for them.

"Nicholas Stokes, Warrick Brown, and our birthday boy, the Silver Fox himself, Doctor Gilbert Grissom, all honored guests from Las Vegas CSI," the lady announced. The crowd stood up and applauded loudly. Whistles punctuated the applause.

Grissom looked around for the announcer, no doubt so he could give her one of his patented scowls, but Nick and Warrick tugged him down the steps as if the older man might run for it -- a very big possibility.

"Michael Rayburn and Trinity Raintree, both of Silver Lakes," the announcer said perkily. Trinity looked African and Native American. She had very long, black hair, full lips, a regal face, and large brown eyes. The woman didn't dance well but when you looked like her, no one cared.

A few more people were announced, Sara ignored it to rise from her table and move a little closer to where she suspected the sparks to be flying or maybe the fists. No luck, however. Macon turned out to be an old colleague of Renata's dead husband. He seemed to fascinate Grissom with talk of his Egyptian scarab beetle collection. The professor also praised Nick to the skies for his class act recovery of the bear bones and the dead Indian. Of course the professor referred to the deceased teenager as a fallen Native Warrior.

Now that Sidle could see the mystery woman Rayburn had been talking to earlier, she nearly spit her club soda across the dance floor. The "woman" was Generator and he was absolutely beautiful.

When Sara thought of drag queens, she thought of phony blond wigs, outrageous makeup, and falsies. Generator, being called "Jenny" here, wore quite subtle makeup, his own hair styled for the 1920s, and the sheath dress he had on just seemed to hang better if you had minimum cleavage. Sidle was still staring when Warrick asked "Jenny" to dance.

Sara moved closer to Nick. "You better watch yourself, Stokes, Warrick is about to be captured by an expert weaver of spells."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nick asked, his voice so icy it should have frozen the contents of Sara's glass.

"It looks like he prefers his men to be women," Sara teased. The hurt look in Nick's eyes didn't last long enough for Sidle to enjoy it. "You could never do drag, Nick, and Brown will end his gamble with you. Eventually every gambler learns to cut his losses and leave the table."

"Sara, I know you'd really like to shut up now, and I'm going to help you achieve that goal by not listening to another word out of your ignorant mouth." Nick moved away, whispered something into Grissom's ear, and the two of them went out onto the dance floor together.

Sidle nearly sat down on the floor. Nick and Gil looked so much like a couple out there. Nick was leading and Gil was gazing into the smaller man's eyes with devotion. Greg danced past with Jim, but that did not help her put Nick and Gil in the "we're dancing together to show everyone we're not uptight" category.

"I'm impressed with your smooth moves, Jenny," Warrick said as he escorted the Graveyard Shift Supervisor back to his/her table. Brown was going to have to be careful how he addressed Taylor. Warrick didn't have much experience with transvestites. Were they even still using that word?

"Thank you, Rick," Jenny said smoothly. "Tell me, Darling, how long would I last, looking like this, in Vegas?"

Warrick wanted to lie. He wanted to tell this gifted investigator that he would be safe and respected in Brown's city, but he couldn't. "Not long," he admitted. "A couple of toughs decided Nick didn't need to be with a black man and tried to school him on that fact. They're still looking for their teeth."

"Have they approached you?" Jenny asked, worry ruining her calm and elegant look.

"We had a sergeant named Bucklesley who tried to get in my face, but Catherine sent him off before I could do anything permanent to the man. When he went missing a few days later, rumors flew that I'd done him in until he showed up in the hospital in Barstow." Warrick sighed. "Then the rumors switched to me having put him there. No matter what evidence was presented to say I didn't do it, I've now got a reputation as someone who takes insults to the next level."

"Two-day drunk," Brown answered, "and not his first by any stretch of the imagination. His wife told them he'd done this before, but they weren't listening until Bucklesley showed up in a hospital suffering from alcohol poisoning."

"And the cops had been helping to cover it up instead of getting the man help," Jenny guessed. "They're lucky he didn't kill someone."

"Very lucky," Warrick agreed. "If you'll excuse me, there's someone I want to ask to dance."

Warrick went past Sara's table where she sat under some dark cloud, literally sucking the fun out of the room. It was up to Brown to add some more fun to the area. He gripped Catherine's wrist and twirled her into his arms. "Dance with me, lovely lady."

Catherine laughed. "Any time, big man," she replied. They glided out on the floor and began to show up everyone but Greg and Jim. Jim was demonstrating the proper way to dip your partner and Greg was having a good time.

"Doctor Stephan Bacall and Elizabeth Rayburn, both of Silver Lakes," the announcer interrupted. Beth was escorting a very tall African-American man with sharp features and coal black eyes. He was bald with a mustache and goatee. His name sounded familiar, but Warrick couldn't place it.

"He's a chemist with Covington-Cross," Catherine answered. "Do you remember the Branch Hollow case where those six men died after receiving their inoculations to go to Iraq?"

Now it came to him. "Yeah, they thought it was the manufacturer's fault, but Bacall proved it had been added post-mix. The nurse had wanted to sicken the men so they wouldn't have to go, but six died and nineteen others came close."

"Covington-Cross had been in negotiations to purchase the pharmaceutical company, so they put their gunslinger chemist onto the job." Catherine looked over Warrick's shoulder. "I know Covington-Cross has operations in Silver Lakes now, so he must have moved here."

"And the man managed to latch onto the cream of the crop pretty fast," Warrick said, nodding his head toward Beth.

"I can look, Catherine. Nick and Gil aren't asking me to pretend to be blind," Warrick answered.

"Are you looking, Warrick, or looking for a way out?" his dance partner inquired.

"Where did that come from, Cat?" Warrick asked, offended. "I like women, I have always liked women. I'm sorry if I'm not climbing the gay ladder fast enough for everyone."

Catherine stopped moving, her eyes wide. "I'm sorry, Warrick. I should have been more careful with my words. It's just I have never seen you give a man, other than Nick and Gil, any play. Even Steele didn't get a smile out of you."

"He wanted you so much he was smacking his lips," Catherine reported as they began to dance again.

Warrick huffed. "He was just playing and I ignored him. He just didn't want me to bust him out over Nick."

"Nick, Gil, and sometimes Greg are interested, but that's about it," Warrick stated firmly. "How can I compete with Nick and Gil around?" He shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I'm very relieved I don't do it for most men."

Catherine blinked. "What about those men at that birthday party? I saw those pictures. That was the physical reaction of men who were interested in getting to know you."

"They were drunk," Warrick explained. "After a few drinks, everyone starts to look good."

"Steele?" Catherine asked as Warrick dipped her slowly before bringing her up fast. "Woo."

"The four men looking at you right now, sporting erections, and begging God for you to look their way?" Catherine asked, clearly out of her mind.

"Six o'clock, nine o'clock, one o'clock, and four o'clock," Catherine ticked off with that smile that always said she had you.

Warrick looked, easily spotting the men she was talking about by their locations in the room. After some careful calculation based on the relative position of everyone on the dance floor, he came to the only logical conclusion. "They're looking at you, Cat."

"Harrison Steele and Rodney Sandavol," the announcer said breathlessly. The two detectives strolled in like they not only owned the place but they also received a substantial income from it. Both men were applauded. Steele bowed to Lindsey and after a gentle prod from Steele, so did Sandavol. Lindsey giggled.

Steele caught Warrick's eye, smiled at him and walked over, tugging Sandavol with him. "Warrick, dance with me," he demanded.

Brown had a protest but before he could speak it, Sandavol was dancing off with Catherine and Steele had plastered himself against Warrick like extra sweat. "I need to breathe," he informed the larger man.

"Yes, you do, and heavily," Steele replied, his hands going low on Warrick's back. "You look good enough to lick to death."

Warrick swallowed. "Thanks," he replied, hoping he could find some of his usual cool to use.

Steele peered at Warrick as if the smaller man had just failed a sobriety test. "Warrick, no one directs Harrison Steele toward pussy, I can find it on my own." He smiled and it looked more predatory than a tiger's growl. "I can see you're intimidated by me."

"I let you know what time it was when you moved in on Nick," Warrick reminded him.

"Ah, look, man. I can tell you're top dog around here, and that's only right, but I've got a man and I don't cheat," Warrick stated. "That's all I can tell you."

"Damn, Nick has totally turned you," Steele stated with approval. "I admire that. It's not easy picking up a straight man and keeping him."

"You make it sound like Nick is some kind of vampire or that he's done something I wouldn't want if I could only think straight," Warrick sneered, stepping out of the larger man's embrace. "He's one of the kindest and most supportive men I know. It's not his fault he's so damn good looking." Brown took a deep breath. "He's changed my life, and I don't just mean sexually. I don't know if I can ever thank him enough for that."

"You could start by dancing with me," Nick suggested as he touched Warrick's shoulder from behind him. "That would be so stimulating."

Warrick turned and pulled Nick tight to him. The need to kiss and claim this man was strong. He settled for the kiss. The claiming would have to wait until they'd returned to the cottage.

"Taking a hint," Steele said, walking away. "Maybe Catherine will want to console me."

Nick let Warrick lead as they glided across the dance floor. Beth Rayburn, showing there was much more to her repertoire than Hip Hop, began to sing "At Last". It was perfect.

They danced through the song and most of "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" before breaking apart -- Nick to dance with Renata and Warrick to dance with Gil.

Gil placed his head on Warrick's shoulder and snuggled in. Warrick couldn't stop himself from kissing the smaller man on the neck. They were, after all, among friends and supporters. Or so Warrick thought until they danced past Sara's table.

The way Gil flinched, Warrick knew his lover had heard. They kept dancing and Warrick wouldn't let the older man pull away. A whispering campaign began and everyone who had placed their things on Sara's table removed them, leaving the woman totally alone.

Warrick handed off Gil into Sandavol's capable hands. "I'll dust him for fingerprints, Hotrod," he warned.

Sandavol was unfazed by Warrick's threat. "I love getting blowjobs from sexy men with beards," Sandavol informed an obviously surprised Gil. "How do you feel about that?" the young man asked.

"I completely agree," Gil answered, "Luckily for you, there are plenty of other candidates in this very room." He leaned close and let his lips brush Sandavol's ear. "My very experienced, hungry, dominant mouth is spoken for, Hotrod. It's such a dangerous mouth that it takes two men to satisfy it." He pulled Hotrod into his arms and danced the younger man onto the middle of the floor.

Brown walked over to Sara and all of the chatter in the area died out. "Sidle, you diss my man or me again and you and I will have words."

"I don't hit women, Sara, not even you. I will, however, file a grievance with the Union over your homophobic remarks and that will dog your career for the rest of your life." Warrick smiled at the gut-punched look she got.

"It'll be your word against mine," Sara stated, regaining her footing. "The word of a gambling addict doesn't carry a lot of weight."

"Maybe," Warrick replied, crossing his arms, "but the word of two sitting judges, a city prosecutor, and a media mogul will carry a Herculean amount of weight, Sara." He pointed.

Sara turned to see the scowling faces of several of the city's most prominent gay men. She lost the color in her face, regaining it all on her cheeks. It was not a pretty sight.

"Hi, Warrick," Elaine interrupted. "Give an old lady a thrill." She offered her right hand.

"Point this old lady out," Warrick insisted as he gripped the sexy scientist and they tangoed to "Hot Cuban Nights". If dinner hadn't arrived, he would have danced with her again. Elaine just let it all go on the dance floor. It was like her drumming; some kind of primal outlet and a quick glimpse into her depths.

Brown walked the good doctor to her chair and held it for her. Nick held Gil's chair, which made the older man blush. They sat down to dinner, which was wonderful. They served five different meals based on the card you marked on the RSVP. The meals were centered around Prime Rib for the meat eaters, red snapper for those sticking to fish, free-range roasted chicken, a grilled and roasted vegetarian and fruit spread, or a raw vegetable and fruit spread.

Warrick almost laughed when he noted that Sara did not receive wine with her dinner. Like Lindsey, she was served grape juice in a wine glass.

"With only one exception, it's been a flawless night," Gil assured him. He beamed at Warrick and Brown went all melty inside.

"I did," Warrick assured his other man. "She must have been drunker than she sounded if she thought I would put up with that shit."

Elaine stood up and tapped her wine glass with her fork. "Thank you, friends and family. We have been so lucky to have members of the Las Vegas Crime Lab here and they have made themselves right at home. It has been our privilege to host Gil Grissom's birthday party tonight. With Princess Lindsey's permission, I would like to call for presents."

"You have my permission," the Princess declared graciously after putting down her chicken.

Waiters rolled in carts loaded with presents and Gil nearly toppled over. The man cleaned up and it was odd how in such a short time the locals had locked in on what would please and tease Grissom.

Hotrod's present, a pair of binoculars that the public would never be able to buy, had Gil looking around the room and grinning as he focused and refocused them. Hotrod strolled over to the table and demanded a kiss. He got a hard, hot one from Gil and a warning growl from Nick.

Thus began a pattern. Gil opened his present, the giver got a hot kiss, and Nick sent them packing. Only Catherine, Beth, Renata, and Elaine were spared a growl. Hank escaped because he insisted on just shaking Gil's hand. Chris waved safely from his chair and clung to Elaine's hand for protection.

Lindsey knighted Gil and presented him with a voice-activated tape recorder for his scene notes that came with an almost invisible headset.

Warrick's present was to write and record a song for Gil, entitled "Gil". Grissom was always encouraging Warrick to spend time on Elaine's grand piano. He'd hoped that Gil would play it in private, but Beth, who turned herself from sultry siren to bratty younger sister in one move, snatched the CD and had the mysterious announcer play it for everyone.

    Gil, your soft eyes of wisdom
    have made me see your
    strength, spoken and unspoken,
    and I've grown stronger
    because of it.

There was no sex in the song as Warrick could not imagine Gil responding positively to a song about Warrick tapping his booty. It was more about maturing together and appreciating your partner's strengths. Warrick had been convinced only someone who was in love with you, i.e. Nick and Gil, would like it, but when the song ended, he got a standing ovation. The only thing that marred it was Sara sobbing. What the hell was that about?

Greg tapped on Archie's door and then turned the knob. He walked through the bedroom to the bathroom the other man shared with Jim Brass. Archie was in the shower, his slender silhouette giving Sanders all sorts of wicked thoughts.

"Archie, I just wanted to tell you again how much fun I had with you tonight," Greg began. "You were a great date."

"The fun doesn't have to end," Greg said softly as he pressed his hand against the glass door of the shower. "I want you to take me to your bed, Archie."

Archie turned off the water and peeked out of the barely opened shower door. "I thought your dance card was pretty full, Greg. Have you gotten over Warrick yet?" he asked. "You two looked beautiful together on the dance floor. Greg, you were this close." He held two fingers less than half a finger apart. Greg wanted to suck them.

Greg sighed. "I gave up on Warrick Brown before the Tina Turner concert, Archie. I'll admit I sulked for a while, but I'm not a masochist. If it doesn't work with Nick, Warrick will not be looking for another man. He will be back to women and never ever again look at anyone who could grow a moustache."

Archie stepped out of the shower and accepted a towel from Greg. "So you're here hoping to get me naked?"

"You're already naked, Archie," Greg informed the other man. "I kept telling myself I had time to get next to you, but I was forcefully reminded of the fact that we only have a week left before we return home." Sanders took the towel from Archie because the other man wasn't drying himself with it. Shock will do that to you. Greg began to dry Archie. The man had the most flawless skin Sanders had ever seen.

"Greg, I'm not in the mood to be snatched up and devoured to satisfy your current hunger, only to be spit out in a week or so," Archie informed him, snatching the towel back.

"Archie, how long have we known each other?" Greg asked, picking up a fresh towel and starting on Archie's moist skin again.

"Then you know that if I'm just in it for a good time, I always inform the person of that undeniable fact." Greg paused so he could move fully into the other man's space. "Have you heard the words -- fun, good time, or convenient fuck?"

"Then that's not why I'm here. These last two weeks have made it plain just how much we suit each other out of bed, now I want to move our friendship to the bed." Greg finger combed the loose hair away from Archie's forehead. "I know that if I wait until we're back in Vegas, then you will be safely ensconced in your shell and I won't stand a chance." Greg licked the flesh just beneath Archie's left ear.

"If you tell me we have to go slow because you've never gone all the way with a man, that's fine. If you tell me that I have to be on my back for you until you decide you're ready for the next sexual step, that's fine too. If you say that we have to be on the down low at the lab, I can do that. But if you tell me that you're not going to even give me a chance because I'm such a slut, then that is not fine," Greg insisted. "You can only send me away if you can look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want me at all."

Sanders should have given the other man a chance to breathe and think, but Greg wasn't built that way. He attacked Archie's mouth, thumbed his nipples, and stole the other man's breath as they kissed. Greg broke it off, leaving Archie leaning toward him to continue the kiss. "Are you sending me away?"

"No," Archie answered before kissing Greg. He gripped Sanders's ass, squeezed it hard, pulling the cheeks apart and grinding Greg's crotch against his own.

Greg looked up at the ceiling and said to himself the three words he'd never thought he'd utter in bed. "I'm in trouble." He looked over at Archie. The other man was smiling softly and "the snake of pleasure" was semi-hard and daring Sanders to touch it.

His extensive sexual experience had assured him that (1) male intercourse virgin Archie would only be able to mount up once, (2) genetic forecasting stated the other man wouldn't be packing much, (3) Archie would insist on sleeping alone so he could think, and (4) Archie would either not come down for breakfast or spend it looking everywhere but Greg's face. So far he'd been wrong on the first three.

"Let's fill our plates from the breakfast buffet, then come up here and eat on my balcony," Archie suggested. "We've got half a day until we're due at the University. Let's spend it in bed."

"I'm in so much trouble," Greg replied before straddling the other man. He gently humped the "snake of pleasure", endangering his well-worked hole. "I like that plan, Archie."

Gil felt like he was cheating, but he had to meet this man and he couldn't do it comfortably with either Nick or Warrick with him. If they knew he was here, then it would influence their decision as to whether or not they were coming back to Silver Lakes. Gil didn't want to force that decision in any way.

"Hey, Gil," Samuel Cross called. "Let's head in. You'll be amazed at how much progress we've made since you were last here." He put his arm around Gil's shoulders and led him into the house.

The walls were all painted now and most of the finish work was completed. While Gil watched, they hung the chandelier in the dining room. Sam permitted Gil to direct their exploration around the house, not speaking, and allowing Grissom to dream about every room.

There was an office for him and his books and displays, a second office, converted from a bedroom, for Nick and his books and artwork, and a third office, which would encompass most of the finished basement, for Warrick and his books, collectibles, instruments, and recording equipment. They could buy a piano, place it in the front parlor, and listen to Warrick play. They could build an outdoor kitchen. They could buy one of those outdoor beds and work it to death.

"I don't want to rush you, Gil, but this house goes on the open market in four weeks," Cross announced. "Say the word, and it's yours."

Gil almost gave the man "the word". He wanted this house so, so much. The Dragonfly House. Who else could it be for? They could be happy here, but they could be happy anywhere as long as they stuck together. Grissom could not make this decision alone.

"I'll talk to them," Grissom promised. "This has to be a decision we all agree on."

Samuel relied on his years of speaking to juries to keep himself from giggling. Less than an hour after secretly showing Gil the Dragonfly House, he was now showing it to Warrick, Nick, and Renata.

"It's even more beautiful now," Warrick sighed, practically inviting everyone in the room to wrap him in their arms and stroke his back until his clothes dropped away, almost on their own.

Sam needed to get to Colt and bounce the mattress with his man before he got into some Texas-sized trouble. "Guys, if it's the price, I can swing you toward a Foundation that gives grants to the people who purchase homes in one of the historic districts and live in them for at least five years. If you sell before then, you have to pay a prorated portion of that money back."

"Elaine will definitely give you a job," Renata declared. "Such a nice woman. If I were gay, she would be the one for me."

"I could visit and make much love with the spectacular men of Silver Lakes," Renata continued. "Yes, there are many gay men here, but there are plentiful straight men too and some quite easy to snare with a good meal."

Nick went red-faced. His body was shaking with laughter, but no sound was coming out. He needed to relax. A nice hot bath would do the trick. Bathing other men was Sam's main kink. That and topping really big men. Men like his Colt, who Sam needed to get to and soon.

"St. Augustine," Sam answered. "It's the same grass Elaine has at her place. Gwen House has a flock of sheep that she trucks over to different homes and she lets them eat your lawn down."

"No," Sam promised. He even went so far as to take them out of their way to see the unusual lawn service in action -- twenty-eight sheep, one Old English Sheepdog, and Gwen in her Daisy Dukes. Even a gay man could appreciate a booty that fine.

Nick snapped pictures. It was amazing that his camera's memory stick could hold more shots after all he'd taken at the Dragonfly House, but the man was an expert. Stokes could probably switch memory sticks without breaking stride. "No one would believe me otherwise," Nick explained.

Sam got his guests back into their vehicle and waved them off. He rushed to the studio where he knew his man would be very glad to see him.

Bobby Dawson had drawn the short straw and it fell to him to track Sara down and remind her that an auditorium full of college students were awaiting them. He found her at the boathouse. She was sitting on the dock, looking out at the water, with her arms wrapped around her knees. At least she hadn't jumped.

Sara turned, looking so surprised that Bobby wondered if she still hadn't sobered up from the previous evening. "I don't think they'd miss me."

"You're fourth on the agenda," Bobby reminded her. "Bringing Elemental Analysis out of the Lab and into the Field," Dawson enunciated. "It sounds riveting."

"If that were true, why am I standing out on this dock trying to talk you onto your feet instead of taking out that cigar boat?" Dawson asked reasonably. "The thing has become my own personal phallic symbol." He pumped his arms. "Just knowing it's there is making me feel manly."

"Maybe you should try something new," Dawson suggested. "You should apologize to Grissom, Stokes, and Brown. A few Mea Culpas can't go wrong."

"What I said went beyond an apology, Bobby." Sara sighed. "I went mental. I just wanted to hurt Nick because Grissom has been doting on him this entire trip. I wanted to smash Warrick in the face for having the balls to kiss Grissom on the neck." Her hands curled into fists and held onto the crease of her slacks. "And that damn song nearly broke my heart."

Bobby could see they weren't leaving any time soon, so he sat down on the dock. A family of ducks paddled out of the water and waddled up the bank. They needed to be gone before the barbecue or Elaine might cook them up to feed the ever-growing guest list. Bobby was guilty of inviting a few people himself, but Rayburn didn't seem to mind.

He pulled his mind back to the problem at hand. "It was a beautiful song about respect, Sara. What in the world did that have to do with you?"

"Look, Sara, I know exactly what it is like to put yourself out there and be rejected. Your problem is that you've spent so much time as the pursued that you have no experience in pursuing. You're obsessed with a man who not only does not want you, evidence would state he's not built to want you. Move on."

Bobby thought about his fruitless pursuit of Sara. Did he 'move on'? "Oh, yes," he answered. "She didn't want me. She couldn't see past my job. As some people have told me recently and I told myself much earlier, it was her loss." Dawson stood up and pulled Sara to her feet.

"Sara, saying something is beyond an apology is just an excuse to let things fester," Bobby insisted. "I agree that an apology is not enough for the pain you've caused, but it is a damn good start. You have some time to take your foot out of your mouth, your head out of your ass, and grovel while you're at it. Then stand by to offer blood, bone marrow, and a kidney when needed."

Sara blinked. Normally a clever, or stinging, remark was just a breath away, but she couldn't seem to come up with anything. Maybe she was actually thinking about what Bobby had said to her. Bigger miracles had happened.

Bobby started walking toward the main house and Sara stayed with him. "Beg their understanding; forgiveness is a long point away."

Sara nodded, still not speaking. Now that they were so close, Bobby wondered if she weren't speaking so she could hide the alcohol on her breath. There was no way two glasses of champagne could have left the woman that out of control. She had to have started before they'd arrived at the Butterman Manor.

"No, Rayburn tossed my room and took my stash," Sara reported. Her breath had a hint of jalapeno to it but no booze. "You'll also notice that the bar is locked and so is the wine cellar."

"Was she thorough?" Bobby asked, highly amused with his mental image of Doctor Rayburn searching the room.

"I thought a cavity search was on the menu," Sara answered sourly. She cringed. "I don't know why I thought that woman was a lightweight."

Bobby stared. "Lightweight? Have you lost your mind?" he asked. "That woman has fangs. Don't let the Southern Lady routine fool you into complacency. You mess with her team or undermine her lab and your body will never be found. The woman has a wall of murder weapons in her office. I doubt even Greg could separate out your fluids from the rest if she decides to use them on you."

He quickened their pace. "And if we're late, she'll gut us while smiling and calling us 'Honey Child'." They passed the cottage and Bobby kept them moving so Sara couldn't linger there and they made it to the back door of the main house. Naturally Grissom was the first person they saw.

"I need a word with you, Sidle," Grissom stated in the same voice he used when confronting a guilty suspect.

"I'll meet you out front," Bobby offered before hurrying away. He didn't want to see this trainwreck.

Grissom had spent so much of his time looking down on people who decided to solve their problems with murder that he was shocked to discover himself quite capable of doing the same thing. He slowed his mind down and let the words come to him that wouldn't escalate the situation and culminate in him holding Sara's head under the water in the nearest toilet. "I would have never thought you capable of such hurtful behavior."

"I'd like to apologize, but I don't have much experience with that," Sara continued.

"Acquiring new skills is a sign of personal growth," Gil informed her. "Life abhors stagnation."

Sara nodded and looked not at Gil's face, but at a point just over his right shoulder. "Sorry," she attempted.

Grissom ground down on his teeth. "If the situation were reversed, Sara, how far would that one word have gotten with you?"

Sidle deflated. No deflated wasn't strong enough of a word, she shriveled. "Nowhere. Just like the rest of the inadequate things I can think to say."

"Try harder, Sara, or there is no going back. I have never seen Nick this angry. Never. And Warrick... I'm sure that you don't need me to elaborate." There was no elegant way to translate "die, Bitch, die". Since Warrick hated the B word almost as much as he hated the N word, his exclamation had stunned Gil. It had taken Grissom quite a while to calm his men down and it was the first night since he'd been declared recovered from his surgery that Gil had gone to sleep without being fucked. That alone made him livid.

Sara walked away without another word, risking a beaning from Gil with a potted plant.

"That was a mistake, Sara," Gil said loud enough for the woman to hear. "A big one."

Grissom went out to the cottage to see Warrick drive up with Nick and Renata already sitting in the back seat. "Oh, were you looking for me out front?" he asked.

They drove to the University ahead of the line of vehicles that were due to leave the Rayburn place. Nick pointed out the houses and told Renata who lived in them, many of whom their friend had already met. They paused to watch a young woman, who was clad in the tiniest denim shorts Gil had ever seen and a tube top that could not have been more than four inches wide, guide a flock of sheep around a lawn with the help of a sheepdog. A sign on the truck parked out front declared "Gwen House's All Organic Lawn Care".

"Not even when we show them the pictures," Gil answered as he lowered his camera.

"They'll believe that barely there outfit," Renata declared. "I have more fabric in my dishtowels." This got the men chuckling.

The University had reserved VIP parking for them in front of the auditorium and the group, minus Renata, walked onto the stage to check their setups.

Archie was already there, along with two other techs from the A/V lab. They were talking that tech shorthand to each other and testing everyone's video, slides, and musical introduction.

Gil was wearing his protective earplugs, which he hated, but he couldn't risk damaging his hearing. "How is everything?" he asked Archie.

"Just fine, Sir," Archie responded, keeping his chin pointed directly at Gil. "We've made sure everyone's presentation runs, preset the gain of the microphone for everyone's voice, and we're going through the lighting next."

"I see you have it all well in hand," Gil said as he got out of the younger man's way. It seemed like only yesterday he was standing in front of a white sheet with a balky slide projector and a microphone that specialized in feedback. It was a lot easier to forgive mistakes or sloppy content back then.

The rest of the team strolled in. Elaine had Jim singing "In the Still of the Night" again, to prove they had not substituted the man's voice when he had sung it at Gil's party.

After they'd played Gil's song from the CD, the crowd had threatened to turn ugly if Warrick didn't sing it in person. It was even more beautiful a capella. He then sang another original composition entitled "Strong Like Texas", which he dedicated to Nick. That might have been a dangerous title in Arkansas, but the crowd was with him.

"I know you can," Lindsey answered. Gil suspected that Catherine had tipped her daughter off. Grissom remembered hearing Jim sing to his daughter, Ellie, while she lay unconscious in the hospital after her overdose.

Jim had asked the band if they knew "In the Still of the Night", they did, and he sang it to the amazement of the crowd. People got out and danced again, even after that large meal.

Gil had hoped that good mood would carry on into the bedroom when he got his men back to the cottage, but Nick had spotted Sara standing on her balcony as they drove past the house and he wondered aloud if she were throwing up over it. Things degenerated quickly after that.

Greg peeked out of the curtains and pulled his head back quickly. "SRO," he reported. Standing Room Only. The auditorium was packed.

"Showtime," Rayburn declared. Everyone took their seats and the curtain was opened. Elaine introduced everyone on the stage to the audience, reminded the crowd to be on their best behavior as she knew their parents. A huge lie, Gil was sure, but it got a great laugh.

Normally seniority decided speaking order, but Rayburn had really mixed them up. Greg's Science on Speed talk, led right into Jim's Work the Streets speech that Archie had helped him to "punch up" with some great video and audio.

Bobby's Guns on the Street presentation had extra impact because he demonstrated how his experience led him to linking four cold cases. The graphics demonstrating piecing bullet fragments back together and the mathematics of fragmentation were riveting. Gil actually joined in the

Since the questions had run long, Elaine called a break to give the crowd a chance to wind down and the chatter to die. Sara was up next.

Archie had provided Sara with a great opening of the forming of the Earth, separation of elements, and plant growth. Using that as a jumping off place, she discussed elemental analysis in tying material to place and place to victim and suspect. It was great material, but it was delivered dryly and only a few brave souls dared ask her a question.

Warrick blew them out of the water with his Soundscapes in Modern America. Gil had seen this presentation in the working stages but give Warrick an audience and the man was electrifying. He was meant to be on stage.

Catherine's presentation was Blood Tales and used the case of a murdered family, father, mother, and two brothers, that was displayed with cutouts instead of more human looking CGI characters, to demonstrate how to reconstruct the crime based on blood patterns. It quieted the audience, but the question and answer period was quite lively.

Nick's On the Trail -- Hair and Fiber Speak presentation was very good. He'd given one of the maids, Cindy, $150 to shop for new clothes and shoes, which she got to keep. Then she was to drive the Mini Cooper, a car Greg was threatening to pack in his suitcase as they couldn't pinch towels, into town and "have fun". Then he pulled fiber and hair from the vehicle and her clothes to guess where she'd been. He then compared his guesses to her videotape. Cindy certainly knew how to have fun and everyone she encountered wanted to be in the "crime fighting video" as they all seemed to know she worked for Doctor Rayburn.

The only thing that bugged Gil was the wild applause that broke out when the Archie-supplied film showed Nick's ass as he crawled around the interior of the car.

"Children, your parents are on speed dial," Elaine warned the quickly quieted crowd.

Nick got a lot of questions about his presentation, the skeleton and the bears, and whether or not he was married. Blushing, the man returned to his seat.

Gil was shocked by the standing ovation he received before he'd spoken a word. He suspected they'd only done that to keep themselves awake a little longer and told them so. It was one of the longest laughs he'd ever earned.

Grissom's presentation Insects and Time Lines went over well. The question and answer period were over his time limit and he pleaded with his eyes to Elaine for help. She jumped right in.

"Okay, okay, we get the picture, you'd like more of his time," Elaine said. "Don't we all. I will remind you that Doctor Grissom will be speaking on this very stage tomorrow at one o'clock for two hours on this same subject. If you haven't signed up for one of the limited seats, I suggest you do so during this break." A good section of the audience fled to the sign-up sheets that were on the bulletin board in the main hall. Others smugly declared they already had their seats reserved.

Al's What the Body Can Tell Us probably put more smokers and chewers on the road to quitting than any commercial or pamphlet could. The impacted feces from too much sitting in front of the computer part made Gil vow never to complain again when Nick and Warrick wanted to go for a stroll. The fatty liver of a drinker made Sara pale. Bobby patted her on the hand.

Archie's demonstration Just Like On TV, let the audience see what could and couldn't be done from various types of video surveillance. Then he had everyone on the edge of their seats by showing his beta version of an algorithm he was developing to retrieve data packets from digital cameras

The second picture, if you will, was a serene shot of the river bend just past Elaine's boathouse. While they watched, the original video of Archie's first time on a horse was retrieved.

"Of course none of this has been tested and held up in court and lawyers will set their own mothers on fire to keep it out of evidence, but we have to keep moving forward," Archie stated.

The questions flew and Archie was really put to it by some of the math majors, but he survived. Elaine thanked everyone for attending before thanking the team for their presentations. They slipped out and headed home.

"I thought you said your parents, your brother, and maybe one or two of your sisters were coming," Warrick insisted, his hands waving in erratic patterns. "When did that turn into all of your sisters, their husbands and girlfriend, your brother, your sister-in-law, and all of the nieces and nephews?" he demanded.

"Easy, Cupcake," Nick soothed. He knew Warrick was stressed out about meeting Nick's parents, but the upshot of Nick's successful peacekeeping mission was that now all of his sisters, his brother, and their families were coming to Silver Lakes to meet Warrick. "It could be a lot worse, Cupcake, my aunts, uncles, and cousins could be coming too and they are a handful."

Warrick crossed his arms and glared. "You're not throwing me off my tirade. Your whole family is on their way to lynch me for corrupting the baby of the family."

"You're about fifteen years too late to earn that title, Ricky," Nick replied. He looked to Grissom for support, but the older man was caught between the twin beacons of fascination of a rough sketch of a new rollercoaster, which he practically had to swear in blood not to reveal to anyone, and a collection of scarab beetles Doctor Macon had loaned him.

The things gave Nick the willies, which he laid firmly at a couple of movies that had given him nightmares when he was a child.

"My family will love you," Nick insisted to Warrick, who just might panic and run into the woods to hide until the Stokes family left the state. "You've won over my brother in the course of two phone calls. The rest of the family is easy compared to Charles."

"Your brother is quite a reasonable man, but we're talking about your whole family, Nick. Your whole scary, Texan family," Warrick emphasized. "They're armed and will come gunning for me."

Nick wrapped his arms around the taller man and licked his right ear. "Cupcake, they will adore you and they'll only come gunning if you break my heart."

"Stop with the 'Cupcake'," Warrick insisted. "How are you going to tell Elaine that a hungry horde of gun-toting Texans are about to invade her sacred Arkansas homestead?"

"She already knows," Nick informed him. "She, my mom, and my dad were having a three-way when I came into her office."

"A three-way with Elaine?" Gil asked, suddenly taking an interest in their conversation. "I hope your father took his vitamins first. Elaine looks like she could take a man to the edge and then push him over. Lucky bastard."

"A three-way phone conversation, Gil," Nick snarled at the smirking man. "They're bringing bedrolls and tents for the kids and the adults will bunk in the house."

Nick gripped Warrick's hands and pulled him tight against his body. "To get to you, they'd have to come through me first, Cupcake, and that is not going to happen. No one is coming between us. Not even my family."

"That would have been so much more meaningful without the 'Cupcake' part," Warrick dryly informed him.

"Count me in," Gil called as he put away his nasty little friends. The rollercoaster drawing went into his briefcase and was locked up tight.

"You're not diverting my attention from my impending doom by rubbing your hard, willing body against me," Warrick informed him. "My resolve --"

"Will melt like butter on a hot griddle when Nick goes down on his knees and on you," Gil finished. "Ten seconds after that, you'll agree to wear a t-shirt that says 'Hello, my name is Cupcake' in pink icing. Twenty seconds after that you'll add the slogan 'no Texan can tear us apart' on the back."

"My family wants me to be happy more than anything and you and Gil make me happy," Nick insisted before mouthing Warrick's nipples through the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather present me as a friend and Gil as your Cupcake?" Warrick asked hopefully.

Nick stepped back. "Oh, I see. Not only is my family a bunch of mindless, gun-toting rednecks, they're bigots too." He'd gone off on people for a lot less.

"Actually, I was thinking that Gil was more intellectually on a par with a sitting judge and an attorney," Warrick explained. "I know your parents aren't bigots. They'd run me out on a rail no matter what color my skin was."

"Sorry, Warrick, I told Patty months ago how in love with you I was and how you insisted on being straight, then the night after our first date, she called and I babbled on like an idiot." Nick had actually waxed poetically about Warrick's eyes and mouth, with hints of other parts, until Patty had begged off to go "wrestle her husband to the mattress".

Her husband Matt had called the next day and wanted to schedule Nick's next long talk with Patty so he could be "well rested beforehand". Nick was encouraged to call collect if he needed to, but call. Please, please call.

"My sisters all know my lover's name is Warrick. If I present Gil as my lover and you as a friend, then they'll be convinced that my 'serial dating' days are not over and start working on finding me a nice Texan man to settle down with so I can move back home."

"That's the attitude I want from you," Nick declared. "If you're not here to defend me from unwanted hookups, my dad could send up his doe-eyed law clerk, mom's got this junior partner who quote 'drools over my picture', Grace's running buddy, Cortland, is on the market, Jake's swimming coach has quote 'got it bad for me', and it just goes on and on, Warrick.

"My family isn't trying to end my relationships with men, they're trying to get me back to Texas to settle down with one of them. The next thing you know I'll have a nice house in the burbs, a SUV, a bleached-blond lifemate, who belongs to my sister-n-law's garden club, and the beginnings of a pot belly. I'd be domesticated. You wouldn't let that happen to me, would you?" Nick got squeezed between his men and it was a nice place to be.

Nick gripped his men's hands and walked them over to the couch. Normally, Gil was the center of their trio, but this time Nick planted himself in the center. He placed his legs over Gil's lap and his head in Warrick's. This was a very comfortable position and he was going to have to visit it more often. No wonder Gil always looked so serene when they had him this way.

He toed off his shoes, settled in more, and sighed as Gil rubbed his feet and Rick massaged his scalp. "This is so nice, guys. I'm always running around trying to make everything right with my family and it's hard for me to explain to them that I like letting you two take care of me. My family... they're pretty protective of me and they want me back home, but you guys... you guys are home. Do you understand?"

Warrick leaned down and kissed Nick with the same intensity of their first kiss when kissing Nick was actually breaking through a wall for Brown. "Yes, we understand," he assured Nick.

Elaine cleared her throat and her senior staff, Police Chief Winston, Fire Chief McCall, and all six police department captains found their seats. "Okay, we'll keep this short and sweet. Otherwise, our guests will know we're up to no

There were some titters and lots of smiles around the table. The training had gone much better than she'd hoped and with only one exception, the staff had been exceptional.

"Okay, from the top. Yes or no on a job offer." She held up a picture. "James Brass?" she asked.

The police officers immediately dominated the discussion and Elaine let them. Brass had greater experience than a lot of their senior people and bringing him into such an important position instead of promoting from within might stir up some resentment.

"Gentleman," Chief Winston began softly. She didn't need to speak loudly because people automatically listened when the Chief spoke. "We don't have a single candidate within the ranks who meets the federally mandated criteria for the position and meeting those criteria is tied to our funds." That quieted them down. "We would do well to get Jim Brass to come and work for us."

"How many are for offering Brass the position?" Elaine asked. All of the lab personnel and all but two of the captains agreed. Rayburn knew the captains of both Vice and Homicide had been eyeing the seat for themselves. She placed his folder in the Yes box.

"Warrick Brown?" People threw out their opinions all of them positive. "Downside?" she asked.

"Another person who'll want to learn to fly the helicopter," Winston stated, watching the bottom line like a hawk.

Elaine placed Warrick's folder in the box marked Yes and picked up the next photo. "Bobby Dawson." A resounding 'yes' came from the table. "Any objections and I need you to speak your mind freely."

"He wants to make some expensive additions to the facility," Chloe warned. "Part of his review of our lab will be to spell them out."

"That's fine," Elaine responded. "That's why I wanted the man here." She held up the next folder. "Gil Grissom."

Hoots and fist pumping accompanied the man's name. The staff chatted excitedly about some Grissomism they'd seen or heard.

"He's going to make us step up our game," Billy Strayhorn warned, "and he does not do politics."

"Two points in his favor," Chief Winston insisted. "You know how I feel about officers mugging for the press."

"Definitely," Captain Evan Nighthawk of Major Crime said quickly. "He had that surveillance tape digitalized and analyzed so quickly, the kidnapper was still in town when we rolled." Several others agreed heartily and a few mentioned his heavily attended Tai Chi classes.

"Doctor Robbins?" she asked. Al seemed to be universally loved and plans to kidnap his wife Sonya in order to keep the man in town were heatedly discussed. Laughing, Elaine asked for objections.

"He's closing in on retirement age for a doctor," Billy stated. "I'd hate to go through the expense of getting him here only to have him retire within a year or two."

"Sign him to five years," Chloe suggested. "Besides, their children are grown and he's not the kind of man to putter around the house. Sonya would kill him within a week."

Elaine asked for other objections, received none, and placed him in the Yes pile. "Greg Sanders?"

"We must have that man," Billy declared. "I learned so much from him and not just at the microscope. My only objection is the guy is as green as a young tree when it comes to fieldwork."

Elaine nodded. "He could be excellent in the field, given time, and our careful tutelage." She smiled. "Any other objections?" There were none. She placed his folder in the Yes pile.

"Over my dead body," Generator hissed. "She knows her stuff in the field, but she's obnoxious, homophobic, and has control issues. Our town and lab are too small for her and she wants everyone to know that."

"Nick Stokes?" she asked, knowing the answer. Even the police chiefs had something positive to say about Stokes, and they liked to play indifferent when it came to the scientists. "Negatives?"

"Unfortunately, if Warrick doesn't come, neither will Nick," Generator stated solemnly, "but hope springs eternal."

"I'd personally drive to Vegas and pack her up," Generator offered. "Willows would be nothing but an asset to our lab."

"Her mother and sister both live in Vegas, Hank is in Vegas and under contract," Billy answered. "It will be hard for her to leave all of that, but if we don't ask, she can't say yes."

There were no objections and Elaine placed Catherine's folder on top of the Yes pile. It was a great showing for their efforts, yet the single folder in the No box bothered her. So much skill wasted. In a big lab an abrasive personality or two could be worked around, but they were a

small organization; more of a family than a workplace because they needed and counted on each other. Elaine could truthfully say in her letter to Sara that Silver Lakes just wasn't big enough for her.

Sara was a brilliant criminalist, but her sometimes shrill responses to things not going her way or the way she saw them rubbed people the wrong way. Elaine doubted the woman had ever apologized to Warrick, Nick, and Gil for casting a pall over Gil's birthday bash.

Rayburn had gone all out to give that man a bash. He'd spent his life being the odd duck, the smart one, the strange one. She had wanted him to see than in Silver Lakes that he could be the admired one, the respected one, even the sought after one. Sara getting tanked up and making snide remarks before breaking down into tears had done nothing for the party atmosphere.

Elaine rose from her chair, signaling that the meeting was over. "I'll have all of the offers ready for our Monday review. To keep from singling Sara out, I'll be giving her an envelope too, so don't panic when you see her with one." She looked around. "Thank you for coming."

Nick was probably holding Warrick's hand far too tightly, but the taller man was not complaining.

"It's okay," Warrick promised. Lord help him, but the man meant it. "We're going to get through this together."

Nick planted a soft kiss on the other man's mouth before speaking. "I'm holding you to that." Just two days before it had been Warrick on Panic Street, now Nick was taking that stroll.

Warrick chuckled. "Nicky, you're the baby of the family and in my experience, the baby of the family can do no wrong."

Nick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My parents know I'm bisexual, but you're the first man I've ever introduced to them." He wasn't worried about his parents liking Warrick. Who wouldn't like Warrick? He was afraid his family would scare Warrick and Gil off.

Nick's family could be too much for people who had not grown up amongst them. They were loud and Warrick and Gil were quiet. His sisters firmly believed that an argument lost to logic could be won by simple volume. His brother, Charles, had a stick up his ass and a bright political future playing out in his head. His parents were voracious acquirers of grandchildren to dote on. Eight grandchildren were just appetizers for the pair.

And that didn't even brush the chaos of his purebred southern belle sister-in-law who corrected people's manners, the wealthy inventor brother-in-law who might draw his next idea on your antique tablecloth, the sweet young thing girlfriend of his sister Cheryl, and the businessman brother-in-law who always had a phone stuck to his face. They would be crowded up around Nick's men. Gawd, what had he been thinking when Elaine had said:

"Nick, why don't you invite your parents to the barbeque, I'd love to meet them."

And Nick, still punch-drunk from being tag-team molested on that wicked outdoor bed by Gil and Warrick had replied:

"Sure, I'll call them right now. You never know though, my parents have really busy lives."

Dumb fuck that he was, Nick had actually called his parents and after fifteen minutes of "do you know what your sister did" and "Baby Adele took her first steps", they had leapt onto the idea of driving up to Silver Lakes like wolves on a lamb. They'd never been to Cotton Row. They wanted to see their baby boy. They would have crawled on their hands and knees for the opportunity. At least that was the way their enthusiasm read to Nick.

He should have lied to Elaine and never called, but Rayburn would have called them herself to "talk them into it" and Nick would have been in the doghouse. Or worse, the bad son house with his mom giving him the evil eye and his father pouting with the "you've disappointed me" look on his face. Nick shivered.

"We can play it straight for your parents, beg or bribe your sisters to keep their mouths shut," Warrick offered, "and you can work your way up to telling them about me."

"No way," Nick replied. "I don't lie to my parents and my sisters' gums have been flapping for weeks about my 'new man'. My brother I just kick in the head."

Warrick guffawed. As an only child, he could not possibly understand the need for the youngest to assert himself. Nick had been standing up for himself in his family since he could stand up.

A line of trucks, SUVs, and sedans pulled into the Kroger parking lot, which Nick had chosen as a rendezvous spot due to its location just off I-30.

"That's them, and they've brought extras," Nick answered as he got out of the borrowed SLCL truck. Man, he wanted to take this truck back to Vegas with him. It had everything you needed for the field but a toilet.

Nick's siblings, nieces and nephews, and some uninvited cousins, aunts, and uncles, leaned out of their vehicles and waved. "Mom, what have you done?" he complained when he saw the sheepish expression on his mother's face. "You told Elaine you were bringing 20 other people with you and Dad. I count a lot more than 20. A hell of a lot more."

"They followed us here, Poncho," his father insisted. He gave Nick his best shit-eating grin.

"That's where you learned that smile," Warrick suggested, earning a scowl from Nick. He never used that look. Never. Ever.

"Cisco, are you trying to tell me you couldn't shake them for 277 miles?" Nick asked incredulously. If his dad could slip out of a crowded banquet hall where he was the honored guest to get in a round of golf, then he could easily slip away from his three older brothers, their wives, kids, and a few grandchildren. Lord, who did they leave behind? Nick counted. Nobody.

"They clung on like Rat Terriers," the elder Stokes insisted. "You know how dogged our family can be when people whisper the words BBQ and free."

Nick groaned. "Jillian and Roger Stokes, this is my guy, Warrick Brown," Nick announced.

"Warrick, we haven't heard nearly enough about you," Jillian stated in the "mom tones" Nick had grown up with and learned to dread.

"The Warrick I heard about was a dear friend," Roger added, fueling the fire. "So, when did that change? Details, Poncho, details."

Various relatives began to honk their horns for attention, children decried their starved state, and an RV, carrying Nick's sister Patricia, a.k.a Patty or sometimes Pattycake, and her entire family, circled them like a vulture. His brother-in-law Matt leaned out and gave Nick a 'thumbs up'. Nick was getting one of Gil's migraines.

"We better pick up some extra food," Warrick suggested, sounding calm and reasonable despite being stared at by an entire pack of Stokes.

"Nah, Dad, we're practically natives now. We know where to go for the best. Follow us." Nick climbed back into the truck and shared a look with Warrick. "Do you want to try and lose them?"

Warrick flipped out his cell phone. "Your dad is a judge, Nicky. I'm sure he knows some of the local law enforcement types and they'd just track us down." He dialed. "Elaine, Nick's parents have arrived with a much bigger group than we were expecting. We plan to stop at Big Al's Fine Meats. Is there anything you need us to add to the order?" Warrick

made some quick notes. "What time does Mitchell's Produce close?" He smiled. "Oh, then just ask him to bring something with him and we'll settle up when we get there. Okay. You're a dear. Bye." He closed the phone.

"Elaine says not to worry your pretty little head about it and that I should kiss you." Warrick kissed Nick while he was waiting for the light to change. "I like the way she

"If I hear the word 'Cupcake' from your lips, there better be one nearby," Brown warned.

Jillian beeped her horn, letting them know the light had changed, and Nick pulled onto the road. They arrived at Big Al's and picked out a lot of good meat. It took longer to get everyone back into their cars than it did to shop. A Stokes child can be downright slippery. Roger took up a collection amongst Nick's uncles and paid for everything. Nick kept himself between Rick and his mother, who was looking to grill the man over her baby boy.

Getting everyone parked at the house took a bit of a shuffle, but once they got the RV sitting in front of the barn, it all worked out. So what if Patricia had to be the last one to leave.

Nick handled the introductions while keeping Warrick close to him and shooting warning glances at his mother. But the day Jillian Stokes would be scared off by anyone had not yet dawned. Sooner or later, she would have her quiet chat with Warrick.

"Hi, Nick," Princess Lindsey called as she rushed over to the Stokes family. She looked adorable in her jeans and peach-colored t-shirt with the sequined tiara on it. "Here are the party assignments. Please hand them out."

"Mom, Dad, this is Lindsey Willows, Catherine's daughter, who is known as Princess Lindsey while in residence here," Nick explained. "Lindsey, these are my parents -- Roger and Jillian."

"Everyone has to help to make the party a success," Lindsey explained. "I knew that anyone related to Nick would not only be pretty, but very useful." She took Roger's hand. "Like you."

"I love this child," Roger declared. "Can I keep her? I need more granddaughters. They're running 6 grandsons to 2 granddaughters. What kind of odds are those?"

Nick shook his head. Now Warrick would think insanity ran amok in the family. He read the top sheet. They needed a lifeguard at the pool for two hours. "Jake, you're a lifeguard."

"Cool," his nephew Jake responded. Jake was his brother Charles's oldest son and people said he and Nick favored each other. He headed toward the direction Nick was pointing, pulling off his shirt as he went. A feminine cheer went up as the college student rounded the corner.

"Kim, they need help at the vegetable grill," Nick informed his vegetarian niece. "Don't cook everything up. Several people here eat raw."

"And no matter what he tells you, don't let Tom Chang cook," Warrick warned. "It's a crying shame what that man can do to food."

Stokes continued to hand out assignments until all the pages were gone. That's when he noticed that his mom and Warrick were also gone. "Damn." His lover was in the hands of a professional mom.

Warrick knew the library would be deserted, so that's where he took Jillian so they could have their talk. "It's quiet here," he explained.

Jillian sat down on the couch and cocked her head to the left just like Nick. It made Warrick smile. "What?" she asked.

"You turned your head like Nick." He stopped, embarrassed at his mistake. "I mean, Nick turns his head like you."

Jillian smiled. "You're in love with him," she announced as if it were a surprise.

"Yes, Ma'am," Warrick agreed. He began to pace. "I loved him before we ever... dated. I mean it was... he was my best friend. We loved to tease each other. Still do." Brown's hands dived into the pockets of his shorts, almost by themselves. He tried a calming breath and was moderately successful. "It surprised me when it went beyond that." He stopped again. "Too much information." Warrick calculated his chances of dashing for it. They were good. She was well into her sixties and he was fast.

Nick would just have to attend all family events as a solo act. Where every buxom Texas pretty would press her tits into Nick's face and ask for his help... with their orgasms. Man, he could not win.

"Haven't you met a young man's or woman's mother before?" she asked, sounding like laughter was being held back by the slimmest of margins.

"Nick is the first man... and with women I either already knew their mothers or we didn't get that far." Warrick considered running for it again. He knew this town now. He could hide. Unfortunately, Gil would use the hounds to track him.

"It's beginning to look like it," Warrick answered truthfully. A quick hospitalization might spare him a lot of trauma. Maybe not. Suddenly he could see himself at the mercy of the Stokes clan while all he had on was a hospital gown.

"Come here and sit down, young man," Jillian ordered with calm authority. With her large family, the woman must have gotten a lot of practice in laying down the law. Warrick obeyed. "Nick used to go on and on about you, then he went quiet. Suddenly it was Warrick this and Gil that with an occasional Renata thrown in. I was very pleased to be invited to this gathering to meet you and this new family he's surrounded himself with."

Warrick lowered his head. "I used to be articulate, Mrs. Stokes. It was one of my gifts. Now I sound like a boob."

"Which tells me two things. That my opinion of you really matters, which touches me, and that Nick has made me out to be a very bad mother-in-law." The look on her face wasn't serious. "Chill, Warrick. Now what's rushing through your handsome head?"

Handsome? "That if I start running now, I could make it out of the county before they realize I'm gone," Brown admitted.

Jillian laughed. She had a great laugh. "Okay, let me get the preliminaries out of the way. Have you ever been married before?"

"Almost, but she wasn't as exclusive as I wanted her to be," Warrick answered. "It burned me on relationships for a while."

This was a touchy subject. "Yes, her name is Kennedy," he answered, "but her mother insists she is her husband's child."

"The husband she swore she no longer had," Warrick explained. "The husband she went running back to when she found out she was pregnant. The husband who told me flat out I didn't have a leg to stand on because he and Tracy were still legally married and that he'd never let his child be raised by a gambler."

"Of course he does. He saw the pictures and asked. Nick told me that he'd help me look after her. It was the only time he's made me cry." Warrick almost extracted his wallet to show her the last picture he'd managed to get. He was nothing but a stalker in his daughter's life.

"I'd like to see the picture," Jillian said, holding out her hand. Maybe Nick hadn't been kidding about her psychic abilities.

Warrick pulled out his wallet and flipped to the picture. It was almost a year old and getting a little dog-eared from frequent viewing. "Kennedy is eleven now. This was taken last June. It's really hard for me to see her now that they've moved to Phoenix."

Jillian studied the photo of the green-eyed girl with a thick mass of brown curls and deep dimples. She was sitting on a bench while lacing up her rollerblades. "She has your eyes and your chin."

Jillian returned the photo and surprised Warrick with a strong hug. Now he knew Nicky had learned to hug from his mother. "Are you still gambling?" she asked.

"Not for years. Nick was the closest to gambling I've come in a long time," Warrick stated. "You could say he's the biggest pot I've ever taken home." Brown stopped. Was he grossing out Nick's mom?

"That's so sweet," Jillian declared. "Would you consider adopting with Nick?" she asked. "I know he's always wanted kids so he can drive his father and me further into poverty because of our grandparent overspending tendencies."

"Yes, I would," Warrick answered. He paused. "There are a lot of you. Can you afford another grandchild?"

"There's always room for one more," she insisted, hugging Warrick again. "I'm so sorry, Warrick." Jillian pulled him a little tighter to herself.

"I saw you and just knew you had to be some gorgeous heartbreaker," she tried to explain. "Nick's the baby, if that's an excuse."

"He's pretty large for a baby, Jillian, and I'm not gorgeous," Warrick felt compelled to point out.

"Yes, you are," Jillian replied as if she were making closing arguments. "Now let's get out there before my brothers-in-law drain the last beer, eat all the ribs, and tell all of the best lies."

Nick was kept from rushing into the house to hunt down his boyfriend and save him from Jillian "You Are Not Good Enough for My Baby" Stokes, when his brother Charles waylaid him.

"Nick, we have to talk," Charles insisted. No one looking at the two them would doubt that Nick and Charles were brothers. They had the same coloring, the same facial features, and with the exception of some silver on Charles's part, the same hair. Nick was just more muscular than his brother.

"I have to save Warrick, Charlie," Nick informed his older brother. "Mom has got him. He's probably cowering in a corner right now."

"He can take care of himself, Nick," Charles insisted, "and she is going to love Warrick. I do."

Nick decided not to kick his brother in the head for the duration of the visit. "Thanks, man. That means a lot to me."

"I need to warn you, Nick," Charles began, his voice low. He looked around as if he expected one of their sisters to be nearby and eavesdropping. A distinct possibility at all times. "It's that Grissom guy."

"He's got it bad for you, Nick. B A Double-D, BAD," Charles stated. "You need to let him know the score before he wiggles his way in between you and Warrick. Warrick is so quiet and intense. That's the kind of lover who will haunt you because their pain is something you feel. Don't let Grissom ruin that for you."

Nick could have never imagined having this "protect your relationship with a man" conversation with his conservative brother. In fact, Charles had always made it a point to let Nick know that he never wanted any details of his sexual relationships with either men or women.

"Gil is a handsome man and he's smart. You've always been attracted to smart and to helpless. Bookworms can always play the helpless card," Charles advised him.

"Charlie, it's okay. I know Gil has the hots for me. I also know he has the hots for Warrick." Nick looked back toward the card tables where Gil was playing. "We have him contained, controlled, and occasionally tied to the bed."

Charles's eyes went wide. "A three-way?" he asked, sounding both intrigued and scandalized.

"A three-way," Charles mumbled before heading back to the yard. He pulled his wife into his arms and bent her over in a strong, passionate kiss.

"That turned you on, didn't it?" Nick whispered. He headed into the house only to meet Rick and Jillian coming out. "Do I need to file charges, Warrick?" he asked. "I'll testify against her."

"Don't talk that way around my new son-in-law," Jillian insisted. She took Warrick's arm. "Lead me to those ribs, Son," she insisted.

They headed to the buffet table just to the right of the main grill. Nick's uncle Brian, the oilman, was chatting up Elaine. Nick wondered if he should tell Elaine she would have to sign a prenuptial the size of a phonebook?

"Warrick, let me give you a little primer on the family," Brian offered. "I'm the oldest of the uncles and the best looking."

"Smart kid." Brian nodded toward Nick. "That one has me wrapped around his finger, unlike his sisters, who don't fool me for a second."

"Sure, kid. Windup or radio-controlled?" Brian asked in all seriousness. He loaded some ribs onto a plate and handed it to Jillian.

Brian put down his utensils and pulled Warrick into his arms. Warrick towered over the older man, but Brian was much more muscular. "Of course, Rick. You just have to call me 'Big Daddy' and sit in my lap whenever I ask."

"I was getting my own until you two showed up and let Elaine compare us and see how old I am," Brian complained. "A fat wallet can only go so far."

"It was your bottom and not your wallet that caught my eye, Brian," Elaine said silkily as she eased away with a careful look over her shoulder.

Brian nodded. "I might need to have one on standby." He patted his face with his apron.

Greg's party duties included one hour of "entertain the little ones". Grissom had insisted Greg was the man for the job due to his "mental age proximity" or some such comment. Sanders had missed most of it because Archie was teasing his earlobe at that moment. Now he had eleven squirming kids looking up at him as if he knew what he was doing.

"Are you a mad scientist?" a miniature Stokes asked. Cute kid. Apparently a Stokes male was quite harmless at this age.

"Yes, I am," Greg replied before looking around, "but I'm not the maddest scientist here," he added in a whisper of gravest secrecy.

Eyes enlarged, the children moved closer. He carefully pointed at Grissom. "Don't let him see you looking," he warned, ducking behind several crates of recently arrived produce. Sanders wondered how much clout you had to have to get the owner of a produce store to personally bring you extra food?

The kids gathered up and cautiously peeked, with varying degrees of success, at Grissom, who was harmlessly engaged in conversation with Trickster Rhodes. The two men's intensity, peppered with occasional shudder-producing cackles from Trickster, were giving Greg ideas.

"Someone who knows bugs," a little raven-haired angel answered. Greg thought she was either Arthur Hellstrom's daughter or stepdaughter as she'd arrived clutching the businessman's hand while Doctor Esau Warner guided another little girl. They were a cute family.

"He doesn't just know bugs, he can communicate with them and control them," Greg informed the crowd. He ducked all the way down and waved them closer. "Without bugs, we would have no food because plants need bugs to make fruits, vegetables, and flowers and animals need plants to survive."

"Wow," little Stokes gushed, daring to have another glance at the Master of All Insects.

"His Empire is vast," Greg continued. "He can even get bugs to help him solve crimes and locate people who are missing."

Sanders pointed out an ant. "That's a scout," he told the children. "Nothing should stop him from finding food and reporting its location to the rest of the colony, but he will bow down before Grissom and offer his life to please his human master."

Rhodes unfurled a drawing of a huge spider with some kids standing against its legs to show scale. Little Stokes covered his mouth to keep from crying out and ducked back down to report.

"He's growing giant spiders," Little Stokes informed them. The other kids popped up like jack-in-the-boxes to have their own looks. The poster was damning. Greg could not have planned it better. They huddled back down and looked to Greg to guide them. Their very survival depended on it.

"Give him peas?" Little Stokes asked, incredulous. "That's not going to work. He'll spit them in our faces."

"Appease, that means to make him like us," Little Hellstrom interpreted. Smart kid. She probably knew Greg was pulling their legs, but she was enjoying the game.

"There's an art room in the basement of the house and if we went inside and got some of the supplies and made insect-themed artwork, we might gain his favor." Greg paused just in time to hear Trickster again cackle like a madman. The kids were ready to run for it. "Okay, as casually as you can, we need to go into the house and get the stuff."

They started out at a casual stroll, but Grissom waved at Greg, Trickster cackled, and the kids made a mad dash for the safety of the basement with Little Hellstrom leading the way. Grissom frowned.

Jim Brass was so full he could have slipped into a coma, but he didn't plan to sleep in this lawn chair when he had a comfortable bed waiting on him. Even if he did have to share it with Bobby Dawson for one night.

Brass turned his attention back to his duty. The kids were pitching tents in the backyard, a skill Brass did not have, and he was supervising. Sara, Nick, Archie, and Greg did have tent-pitching skills and Brass was fine with exploiting them to finish "his" project.

Jim may have not been a scientist, but he could count. The Stokes grandchildren, with the exception of the infant, numbered eleven, yet there were eighteen kids in the group. When the word got around that the Stokes children would be camping in Elaine's backyard, nothing would do but to invite the other children at the barbeque to also stay. Now Jim was supposed to entertain them.

Chris McKenzie pulled out a galvanized washtub full of bottled water and ice and placed it in the center of the tent circle. This would keep the "glass of water" requests down. "Here you go, Jim." McKenzie placed two bottles of water on the table.

"Don't mind if I do," McKenzie replied as he sat down. He opened a bottle and had a drink. "What's the planned entertainment for the kids?"

"I thought about telling the kids some 'stupid crook' stories, but the Stokes women read me the riot act about 'adding to the trauma of their children who were already in eternal servitude to Gil Grissom'." Brass began to laugh and Chris joined him.

"I thought the man was going to have a stroke," Chris snickered. "His eyebrows were wiggling so much I that I was just waiting for them to fly right off his face."

Jim could still see Gil's expression as he began to receive tokens from the kids, who were hoping to appease him and be allowed to co-exist within his Kingdom of Insects. Keeping his face neutral, Grissom kindly praised each child's effort to capture the likeness of some backyard resident and accepted their "tribute" while assuring them their places were secure.

Elaine asked her neighbors Arthur Hellstrom and Barry Winthrop to take the kids to visit the horses, giving Gil a chance to dress down a highly amused Greg Sanders. It didn't help matters when Warrick, Renata, Nick, Archie, Bobby, Sara, Hank, Mike, and Catherine literally hit the lawn and rolled around on it laughing their asses off. Hank said that scene alone was worth the cost of a round-trip ticket to attend the barbeque.

Jim had it all on videotape, from gift giving to hiccuping pleas for water and dry underwear, and it was going to play a prominent role during the next Christmas/Hanukkah/Yule party. Brass had never heard anyone cursed out using 12 or more letter words before. Practically the only word Brass had understood was "imbecile". It was priceless.

"I can hardly compete with that," Jim admitted, "but I have it on good authority that the 'Space Academy' books are all the rage. Especially if you have Archie and Greg doing the sound effects for you."

"That's cool," Chris said approvingly. The big man chuckled as some of the Stokes boys had the other kids checking their shoes for scorpions. An extremely remote possibility in Elaine's yard.

They were much more likely to be set upon by ducks as the kids had started feeding the beasts and they began following people around and squawking. When the ducks had vanished near sunset, Roger Stokes had sworn they were in his trunk awaiting cooking. For a judge, the man was quite fun.

"What are you going to say when they offer you a position here?" Chris asked, surprising Jim.

"You were invited for a reason, Jim," Chris insisted. "The lab has a senior police officer position to fill, and I know that you're going to be offered the job."

Jim paused. "Doing what?" If the position was public relations, he could never do that. The truth would leap from his lips and he'd be out on his butt before you could say 'jackass'.

"The same thing you've been doing for the last three weeks," Chris answered. "You'll direct investigations, coordinate with different police departments, and stamp down on our wild theories while crushing our spirits."

Jim was beset with giggles. He was saved from responding by the momentary distraction of a child having zipped himself up in his bedroll so that only the top of his blond head was showing. He fell to the ground and began to roll. Nick swooped in for the rescue and tickled the little boy until he declared Nick to be the best uncle in the world.

Brass thought about what he had waiting for him in Vegas -- an empty apartment, few friends, and nowhere to go career-wise -- before he answered. "I will definitely consider it."

Due to overcrowding, Jillian and Roger were spending the night in the cottage. While they had no problem with Nick and Warrick sharing a bed, it was expected after all, how could they explain why Gil was also sleeping with them and not Renata? Gil slipped into bed with Renata like a coward.

"Gil, are you going to take the job?" Renata asked. She was staring up at the ceiling, which was painted to look as if there was a giant skylight above them and nothing but blue skies between the occupants of the bed and heaven.

"I want to," Grissom admitted. "Not only would I be encouraged to continue my research, I would also hold an Associate Professor position with the University. It's like being paid twice to do the job I love."

"Warrick's roots are in Vegas. Nick would actually be moving closer to his roots, but not so close he couldn't be his own man and not the son of Judge Stokes and Attorney Stokes." Grissom gripped his friend's hand. "I can't leave him behind."

Renata rolled over and pecked him on the cheek. "I have been offered a job," she reported.

"Eason wear you down?" Gil asked, referring to the professional photographer, David Eason, who had charmed the team and made them look better than they had a right to look in his photos.

"He is very persistent." She sighed. "David was very impressed with my nude studies of you."

"Eason saw me naked and he still offered you a job?" Gil asked, genuinely surprised. "Why didn't you show him Warrick or Nick?"

"You were my best work and I pushed you forward when he asked which were the ones I considered my best," Renata explained. "He sat there, almost hypnotized by the way the light played off your hair or the closeups I'd done of your eyes. David actually licked his lips while he studied your

Gil was embarrassed, not of the work, because Renata had made him look very handsome, but of having another man see him like that. "What did he say?" he found himself asking.

"That I saw men, and not a lot of people did. He said that it was easy to photograph pretty boys, but that truly handsome, real men like you, were hard to capture because they were always thinking about what they considered to be flaws." She touched his chin. "I told him I saw no flaws only the difficulty in choosing an angle when blessed with so many riches. He understood."

Renata sat up a little. "I need to get away from Vegas, Gil. You, Nick, and Warrick are the only good things left there for me now that Sylvia has passed."

Sylvia was Renata's mother-in-law. She'd suffered a devastating series of strokes a month earlier and had never recovered. Sylvia had been Renata's last tie to her late husband. "I had been thinking about returning to Italy, starting fresh, but that would be going backwards, not forward."

Gil had a pain in his chest. He was losing Renata. But now was the time for that maturity people were always touting.

"You need to do what is best for you, Renata," Gil said firmly. "I don't think I could have come through these last few months so well if I hadn't had you to lean on. My hope for you is that you'll find as much happiness in your life as I've found in mine."

"Thank you," Grissom replied. "Now don't make me say anything else because I'll whimper and cry until you promise to never live more than five miles away from me."

Renata laughed and squeezed him with her reputed "fierce Italian strength", which she had developed while kneading bread. "Elaine said that I could live with her until I found a place I loved, but that the cottage was reserved for the three of you."

"That woman is... You know, you have to admire tenacity like that." Gil grinned. "It's been a long time since I've been hunted for my mind."

"It's the curse of a pretty man," Renata said sympathetically. "Always about the looks and so rarely about what is inside." She looked over Gill's shoulder to the clock. "Nick's parents should be asleep by now. Go to your men so I can sleep." She turned away and pulled the sheet up to her chin.

Gil kissed her temple, then slipped out of the bed and into the master bedroom. He didn't bother to knock. Nick and Warrick seemed to be waiting for him. Without saying a word, they held the covers up invitingly. Gil stripped off his shorts and worked his way into the middle, where he belonged.

"Ssshhhhh," Warrick admonished as he pressed an ampoule of lube against Gil's hole and injected it.

Gil's moan of need was captured by Nick's greedy mouth, as was his shout of primal joy as Warrick plunged his entire length into Gil's ass. Nick kept kissing Gil while working Grissom's tits. Warrick sucked Gil's neck and whispered sexy, desperate things to him as he gave Grissom the kind of brutal fuck he needed.

It was over far too soon, though Gil had been thinking he couldn't last another stroke. Warrick turned Gil around and kissed him even harder than Nick had. Again, Gil's screams were absorbed before they could be heard by others as his body accepted more lube and more cock.

It was too, too much for Gil to take and not enough to satisfy him. Gil took every stroke, deep and powerful, from Nick and begged him for more, though no one could hear. He wanted them to hear. He wanted to shout out "fuck me, Nick" and "fuck me, Warrick".

His men switched positions. Gil was placed on his back, his legs wide and high, and Warrick slid home. Nick fed him his only slightly softened cock and Gil sucked it back to fullness just in time for Nick to replace Warrick in Gil's happy hole. Gil had cum perhaps a million times before

their youth had let them down. Gil's shaking limbs were lowered and Grissom was kissed and fondled until he fell asleep. He dreamed of the Dragonfly House and making love in every room. It was so sweet.

Roger Stokes had a problem. His son's boyfriend was making pancakes on the grill in the outdoor kitchen for an appreciative audience while his son was in the cottage kissing another man. Roger had gone back to get his Prevacid, he had a problem with acid reflux, and caught sight of Gil Grissom having his tonsils sucked out by Nick. This would not do. Jillian and Roger adored Warrick, almost on sight, and this kind of betrayal could not be tolerated. Was this the same man he'd helped raise?

"Nicholas Andrew Stokes, get your hands off that man right this minute," Roger ordered. Okay, if it came to a fight, Roger didn't even stand a chance against Gil, let alone his muscular son, but if a man couldn't stand up to what he knew was wrong, then he was nothing.

"I think you're kissing Gil and have your hands in his pants, while the man you told your mother and me you loved is outside feeding the family horde," Roger observed. "What did I miss?"

"Then you should have stepped up to the plate before my son seduced that nice man outside," Roger replied hotly. "Did you hear Nick's song? 'Strong Like Texas' is an anthem of Rick's love for my obviously undeserving son. I won't have you crush that man. Nick, I raised you better than this. You don't introduce a man to your parents one day and fondle another man the next."

Roger got a cold, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. "The three of you?" he asked. "Are you nuts? How can you juggle two men?"

"What about Renata?" Roger asked. "You don't piss off an Italian woman. I know that for a painful fact, Nick. For the love of God, Son, you're playing with fire."

"Renata knows," Gil confessed. "After she and I were sure you and Jillian were asleep, I went to where I belonged. We haven't spent a night apart in months." That last sentence was spoken with such conviction that Roger had to accept it.

"I'm sorry, Nick. Warrick is such a part of you that when I thought I saw you throwing that away, it hurt me." Roger touched his son's shoulder. "Forgive me?" he asked.

"Sure, Cisco," Nick responded warmly. He hugged Roger fiercely, the only way his baby boy knew how, and patted his back. "I know you worry, Dad, but I'm in good hands."

"Okay," Roger agreed. He excused himself and retrieved his medication. When he rejoined the family by the outdoor kitchen, Warrick had his arms around Gil and he was guiding the older man's hand as he flipped a pancake.

"It's called a spatula, not a chisel, Baby," Warrick said soothingly as he helped Gil turn the food. "These are buckwheat pancakes for you, Jillian, and Carol."

Gil grinned, turned, and kissed Warrick on the lips. "Thanks," he said gratefully.

The kids were concentrating on the pancakes that were coming off the grill like a conveyor belt, not on the kissing. Only Jake, hardly a child at 19, noticed the heat of that kiss.

Jillian filled a plate for herself and Roger and secured them seats at one of the tables. "Only Nick could end up with two such different men," she noted.

"He inherited his mother's charm," Roger suggested. "It makes him a force of nature. Like you."

Jill smiled. "You've still got that Blarney Tongue, Darling. Don't ever change." They kissed.

Elaine knew that Gil was the weakest link, he was already halfway to Silver Lakes. The man could be anywhere and call it home, but Rayburn was fairly certain that only Nick and Warrick could make that place a real home. She didn't waste her time with him, he was already hers.

Nick would also be happy to make a new home in Silver Lakes. He fit in here, he was close enough to his first home to drive there in half a day, but far enough away that few people had ever heard of his parents. Again, Elaine didn't bother to work on the man. Nick would not resist.

Warrick was the lynchpin. If he said "no", then it was over. Neither Nick nor Gil would leave him behind and who could blame them? Elaine rescued the man from the clutches of two of Nick's sisters by telling them that she'd made extra pies for the Stokes family to take home with them and that they needed to retrieve them from the refrigerator before Bobby and Greg smelled them. They rushed away because if their uncles had heard the word "pie" there would be none left.

"Sure, Elaine," he agreed, giving her his easy smile. Warrick had the well-satisfied look of a man who had been successfully laid the night before.

They walked out to the pool, which was finally empty as everyone was still eating, packing, and preparing to depart.

"So, what did you think of our little town?" Elaine asked once they were seated.

Elaine understood, but she had no fondness for Vegas. In fact, she hated it, but that was a personal story and Rayburn did not plan to put the man on the defensive by telling it. "Could you live, work, teach, and settle down here?" she asked.

Warrick was quiet for a split second and she knew in that moment there was something or someone holding him back. "I could," he answered.

"Have you, Nick, and Gil discussed it yet?" she asked. Elaine didn't think it was too personal a question to ask.

"We decided to wait until we were driving back," Warrick answered. "The surroundings are too... seductive for discussions of that magnitude."

Warrick laughed. "Being in the cottage just seems to bring out the beast in us."

Elaine rubbed her neck with her water bottle. It didn't help. Warrick grinned at her, making it worse. Sometimes, being able to visualize things with highly accurate detail made concentrating on other more immediate things very difficult. She could see Nick's bare skin, a heavy sheen of sweat clinging to it, as the chords in his neck stood out as Gil sucked him down to the root and Warrick filled his beautiful ass. Yep, not the way to be seeing them at the moment.

"Were you comfortable here?" she asked, switching subjects. "It must have been quite a shock going from such a busy city to here."

Warrick nodded. "It was at first. I just kept waiting for them to roll up the sidewalks on us, then I found the night scene. Man, you really have some hot clubs here. We didn't even get to hit half of them."

"Did you make it to The Palette?" Elaine inquired. It was one of her favorite hot spots.

"Live band or DJ, professional dancers wearing nothing but body paint and g-strings, crap food so eat before you go, but great drinks. Sometimes they have these muscle-bound beauties, male and female, posing in the swings or flying over the crowd. A friend had her fortieth birthday party there and she made love to six different men behind the canvas and it was silhouetted for all of us to see." Elaine snickered. "What a screamer."

"It's always the quiet ones who go screamer on you," Warrick said sagely. He sounded like he was speaking from experience.

'So, Gil is a screamer,' she thought. Too much information on a man well off the market.

"She made the glasses rattle," Elaine reported, remembering her friend's big day. "You ought to take Gil to Belly. They'd worship him there."

"It's a hard core blues bar with a strange kink." Elaine leaned within conspiracy range. "No one knows why, but Belly is the place to go if you have a bear fetish. It's a bisexual establishment. A furry silver fox like Gil would end up stripped to the waist and dancing on the bar to a weeping guitar. Between songs, his admirers would drink shots of whiskey out of his navel."

"You should," Elaine encouraged. "You can do that here, but you cannot do that in Vegas. I can't offer you a better salary, but your money will go further here. I can, however, guarantee you that every management position will be open as you advance. You get the faculty rate for

continuing your education at the University. You will be paid to teach classes there in Investigative Techniques, Criminal Justice, and even Street Slang. You will never, ever be hassled by a cop, a prosecutor, or even a bail bondsmen in this city for being gay. Not if they want to

"When you get invited to conferences, we pay. If you're invited to speak or present, we not only pay, we give you a little extra for making us look good. You can be home here, Warrick." Elaine decided she'd said enough.

"Hey, Elaine, what about the brownies?" Grace, one of Nick's many sisters, asked.

"Darling, don't touch those brownies if you value your life and the lives of your children," Elaine responded. "Those are for Bobby and ballistics is his game. Your bodies would be riddled with untraceable bullets."

"That's company eating, when you intentionally overfeed, not their everyday eating style," she explained.

"It'll be waiting for you," Elaine promised. "All I need is an email to make it official and a phone call to make it family." She stood up and Warrick immediately rose to his feet also. "We better get back in there before they try to sneak off with those brownies. I will not have blood

Gil had gone over this in his mind again and again and again. Now it was time to ask the question. They seemed to have decided that the truck had to be physically out of Arkansas before the subject could be raised. "Warrick, what do you think?"

"It's a great opportunity. The lab has so much potential. We could spearhead the growth of its reputation instead of riding the coattails of those who came before us. You could work your magic, Gil, and Nick could take some rookies under his wing and guide them to being the best investigators they can be," Warrick declared.

"That's sweet, Rick," Nicky declared, leaning over the seat and kissing the back of Warrick's neck.

"It was like being home, but without being 'Judge Stokes's kid'. We did some class A investigating. We solved cases. It was great. I've never walked into a place knowing I already had everyone's respect before and I didn't have to earn it. That blew me away." Nick rubbed the back of Gil's neck without brushing Grissom's spot. "It felt good, natural, even."

"Yeah," Gil agreed, "my stint as Lord of All Insects, notwithstanding." Nick and Warrick began to snicker. He scowled. "It's not funny," he warned.

How could they have found that funny? Sanders needed to suffer for that stunt. Those poor little kids and their reasonably accurate handmade insects. He had to admit the centipede, composed of a segmented paper towel tube and pipe cleaners, was very well done and the ladybug had been quite beautiful. Grissom had insisted the young lady sign the work because it was that good.

"Okay, it was a tiny bit funny, but only a tiny bit," Grissom admitted after a bit. He'd never seen Hank laugh that hard in his life. Renata could only speak Italian. Make that squeak Italian. Sara had gotten the hiccups, which had made everyone else laugh the harder. Only Jim seemed to be able to hold it together, but he did turn away several times while continuing to film the entire disaster.

Cute. Gil knew how to strike back. "The center of the bed is going to be really cold tonight," he warned. That sobered them up. Silence reigned for several seconds. "Much better. Warrick, do you want to take the job?"

"Guys, I know I'm not the only one my Grams can count on in Vegas, but I'm not comfortable with the thought of being over a thousand miles away." Warrick didn't need to go on. For a long time, Ruth was all he had. It was only recently that his uncles and their families had moved to Henderson. They were almost strangers to him. That reason was enough to keep him in Vegas and where Warrick lived was where Gil wanted to be.

"Then let's not say anything else," Gil suggested, and no one disagreed. Grissom gave himself ten seconds to mourn the Silver Lakes job and the Dragonfly House. He vowed to never mention it again and Gil knew he could count on Nick to do the same.

Catherine hated when people moped. Nick, Gil, and Warrick were moping. She was sure they were still going hard at it in bed and the job was being done, but when one of them was out of sight of the others, they moped.

Willows didn't need a truck to hit her to know what was going on. They wanted to leave but one of them was holding the other two back. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was the holdout and once that was known, the reason fell right into place.

That's why she was sitting in the older woman's kitchen, sipping coffee and dishing the dirt. "So Gil's office is decorated with all of that artwork. It's just adorable."

Ruth, a.k.a Grams, Brown laughed softly. "My poor Gil. He just can't adjust to his ... exalted position." She tittered and pushed the tray of ultra delicious, carb-packed cookies toward Catherine and Willows had two.

"Jim has film and is accepting cash for a copy," Catherine reported. "I don't know how he kept that camera steady."

Ruth smiled. "This has been quite pleasant, Catherine. You know how I love to dish, but that's not why you're here, is it?"

"Did they tell you that Doctor Rayburn offered all of them a job there?" Catherine asked.

"I assumed that was the reason she asked you down in the first place," Ruth reasoned. "Obviously it didn't live up to their expectations or they would have taken the positions."

She said that so firmly that Catherine was a little taken aback. "Ruth, Nick and Gil didn't take it because it would have meant leaving Warrick behind."

Ruth frowned. "Did that Rayburn woman not offer my Warrick a job? Is she stupid? Warrick is the best investigator in the lab, maybe the country."

"No argument here," Catherine assured the woman, hoping to soothe her feathers. "Elaine offered Warrick a job, a chance to complete his Masters, and a place to stay until they found a house of their own."

Ruth frowned. "Then I don't understand," the older woman insisted. "The way Warrick was acting, I thought it hadn't worked out. Are you telling me he's passing up a great opportunity like this? Why?"

Ruth looked shocked. "Alone? What am I, some aged, blind dog?" she demanded. "I am not alone, Catherine. I have friends, I have family, and I have visitors."

Visitors = men friends, Catherine interpreted. 'You go, girl.' She hoped she was still getting it when she reached Ruth's age.

"I think Warrick is going to break up with Nick and Gil so they will leave," Catherine guessed. "I can see him working himself up to it, Ruth. He'll convince himself it was for the best and for the men he loves. Warrick just has no idea that they will fall apart without him."

Ruth calmly refreshed her coffee cup. "Catherine, silly damsels in long skirts send good men away, but that's only in books. I'd like to think Warrick is smarter than that."

"He's not thinking, Ruth, and that's one of the big problems. He can't see this clearly. I don't think Warrick has ever realized exactly how much he means to Nick and Gil. Not really. Warrick only knows how much they mean to him. They mean more to him than his personal happiness. I heard

him say that. That's when I knew he was working himself up to sending them away."

"We'll see about that," Ruth said, pushing the cookie plate toward Catherine again.

Willows, weak willed, snatched up another one even though she hadn't finished the ones she had. She could say she was taking it home to Lindsey, but it was a lie. By the time she made it home, even the crumbs would be a distant memory.

Warrick paced back and forth, practicing in his head the words that would shatter him but set Nick and Gil free to pursue their dreams. It was for the best. His Grams was his responsibility, not theirs. He could visit, if they would allow it. What was he thinking? Once he said those

damning words, they would never want to see his face, hear his name, or think about him ever again.

He didn't hit the wall. Not because he didn't want to but because his hands already hurt too much. "I'm sorry, Gil," he moaned. "So sorry, Nick."

The sound of his doorbell shocked him. Gil and Nick had keys. He looked out to see his Grams standing there and a taxi waiting at the curb. "Grams?"

His grandmother Ruth never took taxis, who were bandits preying on the confused. Why should she take a taxi when the buses ran 24/7? Besides, if the bus was good enough for Rosa Parks, it was good enough for Ruth Brown.

Warrick rushed out and paid the fare, a travesty that mysteriously corrected itself to about half the price when the driver saw his badge. He returned to his townhouse.

"I wish I'd known you were coming over Grams, I would have made you something," Warrick said as he closed the door. His grandmother never rode in cabs and she never came over to his place without calling once she knew about Nick. She loved her grandson no matter who he had fallen in love with, but she did not want to see it. Something was wrong.

"Baby, you don't have to put yourself out for me," Grams declared as she took a seat on the couch. "I need to talk to you about Silver Lakes."

Warrick felt his stomach tighten. He glanced out of the window, almost expecting Gil and Nick to be pulling into the driveway. "It just wasn't meant to be, Grams, but Nick and Gil could go. Should go," he corrected as he sat beside her.

"And you'll just stay behind like some heroine left on the shore?" She snorted. "Warrick, that would eat out your insides as sure as if you'd swallowed Drano." She gazed at him levelly. "Didn't you sit in my kitchen, holding Nick's hand, and tell me he was your man?"

"I've never seen you afraid of me before, Baby," Grams stated. "You couldn't let go of his hand and Nick wouldn't let you. The two of you were ready to take me on and he was ready to support you if I wasn't sensible enough to see your love as a good thing after Tracy and Jeanette."

Warrick used to believe he'd always hurt when he heard those women's names. He was wrong. Jeanette was a dull ache, but it was for their daughter Kennedy. Tracy was almost totally forgotten. Warrick had to concentrate in order to bring her face to his mind.

"It had a different kind of excitement," he answered. "It was the little town that could and they are very proud of that. We all really enjoyed ourselves. Gil's birthday was a highlight, but it wasn't the only one."

"Warrick, do you want to work there?" Grams asked, giving him the "don't lie to me, boy" look. It had been a very long time since he'd seen that look directed at him. It was when he'd had to tell her how much money he'd lost gambling.

Brown tried to come up with a way to say no when the truth was yes. "There are problems," he tried.

Warrick checked the driveway and it was still empty. "Grams, I would love to go there, but I need to stay close to you. Nick and Gil... they need to go. It's such a wonderful opportunity for them."

"All they have to do is leave you behind," Grams finished. She clapped him on the side of the head.

"Ow," Warrick complained as he moved out of range. "Why did you do that?" he demanded.

"Because your brain isn't sitting in the right spot, Warrick, and I needed to adjust it," Grams answered, obviously angry. "I know you remember how torn up you were when Jeanette went back to that bald man." Grams always called Jeanette's husband, Gary, "that bald man". "Don't you think Gil and Nick will feel just as bad, if not worse? Baby, that kind of pain and loss will eat at them until it breaks them apart.

"So instead of three men united, it will be three lonely men who can never trust another soul with their hearts. You will be here, Nick will go back to Texas, Gil will drift off until he's only surrounded by strangers." Her eyes were moist. "Don't do that, Baby. Don't hurt my boys like that."

Warrick didn't want to cry, but the tears were flowing. He could see Gil lost and alone, his trust completely shattered. And Nick. Nick would fade into his family, be the "best uncle" and never build his own life. Both men would curse his name. Warrick would be too eaten with guilt to risk anyone else's heart because they would all have to compete with the ghosts of Nick and Gil.

Nick and Gil walked in without ringing the bell. Nick was balancing two grocery bags while Gil was bringing Warrick's dry cleaning inside.

"Lucy, we're home," Nick teased. The smile on the man's face vanished when he saw the two Browns sitting on the couch.

"You should have seen --" Grissom stopped. He dropped the dry cleaning bag and rushed over to Warrick. That made Warrick feel even guiltier for his plans. "What's happened?" Gil asked, his hands caressing Warrick's face.

"Warrick was just telling me how much the three of you wanted to go to Silver Lakes and I was reminding him that I have two sons, two daughters-in-law, and nine other grandchildren," Grams answered. She patted Warrick's shoulder. "You boys have a lot to do. Three houses to

sell, all of that furniture to move, plus the packing." She smiled mischievously. "I know you're not expecting me to pitch in, Boys. I'm old and helpless. I can't be doing all of that manual labor."

Warrick started to laugh and Gil hugged him more tightly. Nick carried the groceries into the kitchen. Everything was so normal that you would never have guessed how close Warrick had come to destroying it all in a stupid attempt to "do the right thing".

"Ricky, it's okay," Gil insisted. "Maybe Ruth will get more action now that we won't be hanging around and scaring off her men."

Warrick clung to the older man, not speaking. Not daring to speak. All he could do was cling. Gil kept promising everything would be alright and Warrick needed to hear that in order to believe it.

"Excuse me, Grams," Nick said softly as he squeezed in between Warrick and Grams. "I need some of this." He wrapped his arms around Warrick and Gil, too.

"She's not upset, Ricky," Gil declared, his voice sounding totally reasonable, as usual. "You are not abandoning her. We wouldn't go if you were."

"I was going to tell you two to go," Warrick confessed, "and to leave me here." The hugging ended abruptly.

"But we're not idiots, Warrick. We'd know what you were doing and why and we'd stay," Gil informed him.

Warrick hiccuped. "I didn't want you to hate me once you realized what you'd given up to stay with me. I couldn't take that." It was the first time he'd really put into words the gut-wrenching panic he'd begun to feel the moment they'd seen the "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign.

"You're not thinking, Warrick," Gil admonished. "We were perfectly happy in Vegas before we went to Silver Lakes, we would still be happy if we stuck together."

"Silver Lakes isn't perfect, Warrick," Nick added. "They have mosquitoes the size of small helicopters there."

"They have to borrow the Philharmonic Orchestra from Little Rock," Gil added distastefully. "They only have one repertory theater and the Broadway Series was performing 'The Lion King'. Yuck."

"The Silver Wolves kicked the Cowboys' ass twice last year and that must not be encouraged," Nick declared. "The Cowboys are America's football team, not the bitches of the Silver Lake Silver Wolves. 30 to 10 and 27 to 3? It was a travesty."

"The Crime Lab has helicopters and teaches highly stressed adrenaline junkies how to fly them," Gil reminded him. "That can't be wise."

"When they say a movie is opening up in a 'selected city', you know they're never talking about Silver Lakes, or any other city in Arkansas," Nick informed him.

"I'd have to run your admirers over with my heavily tricked out truck to keep the numbers down," Gil insisted. "I know how to hide bodies, but all that lifting and dragging will be bad for my back."

Warrick couldn't suppress a laugh. "What about that crowd at Belly?" he asked. "Nick had to threaten a couple of them with the fire extinguisher."

The threesome had walked into Belly to find a smoking club atmosphere, leather arm chairs, wooden tables heavy enough to support three dancing men and not budge, a live band fronted by a bluesman, named Big Sonny, you knew had been through the wringer two or three times, and some really good food.

The host, a huge, handsome brother named Adolphus, took one look at Gil and declared Grissom's money was no good in his place. The drinks started arriving from other men and women before their seats could get warm. While the front man sang about divorcing his trifling wife and marrying his much more attentive mother-in-law, the three men went from surveying the club and its denizens to dancing, laughing, and singing

By round two, Gil was on the table sans shirt and shaking what his momma gave him; purely as "an exercise in the cultural dynamics of pursuing our more primitive state". Yeah, right. Warrick's Sugar Bear off on being admired just like everyone else did. They'd closed the place down just as the sun was coming up. No one had to teach them how to stay up late. Grissom had been almost too hot to handle by the time they returned to the cottage. For once, Gil had worn both Nick and Warrick out sexually.

Warrick stroked the other man's silver-shot curls and matching beard, which had driven the bear-loving crowd wild. They actually hushed when he spoke. At least two women were ready to conceive his fur-bearing babies right there. Yeah, Belly was a dangerous place to take a man like Gil Grissom.

Knowing how close he was to making an even bigger fool of himself by crying, Warrick turned away from Gil, only to come face-to-face with Nick. Stokes's big brown eyes held him hard. So damn hard. These were the eyes that Warrick found nearly impossible to resist. While his professed weakness was for Nicky's ass and sometimes his smile, Nick's eyes were Warrick's true Achilles' heel.

"As dumb as it was to think we'd fall for your game and leave you, Warrick," Nick began, "it defies all logic for you to believe you could do without us."

Warrick felt as if he were falling and spinning. He closed his eyes reflexively and opened them to find himself looking up toward the ceiling. His head was nestled in Nick's lap. Nick and Gil were hovering over him.

Nick traced Warrick's lower lip with his thumb and Warrick sucked it into his mouth without thinking. In that simple gesture, Stokes had proved himself right. Nick didn't have to say a word. They all knew his point had been quite successfully made. Warrick would have gone crazy without them.

"Can you tell me one thing, Warrick?" Gil asked, his voice holding a pain Warrick knew he'd caused. "Can you tell me why?"

"I didn't want to be Sara," Warrick answered without pausing to think. "I didn't want to be so caught up in what I wanted and needed that I couldn't see you were better off without me. Warrick Brown does not cling. Gil would finally be in an environment where... Damn, Nicky, you saw it. Did anyone once give him that strange sideways look when he spouted off some scientific tidbit or appropriate quote? Okay, so no one on the team or many of the techs here would ever do it, but Gil was explaining why that homemade cleaner worked so well on the bloodstain to the head of maintenance and the woman was hanging on his every word."

Warrick laughed. "While I will concede that the majority of Silver Lakes did want to get to know the carnal side of our Sugar Bear, Lynn was interested in the removal of blood and more than willing to listen to the scientist talk about his entire experiment to get the information."

"She told me you sometimes had to wade through shit chest-high to get to the nugget, but there were a lot of nuggets coming from the Geeks," Gil recalled. "She was proud of them."

"A reason for civic pride versus a necessary evil, guys. That's what I wanted you to have," Warrick tried to explain. "My place was here, looking after Grams."

"Who has been looking after herself for close to fifty years," Grams called from the kitchen. "And when did you become so organized?" she asked. "Your spices are alphabetized."

"Elaine is a bad influence," Warrick responded. He tried to sit up, but Nick held him in place. He tried again, but Gil was also not letting him up either. "Guys?"

"Sorry, Warrick, you're our prisoner," Nick explained, sounding like the sheriff of some dusty Texas town. "We've never had you this helpless before."

"My Grams is in the next room and I will scream for help like a B-Movie Queen," Warrick warned. "There are knives in that room."

"He's still my baby, Boys, no matter how stupid he's been acting," Grams informed them. That made Warrick smile.

"If you and Gil are going with me, the answer is yes," Nick replied. "Do you want to take it?" he asked Warrick.

Warrick nodded, but he knew his Grams was listening and nodding wasn't good enough. "Yes, I do."

"Finally, an email I'm looking forward to sending," Gil noted. He bent low and gave Warrick a long, long kiss that seemed to last about an hour. Brown was absolutely light-headed.

"No, you do it like this," Nick informed the older man before he laid a long hot wet one on Warrick that made Brown's brain short out. "See?" Nick asked as he left Warrick panting. "Look at how peaked his nipples are."

Grams walked out of the kitchen and hit Grissom up for cab fare. She walked out as if it were already there. Brown's head was still swimming. He tried to get up and pay for his grandmother's transportation, but his legs weren't up to the challenge and his captors weren't interested in letting him go.

"Now that your protection has left, and for a surprisingly small bribe I might add, we get to punish you for as long as we want," Gil announced. He twisted Warrick's nipples, causing Brown to whimper like a puppy. "That was just a taste, Brown Sugar."

'Brown Sugar'? Oh no he didn't. Gil had just laid a tag on him that if anyone other than Nick heard, Warrick would have to kill them. Even Catherine would have to snuff it. Lindsey would survive, but she would have to dye her hair, change her name, move to Montreal, and learn to speak French.

"I like that," Nick said enthusiastically, dooming Warrick. "Brown Sugar. It fits," he said, having a lick.

"Big Sonny was singing that song about his Brown Sugar and it made me think about Ricky." Gil was doing that purring voice thing that always made Warrick shiver. "Warrick is our Brown Sugar."

"Calling me 'Ricky' was fine," Warrick encouraged. "It was cute, a bit embarrassing, and fine. I can live with 'Ricky'."

"You can't take my nickname for you away," Gil stated firmly. "If you get to act like an idiot and threaten everything we've built up, then I get to give you an embarrassing nickname." His stubborn look presented itself on his face and settled in for the night.

Warrick could read the writing on the wall. A task made especially easy since the lettering was two-feet tall. He'd planned to throw everything they'd built back into his men's faces. He'd hurt their feelings. He needed to crawl on his belly and beg. He would respond to 'Brown Sugar', even in public. "Whatever you say, Gil," he responded in his best

Gil wiggled his cell phone out of his pocket. It was a fun exercise for Warrick. He dialed a long distance number he'd obviously memorized. "Hello, Elaine, put down your male toys, it's Grissom. No, I'm not tired of either Nick or Warrick and I will not be shipping them to you wearing only a bow." He paused and his eyes widened. "Really? Okay, I'd love to rummage through your toy box. But the reason I called was to tell you that Nick, Warrick, and I would like to accept the jobs, if they're still available." He placed his hand over the phone. "She's thinking about it," he whispered.

"What?" Gil asked. He smiled. "Yes, we'll still need to stay in the cottage until our house is ready. Have they sold the Dragonfly House yet?" Grissom pumped his fist. "Yes! Call Sam Cross and tell him its sold, to us. Right. We'll call you back when we have a few more details nailed down. Thank you for this opportunity." He smiled even wider. "You're very welcome." Grissom closed his phone.

"She thanked us for believing in Silver Lakes's dream and making it come true," Gil answered. "I was touched."

The party was winding down; Sara had stayed away from Grissom, Nick, and Warrick for most of the night. She wasn't worried about them making a scene. After all, they were guests in Henry Dayton's home and they would never do anything to upset Gil's friend. Now was the time to say

Sidle knew she was the only member of the team who did not receive a job offer, even if no one had said anything about it. She even knew why. It had nothing to do with her skills. Sara just didn't and wouldn't fit into their little town. She needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and hating the fact she wasn't offered the job she didn't want.

"When do you guys head out?" Sara asked as she moved to where the three men were standing around Greg and teasing the younger man about Archie.

Sara nodded and the four men waited. All of her practiced speeches fled from her brain and her mouth proceeded without conscious thought to back it up. "I'm in therapy."

"It's exhausting," Sara answered. "I'm not sure if it's helping, but it is cleansing. I can't seem to leave that woman's office without a good cry."

"Sometimes, that's what it takes," Greg said. He looked over at Archie, who was chatting with Hank, and smiled. "Excuse me." He walked over and put his arm around Archie's waist. Who knew it would take an A/V guy to settle Greg down?

"I... I'm an idiot. A total idiot. I was so jealous, spiteful, and... stupid." Sara sighed and wished she had a drink at almost exactly the same time she reminded herself that drinking had already cost her too much. "Stupid," she repeated. "I've got a library of excuses for my stupidity, but not one of them is worth jack shit."

They were still waiting. For once, Sara had their undivided attention and she was wasting it. "I'm sorry. What I said was a lie and we all know it. I know you're going to be huge successes in Silver Lakes."

"That's the plan," Nick responded. Warrick was still looking at her with hard eyes. Sara had stepped over the line with that man and no hasty apology, no matter how genuine, was going to make him forget that. Grissom was equally silent.

Sara tried again. "I was striking out. I do that almost automatically. Luckily, it's a learned behavior and can be unlearned." Having reached the end of her apology abilities and knowing the guys would rather hug something covered in acid than her, she turned and left; not just the group but the house. She made it all the way home before she allowed herself to cry.

"Guys, I know you were looking forward to a few days to unpack and acclimate yourself, but I need you to hit the ground running," Elaine announced as she passed out identical folders to the three men. "Twelve years ago, this man was convicted in the murder of his wife and son. He got the death penalty. Two days ago, another man confessed to the killings, along with three other similar murders. We have just five days to review the evidence before the prisoner is due to be executed."

"Not our usual haunts, but that's why we've been called in." Elaine took a deep breath and let it out slow. "I know I can count on your thoroughness. Gil, I need you to pull a specialty team together and --" she stopped. "Can you do pressurized flight yet?"

She pulled something up on her computer and then tapped on her phone. "KeShawn Wayne please." Elaine paused, cradling the receiver on her shoulder. "KeShawn, are my trucks ready yet? Great. Can you have them delivered to the Lab before noon? Thanks, Big Guy." She hung up the phone.

"Three of our new trucks are ready for the road," Elaine announced. "Grissom, assemble your team, take them from any shift that you need, and kit up for remote unit work. You need to be on your way by two o'clock. Marjorie will have you set up." They were dismissed.

The three former LVPD, and now new SLCL, CSIs assembled in Grissom's office, where they sat down and studied their copies of the folder.

"This doesn't look like enough evidence to execute a man," Warrick stated as he accepted a bottled water from Grissom's small white refrigerator that rested in a cabinet behind Gil's desk. The Skull and Crossbones oversized black model was still there and Brown wouldn't accept anything but evidence from that one.

"The wife and the child killed, plus his history of violence and drunkenness, would have been enough for most Texas juries," Nick assured him.

Marjorie tapped on the door twice and walked in. Grissom had never gotten his assistant in Vegas, but he had one here. Marjorie Wilcox had retired after 25 years with the CIA as a secretary, only to take this job after "sitting on her can and trying to knit" for two months. She was a tall woman, pale, with steel grey eyes, overly black hair, and a quick smile when you pleased her. She placed three shopping bags on the desk in front of them. Each had a name on it. "Gentlemen, your IDs hot off the press, your badges, gas cards, cell phones, sunglasses, driving gloves, three new jumpsuits, and your pagers.

"You two get a second plain pair since you don't need your eyeglasses all of the time." Marjorie opened her cell phone, which had chirped the opening strains of 'Smoke on the Water'. "Wilcox," Marjorie answered. "Those books belong to Doctor Grissom and need to come up to his office, not the library."

"They can be placed in the library, if you think people would want to consult them," Grissom offered magnanimously. In Vegas, Grissom's entomology book collection was considered one of his quirks. Here it was an asset.

Marjorie beamed. "Good news, Doctor Grissom is willing to share his treasures. Have Building Services put up a 'From the Private Collection of' plaque over the shelves." She paused. "That I don't know." She looked at the three men. "Do you need one parking space or three? They're ready to paint your names on them."

"Three it is," she agreed before heading toward the door. "Bailey, that's three spaces and put Grissom near an awning. We can't have him getting wet, can we?"

"I like you wet," Nick teased before going back to studying the folder. Warrick noticed how all three of them had grabbed their gear out of the bags and then immediately gone back to the folders. A man's life hung in the balance. He could either be innocent or he'd given this other man

Less than an hour after she'd left, Marjorie returned, but this time with envelopes. "Here's five days worth of per diem. Document everything you want to be reimbursed for, save your receipts, use your gas card, and don't scratch those trucks."

"I can get someone to go to the cottage and grab up some clothes for you," Marjorie offered. "I know you haven't had time to fully unpack."

"No need," Warrick assured her. "We all have a three-day bag in the back of the truck."

Because of the nature of their new jobs, it was sometimes necessary to go to another state for a day or two, which meant that all of them had a bag that contained three days worth of clothes and toiletries.

Warrick would have protested if it hadn't been true. He hated wearing the same clothes more than one day and packed accordingly. Nick's bag had exactly three days worth of clothes plus any toy he wanted to try. Gil also packed only three days of clothes, but stuffed in a book or two and maybe a magazine he intended to read. Warrick wouldn't waste the space on reading material. "Guilty," he admitted.

"I thought you were taking them with you," she insisted as she patted Nick's shoulder. "And the last time I checked, they could feed themselves." Nick began to snicker and Gil lifted one eyebrow. "Oh, the insects!" Marjorie looked around nervously. "Just the live ones, right? The art ones scare me."

Warrick and Nick chuckled. Gil scowled. For a man who lamented the circumstances of their acquisition, Grissom did seem to love his tributes. He'd driven them from Silver Lakes to Las Vegas and back again. Now they had places of honor in his new office.

"Taylor, Margolis, McKenzie, Stokes, Brown, Thompson, and Brass," Grissom rattled off. "Alert Sanders to expect samples to be sent via courier and that they need to be given priority. Dawson will need to run the ballistics reports again. Johnson will need to go with us and set up the mobile-to-lab communications, but he can then head back."

Warrick peeked over the top of his folder. "Brass?" he asked. "They'll have a case officer there."

"I know, but I want Jim to interrogate the confessor," Grissom explained. "He's the best."

"That's what I've waited all my life to hear," Jim stated from the doorway. "Marjorie said I could come in."

"Half my office stuff is still in boxes," Jim confessed. "My secretary looks young enough to be a boy scout, my phone has more buttons on it than the Space Shuttle, and my computer talks back to me." He grimaced and pulled out his pager. He rolled his eyes, then pulled out his cell phone and dialed. "Danny, are you testing this thing again? No, I'm already in Grissom's office. Okay."

Brass shook his head and took a seat beside Warrick. "Danny just told me to report to your office."

Grissom's space had a conference table, something he could have really used in Vegas, and it allowed for up to ten people to meet in the man's office.

"We've got a death row inmate, five days from his execution, and someone else has just confessed to his crime and three others with similar modus operandi," Grissom explained.

Warrick passed the pages he'd already read to Brass. They continued to share his folder until Marjorie arrived with a folder for Brass and the rest of the announced team. She also rolled in more bottled water, a bowl of fruit, and trays of nuts.

There was no pastry being offered in the complex because they were in training for the Defenders of the Realm Games, where teams from the Fire Department, Police Department, Crime Lab, and Emergency Services competed in various sports.

Last year the Fire Department had not only wiped the floor with the Crime Lab, they had "cleaned the corners with our shattered remains", according to Generator. They could not bear the shame of a second thrashing.

The rest of the team arrived and took their seats. Grissom looked at them over the top of his glasses. "We're doing an emergency review of a death row case. Another person has confessed to the crimes along with three others. We need to review everything, and I mean everything, before submitting our reports to the Parole Board. We also need to be on the road by two o'clock." He glanced back at the clock. They had less than four hours. "Let's get to work."

Everyone bent over their folders. The questions flew fast and furious. Warrick took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he closed his eyes. He listened carefully to what everyone was saying and one thing became readily apparent -- they had made the right decision. They were where they needed to be.