Title: Stolen
By: TresMaxwell
Pairing: Greg/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult themes
Summary: Greg gets kidnapped and Nick has to deal with unspoken feelings while the CSI team works round the clock to find him.Nick Stokes closed his last case file for the day with a content sigh. Work had been difficult, to say the least, and he was looking forward to a heavy dinner and good nights sleep. He still hadn't completely adjusted to working the day shift, but he really didn't expect the situation to last. He had turned in several requests to be moved back to the graveyard hours and Eckley didn't seem too keen on fighting him much longer. Even though the Texan was still working with Catherine during the day, he wanted to be back with the rest of the team. One team member in particular urged his desire to switch. Strolling at a slow, leisurely pace out of the agency, Nick pulled out his cell phone and dropped the case files in his supervisor's office. His thoughts strayed to a certain lab tech's goofy grin and adorable habit of playing music too loud while he worked. A smirk inched across his face as he searched for Greg's number in his phone. Responding to a few 'goodbye's from fellow co-workers, Nick stepped out into the rapidly cooling air of the afternoon. The desired number popped up onscreen and he punched the call button. On the third ring, the lab technician turned CSI, answered.
"What's up?" questioned that ever playful tone.
Nick tried not to melt. He'd had a rather serious crush on the boy since his first day on the job, but he kept that guilt-ridden little secret to himself. He was fairly certain the boy was straight, after all, he'd asked out numerous female co-workers over the years. For a time, being near him had been enough to sate Nick, but working the day shift had killed that perfect scenario.
"Hello?"
The Texan jumped a little, realizing he hadn't spoken since Greg had answered his phone.
"Hey Greg, its Nick. I was just thinking that I haven't seen you in a while and wondered how you were doing. I mean, I see Grissom in the parking lot from time to time and Sarah comes in early enough that our shifts overlap, but I haven't heard from you." Nick commented as smoothly as he could. The call was kind of out of the blue and he wasn't sure what Greg would think of it.
"Hey man! I've been doing pretty well. You're right; we haven't seen each other in weeks. How's working with Eckley everyday? I think I would've killed him by now," came a rather pleasant answer.
Nick had to laugh. Eckley had been a pain in the ass, but imagining Greg being questioned about something like that was entertaining. The blonde boy barely had it in him to kill a bug, let alone a person. Underneath it all, it sounded like the lab tech had actually missed him.
The well-muscled Texan hopped into his truck and trapped the phone between his shoulder and his ear to continue the conversation while he brought the engine to life.
"I've been trying to ignore him. It seems to work for everyone else. Where are you? It's really loud."
"I'm on the strip."
Nick mentally categorized the ambient noise as a crowd and raised an eyebrow.
"What are you doing on the strip? I didn't think you gambled."
The voice on the other end took on a tint of amusement, "You know me, that devilish high roller. I'm looking for some Christmas presents for a few of my younger cousins, the ones that don't live in Vegas. They usually go for the cheap, useless, tourist stuff. The strip is by far the best place to find that kind of junk."
An ear shattering noise split their conversation in two and Nick had to pull the phone away from his ear to keep from losing his hearing. Greg barely managed to talk over the sound.
"Jeez! I'm over by that new hotel and they're doing some kind of show outside. I'm going to find somewhere a little quieter."
"You mean the one that opened up off Harmon Avenue?"
"Yeah."
The painful noise faded away, as did the sounds of the crowd.
"There, much better. Why does everything in Vegas have to be way too many decibels over the safe limit for human ears?"
"I don't know. It just how these people live," Nick said jokingly. The road was taking a little more attention than he would have liked, but he could drive on autopilot once he got out into the traffic. He adjusted his phone and slipped into a gap between the quick paced cars. "You're getting Christmas presents awfully early. As a man, aren't you obliged to wait until the last minute?"
"Yeah well, I don't get too many days off. I may as well do something with it."
With a few presents tucked away in his own closet, Nick really didn't have the right to argue, but he had to pick at the lab tech anyway. He had six brothers and sisters that he had to buy for, not to mention his parents, so he had to start early as well. Nick let it drop as he pulled up to a red light.
"Makes sense, so I'll cut you some slack. You do work a lot of overtime, so when you have the opportunity to have a life, you should take it."
"Aw, be nice man! I do have a life; it's called the office..." The tail end of his sentence faded as he pulled away from the phone to say to one side, "Can I help you?" Nick recognized the tone, both curious, but cautious. Greg usually reserved a tone like that for questioning a suspect he didn't trust. The Texan wondered what could possibly make him use it outside of work. He never heard the stranger respond, just Greg's panicked cry of, "What are you doing?" and then the sickening sound of something hitting flesh, hard. A strangled yowl of pain caused Nick's chest to constrict with an overwhelming amount of terror.
"Greg?" he shouted into the phone, desperate to hear any kind of response. The only answer to his yell was the loud clattering of Greg's cell falling to the cement and the slamming of a car door. A few seconds later, a loud, screeching peel-out almost ruptured his eardrum and a deadly silence followed.
"Greg?!"
Nick sat, completely stunned. His heart was racing and nausea threatened to overwhelm him at any moment. He had no idea what he'd just been whiteness to, but it had been bad and it had happened to Greg, his Greg. A blaring car horn brought him, full force, back into reality. The light had changed at some point and he was the only vehicle in the line holding things up.
Without any regard to traffic laws or the cars around him, Nick made a highly illegal u-turn across the cement median and sped back toward the crime lab. He was going to get answers and he was going to get them now.
-----------
The CSI headquarters were relatively quiet. Things always were between shifts. Those coming in were not quite awake yet and those leaving were too tired to make much noise. This serenity shattered as Nick barreled through the corridors at break-neck speed. He slowed only once between the front door and his destination, and that was to avoid running over a startled young woman with an armful of reports. When he barged into Grissom's office, he was out of breath and still extremely wound up.
The older CSI nearly dropped his early evening coffee at the sudden intrusion, not expecting it so early in the shift. Gil turned and took in Nick's distressed babbling as best he could. The Texan didn't make much sense between his panting for air and his elevated stress level. Alarmed, Grissom set down his coffee and said firmly, "Nicky, you have to calm down, I can't understand you. Take a breath and start over."
Nick did as he was told, trying to quell his rushing thoughts. It was in this moment that the nausea decided to swamp him and he had to run to Gil's trash can to avoid retching on his boss's shoes.
The graying supervisor had never seen Nick react that way a single day in his career, and the level three CSI had been through a lot. His level of alarm increased tenfold as he knelt by the Texan's tense form. He waited until Nick was done tossing his lunch to question him, "What happened?"
Nick met Gil's steely blue gaze and croaked out, "Something happened to Greg."
"What?"
------------
Five minutes later, Gil Grissom stormed from his office. It was like a bad case of déjà vu. A member of his team was missing and none of them would rest until they found him. He located Sara setting up in the lab and cut off her unspoken question with two short words, "Meeting. Now."
The brunette closed her mouth and had to drop her things to race after her boss. He gathered the rest of the team in a similar manner, barely catching Catherine before she left for the evening, and led them into his office. By the time he'd returned, Nick had managed to compose himself slightly and was heading for the door. Upon seeing the entourage, he just moved away to let them in.
Gil was speaking when he opened the door, "... and I want you to call Warrick and get him here as soon as possible." Catherine voiced her concerns as soon as he was done. "What is this all about? Gil, you haven't explained anything."
"I want you to tell them exactly what you told me," Grissom ordered the shaken Texan.
"I think Greg was kidnapped. We were talking on the phone when it happened."
"Where?"
"He was at the intersection of the strip and Harmon Avenue. He went to find somewhere quiet nearby and someone snatched him. I know he was still outside because I heard the escape car."
Grissom took over when Nick's pale face somehow managed to lose even more blood, "Greg had the night off, so he wasn't in uniform or wearing a badge. Either this was a random act and Greg was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or the kidnapper was aware that he worked as a CSI. The fact that he would attack Greg while he was on the phone could mean several things. One, he wasn't very intelligent. Two, he didn't care. Three, he's confident that no one will find him, so it doesn't matter that there was a whiteness, or, four, he wanted us to know. I want Nick to go with Catherine and Sara to the scene and I'll go see if any of the traffic cameras caught our culprit."
The initial shock of the news barely had time to pass before they were out the door. Nick gave Grissom the precise time of the call from his phone before following mutely behind Catherine and Sara.
----------
Darkness and pain was all Greg could comprehend when unconsciousness left him. It felt as though someone had hammered his guts with a heavy object. Second thought, someone had hammered his guts with a heavy object and, if he remembered right, it had been a baseball bat. His initial notion was that he'd been mugged. It happened a lot in Vegas, but it usually happened to tourists who let their guard down. There were much easier ways to steal money in Las Vegas and Greg hoped the thief was greatly disappointed with his thin wallet contents. The lab tech had learned long ago never to carry around more than what you wouldn't be too upset losing.
Greg shifted uncomfortably. The hard surface he was laying on was unforgiving to his stiff muscles and he'd lost the feeling in the arm that was crushed under his body. He groaned and tried to adjust, but was startled to find that his wrists were bound behind his back.
Panic seized him and his brown eyes flew open to find more darkness. Terror took over from there. Greg tried to reign himself in and analyze the situation. For thirty seconds, he took deep, steadying breaths and slowed his racing heart. Things were never as bad as an overactive imagination could make them. He stilled his morbid thoughts and managed to pull himself upright. The heavy silence around him suggested that he had been moved indoors and the feel of a low thread count cloth on his face said he was blindfolded, not in a dark place. The cold floor beneath him was definitely cement, the smooth kind that went in warehouses other facilities. Greg ceased his scrutiny when a wave of fear washed over him. There was someone else in the room. The light breathing that gave him away was almost inaudible. Greg could feel the man's eyes on him. A violent shiver swept down his spine with a very bad feeling about his watcher. Heavy footsteps crossed the room to where he was kneeling, blind and helpless.
"What do you want?" he asked in as bold of a tone as he could muster.
The deep, unnerving laughter that followed his question confirmed that the watcher was indeed a man, but didn't help his situation any.
Greg resisted the urge to beg for his life. He'd processed enough murder evidence to know that begging and bribing typically didn't work. Instead, he tried a different angle, "If it's a ransom you want, you won't get it. No one I know is rich enough to provide a ransom."
That same, mocking chuckle answered him before his kidnapper spoke. "It's nothing like that, boy."
The lab technician swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. If it wasn't a kidnapping for money, then it meant that Greg could be under Dr. Robbins's observation later in the week. Only Dr. Robbins would be looking for his cause of death.
Catherine Willows looked over the crime scene for the forth time since they'd arrived. The alleyway was fairly nondescript. The ground was stained with the usual, nothing out of the ordinary. The light over the dumpster had burned out long ago and it looked like no one had ever bothered to replace it. But she looked past these things and focused on what she was trained to find, what was out of place. The first thing she'd documented upon arriving had been the skid marks that peeled out of the narrow alleyway and into the street. The abduction had not happed too far from public eye and she couldn't help but wonder why the kidnapper would have risked it. Either he'd been laying in wait for Greg or he hadn't been expecting him and didn't want to lose the opportunity. The first theory didn't make much sense, however. If he'd been laying in wait, how could he have predicted that Greg would come into the alley?
She wanted to wait until they had collected more evidence to form a theory, but they had to come to a conclusion quickly so they could find Greg alive. They had almost lost Nick because they couldn't find the answers and Catherine didn't want to see them lose Greg. As her mind crossed over Nick, she glanced at him. The Texan really hadn't taken Greg's kidnapping well. It was hard to pin down why. The CSI could have been having flashbacks to his own abduction, or it could have been something else entirely.
Catherine suspected that he felt guilty as she watched him turn Greg's cell phone over in his hands. Nick had documented its location and immediately picked it up, but he didn't bag it as evidence, as he should have.
Sara broke Catherine's scrutiny with an alarming statement, "I found blood. It's not a lot, but it's fresh."
Both of the other investigators were at her side instantly.
"We'll have to check and see if it's Greg's. If it isn't, then we might have a lead."
"Let's just hope Greg got a chance to fight back..."
Catherine let her statement fade away as her phone went off. She checked the number and flipped the phone open, "What have you got?"
"We've found the suspect's vehicle on the traffic cameras, but it doesn't have a license plate. It's a black van. How are things going at the scene?" Grissom's disembodied voice asked her.
The dayshift supervisor sighed and visually scanned the taped-off area once more. "Not so well. There isn't much evidence here and our supporting officer hasn't had much luck in his questioning."
"How's Nick holding up?"
"He seems to be doing better, but I'm certain he feels he's somehow responsible for this. Fortunately, he has been able to relate everything we've found to events he heard on the phone."
"Good. Do what you can there and head back."
"We shouldn't be too much longer. We'll see you soon."
"Alright."
Catherine snapped the phone shut. "We need to thoroughly search the area one more time and then Grissom wants us back."
---------
Warrick Brown entered Catherine's photographic evidence of the tire treads through the computer, several anxious faces hanging over his shoulder. It bothered him, but not enough to shoo his concerned coworkers out of the room. He wanted to know whether the treads matched the black van as much as anyone, but he also recognized why Grissom never liked a CSI working a case where they were emotionally involved. Not only did it cloud judgment as far as evidence was concerned, it also kept them from getting much done. The two hovering behind him could be doing a number of things, but they wanted to know if the tire treads belonged to a Ford van.
"So we match these treads to that van and then what have we got? A black van with no license plate and Greg stuffed in the back. That doesn't give us much. There are hundreds, if not thousands of those things registered in the state of Nevada," Warrick said quietly.
The computer didn't give much of a chance for a response. It kicked out a match almost instantly, bringing up the archive picture on the opposing side of the screen from their evidence.
"Tread match to the standard tire of a Ford."
An extremely uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Warrick was right, they had nothing. They had the image of a van, without tags, driving off with a member of their team inside. Warrick's shadows, otherwise known as Sara and Nick, stepped away to give him back his space.
Nick felt the nausea returning. Two and a half hours had passed since Greg's kidnapping and they were no closer to finding him. No ransom note had been sent to his immediate family or the lab, nor had any calls come in. They were going to lose him.
Sara watched as the bleary-eyed Texan collapsed onto the nearest surface, which happened to be a desk, and rubbed his face with both hands. She glanced over at Warrick and motioned at the distraught man with the unspoken question on her face. He shrugged helplessly. The dark-skinned investigator was close friends with Nick, but he didn't know anymore about his current emotional state than anyone else did. He had his theories, just like the others, but no one would know who was right until someone asked. Sara tentatively sat down next to Nick and tried to find the best way to phrase her inquiry. Before she could gather together the right words, Catherine rushed into the room.
"We found a plate."
Three confused faces turned to her, but Warrick was the first to speak, "Wait, but I thought that there wasn't a plate. What do you mean you found one?"
"It was painted black, that's why we couldn't see it at first. Grissom is trying to get the numbers off of it now."
All three hurried after her.
On the other side of the lab, they found Grissom working in tandem with a night shift lab technician. As he found the various numbers and letters of the plate in the hectic footage, he shot them over his shoulder to David Hodges, who added it to the rapidly narrowing search. When the search had narrowed to one, the lab tech grinned.
"Got it! Van's owner is a Mark Hollis over on Stevens Street, 4872."
Grissom turned to his team and seemed to take a moment to process them. When he gave his orders, it was in a tone that warded against any argument, "Warrick, Catherine, you're with me. We're going to pay Mr. Hollis a visit."
Nick opened his mouth, but Gil gave him a warning look.
"Sara, Nick, you'll stay here."
Distress twisted Nick's features as he tried again. Grissom narrowed his eyes and cut him off a second time, "You'll stay here, Nicky."
The Texan bit off his words at his tongue and resisted the urge to punch the nearest wall. Considering the density of the lab walls, it would probably break all the bones in his hand anyway. The trio left, Warrick shooting Nick an apologetic look over his shoulder on the way out.
"Well, shall we get some coffee?" Sara asked as lightly as she could. When she got no answer, she sighed. "There isn't anything we can do until they get back. The blood we found was Greg's and we already know that the tire treads match the van. You really should take a break." Nick still didn't respond, so Sara pushed her mousy brown hair over her shoulder and grabbed the man's elbow. "We're getting coffee."
Nick allowed himself to be led. He didn't protest when Sara pushed him into a chair in an empty break room and shut the door. He wanted to be part of the case, to be there when they found Greg, but Grissom had shot that chance down. Frustration made him want to tear out his hair, or break down into a sobbing mess. He was frustrated with himself more than Grissom, however. Gil made intelligent decisions and if he thought Nick would compromise the questioning, then he was right to make him stay behind. He'd let his emotions get in the way and he wasn't capable of approaching the case in the right state of mind.
Nick was so busy mucking around in his own head, that he didn't even notice Sara's thoughtful stare. She sank into the chair across from the brooding Texan and cleared her throat. When he broke off the intense scrutiny of his shoes, she gave him a small smile.
"You want to tell me what this is all about?"
The question caught Nick off-guard. "What?"
"We're all upset about this Nick, just like we were when you went missing, but you just haven't been yourself. You know this isn't your fault, right?"
"Yeah, I know," he confirmed weakly. Seeing the opportunity, Sara pushed the matter, "So what is it then?"
Two sets of brown eyes met, one pair curious, the other fogged and sorrow-ridden. The second set fell.
"It's the things I haven't told him... the things I can't tell him..."
"Go on."
Nick's throat had closed up, however, so Sara got up to pour them both a cup of the promised coffee. He accepted it gratefully and took a few swallows before attempting to continue.
"I care a lot about him."
Sara furrowed her brow quizzically at that. "We all do, Nick..." her words faded off when a mental puzzle piece fell into place. There were still plenty of holes, but she could almost make out the bigger picture. "Wait, you mean that you... you love him, don't you?" He nodded.
Shocked, Sara fell back into her chair. She'd thought a lot of things, but none of them had even come close to the truth. She set down her cup of coffee on the table before it managed to slip from her slack hands. All of the people close to Nick were trained to spot the unobvious, but how did they all miss this little fact? The more Sara ran it through her mind, the more she recognized all the things she hadn't placed before. The way Nick stood so close to Greg when he watched him work or that extra grin he always gave him before he left the lab, the pile of evidence was enormous. A few things came to mind that contradicted the evidence and Sara couldn't help but ask. "But what about the girls? We all know you were with that stripper that got killed. I mean, your semen was in her bed."
Nick sighed and said, "She was a whore, you don't have to make light of her job, and yes, I did sleep with her. Greg is straight and I had to keep my mind off of him. She, as well as others, helped me do that. Don't get me wrong, she was a wonderful woman that just needed a little guidance, but I didn't love her. I guess you could call it stress relief. I'm not restricted to men."
Sara refused to be convinced. "What about when the lab exploded? We all made trips to the hospital to see him and you never did."
A terrible pain crossed Nick's face and his response was strained, "Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to plaster that damn smile on my face and keep working? I couldn't go to him! I wouldn't have been able to contain myself... Look, Sara, this whole damn thing is my dirty little secret! No one was ever meant to know, especially not Greg! He'd never look at me the same way if he found out... but now it may not even matter."
-----------
The house Grissom parked the Tahoe in front of wasn't a picture of perfection, but it had been tended enough to keep it from falling apart. The neighborhood seemed to be the residence of some of the average, medium-income families of Las Vegas. The next-door neighbor is always the one that people don't expect, but it can often be the darkest criminal of all.
Their backup pulled in behind them as the team got out of the SUV. Detective Brass joined them on the front lawn.
"I heard about what happened. You think this is our guy?"
"We have no idea. The escape vehicle is registered under his name, but we need to talk to him before we can conclude anything."
"You think he'll be mad that we've come to pay him a visit so late?"
Grissom raised an eyebrow and glanced at his watch. "Well, it's only ten o'clock. He'll get over it," he said flatly.
They started up the lawn and Gil gave Warrick a sidelong order, "I want you to go around and visually scope the house. I want to know if that van is here."
He nodded and broke away from the group.
"You know, he's not technically allowed to do that," Brass mentioned casually. Catherine shot the detective an icy look as they reached the doorstep, but he didn't say anything else.
Gil rang the doorbell, and while they were waiting for the occupant to answer, Warrick came back around the other side of the house. He was a little out of breath, but not enough to keep him from giving his report, "It's not there, at least not that I can see. The garage is open, but there's only a Honda inside and there isn't anywhere else back there that he could hide it."
This knowledge made the head CSI grimace. This would make things difficult. After a minute or two, the suspect opened the door. The man was of average height, about five foot six, and a medium build. His chaotic hair was a dark brown and, if it was smooth down, would have hung to the bottom of his ear. He was in an undershirt and slacks, obviously relaxing after work. His thin, white lips turned down faintly as he considered them. "Can I help you?" he asked, his voice suggesting that he was genuinely confused about their presence.
Gil took over, "I'm Gil Grissom and this is Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown, we're from the crime lab. This is Detective Jim Brass, Las Vegas PD. We're here to ask you about your van." He opened the door a little wider, "My van? I don't understand. I don't have a van."
Grissom sifted through his file and pulled out a capture taken from the traffic cameras, "Then why does this one have plates registered in your name?"
Mark Hollis took the photograph with a bewildered expression, but the confusion cleared as suddenly as it had clouded his heavy features. "Yeah, this was my van. I sold it years ago. I haven't seen it since," he admitted and handed the page back.
Brass raised an eyebrow and asked, "Any details you'd like to give us? Do you have a receipt of this transaction? The name of the guy you sold it to?"
"No, I don't think I do," Mark said thoughtfully and opened the door farther, "Would you like to come in while a take a look through my files? I think I got rid of the documentation a long time ago, but I'd be glad to take a peek." He led them into his living room and told them to make themselves at home as he disappeared into a personal office.
He flicked on the light and got to work, pulling open the nearest filing cabinet. "You want to tell me what this is about?"
"Your van was used in a kidnapping of a CSI; we're trying to track it down."
Mr. Hollis glanced up with some alarm, "Kidnapping? Shit, I must have something." He started shuffling through the file folders more quickly. "I had this slip of paper I wrote everything down on. I had his name and the amount he paid me. Damn it, that was years ago, I never thought it would be important. I kind of remember the guy, if it helps."
"Every little bit helps."
"He was a tall guy, at least six foot three. He had real greasy, black hair and dark eyes. Gave me the creeps, but I didn't really care who the van went to and he had the cash up front. It wasn't like I was selling him a gun or anything."
Catherine walked around the living room, examining the man's life through his possessions. There were no photographs of his parents that she could tell. Of the pictures sitting on the mantelpiece, only one of them had an older man in it, but the photograph had very obviously been taken at an office party. An attractive woman appeared in most of the others, being particularly affectionate with Mr. Hollis.
"Mr. Hollis, you seem to work in an office, what did you need a van like that for?" Catherine directed her question towards the study.
The movement inside stilled momentarily and the man's response was very bitter, "I lived out of it when I was going to college. I got tired of looking at it when I got a new car, so I sold it."
So there were no pictures of his parents for a reason. If they let him live out of a van in college, then he probably didn't want to think about them every day he sat in his living room. Catherine let it go.
"Here, I found it. I'm surprised I still have it."
He handed the yellowed slip of paper to Brass and stepped away. The detective glanced at it and handed it over to Grissom. The older man took it.
"October 11th 1999, Garret Manning, $500. Thank you. It may not seem like much, but a name is more than we have right now."
----------
Greg could feel the bruises rising under the man's harsh hands. The wide grip on his throat wasn't forceful enough to crush his windpipe, but it certainly did its job in restricting his movements. A knee crushed his legs against the cement and he was pinned so his arms were trapped between his back and the floor.
Greg would be more bothered by the painful position if he wasn't acutely aware of the piece of metal that was traveling along his exposed stomach. Every few inches, it would bite into his skin and drag a gouge across his smooth abdomen. Every wound elicited a scream from the young CSI and caused him to buck against his tormentor's hold. When he fought, the knife would withdraw and Greg could almost sense the man smile.
The man was an utter nutcase, but he certainly knew what he was doing. The soft touch of the blade would cause the skin to become hypersensitive, right before he cut into it. At first, Greg had thought his snatcher had wanted sex, especially when he'd ripped apart his shirt, but he now knew otherwise. The man was mad, a sadist. And, all the while, he'd been talking.
"This kind of thing takes a few days. You can't just tear something up when it's alive, it has to be systematic. Although, I have no idea why I start at the navel. You see, it doesn't really matter what's first, but I always work on the face last," babbled that deep, unnerving voice that was slowly burning its way into Greg's mind.
Warm liquid pooled on the younger man's stomach and spilled across his flank. It took his detached brain a moment to realize that it was blood. It took it even longer to relate the fact that it was his blood. A sick groan slipped from between his lips at this realization. This was one of the few moments that he wished he was one of the CSI permitted to carry a weapon, but he wasn't really sure if he wanted the gun to turn against his own temple or the man above him.
That voice interrupted his thoughts of self-destruction, "That's right, you're bleeding like a stuck pig. Don't worry, though, I haven't cut you deep enough to enter your stomach cavity. Your guts will stay right where they are. I'm not much of a gore person."
Greg squeezed his eyes shut and wished desperately for some kind of savior. Any one of the team could barrel into the room with a gun blazing, and he'd be happy. Hell, he'd even settle for Eckley if it got him away from this psychotic bastard. He hoped and prayed and tried to ignore the knife digging into his flesh.
"I ran the name but I didn't get anyone matching Mr. Hollis's description and none of the hits have any prior record." Nick rubbed his chin absently as he watched the lab technician work. At his right, Warrick frowned and stated, "That doesn't make any sense, no one usually starts a criminal lifestyle with kidnapping."
"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything."
The Texan shook his head, something dawning on him. "Run the name as an alias. Maybe this guy was already thinking like a criminal when he bought the van. Maybe he was trying to hide his tracks."
The technician gave him a surprised look. It wasn't the idea that was so outrageous, but Nick hadn't spoken since he'd entered the room. Warrick also shot him a glance for it.
"Run it."
He turned back to the screen and changed the search perimeters. With more data to run through, it took the program precious time to process their request. After an excruciating ten minutes, it found something.
"Hey, we've got a hit. Garret Manning, also known as Joseph Williams and Casey Andrews. This guy's got a whole list of aliases, as well as a record as long as my arm. Assault, assault and battery, abuse, robbery, this guy's had his hand in everything."
"He's also been charged with murder, but he wasn't convicted," Warrick noted. When he glanced up at the mug shot, his mouth dropped open. "Wait! I remember this guy. We were trying to pin him the mutilation and murder of a college kid and a bartender, but we didn't have enough evidence to convince the jury and he walked."
"What do you mean mutilation?" Nick asked in a low voice.
"I'm sure I can pull up the case file. You can see for yourself."
He leaned around the lab tech that was assisting them and accessed the autopsy photographs. The images that appeared on the screen made Nick ill. The figures were both disfigured terribly. Someone had taken a knife to almost every inch of their skin and the way their ribs stood out from their flesh suggested that they'd been starved.
"How were the victims related?" Nick croaked out and turned away from the screen. He couldn't look at those faces. For a brief second, he could see Greg on that slab, tortured and pale. His chest ached terribly.
"There wasn't any connection that we could find."
"Random victims? So that's how Greg fits into this, the guy just kidnaps whoever he likes and then does that to them?"
"That's what we gathered. When we questioned him, we couldn't quite figure out his motive. The guy was nuts. The thing that really sticks with me, though, was this grin he gave me when he asked what I thought of beautiful things."
"Beautiful things?" Nick felt sick all over again, but he didn't have anything else in his stomach to toss.
Warrick put a comforting hand on the Texan's shoulder and said, "We'll get him." He gave his shoulder a squeeze before going to report their findings. Once Warrick was gone, the lab technician that Nick shared the room with cleared his throat, "You've really got to have more faith. He's a strong kid, he'll be okay."
Nick gave him a weak smile and muttered his thanks as he followed his friend's steps out the door. He wanted to believe that, but he couldn't help but worry. He was, however, well beyond the healthy point of concern. His stress level was probably high enough to make his hair turn white. Nick suspected that, once all of this was over, he would have a hard time returning to normalcy. When they found the boy, he was going to kiss him senseless. That is, if they found him.
Nick caught up to Warrick in Grissom's office. The other CSI had grabbed the case file somewhere along the way and was explaining the gruesome findings. Gil took off his glasses and rubbed his temples as he listened.
"You have his last known residence?"
"Yeah, it's in the file."
"Call Brass," the head CSI ordered and got to his feet.
In the doorway, Nick gathered his courage to speak, "I'd like to go." Grissom sighed and left the office, both men on his heels. He'd wanted to avoid this. He didn't want Nick to think that he had no faith in him but the Texan didn't need to be questioning anyone in his state. "I think you need to stay here, Nick," he said, a little exasperated.
"Why not, I'm part of this investigation! I know how to be a professional, Gris! I'm not going to screw things up."
"Nicky, don't argue with me. I know you're capable, but I want you to stay at the lab. Do more research on our suspect. If he's not home, I want to know where we can find him."
Nick stopped and let them walk away without him. Grissom said something else to him over his shoulder before they disappeared, but the Texan didn't hear it. He would do what he was told, but it didn't mean he couldn't be furious with his superior. If he was such a liability, then why didn't they fire him? He obviously couldn't be trusted around suspects.
Even though he mentally railed at Grissom for not trusting him, he knew that wasn't it. Nick had shown an overwhelming amount of protectiveness for Greg since all of this had started and Grissom was trying to prevent him from doing something he would regret. He was right to do so. The first chance Nick got with the suspect; he was going to wring his neck. Realizing this calmed the level three CSI slightly. Defeated, he found the nearest computer and set to work. He had a lot of material to go through before he could find something Grissom and the others could use in the investigation.
----------------
"You know, I'd only been in bed an hour when I got your call. I work days, Gil," Brass complained lightly as he climbed from his car. Grissom's stony face said that the topic was not open for discussion and the detective quickly closed his mouth. Questioning typically occurred during the day and Brass couldn't see them being warmly welcomed at midnight, but he really didn't feel like confronting the head CSI's current mood. The house they'd stopped in front of was pitch black inside, the occupants either asleep, or out of town.
They stayed on the lawn until Warrick rounded the house at a jog and came back, shaking his head.
"No van, but the garage is closed."
"Maybe he decided to park it inside. A closed door would block any nearby eyes from seeing his kidnap victims," Catherine theorized.
Warrick countered her, "Maybe, or maybe this is a dead end."
Grissom motioned for both of them to cease the banter and follow as he mounted the front steps. He rang the bell and stepped back to wait. He didn't expect anyone to answer on the first ring, but he gave it at least a minute before he pushed the bell again. A few anxious moments later, the representatives of the crime lab saw movement inside and the porch light snapped on. A very irritated, bed rumpled young woman in a robe pulled open the door and groaned out, "What is it? It's very late."
Grissom took a breath and gave his speech on who they were and where they were from. Her expression got more guarded as he explained, but she opened the door the rest of the way.
"Did something happen to my mother?" the brunette asked tentatively.
"No, ma'am, we're looking for Garret Manning, you may know him by a different name," Grissom said and held out a printout of Manning's mug shot. The woman squinted at the picture and gave him a weak smile, "I'm sorry, let me get my glasses."
She disappeared into the dark house, leaving the team standing awkwardly in the doorway. When she returned, she had a pair of thin frames balanced on her nose.
"Yes, I know him. He sold us this house about a year ago. He didn't call himself Garret, but it's definitely him," she confirmed and handed back the photo.
There was a general sinking feeling all around. It was possible that she was lying, but this vein was quickly looking like the dead end Warrick had claimed it to be.
"Do you have documentation of this transaction?"
"Of course."
"Did he happen to leave a forwarding address?"
"No."
They all went quiet. The documentation would be proof. Their investigation was at a standstill.
"Could we see the paperwork?" Catherine asked; just to tie up loose ends. The young woman disappeared inside again, leaving them on the doorstep to brood. Grissom broke the stressed silence, "Let's just hope that Nick has found a lead." The optimism wasn't shared. A heavy thought passed through the group, but no one was willing to say it. Greg would be dead by the time they found him. He would be one of the corpses they dug up and brought to autopsy, a piece of evidence instead of the bleach-blonde goofball everyone knew him as. They were racing against the clock and they'd run out of track to run on.
-------------------
Nick leaned back and rubbed his strained eyes. He'd gone through every paper and read every report. If there was useable information, it wasn't in the file. A heavy sigh escaped him and he ran a hand through his short, brown hair. If there wasn't something obvious to be found, he would have to dig deeper. Nick pulled up the man's record, trying to see what he was looking at without bias.
He skimmed the information, not quite sure what he was looking for. Something on the third page caught his eye. Mr. Manning had filed for unemployment, but was no longer receiving checks. Nick picked up the phone and dialed out. There was always someone at the unemployment offices of Las Vegas; Nick truly hadn't appreciated that until now. He was transferred twice before he was on the line with a human being. The voice at the other end sounded bored to tears, "This is Maria. How may I help you?"
"I need to know if you have a Garret Manning in your database."
"We're not permitted to release that kind of information to the public," sighed the female voice. Her weariness suggested that she said it a thousand times a day.
"I'm a crime scene investigator for the Las Vegas Police Department, Mr. Manning is a suspect in a kidnapping and I noticed that he stopped receiving checks several months ago. I need to know where he's working now."
The other end was quiet for several moments and Nick could almost see her chewing her lip thoughtfully. She must have been new. "I'm going to need to see a badge or ID or something..." she said uncertainly.
"Can I come by now?"
"The offices are closed right now..."
"It's urgent."
"...but, maybe if you called me when arrived, I could come let you in."
Relief flooded Nick and he showered profuse gratitude into the phone before running out the door. He should have stopped to call Grissom, but they couldn't risk wasting any more time. Gil would want him to wait for the team to return, he would make him stay behind. Nick wasn't going to sit this one out, he'd be damned if he was going to let them stop him. The worst thing they could do was fire him and that was just fine with him. He had other places he could work.
It took him ten minutes to reach the offices, going an average of twenty miles over the speed limit. He pulled into one of the many empty slots and whipped out his phone. True to her word, the receptionist let him in. The woman matched her voice, tired and rundown. She gave him an inquisitive look through the glass and he held up his ID.
Maria unlocked the door. "I found the information we discussed over the phone. I'm not really sure how to approach this, but you only need to know where he's employed, right?"
"And the number, if you have it," Nick asked hopefully.
She nodded and handed him a slip of paper, curiosity getting the best of her, "Who did he kidnap, if you don't mind me asking?"
"A friend of mine. A dear friend..." Nick whispered as he examined his find. He'd never heard of the company that was scribbled on the loose-leaf paper, but the number underneath it was all he really needed.
----------------
Greg snapped to attention with short, panicky breaths. He wasn't quite sure when he'd gone unconscious, but, returning to the harsh reality of his situation, he quickly tried to map out his tormentor's location. The room around him was silent, save for the muffled sounds of a television that he mentally placed a floor above him. His racing heart began to slow as he strained his ears to catch any sign of the psychopath. Nothing came to his immediate attention, but his absence gave Greg no amount of relief. Rather than take his moments alone to relax, the lab technician began to work at his bonds. Adrenaline kept him from feeling the white-hot pain that was spreading from the wounds on his stomach, but the fight-or-flight fuel didn't give him enough strength to break out of his restraints. The material digging into his wrists felt like some kind of hard plastic and it refused to give under his ministrations. Greg sucked in a lung-full of air and gave it one last good pull before he slumped, defeated, against the wall at his back.
A quiet, pessimistic whispering began in the depths of his mind. The dark version of his inner workings had taken more cases to heart than Greg had ever thought possible, bringing up many images of the dead he'd helped process. The little, evil whisper began to chip away his mental state, growing stronger with ever victory. Greg let himself be convinced that he was going to die. No one would ever come in time and this man would slowly steal his life with every stroke of his knife.
A choked sob escaped the blonde man's throat. His fragmented thoughts embraced death the way a beaten child would embrace his abuser, regretfully. He wondered vaguely if Nick felt the same way when he was trapped in that box, buried under three feet of earth. The Texan's cheerful face appeared to him almost instantly, banishing the dark voice back to the depths from which it came. What he wouldn't give to hear Nick's slight drawl yelling down the stairs, telling him to hang on, that they were coming down to get him. Greg had always been fond of the level three CSI, but he'd truly admired how quickly Nick had recovered from his terrible ordeal. A bitter smirk crossed his face when he realized that he didn't have that kind of strength. If, no, when he got out of this, it was going to take him a long time to recover.
A sharp squeal permeated the deafening silence, the door's hinges needed some WD-40, but instead of that Texas drawl, there were only heavy footsteps. Greg shrank against the wall. The fear that gripped his guts in an iron vice made him wish he was dead, but he wished even more that he was in the DNA lab with Nick Stokes leaning over his shoulder while he worked. He wished with all his heart and soul that he was safe.
---------------
Hours after his conversation with the receptionist, Nick was sitting with a phone pressed to his ear, half a sandwich in his hand. He really didn't want to put any food in his untrustworthy stomach, but Sara had pushed it at him when he'd returned. There was no meat between the slices of wheat bread and Nick was certain she'd pulled it out of her vegetarian friendly lunch. Nick made a face at the cucumber and ranch sandwich and set it down, switching the phone to his right ear.
When he'd arrived back at the lab, he'd learned that the team had returned and left again. Warrick had stayed behind, but Grissom and Catherine had gone to talk to the last officer who had arrested Manning. They wanted to know where he'd picked up the felon. Several hours had passed since they'd left and Nick suspected that they were following a lead. He doubted that they'd find anything on such a cold trail, but the arrest was for the other mutilation cases so maybe they'd get lucky. Nick didn't want to be lucky; he wanted to talk to a manager at the auto body shop that Garret worked at.
It was barely seconds after six am, right when Magic Mike's was set to open. The answering machine clicked on and Nick hung up. After a few moments, he dialed the number again. The shop did minor repairs such as popping dents back out and filling scratches, but whoever was in charge of opening wasn't on time. There probably wasn't any particular hurry for the employee, as they wouldn't get a lot of business so early, but Nick hoped he arrived within the next few minutes.
The Texan tapped his fingers on the desk, muttering to himself, "Come on, Mike, you're supposed to be there already. Answer the damn phone, man." He got the answering machine again and tried not to scream. The message ran its cycle, 'Magic Mike's hours of operation are six am through seven pm. If you'd like to make an appointment, please leave a message with your name and number and someone will contact you.'
Nick cut the line before the beep and took a deep breath. He needed to get himself under control if he expected to help Greg. Cussing out the late employee probably wouldn't get him the answers he wanted and he had to have some level of control before he got in contact with a member of Magic Mike's staff. Once the edge had worn off his anger, he dialed one more time.
"Magic Mike's, what can I do for ya?" Nick sat up straight; he'd almost hung up on him. The man who answered had also recorded the message machine that he'd listened to seven times now and his impulse slam the phone down when that damn machine started was almost too great. He'd spent so much time mentally and verbally willing someone to pick up that he was surprised to hear a live person.
"Yes, I need to speak with your manager."
"This is Mike, what do you need?" There actually was a Mike of Magic Mike's, Nick was mildly amazed.
"I need the address of one of your employees. Garret Manning, you may also known him as Joseph Williams, or Casey..." Mike cut him off, "Joseph, yeah. His real name is Garret? He never told me that. Josh lives on Payton Way, I think it's 1709, or something like that. The house is an ugly green color, hard to miss. It's awfully early to be looking for Josh, though; he usually doesn't come in until four. You a friend of his?"
"I really just need to talk to him. He's got something of mine."
"Alight, just don't start any shit with that guy, he's one crazy son of a bitch," Mike warned rather cheerfully and hung up.
Nick had no intention on heeding his words of caution. The Texan checked his firearm and made sure he had an extra clip before tossing on his coat. Oh, he was going to start some shit and he was going to do some shooting in 'self defense' if he felt so inclined. An escapade like this would get him fired for sure, but if Mr. Manning had so much as touched a single bleach-blonde hair on Greg's head, there would be blood and he would worry about consequences later.
----------------
Sara was bent over a fiber sample from her previous shift, a little grumpy that Grissom had left her behind to baby-sit Nick. The graying supervisor had ordered everyone to devote all their time to Greg's case, but there wasn't any evidence to process at the lab and she didn't have anything else to work on but her other case. She didn't feel like she needed to be in the room with Nick every second, he was, after all, a grown man.
She furrowed her brow slightly as she tried to place the fluorescent orange fibers at the scene. It was very difficult to concentrate on the task at hand when all she could think about was being the designated babysitter. She would have asked Warrick to take a turn, but he'd gone back out to Harmon Avenue to see if he could find anything else. If Grissom really wanted to go by the rules, then none of them should have been allowed to work Greg's case. They were all emotionally involved, not just Nick. The poor man had been so distraught without anything to keep him occupied. Sara knew Grissom had bad people skills, but he just wasn't being fair.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sara caught her charge barreling past the windows. Nick was running down the hall at top speed, something he'd been doing a lot lately, in the direction of the parking lot. Sara jumped of her stool, knocking it to the floor in the process, and took off after him.
"Nick!" she yelled after his shrinking form. He didn't stop. The Aggie may not have been an athlete anymore, but he was definitely faster than she was. He'd escaped into the parking lot before she'd even gotten to the end of the hall. "You could at least have told me where you were going..." she muttered in his absence.
Sara wondered what could have possibly put him in such a rush. She trailed back the way he'd come, looking for any clues. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary, except for Greg's empty lab, which she hurried past. She was about to give up and go back to her orange fibers when she noticed a case file and several sheets of paper abandoned on a break table. Case files were to be treated with the utmost respect and it was shocking that someone would leave one out so carelessly, unless they were in a hurry. Sara picked up the notes and her chocolate colored eyes went wide.
------------------
Grissom growled faintly at his ringing phone. It was highly irritating when he got calls at a scene. There really wasn't a whole lot to go off of at the apartment where the arresting officer had apprehended Manning. The landlord had been pleasantly cooperative and had let them in without any arguments. He'd yet to rent out the apartment again and had no one to displace while they looked, so it made no difference to him.
Garret hadn't left them much trace, just a few holes in the walls and a bad cockroach infestation. On the other hand, there was plenty of blood evidence. They'd sprayed luminal all over the apartment and come up blank in every room except one. The room farthest from the front door, the one the floor plan called the office, glowed brighter than a fluorescent bulb. It would probably be more than enough new evidence to convict him of the double homicide he'd managed to escape, but it wasn't getting them any closer to Greg. CSI Willows was taking samples from the carpet to test for DNA.
Catherine sat back on her heels and shot Gil a raised eyebrow as she snapped a swab tube shut, "You want to answer that?"
"Not really," he commented back, but pulled the cell from the clip on his belt. "Grissom."
"Nick found him but he left before he told anybody! He's going by himself!" Sara yelled frantically.
Gil shot to his feet faster than his aging joints approved of, muttering obscenities under his breath. "And you didn't stop him?!"
"I am not Nick's babysitter!" Grissom took off his glasses and sighed. Of course she wasn't his sitter; he shouldn't make her responsible for Nick's actions. He chewed his lip and readjusted his tone, "I need the address, Sara, and I need you to call Brass and tell him that we need a warrant for Garrett Manning's arrest."
----------------
The number was wrong, but Mike was right, the house was hard to miss. It was painted a disgusting, limey green. The landscaping in the front was completely decimated by neglect and the grass was choked with weeds. Just around the side of the house, hap-hazardously covered with a tarp, was a black Ford van. Nick slammed his truck to a screeching halt, half of it bumping up onto the curb. He put it in park and sat a moment, gripping the wheel hard enough to drain the blood from his knuckles. What was he going to do now that he was here? He had no warrant. As a CSI, he couldn't just waltz in if the suspect didn't want him to. As a man, as a friend, he had every right to break down his goddamned door and kick his sorry ass. He was so going to get fired.
Decided, Nick grabbed the door handle, but was stopped. His phone was ringing. He wanted to ignore it, but he couldn't, his conscious was calling. His hand moved on its own and flipped the mobile device open.
"What is it?" he snapped into the phone, never letting his eyes leave the still house.
"Nicky, stay where you are, we're coming to you."
"We can't wait any longer! He could be dying, damn you! I'm going in!"
"Don't you dare! You could put Greg in more danger than he's already in," Grissom roared at him. Nick had never heard the supervisor yell like that before, but he wasn't about to back down.
He screamed right back at him, "God damn it, Gil! I am not going to lose him because you don't think I'm capable! I know he's here, I'm looking at the fucking van!"
Gil's voice dropped to a dangerously low level, "Nick, you have to keep driving, if he sees you out there, what is he going to think? Tell me you don't have your police lights on."
"No, I'm in my truck; it doesn't even have lights..." he muttered. Nick was beginning to see Grissom's point. There wasn't anything he could do without putting Greg into harm's way. He regretfully backed his vehicle off the curb and circled the block. "Alright, Gil, you win."
"We'll be there in a few minutes... We won't leave you out of this, Nicky."
His anger turned bitter on his tongue and the tale-tell sting of tears burned the back of his eyelids. Nick threw his phone, with more force than necessary, into the passenger seat. It bounced sporadically off the cushion and broke into several pieces against the dash. He looked at the fragments, but he was too detached to really care.
Nick stopped the car in a cul-de-sac a few blocks away and buried his face in his hands. He'd yelled at Grissom. He usually didn't even have the nerve to argue with Gil, but he'd all out screamed at him. There had to be something wrong with him. He was normally so docile, so willing to give someone the smile they needed, even if he didn't feel like smiling himself. Nick tried to be the salve that kept the team from noticing its hurts, but his own wounds were just too great this time. His forehead connected with the steering wheel with a thud. It took every ounce of his self control to sit in his truck, two blocks from the man of his dreams and the kidnapper who had taken him.
Something occurred to him as he was waiting, Gil had the wrong address. Nick had only found the place because Mike had told him that it was green. Gil had the wrong address and Nick's phone was broken. He cursed profusely and scrambled to reassemble the pieces.
----------------------
A SWAT van tore down the freeway, three police cars and several black Tahoes in hot pursuit. One squad car lead the way to clear the road. Most of the traffic got out of the way by coming to a complete stop, drivers gawking at the entourage. Blue and red lights lit up the freeway like the Strip and sirens wailed in the early morning air.
-------------------------
Nick fumbled with his phone's battery, trying to get it back into place. The key pad had been easy enough to get straight because there was only one direction it could go, but the battery's casing had cracked and it didn't fit the way it did before. He finally managed to crush it back into the slot. Miraculously, the machine actually responded when he pressed the power button.
"Yes! Go, baby, go!"
He dialed Grissom's number and waited, anxiously, three rings for an answer.
"Grissom."
"Gil! You have the wrong address! Don't let them bust into the wrong house. It's 1705, not 1709. It's the bright green one."
"We're almost there, but I'll make sure they get the message. I have to let you go so I can call them."
There was a click and Grissom was gone. Relief briefly flooded him, but it was quickly replaced by nervous anticipation that gripped his guts like a vice.
---------------------------
The SWAT team swarmed out of the van like a pack of wolves, organized and precise. They moved in on the house with silent hand signals, half of the team going around back to block off any escape route. The rest of the caravan clogged the street and the nightshift CSI piled from their SUVs to watch, with bated breath, as the SWAT prepared to kick the door in. A dark blue truck joined the mix right before impact. It was very possible that this would become a crime scene, with a body to process and evidence to find. No one dared to breathe a word of their concerns as they waited and watched. Sara tossed a glance at Nick, who was chewing on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but she didn't have the time to tell him to stop. The front door was bashed in with enough force to rattle the nearby windows and the well-trained operatives rushed inside. In a matter of seconds, they had a man in his thirties face-down on the floor. They cleared the rest of the house while an officer cuffed the downed man. To the shock of those waiting on edge, none of the SWAT called out the finding of either victim, or body before deeming the house 'clear'.
The group of CSI entered the lime-green house on edge, but there was no blood or signs of struggle in immediate sight. A slight crease in his brow, Grissom approached the suspect as the arresting officer hauled him to his feet. Garret Manning looked exactly as he did in his mug shots, greasy black hair and all, so they couldn't have the wrong house. Strangely, the suspect wasn't complaining, or cursing, or denying that he did anything. He just stood, calmly, his dark eyes boring into Grissom. This didn't unnerve Gil, he'd been glared at before, and attacked, so let him stare.
"Where is Greg? Where is the boy you kidnapped?" he asked, his tone low and even.
The rest of the team didn't even wait for an answer, they fanned out across the house to search for the missing lab technician. They gave each room a good once over before moving on. Nick ghosted rapidly from room to room, calling Greg's name. He opened closets, fell to the floor to check under beds, and even went as far as opening the kitchen cabinets. For all his efforts, he found very little. There was no sign of the DNA specialist. They filtered back into the living room with no results.
All Garret did was grin. He gave no answers, no hints, and no clues as to Greg's whereabouts. Grissom wasn't deterred and spoke over his shoulder to his team, "Search for evidence. If Greg isn't here, we have to find him." When they'd scattered, he turned back to their quiet suspect. "We know you have Greg. Tell us where he is now or you'll be facing bitter consequences," Gil threatened.
Manning's smile broadened and he leaned foreword slightly. "You've got nothing on me, Mr...," he glanced at Gil's vest, "Mr. Grissom. I have no idea what you're talking about. If this is concerning my arrest a year ago, I was put through a trial of my peers and found not guilty. I have nothing to say to you."
"I'm not going to put up with this. Where is Greg Sanders?"
He tossed back his head, his dark eyes falling closed as he laughed. Gil's lip curled in an unconscious snarl. Manning looked back at him, still chuckling, and said, "I've always loved hide-and-go-seek, have you ever played, Mr. Grissom?" When he started laughing again, Gil had to walk away. He couldn't deal with him at his current level of frustration, he would make bad decisions. At Grissom's look of 'he's all yours', Brass took over.
The team searched every nook and cranny the house had to offer as well as the van sitting outside. When nothing obvious could be found, then they began to tear things apart. Catherine filed through the closet, moving clothes and scanning for blood stains. Sarah went through the kitchen, emptying every drawer and cabinet of its contents. Warrick examined the bedroom, trying to pick up anything with an ultraviolet light. Gil focused on the living room while Nick checked the bathroom sinks for blood.
They moved along slowly, covering everything they could think of, but they could find no traces of the brown-eyed lab rat. It was Sara's discovery that got them back on track. She'd moved on to the laundry room and found clothes in the dryer. Blood traces were all over the tee-shirts and on several pairs of the jeans. The DNA would have been compromised by the wash cycle, but everyone had a strong suspicion that they knew who it belonged to. Nick's rage came to a full boil. This man had not only touched Greg, he had hurt him, bad.
The level three CSI had his gun in his hand before he even realized what he was doing. He heard Warrick yell something, but he was flying through the kitchen and into the living room. The suspect raised those dark, unnerving eyes as he entered. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. All of his conscious mind was screaming at him to stop, but the rest of him had other ideas. As a CSI, he processed evidence to catch murderers, not become one. The gun was coming up, his finger tight on the trigger and then Warrick was there, restraining him. Through the blur of his fury, he heard his friend talking him down. As he regained control, he released his grip on the handgun and let Brown take it from him. The rest of the nightshift caught up to the pair quickly. Shock dominated every face in the group. Grissom let his eyes travel from the suspect to Nick's flushed face, his mouth slack. The Texan stopped struggling against his coworker's grasp and Warrick released him. When he'd gathered the courage, he met his boss's ice blue gaze.
"That, Nicky, would have been a crime of passion... I'm not sure what to think of that."
"I... I lost control when I saw that he'd hurt Greg..."
"I understand that Nick, but it still doesn't forgive the fact."
Nick fell silent. He had never been so worked up over anyone before, but Greg was just different. What he felt for the DNA specialist was a one-sided love so deep it hurt. It clouded his judgment and warped his very being. Even knowing that, he wouldn't let it go for anything. He'd always hold onto the impression Greg had left in his heart, even if it turned into a scar.
"Grissom, please don't send me home. Let me stay and I swear to god I'll resign as soon as this is over with. Just don't make me leave until we find Greg. I want to see that he's okay. I have to know," Nick pleaded quietly. Gris had every right to chew him up and spit him out for his actions, but he was hoping that the entomologist would give him another chance.
A heavy sigh proceeded Gil's words, "I didn't say that you had to leave and I don't want you to resign, Nick, but please, get this sorted out. I may not understand the ins and outs of human affection, but I know that killing this man will not help Greg."
So Gil had pegged it. He'd put the pieces of the puzzle together, just the way Sara had. It was understandable, though, solving puzzles was his job. Nick nodded slightly at his conclusion and hung his head. Greg probably wouldn't accept him as is, but he certainly wouldn't even consider him if he'd killed someone.
"Everyone back to work. If there's blood on his clothes, there has to be more evidence. I want everyone but Sara to keep searching in the house. Sara, I want you to go vacuum the van for leaves or dirt, I want to know if he dumped Greg somewhere," Gil ordered to get the team moving. They split apart, but Warrick stayed with Nick to ensure that he kept out of trouble. The pair returned to the bedroom CSI Brown had been processing.
When they were alone, Warrick cleared his throat. "You never bothered to mention this to me," he said casually and picked up where he left off, at the dresser.
Nick helped him remove one of the drawers and spilled, "Warrick, I really didn't know what you'd think, man. You're a really good friend and I've never seen you as any more than that, except maybe as a brother, but that's not what most guys think of when they find out a guy they know is gay. I was afraid that you'd freak out on me." Warrick considered this in silence as he passed an ultraviolet light over each item he removed from the dresser. After a moment, he found the words he was looking for, "You know, that's really not what crossed my mind."
"Really? What did?"
"Why Greg?"
Nick let a small, sad smile tug at the edges of his mouth. A sharp prick of pain brought his attention to the damage he'd caused to his lip when waiting for backup, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. "Greg is just so adorable. He always manages to find something to smile about and that grin is just so damn infectious. I mean, have you ever noticed the way he dances around in the lab when he thinks no one is looking? I can't help but love him," he murmured.
Out of drawers, Warrick moved to the left cabinet with a shake of his head. "That's a little sappy for my tastes, but I see where you're coming from. How long have you felt like this?"
"Years."
This made Warrick bump his head on the underside of the cabinet while reaching for the items in the back. He withdrew from the tight storage space and gave Nick a look of total disbelief. "Years?! You've thought about him like that for years and haven't said a damn word? How do you get up in the morning knowing you have to face that?"
He shrugged helplessly and said, "It was actually better before I got switched to dayshift, I actually got to see him when I worked nights."
His coworker rolled his eyes and moved to the second cabinet. He removed the contents and was just about to close it when he noticed something; he didn't have to lean all the way in to remove everything. "Hey Nick, check this out. This cabinet has a false back. It's not nearly as deep as the other side."
The backing wasn't even the same material as the rest of the dresser and numerous tool marks around the edges suggested that the suspect pulled it out a lot. He had something very important stashed back there.
Nick handed the dark-skinned man a screwdriver and sat back as he worked the thin piece of wood free. Warrick yanked it free and examined what it had been hiding. There was a long-handled knife with rust colored crust along the blade and handle and a small journal. Nick didn't even have to test the material on the knife to know what it was, but the spiral was curious. He picked it up, holding it so Warrick could look over his shoulder. Numerous photographs were tucked between the blank pages and, after trying to leaf through them, Nick shook them out into his gloved hand. The first few snapshots all had the same young woman in them. She had long dark hair with a slight curl and a kind, genuine smile. In each picture, she was with a different man. The subjects were all in their late teens, easily in high school.
The fourth picture in the series made him blink several times. "My god," Nick breathed. The teen pictured with the young girl had spiky, bleach-blonde hair and dark eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. At first glance, he thought he was looking at Greg himself but the subtle differences soon jumped out at him. The boy in the picture had a more squared jaw than Greg, and his eyes had more of an almond shape.
"Now that's just plain creepy," Warrick muttered.
Nick agreed whole-heartedly and moved on. He didn't know how it related to the case just yet, but he was sure it was an important part of it. When he got to the Polaroid's in the back, all the color drained out of his face. The men in the photos all had striking similarities to the boy's pictured with the brunette and they were all bound and blindfolded. He thumbed through them slowly, a numb feeling creeping through his body.
"That's one of the victims from the homicide we tried to pin on him... and that's the other."
Warrick's observation was unsettling, because there were six Polaroid's total. That left four bodies unaccounted for. The last picture in the stack forced Nick to grab the dresser to still the spinning room. It was Greg. The lab technician was lying on his side, apparently unconscious. The only wound Nick could see was a small split in his lip, which accounted for the blood found at the scene.
"Oh shit..." was all his coworker managed to get out.
Nick tried to get his shocked brain to work again, to analyze what he was seeing. "He's on cement. Other than the garage, which we've checked, there's nowhere in the house that has cement."
"Unless he took the photo in the garage and then moved him."
"I don't think so, it doesn't look the same. He might not be in the house Warrick."
Warrick sighed, "Let's get this stuff to Grissom."
The head CSI was circling the house slowly when they found him, his brow furrowed in that deep-in-thought look they all knew so well. Nick handed him their findings wordlessly. The older man took the photographs with a raised eyebrow.
"What are these?"
"Evidence that this wasn't as random as we all thought it was. Every single victim matched a man in one of these photographs, plus several repeats." Gil slipped his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and thumbed through the pictures. He slowed when he reached the Polaroid's and pressed his lips together tightly.
"We're pretty sure that it's not the same cement as the garage, so we don't think he's even here," Nick supplied in a wavering voice, but Grissom shook his grey head. Nick and Warrick exchanged a confused look and the Texan asked, "You want to let us in on it?"
"Do you know what I was just telling Catherine?"
"No, Gil, I don't and I'm really not in the mood for riddles."
Grissom cocked an eyebrow at Nick's snappy comment and the level three CSI fell silent. "I was just telling her that this house is very old, which means that it could have a basement."
"But we haven't seen a door..."
"But that doesn't mean that there isn't one."
This took a moment to sink in and then they took off at full speed. Gil followed, his shoes sounding clearly on the hardwood floor. The steps were muffled, briefly, by a wool rug, but a strange inconsistency in the noise caused him to stop. Before the surgery to correct his hearing, he wouldn't have trusted his ears to find something like that, but there had definitely been an inconsistency in sound halfway across the rug.
He stepped off the southwest style carpet and pulled it up by the corner. There, underneath their very feet, was the door they were seeking. Gil called the team to him with a shout and tried the handle. Not surprisingly, it didn't budge. He looked up at the apprehensive faces gathered around him.
"It's locked."
The muscle in Nick's jaw twitched slightly. "I think I know where we can find a key," he said darkly and stormed into the living room. The officers around Manning tensed when the Texan entered the room, still wary after his last little episode, but Brass waved them down. "I want the key, Garrett, the key to the basement."
The unstable man grinned at him and Nick couldn't help but notice that he was missing one of his front teeth. "I really don't know what you're talking about. I don't have the key, I lost it years ago. I never go down there," he lied through those crooked teeth.
"Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to check his pockets for a key," Nick directed at the police on either side of him. He didn't have the patience to run in verbal circles.
There was nothing in the man's pockets, but a search of his shoes produced a small, silver key. As soon as it had dropped into Nick's waiting hand, Garrett's disposition went from mocking and docile to extremely violent. His face twisted into a nasty snarl and he lunged for the Texan, screaming like a banshee, "You can't take him until I'm done! He must be punished for what he did to my Angie!"
The officers grabbed his arms roughly to keep him from plowing into Nick. The dark-haired CSI didn't flinch away. Instead, he turned from the deranged man and took the key back to the basement door. He didn't have the time to spend gloating over his victory. All he wanted was for that door to be open and Greg to be alive on the other side. Nick struggled to steady his hands enough to get the key into the lock, but no one took it from him. When he threw back the door, the hinges squealed like a dying pig. It really needed some WD-40.
As soon as it was open, he was barreling down the stairs into the dimly lit space below. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust so he could visually sweep the basement. The room was long enough to suggest that it spread underneath the entire house and thick support beams of cement dotted the area. A single, bare bulb was the only light source and it flickered like it was at the end of its life.
Nick took in the room in less than a second, looking for only one thing. The object of his desire was against the wall farthest from the door, huddled in a dark corner like a frightened animal. A tidal wave of pure relief washed through Nick's system. Greg was alive and they'd found him.
He crossed the long room in what seemed like less than two steps and pulled the terrified young man into his arms. Nick pressed his lips to Greg's forehead, tears threatening to flow.
"Nick, take a second to pull off the blindfold," Warrick suggested from halfway across the room. The rest of the team formed a misshapen crescent around the tattered lab tech. Greg was in nothing but his blue-jeans, which were torn and stained, his bare chest riddled with numerous shallow knife wounds. At first, he shrank away from Nick's touch, but the Texan cut both the zip-strip around his wrists as well as the bandana around his eyes and the tension fled from his body. Greg's bewildered expression melted faster than Nick could blink, and then the blonde man tossed his arms around his neck in a hug that was desperate for familiar touch.
Nick was more than happy to oblige, returning Greg's fierce hug, but trying to be mindful of his injuries. Ragged sobs racked the young CSI's lean frame and the Texan's soft heart ached. He knew what it was like, wanting to laugh and cry and shout for joy all in the same instant. It was that moment when all hope was lost and suddenly there were familiar faces all around and you knew that you were going to be alright. Nick also knew that exhaustion was going to sweep through Greg in a matter of seconds. After all, adrenaline could only last so long.
Gil yelled up the stairs, "Get the paramedics down here!"
Nick wrapped his coat around the huddled form and scooped him up. Greg didn't seem inclined to let go of his neck, so he braced his arms beneath his butt and the younger man's legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. Greg kept his face buried in Nick's broad shoulder, still sobbing faintly.
"Maybe you should let the paramedics take him, Nick," Catherine said gently, but made no move to stop him. Nick responded, not angrily, but firmly, "I'm taking him." He didn't want to let Greg out of his sight, not after they'd just found him. That, and Greg had become an octopus of sorts and Nick didn't think he could dislodge him, nor did he want to. He carried him out of that hell, worried friends on his heels. As he crossed through the living room, Nick met the suspect's livid eyes with a glare that could melt metal. Detective Brass led Garret Manning away with a little more force than necessary, giving him the Miranda rights on the way to the nearest squad car.
The nightmare was over. Greg was safe in Nick's protective hold and they had enough evidence to get Mr. Manning the death penalty for the other homicides, but there was still one unanswered question. Why? The photographs with the girl named Angie were clutched in Warrick's hand. He didn't know what had happened to this teenager to cause Garret to take such twisted actions against the boys' look-a-likes, but he intended to find out. The case wasn't closed just yet.
----------------------
It had been a month since the nightmare of Greg's disappearance. The lab technician had returned to work barely two weeks after the ordeal, much sooner than anyone expected him to. Nick's request for a shift change finally went through and he came back to the graveyard for the second time. He hoped Eckley would leave his shift alone for the time being and let him work all hours of the night with his friends. Nick quietly kept an eye on the DNA specialist, but didn't have the courage to lay his emotions on the table for Greg to see. It concerned him when Greg didn't bounce back to normal. He moved around the lab in complete silence, just a ghost of his previous self. It was like he'd become the shell of Greg Sanders, but no one was home inside. Nick watched anxiously as the man he loved seemed to disappear. There were no jokes when he returned samples and no teasing during lunch. The team tried in vain to bring him out of it. They offered to go out with him to brighten his spirits, but every proposal was shot down cold. The only answer he ever gave was, "I can't, I've got to work." Greg never seemed to leave the office; he was always in his lab, analyzing anything he could get his hands on. It got so bad that even Sara, who seemed to live at work, commented on it, "Guys, when's the last time anyone has seen Greg go home?"
They were sitting around the break room before shift when she mentioned it. Nick peered into his coffee like it was interesting, raking his mind for the answer. Catherine pushed off against the counter she'd been leaning on. She'd stuck around after her shift because Lindsey was spending the week with her father and she didn't have to be home promptly. She was the first one to break the thoughtful silence.
"Honestly, I have no idea. He's always here when I get here in the morning and he's usually still here when I leave. He must be getting more overtime than the lab is willing to pay for."
Warrick huffed a little and stated, "You guys act like it's a surprise. Would you want to go home alone after something like that?"
"I understand that, Warrick, but when does he get sleep?"
He shrugged in response.
It wasn't like he knew what to say to Greg. Even the insight to Garret Manning's actions wouldn't help him return to normal. Warrick had found the 'why' within days of the kidnapping, there had been a police report on it. The police had ruled it apparent suicide and it had never made it to the CSIs of the Seattle area, where Angie Manning had passed away. She was related to Garret by blood, she had been his sister. The file had a statement from the distraught brother the day that the girl had died, 'She wouldn't have done it if not for them! You need to arrest them! The damn bastards hurt her!' That was all the officer had recorded. Garret had been in a state of emotional trauma. It took Warrick a little longer to dig the rest up and make a conclusion. Three out of the four boys that Garret named had been questioned, but the cops hadn't been able to track down the fourth. They'd all confessed that they'd played with Angie, led her on. Through a cruel practical joke, they'd all gone out with her, pretending it was serious, and then had revealed the whole plot to her. She'd been crushed, stopped going to school and then killed herself.
A week later, the unquestioned boy was reported missing. Several months after that, another boy disappeared. Within a year, all four were on the missing persons list. When the police had not avenged his little sister, Warrick suspected that Mr. Manning took things into his own hands, but then, he couldn't accept that his revenge was over, so he began kidnapping look-a-likes. Four 'beautiful boys' had torn apart his life and his home, so he'd torn them apart to get even. Greg was in the wrong place at the wrong time, under the wrong gaze. To Garret, he'd been one of those boys, just like the other innocent men that had been killed. Sara's voice brought Warrick's wandering mind back to the problem at hand, "It's not like we haven't all tried to cheer him up. He needs to get his mind off of all of this."
"That's what he's using work for," Nick informed them unnecessarily.
"Wait a minute. We've all been in there except you, Nick! It's not like it's a secret anymore, except to him. Haven't you told him yet?"
"You think he needs that right now? I'm not going to push that on him until he's feeling more like himself," he said and got up to get to work. Sara blocked the door.
"No way! You're using that as an excuse! Go talk to him."
Nick didn't have to respond as Gil came in with their assignments for the night. He handed out the slips of paper, "Warrick, you have a hit and run with an uncooperative witness. Sara, you're with me, we're going to check out a break-in gone bad. Catherine, I want you to go home..."
"You're not my boss."
"... and Nick, I need to see you for a second before I send you out."
Nick sighed as the room cleared out. Gil wanted to talk to him about his actions the night they arrested Manning. He'd wondered when his boss was going to bring that up. He was getting fired; there was no way around it.
Grissom coolly eyed Nick for a moment before he spoke and the Texan braced himself for the worst, "Unspoken love always leads to a broken heart."
What? That was not what he'd been expecting at all. In fact, Nick had never thought that something like that would ever come out of Grissom's mouth. Was Gil giving him advice?
"Who said that? Frost, Hemmingway?"
"Actually, it came from the fortune cookie I had with my Chinese yesterday. I thought it was more fitting advice for you than me. When you're done here, go catch up with Warrick, we're having a slow night."
Baffled, Nick just stood in the break room for a moment. When he moved, it was in an uncertain gate down the hall. He leaned in the doorway to Greg's lab. The DNA specialist didn't seem to notice him and continued with his work. Nick opened his mouth but didn't say what he intended. He held back his confession when he realized that they had an audience. No one had actually left the office just yet. Rather than get shot down in front of a crowd, he did the next best thing, "Hey Greggo, can I talk to you for a second?"
"I'm kind of busy," he said blandly, like it was an automatic response. Greg looked like a train wreck. His skin was pale and there were dark circles under his empty, brown eyes. Nicky's chest constricted painfully. He nodded and turned to walk away. It was just too excruciating to stand in his presence; he didn't have the courage that they all seemed to think he did. From just down the hall, he received several glared daggers and was forced to turn back.
Nick set his jaw and grabbed Greg's arm. "We have to talk."
The lab technician stumbled after him, complaining weakly that the sample couldn't wait, but he was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. Nick led him through the lab to the co-ed locker rooms and gently maneuvered Greg onto the bench.
"Can't this wait until after work?"
"No. Will you just listen a minute?"
Greg shut up and leaned back on his hands. He arched one dark eyebrow in an inquisitive look that gave Nick hope. There was at least some of the original Greg left in there.
Nick's heart rate increased rapidly as his courage betrayed him and fled from battle. "I... shit... I wanted to tell you that... that I..."
That eyebrow arched a little higher and the other joined it.
The Texan's words were fleeing at an alarming rate and he could only try and spit out his confession with what he had left. "I really... Greg, I was wondering if you'd... you'd like to have dinner, but I mean... you really don't have to," Nick crashed and burned worse than he'd imagined.
"Are you trying to ask me out on a date?" the lab tech asked with some amusement.
Nick winced and squeezed his eyes shut; his mouth wouldn't seem to stop babbling, "I'm sorry. I knew you were straight... I just shouldn't have said anything... but, I..." He heaved a sigh that carried the weight of the world and met Greg's eyes, "Can I kiss you? Just once and, after that, I swear I'll leave you alone."
Greg turned away, thinking. Nick could almost hear the wheels turning beneath that mop of blonde hair. He shifted uncomfortably as he waited for the judgment to fall, feeling a lot like a suspect waiting for the jury's answer. A pink tip of tongue appeared from between Greg's lips, moistening them in one quick swipe. He'd come to a decision.
"Yeah, okay. Kiss me."
Nick would later swear that his heart had stopped when those words fell from Greg's delectable mouth. He had to remember how to breathe before he could regain the rest of his senses.
"What? Are you serious?"
"Do you want me to change my mind?"
"Hell no!"
"Well then, here's your chance. Kiss me."
Not needing to be told a third time, Nick framed the younger man's face with his hands and pressed their lips together. Greg wrapped his arms around his back and allowed Nick's questing tongue entrance. The world fell away. Every movement in the office came to a standstill and the whole of Las Vegas fell silent as electricity poured through Nick's body. And then Greg moaned into his mouth and he lost all control. The kiss quickly escaped both of them, becoming hot and needy and fierce.
Nick slid his hands from Greg's face down to the small of his back, pulling their bodies together tightly. The contact was delicious. Nick vaguely thought that Greg was probably one of those people that could tie cherry stems in a knot with their tongues, because that slick muscle was working wonders in his mouth.
Considering the in depth knowledge they both had of science, they ignored their body's biological needs far longer than they should have. When they broke apart for air, they were both panting uncontrollably and grinning like idiots. Between gasps, Greg asked, "What gave you the idea that I was straight?"
Nick couldn't pull together a coherent sentence to give him and kept smiling instead. He nuzzled just under the blonde man's ear. "Dinner, after work," Nick practically purred at him.
Greg nodded and they reluctantly let go of each other. When the lab tech smirked at him, Nick knew that he was going to be okay. He'd heal.
"So, you're not straight?"
"Nope, bi, but if it's worth anything I've never flirted harder with anyone in hopes of catching their interest. Usually, I'm pretty laid back about catching prey."
Nick's liquid brown eyes went wide, "You were flirting with me?"
"...And I obviously needed the extra boost because you are the most clueless person I've ever tried to get my hands on."
"But I'm just thought that was how you acted around everybody."
Greg grinned lazily and shifted his arms further up on Nick's neck. "Nope, I tease everyone else. With you, it's flirting. Remember that time I told you that people always spit on each other when they talk, whether they're conscious of it or not?"
Nick, not quite sure where this was going, nodded.
"Well, I was kind of hoping that you'd make some joke about swapping spit so I could tell you that we were doing just that. I wanted to see you blush at the thought. That would have confirmed that my flirting had not gone in vain," Greg said rather dramatically and waggled his eyebrows.
The Texan pulled him into a sudden hug, eliciting a little yelp of surprise from the nutty lab rat.
"Um... Nick, something wrong?" Greg asked from where he was crushed against Nick's rather well-formed pectoral muscle. It wasn't that he was complaining, but he was curious about the random action.
"No, I just glad that you're going to be okay." The Texan's voice was kind of strangled, like he was trying to hold back tears. Greg pushed away to look at him.
"What do you mean?"
"For a little while there, I thought that you just weren't going to be the same. You haven't told a cheesy joke in weeks."
"I'm okay... or at least I will be... I just need some time to get it all out of my system," he admitted and leaned back into Nick's hold. He felt safe there in Nick's arms and his waiting sample moved to the back burner in his mind. It was tempting to take the rest of the day off, go find a couch somewhere, and just lay in Nick's lap with the Texan's broad hand carding through his hair.
Someone cleared their throat, jolting both of them out of the intimate moment. Two sets of brown eyes flew to the doorway, meeting green there. Warrick shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling slightly awkward for interrupting.
"Nick, can you wrap this up? The crime scene's getting cold, man."
--------------------
Greg Sanders tapped a pen on the desk impatiently, staring at the clock with the intensity of long practice. He silently willed the hands to move faster. It was only five minutes before the end of his shift, but he'd last looked at the clock only ten minutes from the end of shift and that seemed like hours ago. The stack of samples he'd analyzed, in record time, was sitting on the edge of the table. It would probably kill some time if he went to drop them off in person, but the CSIs usually came back for their own stuff and he really didn't want to be in the lab any longer than necessary. The clock hit six and he was out the door and on his way to the locker room. He literally collided with someone as he rounded the corner, landing on his ass hard enough to bruise. The man he'd run into laughed and offered him a hand. Greg recognized both the laugh as well as the silver ring on the middle finger of said hand. He grabbed it and let Nick haul him to his feet.
"Seems like you were in as much of a hurry as me," the level three CSI commented, still chuckling.
For some reason, Greg blushed, but Nick didn't say anything about it. Instead, he kept a hold on Greg's hand and led him out to the parking lot. He mentioned, offhandedly, that the place he had in mind wasn't far.
They made the trip to the restaurant in comfortable silence, Nick driving with one hand resting on Greg's thigh. The touch wasn't meant to be erotic or arousing, it was just a point of connection between their bodies. Greg smiled and placed his hand over Nick's. For all he cared, they could drive to the farthest point on the continent just the way they were. Garret Manning's dark basement was far from his thoughts for the first time in nearly a month. The last time he'd managed to escape him had been when Nick was kissing him senseless in the locker room. Twice in one day, he'd felt like nothing in the world could touch him because he had a Texan guardian with dark brown eyes and a genuine smile.
Greg was almost disappointed when they pulled into their destination. He really just didn't want to get out of the car, but Nick's hand moved from his leg to put the truck in park, so he opened the door. The place Nick had chosen was called Rose's, which was infamous for the pancakes they served. Despite how long he'd lived in Las Vegas, Greg had never actually been inside.
The waitress seated them in a small, circular booth near the back, which let them sit so their legs touched. She left them with two menus, but Nick didn't bother to pick his up. Instead, he relaxed and stretched his arms out across the back of the booth. This allowed him to drape a casual arm across Greg's shoulders. Greg smirked at the gesture and continued to scan the multitude of entrees the menu offered. It was like the old tactic he used in high school when he took dates to the movies. Only, he suspected that Nick was being casual about it for the publics' sake, not his own. Not everyone was entirely comfortable with couples like them.
The thought of them being a couple sent a tremor down Greg's spine. The man beside him was on a date with him, which meant Greg could hope for more such moments in the future. It made him giddy knowing that Nick could become a permanent part of his life. Then again, this was the first date. There was no telling if Nick would ever want to take him out again. Maybe the Texan would change his mind and decide that he really didn't want Greg. The lab rat chewed his lip as he fretted.
Nick reached over and ran his thumb across the lip Greg was biting, "Stop that. You're either going to make yourself bleed, or force me to jump on you so I can do that myself. Neither of which would be good."
"On the contrary, I think you jumping on me might be a good thing."
"Not in front of all these people."
Greg grinned at Nick's teasing. He would just have to wait and see. If Nick still wanted him after their first date, then Greg was going to jump up onto the nearest lab table and dance, but for now he'd just have to wait. He closed his menu and leaned back against Nick's arm. "I think I'll have the pancakes."
"Surprise, surprise. It's only the most popular dish on the menu."
When the food came, Greg's mouth fell open. The portions were gigantic.
"Why didn't you warn me that they gave you so much food?! I wouldn't have ordered the side of eggs! There's like six pancakes here, Nick!"
"Actually, you ordered the Flapjack Stack. There are eight pancakes there."
"You're evil."
Nick gave him his best diabolical grin and attacked his own pancakes. It took them nearly an hour to finish the expansive breakfast and they were both overly full when they'd eaten the last of it. Greg set down his fork and leaned back, making a face at his sticky fingers.
"How do I always manage to get syrup on my fingers? It's like it crawls up the fork no matter how careful you are..." he commented and pulled his hand up to his mouth to clean off the sticky substance. Before the digits disappeared between Greg's lips, Nick grabbed his wrist. He sucked the younger man's index finger into his mouth and rolled his tongue around it. When it was clean, he moved on to the middle finger. Nick tried not to grin as Greg's eyes got impossibly wide. His gaze shot around the quiet restaurant, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention.
Once he'd cleaned ever square inch of Greg's sticky hand, he pulled away and licked his lips. "Tasty."
Nick's date snickered as the shock wore off. "I can't believe you just did that in public," Greg muttered with a very stupid grin.
"I couldn't help myself. I told you I was going to jump on you."
-------------
After Nick paid for the meal, the food-sedated men climbed back into the Texan's truck. The driver didn't immediately turn on the six-cylinder beast, but mentioned, "Gil gave you tomorrow night off. You should get some rest."
Greg's mood shifted slightly and he turned to gaze out the passenger window. He knew that Gil had given him the night off, he'd given him a lot of time off, but Greg had shown up at work anyway. One of the downsides of working nightshift was that, when he had time off it meant that he had to stay home alone in the dark. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, especially not to the man sitting next to him, that the dark had become his least favorite thing. It made him feel like a little kid that still needed a nightlight, but he just couldn't find the courage to leave even one light off in the house when the sun went down. Black, inky darkness took him places he didn't want to go.
"You can call me if you need anything," offered a deep voice with a mild accent. A firm hand grasped Greg's chin and turned him back to face his newfound boyfriend. Nick gave him a reassuring little smile.
"Even if you're at work?"
"Even if I'm at work. I'll pick up, unless I'm doing something really vital."
Minor comfort thought it was, Greg felt better. He nodded and leaned against the Texan's broad shoulder. The armrest between them pressed against the lab technician's ribcage, but he didn't mind. An arm snaked around his waist and he was content. Nick drove him back to the crime lab parking lot so he could pick up his car and they went their separate ways after a good, long kiss.
-----------
The crime scene was relatively simple. It was going to be one of those open and shut cases that took little more than an hour or two. The cops had caught the guy fleeing the scene, the murder weapon still in his hand. Nick was processing the blood trail leading from the DB to where the cops had cuffed the suspect. It was very straight-forward. Sara was working the case with him and, between the two of them, they'd found more than enough evidence to get the dumb bastard canned. A phone went off, causing both of them to glance down. Nick pulled his off his belt and Sara went back to work. He grinned at the name displayed on the faceplate. It was Greg.
"Stokes," he said out of habit. The voice on the other end was strung out and terrified, just a shaky whimper that was barely comprehensible. "I'm scared."
Nick was on his feet in an instant, alarm shooting adrenaline into his veins. Something was terribly wrong. Not Greg, not again. "Greg, what is it? What's wrong?"
Sara looked up at him, his anxiety catching her immediate attention.
"I was just... that voice won't go away, Nick! And it's dark... and I just can't... I'm so scared," Greg was sobbing. He was panicked.
"Listen, I'll be there in a few minutes!" Nick covered the mouthpiece for a split-second to ask Sara, "Can you finish up here?" She nodded, once, and he bolted for the car. "Hang on, I'm coming!"
"Oh god, don't leave me alone! Don't hang up on me!" Greg's fear tore at his heart.
"I'm not going to. It'll be okay... Greg?" Nick frowned at the sudden silence and pulled the phone away from his ear. He had absolutely no signal. The phone had dropped the call. He muttered a few obscenities while he tried to dial Greg's number and drive at the same time. His cell service continued to be fickle and Nick was halfway to Greg's apartment before the call went through.
Greg was much calmer when he picked up the phone. He still sounded shaken, but not as panicked as before, "Nick? Hey, I'm sorry about that. I had a nightmare and I think I was still too groggy to separate reality from dream. You don't have to come over."
"Are you sure you're okay? I mean, I was working a scene, but..."
"I'm fine, don't leave work. I'll see you later, 'k?"
"But..."
Before the argument fell from his mouth, Greg was gone. Nick snapped the cell shut and dropped it into the nearest cup-holder. Even if he did turn around, Sara would probably be done by the time he got there. Greg hadn't given him a chance to say that, but he was already too far to go back. He hadn't taken a day off in what seemed like an eternity, so he didn't see the harm in it.
-------------
Greg watched his coffee machine as it brewed. He wasn't one to be embarrassed easily, but calling Nick because of a nightmare left him feeling like a complete moron. Nick was probably laughing it off with Warrick or Sara, or whoever Gil had partnered him with for his case. No second date for Greg Sanders, no way. Not after that little idiotic display.
He sighed and shoved his hands in the pockets of his terrycloth robe.
It had only been a nightmare, the same one he'd been having for weeks, but he definitely wasn't going back to sleep. His bedroom was just too dark and he couldn't go to sleep with a light on, so he'd settle for a cup of coffee and some time in front of the television. The magical glowing box was a good way to get his mind off of anything that was bothering him. Actually, the glowing box was a good way to keep him from thinking at all.
Greg was just curling up on the couch when someone knocked on his door. The sound caused him to jump out of his skin. He composed himself quickly and glanced through the peephole before opening the door.
"Hey you, how are you doing?" Nick asked with a concerned slope to his brow. He obviously hadn't wasted a second getting there, as he was still wearing sterile gloves and the standard-issue investigator's vest that bore his last name.
Greg stepped away to let him inside. "I'm okay... You planning on doing any surgeries, doctor?"
"What?"
"You're still wearing gloves."
A blush crept up Nick's face and he pulled them off. He looked around the apartment as he shrugged off his vest and tossed it across a comfy looking armchair. Nick had never actually been inside Greg's apartment. He'd driven the lab tech home a few times but had never made it to the door. It shocked him that he'd actually been able to find it without Greg's guidance.
"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"
"Yeah, but I called Grissom after I talked to you and let him know that I wouldn't be coming back with Sara. You want to tell me what happened?"
Greg rolled his big, chocolate colored eyes and flopped onto the couch gracelessly. "I just had a nightmare," he told Nick with a hint of irritation. The Texan sank down beside him and Greg dropped the frustration from his tone. He was irritated with himself and he didn't want Nick thinking that it was something he had done. "I just haven't been sleeping well lately... Ever since all of that shit happened, I haven't been able to turn out the lights. I'm afraid of the dark again, like when I was seven... It's so lame."
"You're allowed to be afraid. I can't sit in enclosed spaces anymore."
"You're claustrophobic?"
"I didn't use to be."
The lab technician nodded and edged closer to the other body on his couch. Wordlessly, Nick pulled Greg to him and pressed his lips against the top of his head. The younger man fit perfectly in the curve of his body. "Can I kiss you?"
"Will you stop asking and just do it?" Nick grinned and did as he was told, taking Greg's waiting mouth in a hungry kiss. Tongues battled lazily when they met and there was a playful nibbling of lips. Eager desire quickly escalated and Nick was repositioning Greg so the other man could sit astride his hips. Broad hands slid through the front of Greg's robe and began mapping the surface of his skin. They roamed boldly across his flat stomach, causing Greg to flinch.
The gouges there had healed over, but he knew that Nick could feel the forming scars. If Nick noticed, he didn't make any comment on it. Instead, he rubbed a thumb over Greg's right nipple, enticing a small groan. He arched into Nick's touch and the Texan smiled around the lip he was sucking on. A scorching need curled around them both and they couldn't find enough skin to touch, enough mouth to invade, or enough body to kiss. Hands claimed territory everywhere they could reach. Greg broke away from the frenzy and sat back on Nick's lap. The Texan tried to follow, but his boyfriend pushed him back into the couch. "No, stay there." Nick showed some level of obedience, but continued to explore Greg's body with his fingertips. The lab technician allowed him to do so as he rolled his shoulders to rid himself of his robe. He was about to dive back in for more when he noticed Nick's impressive erection straining against his dark-wash blue jeans. Greg smirked and took in Nick's flushed face. The man was admiring him through half-lidded eyes, a look that Greg would easily categorize as 'bedroom eyes'. It reminded him that they were still on his couch.
"You know, I really don't care where we do this, but my bedroom would be more comfortable. Though, I am all game for trying things in new places."
This took a second to register in Nick's dark, lust-glazed eyes. He didn't bother to voice his agreement. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet with two good handfuls of Greg's ass. The DNA specialist tossed his arms around Nick's shoulders and wrapped his legs around his hips, grinding their erections together. Nick gasped at the sensation and very nearly fell to the floor.
The distance to the bedroom seemed extremely long and was growing in leaps and bounds every second Greg spent suckling on his earlobe. It wasn't that the lab rat was too heavy, far from it in fact, but Nick had a very hard time concentrating on walking when Greg's half-naked body was wriggling against him.
In a stroke of pure luck, they managed to reach the door. Nick crossed the final few steps and dumped Greg onto the unmade bed. The shameless creature refused to release him and he fell to his hands and knees on the mattress. Not wasting any time, Nick reached to unbutton his blue jeans. He'd lost his shirt somewhere between Greg's couch and Greg's bed, but he figured that he would find it in the morning.
Greg was more than obliged to help Nick get rid of the denim obstacle and slid down to pull off the Texan's shoes. This reduced them both to underwear, one in boxers and the other in boxer-briefs, but those too were soon tossed to the floor. Whether or not they actually hit the floor could be arguable as the floor was covered in layers of who-knows-what. Greg was obviously not the neatest person in the world, but his room could only be defined as a train wreck. Fortunately, at the moment, Nick couldn't care less. He hadn't really even seen the room upon entering, let alone notice the state it was in. He was far too focused on a pair of warm lips and a slick, lean body beneath his own.
"How far to you want to go?" Nick panted against the pulse in Greg's neck. His hot breath sent a shiver down the younger man's spine.
"I want you to take me all the way, cowboy," Greg said teasingly and climbed to the head of the bed. He rummaged in a side table until he found a bottle of hand moisturizer. He couldn't remember ever actually using it on his hands, but it was going to prove it's worth now. "I don't have any real lube right now, but I'm going to have to get some if you want to do this again."
Greg lay back into the pillows and spread his legs, winning a raised eyebrow. Nick coated a few of his fingers in the lotion and set to work. No shock crossed Greg's face as he slid the first digit inside his hot body, just pure pleasure. Not only was he a bottom, but he'd also done this before. Both took Nick by surprise. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he hadn't even known that Greg went both ways, let alone that he'd bottomed before.
"I didn't know that you liked the bottom," the Texan murmured as he slid a second finger beside the first, scissoring them slightly. Greg squirmed beneath him and moaned loudly.
"Don't... uhn, don't get me wrong. I like both. Oh god! Do that again!"
Nick grinned and rubbed his fingertips against the bundle of nerves he'd been probing for. He mentally documented it's location for later use and rubbed his knuckles against it a few more times. Greg howled his lover's name and gripped the bed sheets, stars dancing behind his eyes.
When Nick withdrew his fingers, Greg went limp, feeling terribly empty. The lab tech barely had a second to catch his breath before his legs were pulled up over broad shoulders.
Nick gently pushed the tip of his cock past the first tight ring of muscle. He kept a strangle-hold on his dwindling control, but it was slipping away too fast. Greg bucked back against him, bringing him deeper. Nick gripped his hips to still him and the man with bleach-blonde hair groaned his disproval.
"Come on Nicky! Fuck me! I'm not gonna' break! I want you to make me so sore I can't sit for weeks!"
Nick released the reigns on his control, letting himself tumble off the edge. He planted his hands in the mattress for leverage and slammed into the body beneath him. The headboard hit the wall hard enough to chip the plaster and alert the neighbors to what they were up to. Let them know. They were going to be hearing a lot more from Greg's apartment anyway.
"God, yes!" Greg shouted at the ceiling. Nick might have been a good, civil human being during the day, but he was a wild creature in bed. Greg silently thanked whatever divine being that had decided on that personality quark.
The two bodies slammed together in a quick and erratic pace. Greg moved his hips to meet every thrust and Nick kept himself angled so he hit his lover's prostate with every pass. Greg's rough vocalization was a stream of incoherent obscenities that rose an octave when a hand wrapped around his painful erection.
Nick pumped his cock in time to his thrusts, twisting it slightly to set Greg off. Within seconds, the younger man arched off the bed and came with a scream. Nick followed shortly after, unable to hold out against the clenched muscles that were tightening around him. They collapsed in a sweaty, sticky, sated mess. Nick rolled off of Greg once he found the energy and gave him a sleepy, post-orgasm smile. "Should we clean up?"
"Nah, it can wait until morning..." Greg said and brought their lips together for a long, drowsy kiss. He broke away and picked up the nearest object, chunking it at the light switch with an accuracy that could only come with practice and extreme laziness. It hit the switch dead-on and the room was pitched into darkness.
Nick worked the comforter out from under them and wrapped his arms around Greg. "I take it that you do that often."
"Yeah, well. Sometimes you're just too comfortable to get up."
Blackness closed in around them, but Greg snuggled into the curve of his lover's body. It wasn't the same darkness as before. It was far less terrifying and only brought a dreamless sleep. Greg smiled as he let himself drift off in Nick's arms because he had nothing to be afraid of. Manning was gone and so was his dark basement. All that remained was his messy room and Nick's soft, steady breathing. -----------
Fin
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