Title: Ancient Vendetta
Author: VicXntric
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Pairing: Warrick/Nick
Category: angst; AU
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Spoilers: Up to and including "Grave Danger;" some parts of Season 6.
Summary: Nick wasn't the only thing pulled from the ground that night.
Disclaimer: So not mine. Will put them back tired but happy.

"Nick?"

Sara Sidle looked up from the coffee table she was dusting in time to see her supervisor brace an arm behind Nick to keep him from toppling over. Quickly, she straightened and gripped Nick's arm to help steady him.

"Sorry," Nick apologized with a slight laugh. "Tripped."

Grissom slanted a look of disbelief at Nick's back before meeting Sara's eyes. "Call Greg to give you a hand here," he told her. "I'm taking Nick to the hospital."

"What?" Nick turned a little too quickly and wavered a bit before catching himself. "Grissom..."

"I've let this slide long enough, Nick. Probably too long."

Sara caught herself nodding in agreement, but stopped before Nick looked her way again. After six weeks of recovery time, Nick had returned to work his old self, much to everyone's relief. When he started to look run down after only a week back, his co-worker's assumed he was adjusting and gave him some leeway. Too much leeway, judging by the shadows under and in Nick's eyes.

"I don't need a hospital," Nick said, drawing himself up to his usual posture. "I'm just a bit tired. I'm just--" he looked at Sara for a little help.

Sara looked down at the print brush, twirling it slightly. "Your hands were shaking when you were printing the door," she said quietly. She hated to do it, knowing how she would feel in his place. The idea of being away from the job as long as he had and then being ordered off again made her a little queasy.

Nick wasn't even feeling well enough for a retort, apparently, because all Sara heard was a disappointed sigh.

"Come on, Nick," Grissom said, his tone firm.

"I'm not going to the hospital," Nick insisted. "What are they going to do? Tell me to get some rest. There's nothing wrong with me."

"All right then," Grissom conceded, ushering Nick toward the door. "You're going home to get some rest." He glanced over at Sara, "You've got this one."

Sara nodded, taking out her cell. Before she dialed she caught Nick's eye, "Eight hours straight would do you wonders, Nick."

"Look who's talking," Nick said, his teasing tone indicating he wasn't angry with her for mentioning the tremors.

As she watched them climb in the Denali, Sara couldn't help thinking that even eighteen hours wouldn't put a dent in Nick's weariness.

* * *

"Sara said you took Nick home from the scene."

Gil Grissom turned to find Catherine hurrying to catch up with him. "Figured I'd better before he collapsed," he replied.

"Conrad wants to talk to us. About Nick."

That brought him up short. He stared at Catherine, who looked about as happy as he felt with the situation. "It'll have to be later. I'm headed back to the crime scene."

"Gil," Catherine's tone indicated there was no getting around this.

The entomologist sighed in resignation. He had been hoping against hope that Nick would find his feet again before things got bad enough for the Assistant Director to notice, but it was not to be. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute. I just have to stop in at my office." And think of a way to keep Nick's job from being jeopardized.

"Okay," Catherine nodded and turned to go back the way she came.

In the chaotic order that was his office, Gil firmly pushed his concern for Nick's well-being to the back of his mind and locked the door on it. Although he and Conrad Ecklie had established a tentative truce since Nick's ordeal and the subsequent reunion of the graveyard shift, Gil had no intention of showing anything that might be interpreted as weakness if Nick's job was on the line. His usual bland expression was firmly in place as he walked to Ecklie's office.

"Come in, Gil," Ecklie said in response to Gil's courtesy knock.

No sense aggravating the man as was his usual wont, Gil had decided. He walked in and took the chair next to Catherine.

"I take it Catherine told you what this is in regards to."

"Nick," Gil said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the slight edge out of his voice.

"Yes. Nick." Ecklie leaned back in his chair, which Gil knew was a sign he was gearing up to deliver something unpleasant. "Unfortunately, Nick hasn't been doing very well since his return."

"Nick has been through--"

"I'm aware what he went through," Ecklie sounded annoyed. "That doesn't change the fact that he's actually deteriorated since he came back to work. Where is he now?"

Gil gritted his teeth, but there was no getting around facts. "I brought him home."

Ecklie didn't speak, but looked pointedly at the clock then back at Gil.

"He's a fine criminalist," Gil said, even though he knew it would have little actual effect on the situation.

"Not at the moment."

That brought Catherine into it. "Nick hasn't made a wrong move since he got back. None of his case reviews have shown even the slightest--"

Gil could see her gearing up into a full-blown tirade in Nick's defense. Apparently, so could Ecklie, because he held up his hands in a calming gesture. Gil didn't bother telling him that rarely worked on Catherine.

"If he continues the way he's going," Ecklie said, raising his voice until Catherine subsided. "Then it's only a matter of time before something happens that could cost him his job or damage the lab's reputation." Gil opened his mouth to protest, but Ecklie kept right on going, "Nick didn't take advantage of any of the offered counseling. I'm now making at least three sessions mandatory. He is also off work pending a complete physical exam. He'll be on sick leave until both doctors give him a clean bill of health."

It was perfectly fair, and even helpful to Nick. Gil was forced to acknowledge that, even though the petty side of him--the side that enjoyed baiting the likes of Conrad Ecklie--hated to do so. There was one small problem though, and naturally Catherine brought it up first.

"Nick has a problem with...therapists. I'm not sure he'll agree."

"It will take a good deal of convincing," Gil added.

Ecklie's lips tightened in aggravation, but his tone was surprisingly wry when he spoke. "Then I'll be the one to discuss it with him. If I tell him that his job depends on complying with these requirements, he'll believe me."

* * *

Warrick Brown glanced around the locker room, his eyes searching for Nick. Instead, he saw Catherine sitting on the bench in front of her locker, looking miserable. For a moment he was tempted to turn around and leave. Ever since his marriage and her return to graveyard, things had been uneasy between them. She was still a friend though, and he wouldn't be a very good one unless he at least offered a friendly ear. "Hey."

She looked up and gave him a wan smile, "Hey."

"You okay?"

Rather than replying, Catherine merely sighed and shook her head. "What are you up to?"

"Just looking for Nick before I head out again."

Another sigh. "He's at home. Gil took him home a couple of hours into his shift."

That did not sound good. "What? What happened?"

"Sounds like he nearly collapsed--passed out--at the scene. Ecklie put him on leave until he gets the okay from an MD and a shrink."

"Ah, Christ," Warrick dropped down onto the bench next to her. "I knew it. I knew things weren't going good with him. The doctor is one thing, but I don't think the whole shrink idea is going to go over well."

"But it might be the best thing for him. As much as we try helping him, it's just not working."

"I know," Warrick agreed reluctantly. "I mean, he started out okay when he first came back. Then--" he shook his head. "I tried to talk to him when I first thought something was off, but he just--"

"Told you he was fine," Catherine finished, sounding as though she'd had the same experience.

"Or he'd laugh it off. Dammit, I knew I shouldn't have let up."

"You have a lot on your plate right now, Warrick," Catherine pointed out. "Of course you've got other things on your mind."

Warrick looked at her carefully, but could find no trace of censure in either her expression or tone. He didn't reply, though, hoping that if he kept quiet, she would let the subject drop. How the hell could he explain that he'd been trying to think about anything but Nick since his marriage? Whenever he did think about Nick, he always started questioning the reasons he'd gotten married in the first place.

Catherine's voice was a welcome distraction as his thoughts almost started down that path yet again. "He's off for a few days at least. Hopefully he'll be able to get enough rest that the doctor won't pull him indefinitely."

* * *

After his boss dropped him off, Nick Stokes wandered around his house as though it was the first time he'd set foot in it. It was an odd feeling of familiar unfamiliarity, as though everything had shifted just barely enough to be noticeable. He shook off the uncomfortable sensation and sat down on his couch, flipping through the channels without actually registering what was on, but wanting some sort of distraction.

It was a relief to be away from everyone and drop the facade for a while, because Nick was tired, although he hadn't realized it was to the point of dizziness. Initially, he was working out more often in the hopes of tiring himself out enough so he could get at least six hours straight, but that idea was obviously backfiring on him. He was going to have to get used to functioning at a slightly slower pace than he had maintained before, it was as simple as that. Eventually he'd hit his stride again and get himself back on track. In the meantime, it was probably best that he stayed up at least a couple more hours rather than going to sleep in what was technically the middle of his work day--that would completely mess him up.

After flipping back and forth between sports scores and American Chopper without really paying attention to either, Nick wandered into his kitchen with the vague notion that he should probably eat something. He eyed the contents of his refrigerator with disinterest, considering then abandoning the idea of making a sandwich. He glanced at the canned protein shakes, but the thought of having one made him feel nauseous. In the end he grabbed a bottle of water, promising himself that the next time he woke up he'd at the very least have one of those shakes, although he knew it would be better for him to eat an actual meal again.

Another hour of staring blankly at the television was all it took for him to say "the hell with it" and crawl into his bed. Once he was settled comfortably and had closed his tired, gritty eyes, the waves of sleepiness that had been trying to overtake him on the sofa subsided. He knew that his friends assumed his lack of sleep was probably caused by nightmares about being trapped underground, but he was almost positive that wasn't it. He remembered the nightmares in the hospital and during his first week back at home, but he hadn't dreamed anything of the sort for weeks. In fact, if he had dreamed at all since returning to work, none of the dreams had made enough of an impression for him to recall them.

On the other hand, he had to be dreaming about something, and something fairly serious, at that. More often than not he would wake up with sore muscles, as though he'd been sparring with someone in his sleep. Initially, he assumed the cause was his extra round of workouts, but now he wasn't quite so sure.

Taking deep, slow breaths, Nick gradually felt the waves of sleep beginning to return and he was just turning the corner when he was jolted back to full awareness. With no idea what had caused it, he tried to settle himself down enough to begin the breathing steps that were intended to relax him. Now, though, the room had taken on a feeling of oppression, and now Nick wasn't sure he wanted to sleep in it. He considered trying to sleep on the couch, but quickly discarded the notion. Sleeping in the living home would require moving, and he was in the grip of the strange, childish concept that he would be safe so long as he stayed on the bed and under the covers.

You really need to get some sleep, Stokes. You're acting like you're back in the second fucking grade and scared of monsters under the bed. He'd learned long ago that the real monsters could easily hide in plain sight.

There's nothing under your bed.

There's no one in the room. There's no one in your house except you.

You've got one of the best damn alarm systems there is and yes, dumbass, you turned it on the minute you walked in. You always have, for the past four years.

No one is watching you, okay? No one can see you.

There's no camera in your ceiling. No spotlight at your feet.

You're alone in your house and perfectly safe.

By keeping that last thought firmly fixed in his mind, Nick eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

Conrad Ecklie closed the door to his office and returned to his desk, sitting down to face the two men he'd asked to join him. Stokes, he noticed, looked a bit better after several days off, but not as well rested as Conrad had expected. Grissom, of course, was expressionless except for the habitual annoyance he displayed at being in the Assistant Director's presence at all.

"I received the recommendations from Drs. Rauli and Kane yesterday," Conrad began.

Nick took a deep breath and braced himself slightly.

"I suppose it goes without saying that you won't be back in the field until Rauli give the okay."

Instead of replying, Nick merely nodded in resignation, biting his lower lip. Grissom's frown began to darken slightly.

"Actually, Dr. Rauli recommended that you be off work pending another exam in a month," Conrad continued, and watched as Nick's jaw tightened. "Frankly, we can't spare you unless it's absolutely necessary. If you can't be in the field, then we could use your expertise in the lab."

Grissom was obviously at a loss, Conrad knew he probably had half-a-dozen arguments he was ready to use if necessary. As for Nick, his relief was almost palpable.

"You'll be in trace most of the time--hair and fiber analysis, of course. You'll be working with Hodges the majority of the time. I hope none of this is a problem for you, because this is nonnegotiable."

"No. No problem at all," Nick said quickly. Then he hesitated, glancing briefly at Grissom before turning back to Conrad. "Dr. Kane approved my return to work?"

Well, that's interesting. Apparently, Grissom thought so as well, because he gave Nick a sharp, questioning look. "He had no objections," Conrad said, and couldn't resist--"Why?"

Nick swallowed hard. "No reason."

It had been a long shot at best. "You're not on tonight. You'll start in the lab tomorrow at your usual time." Conrad closed Nick's folder as a means of demonstrating dismissal.

After several moments of silence, Nick simply said, "Thank you."

Conrad nodded in acknowledgment, then set Nick's folder aside and picked up another to get his point across.

Both CSIs stood, but while Nick left Conrad's office, Grissom continued to stare at him.

"Gil." Conrad said simply, curious to see where this was going.

Grissom, no longer expressionless, looked faintly irritated and perplexed. As though he'd come up against a case that simply wasn't working. "Conrad," he finally said, and left.

Conrad couldn't resist a smirk once his office door closed behind Grissom. If the entomologist was confused, things would be cleared up once he got his copy of Dr. Kane's recommendation for Nick--the one that suggested that if it was at all possible, Nick Stokes needed to remain on the job. Being taken off would merely play into the man's worst fears at the moment and set him back. Dr. Rauli had wanted Nick on leave, but readily agreed to lab work after Kane's assessment.

Although he knew no one would ever believe it, Conrad still carried some guilt for nearly putting an innocent man behind bars merely to spite Gil Grissom. That was not the sort of person he'd ever intended to be and to a certain extent, he felt he owed Nick for making him a pawn.

Becoming the Assistant Lab Director was a goal he'd been working toward for years and his position brought him enough satisfaction to make up for the headaches--which turned out to be ten times more numerous than he'd expected. Most of all, though, it gave him the chance to show Grissom once and for all which one of them knew what he was doing. If he had to split the graveyard shift to do it, then so be it.

All he'd gotten for his trouble was that single shocked look when he first announced it. After that, Grissom went back to acting the same as he always had--protective of his team and ready with a taunt at Conrad's expense. There was little sign that the split had affected him until after they'd finally rescued Nick Stokes from that would-be grave. The quiet, pained admission was not exactly the triumph Conrad had been looking for.

Telling Grissom he was reuniting the graveyard team had gotten a far greater reaction and Conrad had been amused to watched confusion, suspicion and elation all flash over his former rival's face before Grissom managed to force out a "thank you."

Keeping Grissom off balance was proving just as entertaining and far less difficult that trying to quash him.

* * *

Warrick finally managed to catch up with Nick in the crime lab's parking lot. "Hey."

"Hey," Nick smiled, pausing on the way to his truck so Warrick could fall into step next to him.

"So what's the verdict?"

"Better than I expected. I'm in the lab until the doctor okays me for the field."

That explained Nick's cheerfulness--he had obviously been expecting to be benched indefinitely. It's certainly what Warrick had been expecting, and although he had several conciliatory phrases prepared, he really didn't know what to say to this situation. "So you're going to be a tech."

Don't even go there, Nick's expression clearly said, but amusement lurked in the dark eyes.

They'd reached Nick's truck and Warrick knew he couldn't put off mentioning what was really on his mind any longer. "Nicky...you don't look very well-rested for someone who just had more than a week off."

Nick didn't reply, but let out a frustrated sigh as he yanked his door open.

"Maybe you shouldn't be on your own," Warrick suggested, hardly believing what he was about to ask. He knew what a mistake it was. "Tina's a nurse--we've got an extra bed. Maybe you'd do better if you came and stayed with us for a while."

"That's..." Nick just stared for the longest time, then shook his head. "Come on, Rick. I can take care of myself. I'm just a little run down right now."

Warrick felt a shot of irritation, "You don't get pulled from the field because you're a little run down, bro."

Hurt, fear, then anger flickered across Nick's features, gone too quickly to really register before Nick smiled again, although this one was rather forced. "You've been married barely a month, Rick. You expect me to move in with a couple of newlyweds?" He shook his head again, and tsked slightly, "What're you thinkin', boss?"

No way in hell was Warrick about to answer that question.

Nick's smile softened, a little more genuine. "I appreciate it, Rick. But I should be able to handle things on my own. I need to handle things on my own."

Warrick nodded reluctantly, because although he couldn't put his finger on it, something wasn't quite right. "Okay, but if you need any kind of help, Nick..."

"You'll be the first to know," Nick clapped him on the shoulder before climbing into his truck.

Fighting the urge to either pull Nick back out of the truck or jump in the passenger seat, Warrick stepped back from the vehicle and returned Nick's wave. He didn't have a cop's instincts for danger--Holly Gribbs, Catherine and Nick had all proven that at different times--and he'd never wished for them more than at this moment. Maybe with those instincts, he'd know whether this sense of wrongness meant something serious or it was just another example of feelings that had been intensifying since he first saw Nick in that glass coffin.

* * *

Nick awoke in a blind panic, struggling like a madman against whatever held him trapped. It was a solid ten minutes before he realized that it was only the sheets from his bed, wrapped around him so tightly that his arms were pinned and his legs were so tangled he could barely move them at all.

He forced himself to leave the lights off for the time being, knowing that light would banish any residuals from his nightmares. And he had to be having nightmares. There was no other explanation for this. Okay. Quick, Pancho, what was the dream about? Think, man. You're never going to get over this until you remember what the dreams are about.

Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, Nick dredged up several memories, checking whether they were at all related.

Is it the box, Pancho?

No.

Maybe the gun. This time you were pointing the gun at your head--that was new.

Not that, either.

What about good old Nigel?

Something slithered along the edge of his consciousness. Nick tried to grab on.

No. No, not Nigel. Not Walter Gordon, either--you never even saw the man.

He closed his eyes, even though some little-used, primitive intuition warned him not to.

Because someone...someone?

All he had was the vaguest impression of a shape. He couldn't even be certain it represented a person.

Ants.

Now that was a possibility.

Too big for an ant. Maybe a swarm.

Fuck.

Now he'd gone and freaked himself out.

His heart still pounding, Nick freed his arms from the blankets and scrubbed at his face and hair. Untangling his legs seemed too much trouble at the moment, with the way every muscle in his body was aching. What the hell was that about? He'd cut down on his workouts as much as he could without turning into sludge, but his muscles still ached. In fact, they hurt far more now than when he first went to bed.

That's weird. Maybe the mattress?

Yeah, wouldn't that be great? Nightmares, sore muscles and exhaustion all because I've got the wrong kind of mattress.

Nick knew that wasn't it, though. And he knew that the moment for recalling the dream was long past, so he turned on his bedside lamp with relief. He'd never been able to sleep well in a lit room--he had to get blackout blinds as soon as he'd started on graveyard--but now it seemed like something he would have to get used to.

* * *

Archie Johnson looked up from his conversation with Bobby as Jacqui and David--after three years, Archie still had trouble thinking of him as that instead of Hodges--walked into the break room. Surprisingly, they seemed to be having a civil, snark-free conversation. He hadn't known David Hodges was capable of those.

"We're going to have a new tech in the lab," Jacqui announced, ignoring David's disgruntled look at being beaten to the punch.

"Who?" Archie asked, wondering if the new DNA tech had bailed already.

"Nick."

"Stokes?" Bobby frowned.

"No, Nick the Greek," David scowled.

"He died in the sixties," Bobby countered, completely unperturbed by the sarcasm.

"Anyway, Nick'll be working in trace," Jacqui continued.

"He can't be very happy about that," Archie said, earning himself a death glare from David. It would have been pretty funny if he'd meant the comment that way. "Remember when he had to retake his firearms test? He doesn't like being confined to the lab."

"Well, this is probably a case of ‘the lab or not at all,'" Jacqui sat down at the table. "Have you seen him lately?"

"Yeah," Bobby nodded soberly. "He's been draggin' hard. Some day it looks like he shouldn't even be walking around."

"You can hardly blame him after...everything," Archie said. Mentally, he was scouring his A/V lab, trying to recall every last file or copy related to the Walter Gordon case. If Nick was going to be in the lab all the time, Archie wanted to be damn sure there was no chance of him accidently stumbling across any of the recordings.

Part of Archie wanted to just purge all the files and mangle the tape until it was unsalvageable, even if it brought the wrath of Grissom down on his head. It couldn't be much worse that the actual situation.

"...new Star Trek movie," David was saying.

Archie came back to the break room with a jolt. "You heard something about a new Star Trek movie?" he asked, then blinked when everyone erupted into laughter.

"Told you that would get his attention," David smirked.

"You were zonin', little man," Bobby grinned.

"Sorry. What?"

"I said Grissom was looking for you," Jacqui said. "Just before we came here."

Archie felt his stomach bottom out. "Yeah," he stood up. "I'd better go." Find somewhere to hide.

"You gonna mind sharin' the trace lab, Dave?"

"It's David," David corrected, just as he did at least once a shift. Bobby just shrugged it off. "And no, Nick is actually one of the less annoying people I have to deal with around here."

Archie smiled slightly at the exchange as he left the break room. He knew--as did Bobby and Jacqui--that was Hodges' way of saying he actually liked Nick. His smile faded as he peeked around the corner and through the doorway before heading to his lab, and he wondered what his chances were of avoiding Grissom for the rest of his shift.

He knew he couldn't run forever, but he wanted to have something else–-anything else--before Grissom asked about the tape again. Because Archie had filtered, enhanced and refined that passage until he thought his ears would bleed, and no matter what he did, no matter what sort of tests he ran, the results were the same.

The second voice always fell outside any and all frequencies at which the human voice could possibly exist.

"So I thought having Nick working in the lab was supposed to be better for him," Sara commented as she ran her maglite over the backseat's upholstery one more time.

Warrick was looking for trace in the front of the car they were processing. "It is," he replied, then felt compelled to add. "Supposed to be better for him."

"It doesn't seem to be helping much. How often does he go to counseling, do you know?"

"He was only required to see Kane three times," Warrick replied, hoping Sara would catch on that he didn't really want to discuss the situation.

"Just a few fibers and some gravel back here," Sara noted. "Do you mean Nick hasn't seen anyone about this? Hasn't talked to anyone about it?"

"Sara..." Warrick put the tiniest warning in his voice. "Have you ever heard Nick talk about shrinks? He doesn't like the idea of seeing one."

"Who does?" Sara peeked over the seat back.

Warrick sighed and shot her a hard look.

"Really, no one goes to a shrink because they want to. Well, some probably do, but that would be their disorder, technically. Although--"

"Sara," Warrick let every bit of his exasperation show.

She finally got the hint and fell silent. Finishing with the back, she labeled what she found before crouching by the open passenger's door and beginning there. "I'm getting scared for him," she said quietly, not looking up from her task.

Warrick did stop what he was doing as he considered her words. "He's...it'll take a long time, Sara."

"Has he talked to you about it?"

"Not really. He doesn't like talking about it at all."

Sara made a small sound of irritation. "Someone needs to make him talk about it."

His temper rising, Warrick turned off his maglite and stood up. "Sara, if you're so damn sure what's best for him, then you go take care of it."

"You think I haven't tried?" Sara stood as well and glared at Warrick over the roof of the car. "I have, but he starts to get upset and angry, and that's not going to help him. I'm not close enough to him to push the issue. Greg tried, too, but Nick just gives him the brush off."

"You tried to force him to talk about this?"

"Someone has to!" She walked around the car, the better to get in his face, apparently. "He won't listen to me or Greg, but he might listen to you or Grissom. Maybe Catherine, too, but none of you have done anything!"

"Sara..." Warrick held up his hand for her to stop.

"I thought he was supposed to be one of your best friends. What happened? You get married and suddenly you don't give a damn about him anymore?"

"Hey!" Furious, Warrick took a step toward her, but she didn't even flinch. "Just...don't. Okay?"

"No, it's not okay! He...haven't you seen him? He never smiles anymore. He does every bit of work he's supposed to, but never seems to be happy with it. He used to love what he did, and now...he's so tired." Sara pressed her lips together tightly and Warrick was alarmed to see tears fill her eyes. "I miss him. He's right there in front of us, but I miss him. Don't you?"

Warrick closed his eyes and turned away, wishing he could unhear her words.

"I need some air," Sara said with an angry sniffle.

When he heard the garage door slam behind her, Warrick released the breath he'd been holding and leaned heavily against the Lexus. There were some unpleasant truths in Sara's words that hit close to home. He hadn't been on Nick's case as much as he normally would be in this situation, and it was because of his marriage. Everything after that though, she probably had wrong.

Yes, he missed Nick. And yes, he had seen how utterly exhausted Nick seemed to be. After they spoke when Nick was first assigned to the lab, Warrick had kept his conversations about work or only the most trivial subjects. Even after nearly two weeks, Warrick still hated that ridiculous–-desperate, his mind whispered--offer he'd made and he had avoided Nick ever since.

Some friend.

He knew Nick was heading for trouble if things didn't change soon. Everyone knew it. Yet he couldn't be bothered to help because it was embarrassing and maybe a little painful for him to be around Nick when that kind of intensity was involved.

Marrying Tina was a mistake. He knew that. He knew it the second he proposed. But it was his mistake. Inevitably, Tina was going to be hurt by it and Warrick regretted that, because he did care about her. He knew now, though, that the deepest part of his heart had belonged to a dark-eyed, big-hearted Texan for a long time. A big-hearted Texan that was suffering alone at the moment because Warrick wasn't stepping up to the plate the way he ought to.

Well, there'd be no more of that.

* * *

Warrick still felt a twinge of guilt whenever he thought about how eagerly Nick had agreed to grab some breakfast when their shift ended. It was something they hadn't done since before Nick's abduction.

They spent most of the meal with Warrick filling Nick in on all his cases and Nick telling Warrick about life among the techs. It was only when they were down to just their cups of coffee--recently freshened by the waitress--that Warrick was ready to broach the subject of Nick's well-being, or lack thereof. He wasn't sure how to bring it up, though.

Nick took care of that for him. "So. Your treat, huh?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

"Yeah, y'did," Nick agreed. "You remember the last time you treated me to breakfast?"

This was...weird. "No. Do you?"

"Sure. It was after that Hawkins case--where I got into it with Caveliere?"

"Oh. Right." Warrick got the feeling that normally Nick would be giving him a teasing smile about now. There was a trace of a smile on Nick's face, but it was almost as though he didn't have the energy for anything more.

"Right. So?"

"So..?" Warrick repeated slowly.

"Come on, Warrick," Nick's smile was a little wider now. "The only time you treat is when you figure I have to talk or be talked to about something."

Warrick blinked in astonishment. "No way."

"Oh, yeah."

"You think you got all my tells figured out, Nicky?" Warrick smirked.

"Some of them."

"And I suppose you even think you know what I want to talk to you about."

"I could take a wild guess," Nick said, sobering. The teasing grin--or what passed for it--had brightened his face a bit, and now that it was gone, the hollows in Nick's cheeks and circles under his eyes were more prominent than ever.

"Look, Nick--"

"I know," Nick spoke quietly. "I know people are worried. I know there's a problem, and I'm working on it."

"Okay. You just seem so tired all the time, Nicky."

"I am," Nick rubbed his eyes. "So tired."

"What is it?" Warrick asked, trying not to sound to demanding. "Memories? Nightmares?"

"Nightmares," Nick's voice dropped even lower. "Bad ones."

"About..? About being in..?" Warrick tried one last time, "About what happened?"

"That's just it. I don't know what they're about. I just wake up and--well, I get...they freak me out," Nick said reluctantly.

Warrick knew excessive understatement when he heard it.

"I don't...I've been trying to remember what they're about. I plan to go see Dr. Kane again, but not if I don't have something to work with."

Warrick was so relieved to hear Nick was considering seeing someone again at all that he didn't push for Nick to talk to Kane about things besides the nightmares. "What do you remember?"

"Well, I know it's nothing like the ones I was having at first. Those I remember--hell, it would be a picnic if I had one of those again."

Having witnessed a few of Nick's early nightmares, Warrick felt queasy at the thought of anything worse. "My god, Nick. That bad?"

"I can't move when I wake up. It's just--I feel like--" Nick wrapped his hands tightly around his coffee mug. "It's like there's someone there, and..." He stopped again and closed his eyes.

"What?" Warrick asked softly.

"Like I'm being watched," Nick whispered, making his friend wince. "But I know--I mean, I had issues about that before this, so it could just be...sometimes I wake up though, and I feel like I've been fighting someone, and no matter what I try..."

"How much sleep do you get?"

"Two, maybe three hours a day." Nick rubbed his forehead, "But it's getting to be less and less all the time."

Warrick felt himself going beyond worried and well into scared. "Nick--"

"I hate it," Nick voice cracked, he paused to steady it before continuing. "Nearly two weeks in the lab and nothing's getting any better. If I keep going this way I'm either going to screw up and lose my job or have to resign and--" He stopped when Warrick's phone trilled.

Irrationally pissed off at the device, Warrick yanked it out of his pocket, shut it off and tossed it on the table without bothering to check the caller ID.

"Rick," Nick protested. "You don't even know who it was."

"Doesn't matter," Warrick said, focusing his attention on his friend. "Listen, what we need to do--Nick." He stopped again when Nick picked up his cell.

"It was Tina," Nick frowned, showing Warrick the display.

"Okay, it was Tina," Warrick acknowledged, taking the phone and putting it back down. "I'll call her back when we're done. Look, you've got to do something about this--this is really serious. Did your doctor give you anything to help you sleep?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded. "It doesn't really help much, though."

"Get something stronger from him," Warrick ordered. "And I still think it would be better for you not to stay alone."

Nick's jaw tightened, "I don't need a babysitter. Besides, someone being there isn't really going to stop the nightmares." Almost on reflex, he glanced at Warrick's cell again.

Irritated, Warrick put it back in his pocket.

"What I need is to figure out what the nightmares are about. That's how they went away before. When I know what they're about, Dr. Kane can help me with whatever is causing them." Nick shifted uncomfortably. "I...you've already done so much--" he cleared his throat. "I'm remembering more about the dreams all the time. It shouldn't be much longer until I get this figured out." He pushed his coffee mug away, "I should get going. And you need to let Tina know where you are."

Watching Nick try for another grin when he was too exhausted to summon it was enough to make Warrick's heart ache. "Okay, Nick. But I want you to promise me–-promise--that from now on you'll call me whenever you have one of these nightmares."

"I can't do that," Nick insisted. "Jeez, Rick, I'm not going to be pestering you guys all day."

And now he'd just moved past scared and into oh, fuck. "All day? All day, Nicky? How many of these to do you have, for Chrissake?"

"No. I mean, it's not--" Nick closed his eyes briefly. "I promise I'll phone you if I have one of the really bad ones, okay?"

No, that is not okay! Warrick wanted to shout, but Nick seemed close to the edge and Warrick worried about alienating him if he insisted on too much. Nick was holding on to his self-reliance for dear life, and Warrick wasn't going to be the one to tear it away from him unless it became absolutely necessary. "Okay, Nicky."

* * *

It took two weeks, but eventually Archie decided that he was just going to have to tell Grissom about the tape. So when the graveyard supervisor walked into the A/V lab near the end of a particularly quiet shift, Archie didn't try to find an excuse to avoid him.

"Have you made any progress with the tape?" Grissom asked without preamble.

"Not exactly," Archie replied, unable to help wincing.

"Well, what exactly?"

"Okay, the first voice--the one you identified as Walter Gordon--"

"I don't care about Walter Gordon's voice," Grissom snapped.

Archie blinked at this display of animosity. "Um...okay. Well, there was nothing too unusual about it, anyway. Just some damage to work around. As for the second voice, there's only the single word. That's a really small sample."

"Too small for you to tell anything from it?" Grissom's voice was even again. "Even if it's male or female?"

"Male or female is a moot point, really."

Even in the dim lighting of the lab, Archie could make out Grissom's perplexed expression. "I'm not following."

After searching for a better way to put it, but coming up blank, Archie just settled for blurting out--"It's not human. The second voice."

After a few beats of silence, "I beg your pardon?"

Archie took a deep breath. "The second voice falls outside the frequency parameters for human speech."

"We can hear it," Grissom pointed out.

"We can hear plenty of sound we aren't capable of making," Archie countered.

"Damage?"

"Damage seems to be what made it sound like a person in the first place. It was only after I cleaned it up and removed all the interference that the voice dropped to the inhuman frequency."

Grissom frowned, "And this couldn't be because of the modifications you made."

"Doubtful," Archie said, wondering if Grissom really thought he was a novice who wouldn't account for that. "I adjusted accordingly. I matched the end of Gordon's sentence to his undamaged speech and made the same modifications to the second voice. Here," he handed Grissom the headphones.

Although it didn't look like he really wanted to, Grissom slipped them on.

Archie played the cut and knew the exact moment it got to the voice, because Grissom's eyes widened. It had to be quite a shock, to hear that medium-tenored "Perfect" change to a low, guttural whisper, with only the cadence remaining the same.

"Again," Grissom said, and Archie obliged. Then Grissom took off the headphone and just stared.

"I still have the unaltered original," Archie explained. "I made copies and modified those. I've cleaned it up every single way I know how--multiple times, starting with a direct copy each time. The results are always the same."

"I don't doubt your expertise, Archie," Grissom assured him, but his expression was distant. "Technically, though, couldn't someone make a recording and alter it so that it became something humans weren't capable of?"

"Yes," Archie nodded.

"And if that we recorded by another device, would it possible create the result you had here?"

"Possible," Archie admitted reluctantly. "But that would be an awful lot of trouble for a single word. One that sounds like it wasn't meant to be recorded at all."

"But it is possible?"

"Yes."

"Can you test for that?"

"I could run some diagnostics to see if it's a recording of a recording, yes."

"Do that," Grissom nodded, seeming relieved to have come up with an explanation. "And let me know what sort of results you get."

"Okay," Archie nodded. Once Grissom left, he retrieved the original cassette from his briefcase where he kept it to be sure no one stumbled across it accidently. As he prepared to make more copies, he decided that this time he would digitize the message on the other side, as well.

If you held a gun to David Hodges' head, then there was a slight chance that he might admit that he didn't absolutely abhor sharing the trace lab with Nick Stokes.

Most people wouldn't even have got that much.

It was close to four weeks and while David did not find the time interminable, he knew Nick was beginning to. Nick didn't complain, of course, but it was obvious to anyone who knew him that he longed to be back in the field with his fellow CSIs. It was equally obvious that he had no business in the field, because it was taking all his energy just to keep up with hair and fiber analysis.

David was actually very worried about Nick, but it would take more than a gun to make him admit that. It would take something truly appalling. Say a new John Tesh album.

Nick's usual sunny disposition was no longer present, but he was still more charming on his worst day than David Hodges was on his best. That would certainly explain why CSIs--and occasionally some detectives--tended to stop and visit whenever they dropped off trace or picked up results.

The increased traffic was a pain in the ass, but David was able to tolerate it reasonably well most of the time. Even when, like right now, Sanders spent ten minutes rambling in an attempt to perk Nick up a little. If he got even a slight smile out of the Texan, it could be considered a success. Greg wasn't having too much luck today, though. David could see, even if the rookie CSI couldn't, that Nick was actually becoming uncomfortable with the attempted banter.

Eventually though, Greg caught on and got down to business. "So did you get anywhere with the samples from the Morton case?"

"Morton..." Nick flipped through the bagged samples in his in-basket. "You brought them in..?"

"At the end of yesterday's shift. Three different fibers, although one could have been animal hair," Greg peeked in the basket as well.

Hodges turned from the mass-spec, wondering when he should jump in.

"I said it was no biggie, so maybe you stuck it in your no-rush pile," Greg added helpfully

"I don't have a no-rush pile," Nick said, and his frown of confusion had changed to one of worry.

Yeah, now would be a good time. "The baby CSI still needs his results fed to him like pablum?" David asked in his snarkiest tone. "Or he just can't be bothered to check the outbox first like everyone is supposed to?"

Greg glared at David, but other than that ignored him as he looked through the basket near the end of the counter. "Oh," he picked up a folder and took out the samples and printout. "Cotton-lycra blend, unprocessed wool and--Afghan hound?" He looked up at Nick with a grin, "Seriously?"

Nick didn't even try to return the smile, instead he looked down at the samples he'd been working on when Greg came in.

Greg's smile faded a bit, but he was obviously determined to include Nick. "I think witnesses mentioned a dog at the scene."

"Maybe," David took on the tone one would use with an exceptionally slow child. "You could check what sort of dog it is. Wouldn't that be clever?"

Greg amped up his death glare so that David actually did feel a little singed. The rookie still refused to bite back though. "I'm gonna recommend you for a commendation, Nick. You deserve one for working with that."

"Kids," David said dryly when Greg had stalked out.

Nick just stared at him, wide-eyed and pale.

It wasn't easy, but David bent back over his scope as though nothing unusual had happened.

"David," Nick's voice held a tinge of sadness.

"Hmmm?" David didn't lift his head.

"How long have you been covering my mistakes?"

David snorted, "Yeah, because I can really be bothered to do something like that."

"I remember now. I attached those results to some trace Catherine had brought me from a missing persons at the start of shift."

"I noticed."

"And you fixed it. Catherine picked up her results an hour ago."

"You're welcome."

Nick sighed, sounding so weary that David had to fight not to wince. "How often have you had to fix my mistakes?"

David stared at diatoms as though his life depended on it. "Not often," he said, happy he sounded so offhand about it.

When there was only silence from Nick, David congratulated himself for finding the right thing to say to end the conversation.

"Then this isn't the first time," Nick's voice shook slightly.

Fuck. Goddamn tricky CSIs. He finally looked up and found Nick was even paler. He wouldn't have though that was possible. "Nick--"

"A lot?" Nick's voice lowered to a near-whisper.

David shrugged, "Just a few little snafues here and there."

"Little snafues wouldn't have got me in trouble. Why didn't you let them slide?"

Where the hell are those damn CSIs when you really need them? David looked through the glass window, hoping one of Nick's teammates would come by and provide a much-needed distraction.

"I really appreciate it, David, but you shouldn't have to do this."

David tried to think of something encouraging and non-snarky to say, but it wasn't really his strong point, and he just ended up shrugging again.

"Ecklie's still here, isn't he? He has that Hawkins case he was going to go over with Grissom."

"Nick, don't--"

"Thanks for looking out for me, but this can't keep happening. It's one thing if I get in trouble for my screw-ups, but what if you did?"

David was at a loss for words. He never knew it was possible for someone to sound so horribly downhearted and not actually be in tears.

Nick looked at his in-basket on the counter, "Sorry for having to dump all this stuff back on you."

Christ, don't let him pile that on himself, too. "I'll manage," David assured him.

Instead of replying, Nick merely nodded before leaving the trace lab, shoulders slumped and head bowed.

David looked back down at the microscope, and all it took was a split-second for him to decide he really needed a break. He left the lab to get a cup of coffee. Someone in the building had to have a bottle of something he could add to it. Scotch, vodka, Drano--anything would do.

* * *

Conrad was surprised and dismayed to see Nick waiting for him outside his office, especially considering the CSI was ashen and trembling slightly. "Nick."

"Could I talk to you for a minute?" Nick's voice shook a bit as well.

"Of course," Conrad opened the door. "Come in and sit down." Before you fall down. He followed Nick inside and sat down behind his desk. "What did you want to discuss?"

"How do I--? I mean, if--" Nick stopped and drew a deep breath. "What do I do when I'm unable to work here any longer?" His voice almost broke on the last few words, and Conrad could see the effort is was for him to keep it steady.

"You...just discovered this now? In the middle of your shift?"

"Yes."

That made Conrad pause. "What happened?"

"I made a mistake that could've--probably would have--turned out fairly serious."

"But you caught it," Conrad said, unable to stop the little jolt of fear that went through him. Jesus, this lab doesn't need anything else right now.

"No. Not me."

"Someone else caught it, and told you about it."

Nick hesitated, obviously torn. "Someone caught it, and didn't say anything."

Since there was no harm done, Conrad decided he could be generous. "Well, it has been known to happen--"

"And it's not the first time."

Ah. "People have been covering for you?"

Nick's eyes widened as though something had just occurred to him. "Not just--" He halted abruptly, and gave Conrad a wary look, "I don't want anyone getting into trouble."

Well, if you don't say who, there's not much I can do. Half the damn lab would cover for you if they thought you needed it. But that doesn't explain why--oh. "You just found out about it now."

Apparently Nick didn't trust his voice, because he only nodded.

There was no telling how long it could have gone on if Nick's conscience hadn't prompted him to say something. "Well, any major mistakes seem to have been caught thus far, so there's no reason for anyone to be in trouble, is there?"

Nick nodded again. "But I can't--" He had to stop again and clear his throat, "I'm a liability."

Conrad expertly ignored the part of him that reacted to the pain in the Texan's voice. That wasn't his job--they had people far more qualified than him to take care of that. But still . . . "You'd only be a liability if you'd kept silent about it."

If Nick was surprised to hear Conrad say something remotely supportive, he was also too tired to acknowledge it. "So what do I do?" he asked, his expression reminding Conrad of someone condemned. "A leave of absence? I mean...I don't have to resign, do I?"

Good God, the man truly wasn't thinking straight. "What are you talking about? You go back on medical leave. You're still under Dr. Rauli's care, aren't you?"

"Yes, I just saw him again a couple of days ago," Nick seemed to relax slightly. "He gave me something stronger to help me sleep, but..."

"Have him call me," Conrad said. "Or I can phone him myself for the paperwork. I'm sure he'll give us any reports we need for medical leave. What about Dr. Kane?"

Nick hesitated, "I've been meaning to make an--"

There was only a brief, sharp knock at the door before Grissom opened it and walked in. Conrad wasn't surprised to see him--word could travel amazingly fast in the lab--but noticed Nick looked dismayed by the intrusion.

"Are you all right?" Grissom asked Nick immediately.

Absolutely. He just dropped by to shoot the breeze with me.

"I'm fine."

Oh, for– Conrad barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes. "Nick is planning to take some more time off."

"Why didn't you come and talk to me?"

Annoyed at being ignored, Conrad couldn't help but bring out the bureaucracy. "I am the Assistant Director. If Nick needs more time for recovery, then I'm the one who will arrange it with personnel."

Grissom shot him a sharp look, and Conrad was briefly impressed by the way the entomologist could make him feel like an intruder in his own office. Then Grissom turned back to the man slumped in the chair, "Nicky, what happened?"

Nick's eyes traveled the room, looking everywhere but at Grissom.

"Nick?"

When Nick met his eyes briefly, Conrad knew that he wasn't going to tell his supervisor what happened. Apparently it was one thing to admit to That Asshole Ecklie that he was worried about compromising the lab, but it was another thing to admit it to The Great Gil Grissom. Fine. There was nothing formal to be done about the admission, anyway. "I'll start the paperwork for another three months of leave," he said. "If Dr. Rauli believes you need more time, we can arrange for that as well. You'll need to stop in at Personnel to fill out the forms in a day or two."

After another glance at Grissom whose expression had darkened again, Nick stood gave Conrad a brief nod. "Will do. Thank you."

"That's my job," Conrad replied, struck by the feeling Nick was thanking him for not mentioning anything to Grissom rather than any help with paperwork.

"I'll give you a lift home," Grissom offered.

Nick shifted uncomfortably, "I have my truck here."

"Someone can get it back to you tomorrow. I don't think you should be driving."

Nick looked at Conrad again, almost as though he hoped Conrad would jump in.

Conrad had no intention of doing any such thing. Unlike the situation that brought Nick to his office, this had nothing to do with the lab and therefore was not Conrad's responsibility. What's more, he happened to agree with Grissom on this point.

Would wonders never cease?

Looking resigned--or maybe that was just exhaustion, it was difficult to tell anymore--Nick allowed Grissom to usher him out of Conrad's office.

* * *

It only took about twenty minutes for the new pills Dr. Rauli had prescribed to take effect. Nick was grateful, because he was already sick of dwelling on work and the problems that seemed insurmountable at the moment.

He awoke with no idea of how long he'd been asleep, but had the feeling it had been a good chunk of time. Relieved that the new medication seemed to be working, Nick decided more sleep would feel even better. When he tried to turn onto his side, though, he was barely able to move.

Must have been dreaming again.

Nick shifted to untangle himself from his bed sheets, but discovered that for once they were not wrapped tightly around him. When he tried to sit up, something kept him down on the mattress with pressure on his shoulders. He felt a flutter of fear in his stomach, but quickly dismissed it.

Oh. I'm still dreaming.

He reached for his lamp--he never did adjust to sleeping with the lights on--but his wrist was pinned to the mattress before he'd done more than lift it.

Weird dream. Better remember this one.

Experimenting, he tried to move his legs, but pressure on his ankles and thighs prevented it. The flutter had gathered enough strength to twist his stomach uncomfortably, but Nick forced himself to think clearly.

Okay. This dream has to be related to that damn box. Can't move.

‘Course, I could move a little bit in the box.

What's...what the hell is that?

Nick concentrated on the sound whispering through his bedroom and surrounding him.

Breathing?

Christ, dumbass! That's you! Panicking like you were in the box. Stop it, already.

Holding his breath should have done the trick, but didn't. He could still hear it.

It's a dream.

Then he felt a light touch across his stomach from under the sheet.

Fuck. Fuck! There's goddamn bugs in my bed!

Nick struggled to kick the sheets off, to scratch at his skin, to do something, but he simply couldn't move. After several minutes of panicked struggling, he managed to rein his fear in a bit.

It's a dream, remember? And now that you know it's a dream you should be able to control it. So the bugs...going away.

And much to Nick's relief, the horrible tickling sensation subsided.

See? No bugs. No–

In place of the feathery touch came one that was harder with far more substance and pressure to it than any bug.

That's not a hand. That's not a hand. There's no reason for this. That was years and years and years ago. Dammit, get off me!

Nick tried to arch away from the touch but only succeeded in twitching slightly.

And as the...thing

It's too big for a hand. It's too big for her hand. So it's not. It's not.

on his stomach began drifting lower, another pressed down on his chest. Exploring in a way that was far too knowing.

Wake up! Dammit, wake up!

And then there were pinches and

It's not that! For God's sake, Pancho, wake up!

scratches and

Not there. Oh, please, don't...don't!

Nick let out a strangled cry and threw himself frantically against the force that held him.

He crashed to the floor hard enough to jolt the breath out of his lungs. Still half-crazed with terror, still in the grip of

those hands

the dream, he scrambled for his night stand on his hands and knees.

He tried to turn on the light, but only succeed in knocking the lamp over.

Lights! It'll come back if you don't–-

Then his shaking hands scrabbled across the familiar shape of his cell phone. Without even thinking about it he hit speed dial.

"Hello?" came a drowsy voice--his lifeline.

A sob of sheer relief escaped him. He was awake. They were both awake. "War-rick?"

"Nick?" Warrick suddenly sounded a bit panicked himself. "What? What is it?"

"It's bad..." was all Nick could manage. "It's bad, Rick. It's bad."

"Jesus. Okay. I'll be there in five minutes."

Five minutes.

Nothing could happen in five minutes.

Anything could happen in five minutes.

As he sped through traffic, Warrick kept up a string of reassurances over the phone, for his sake as well as Nick's. Nick never answered him, but the rapid, unsteady breathing let Warrick know he was still on the line.

"Did you unlock the door, Nick?" Warrick asked when he turned onto West Charleston. "And shut off your system so I can get in? Nick?"

"It's open," Nick finally whispered. "I went and...and turned the alarm off..."

"Good," Warrick pulled in behind Nick's truck. "I'm here."

He didn't disconnect the call until he was actually inside. Nick's shaking voice brought back memories of that horrible night at the nursery.

"Nick?" Warrick saw that Nick's bedroom door was closed, and headed straight for it, but a glance toward the kitchen made him halt in his tracks.

Nick was on the floor with against his pantry door with his knees drawn up to his chest. He was clutching his cell phone so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Nicky..." Warrick whispered, frightened by the sight of him like this.

At the sound of his voice, Nick twitched and raised his head fearfully. When he saw Warrick he blinked several times, glanced at the phone, and then closed it.

"Come on, Nicky," Warrick grasped him by the arms and helped him up. Even with just that small action, Warrick could tell that Nick had lost a significant amount of weight.

Once on his feet, Nick took a deep breath and shook his head. He stared at Warrick, then abruptly ducked his head, forcing a smile. "God," he let out a shaky, embarrassed laugh. "Jeez, Rick, I'm sorry." He ran both hands through his hair. "I guess I...sorry, man. I overreacted."

"Nick," Warrick gaped. "You think you're gonna play this off like it's no big deal? Are you kidding me?"

Nick looked away and then edged around Warrick. He dropped his phone on the counter as he made his way to the living room.

Warrick was right on his heels, concerned with Nick's blank expression. When Nick huddled deeper into his robe and pulled the belt tighter, Warrick knew he couldn't allow Nick to put him off. "What happened?" he asked, not too demanding, but determined. "I know it was a nightmare. Do you remember this one?"

The only response he got was a shudder.

"Come on," Warrick reached out and squeezed Nick's shoulder. Instinct told him to embrace his friend, but Warrick doubted that was a good idea. Instead, he steered Nick toward the sofa and sat down next to him. "Talk to me, man. Do you remember any of it?"

"Yeah," Nick murmured.

Warrick waited, but Nick didn't seem inclined to say anything else. "Is it about when you were...y'know, in the--in the box."

"Wish it was," Nick replied. He took a deep breath, "Part of it...well, I thought it was about that. I thought it was bugs--" He shivered again, "But it wasn't."

"What was it? On the phone you sounded--"

"Yeah," Nick forced another shaky smile. "I'm sorry. I just--uh..."

"I'm not saying it because I mind. I said I'd have your back on this, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Nick murmured, dropping his head again. "I couldn't move." He continued, and Warrick had to strain to hear him. "Hardly at all, anyway. I thought--I thought I was awake."

Warrick waited, and Nick caught onto his expectant silence.

"I know. It doesn't sound like anything when I say it. Just that I couldn't move. And that something--I keep wanting to say someone was holding me down. I could hear breathing and it wasn't mine."

"I can see where that would freak you out," Warrick said, although the dream didn't sound like much. Then again, Warrick had a nightmare or two in his life that would have cracked people up when put into words. He had the feeling there was more to it though, but he didn't want to ask "Is that all?" in case it made Nick think he wasn't taking the dream seriously. And he was. Anything that did this to Nick was something Warrick was going to take very seriously. "Do you think that will be enough for Kane to help you get rid of it?"

Nick winced slightly. "I don't...know."

"You think there's more to it that you don't remember?"

"I don't know." Nick stood abruptly and began pacing the length of his living room. "It isn't as big a deal right now, anyway," he said, speaking to himself as much as Warrick. "It doesn't really matter how much sleep I get. I'm off work until--until this goes away. It's got to go away eventually. At some point, I'll just get so tired that--"

"Nick," Warrick stood as well, hoping to put a stop to his friend's rambling.

Nick did stop and stared at Warrick, then the lost look disappeared and his eyes narrowed. "Did you hear about it? That I'm off again?"

"Yeah," Warrick nodded, not sure if he should be happy or concerned with the change in subject. "You were already gone by the time I found out. I was going to phone you later today."

"Did you ever...y'know?"

Warrick blinked. "Uh..."

"Cover for me--since I've been back?"

Whoa. That was news. "Cover for you? No. Who the hell was--?"

"Never mind," Nick sighed. "I'm just wondering how many people had."

Now Warrick had a half-dozen more questions. "What makes you think..? Did someone tell you..?"

"No." Nick waved the conversation away and let his pacing carry him into the kitchen. "Want some coffee?"

"I want some answers," Warrick frowned, following again. He noticed there was no coffee made, anyway.

"So do I," Nick leaned heavily against the refrigerator. "But I don't know what the hell is going on anymore."

"Nick, this is still probably related to what happened. Even if the dream isn't specifically about it. When a person has--"

"Don't say post-traumatic stress," Nick snapped. "God, if there's one phrase I never want to hear again..."

"Okay," Warrick nodded. He knew he'd be thoroughly sick of it by this point as well. "Okay."

"Sorry," Nick sighed, and began wandering back toward the sofa. "I go crying to you about this and when you show up I bite your head off."

"Don't worry about it." Warrick wondered if he should bother sitting down as well or if Nick would be up and wandering around again in a moment. As far as he could see, Nick was just too tired to deal with the dream at all and until Nick dealt with it properly, these nightmares would continue. It was a horrible catch-22 situation and Warrick could tell that his friend just didn't know what to do with himself, the same way he could tell that Nick was leaving out parts of the nightmare. "How much sleep did you manage to get before this happened?"

Nick looked at the clock and--to Warrick's surprise--brightened a little. "Nearly three hours. That's more at one time than I've had for a while."

That's good? Warrick managed not to blurt out what he was thinking, and wanted to be careful of the way he phrased anything. Exhaustion was making Nick touchy and Warrick didn't want to get into anything that would make him pull away. "You gonna try and get some more sleep?" he asked, hoping he sounded casual about it. "Because I can stay while you do."

"You don't have to do that." Nick rubbed his eyes. "I'm not going back to bed for a while, anyway." He glanced at the bedroom door and several more shudders went through him.

Warrick decided not to push any further right away and instead addressed something else that was bothering him--in a roundabout way, of course. "I didn't grab anything to eat before I crashed after shift. You got anything for breakfast or should I call somewhere and order?"

Nick frowned at him, obviously torn between suspicion and hospitality. Hospitality--at least a vague form of it--won out. "Take-out menus are under the phone."

Half-an-hour later, Warrick was dishing La Esquina's special baked chili from its takeout container onto a plate along with nacho chips and a chicken wrap. El chile coció al horno con quesos--or whatever they called it--was one of Nick's favorite things to eat, but he rarely indulged because it was loaded with all the fats and carbs and calories he tried to avoid. Right now, Warrick thought Nick could do with a few extra pounds. Nick's eyes widened at the site of the loaded plate Warrick handed him, but he didn't object.

While they flipped back and forth between Animal Precinct and a replay of the previous nights' Cowboys game, Nick managed to put away nearly three-quarters of his chili, although he barely touched the wrap. Warrick didn't comment, because things seemed comfortable at the moment. They watched the game in companionable silence with the occasional familiar banter.

Without appearing to be conscious of what he was doing, Nick stretched out on his sofa and dozed off before the fourth quarter. Warrick remained in the armchair and finished watching the game, then found something relatively entertaining on the Discovery Channel that kept him occupied until NBA Hardwood Classic came on.

Warrick gladly counted an hour, then ninety minutes, then two hours of uninterrupted sleep for Nick. It wasn't until he received an irate phone call from Tina that he remembered he was supposed to have met her and her parents for lunch about halfway through the second hour of Nick's nap.

* * *

"What?" All traces of Jim Brass' usual wry, world-weary demeanor had disappeared, leaving Gil glad he'd closed the door to the man's office.

"There's another voice on the tape that was recovered at the site of Nick's...rescue." Months since it happened, and he still hated even thinking the word burial.

"When?"

"About five weeks ago." Gil had decided to tell Jim because he knew that if it was for Nick, Jim wouldn't think twice about bending the rules if it was necessary and as a supervisor, he couldn't very well ask one of his team to do anything like that. "Archie Johnson is the only other person aware of this. He's been working on the tape." And he hadn't exactly asked Archie to bend any rules, just to keep quiet, so that was acceptable--more or less.

Gil knew he was doing an awful lot of rationalizing for a man who thought he was in the right, but he decided that was something to be dealt with later.

"I'm not following," Brass gave him a narrow look. "What's there to work on?"

"There's another voice on the tape. Besides Walter Gordon's." Gil realized the moment he said it that things were about to get unpleasant.

"Another voice. Besides Gordon's? Not Nicky's?"

"No."

"Gil." Brass' voice was soft, one he often used when interrogating suspects. "Why is this the first I've heard about it?"

"I felt that Nick had enough to deal with at the moment without this as well." At the back of Gil's mind, something poked him and said he was avoiding the question just like a suspect.

"I didn't ask you why you didn't tell Nick, which you definitely should, by the way. I'm asking why you didn't tell me." Brass stood and put both hands on his desk. "If Walter Gordon had a partner, then there could still be a threat to any CSI out there. What the hell are you thinking?"

That's an excellent question, Gil sighed as the impact of Brass' words really hit him. "All the CSIs have been taking extra precautions since Nick's abduction," he said, knowing he was trying to reassure himself more than anyone else. "And we haven't determined conclusively that it's of any importance."

Brass' eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "So you're telling me you've had the Johnson kid working five weeks on nothing? That you came to me about something not important?"

Part of Gil longed for the good old days when he could still put one over on Jim Brass--they were long gone, though. "I have no way of knowing if it's important or not. The tape is damaged so that there's a limit to what Archie can do. I don't want everyone paranoid unnecessarily and god knows Nicky doesn't need that right now. I've been trying to look into Gordon's past to see if there's anyone who might have been a partner in crime, but so far, I've come up blank. I don't want to panic the team until I have something solid." He met Jim's eyes and his somewhat sheepish expression vanished, "Jim, give me your word you won't say anything to Nick yet."

"Ah, hell," Jim sighed as he sat back down.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, okay," Jim said grudgingly. "Until there's something more solid on this I won't mention it, but for the record--"

"I'm well aware of your opinion," Gil acknowledged.

"What about the daughter?" Jim asked.

"There's no way of being 100% certain, but I doubt the voice is hers."

"I mean, have you talked to her?"

"Oh. No." Gil rubbed his chin, "I suppose that's next on the list."

"Let me take care of it," Jim offered.

"Kelly Gordon?"

"We've met," Jim's wryness had returned full force.

* * *

"Mom...Cisco ...I know this is a lousy way to say good-bye--"

Archie abruptly stopped the recording. Hearing Nick's voice break when he spoke to his parents was more painful than he'd ever imagined. He knew that Nick had meant for his words to be heard, but these were different circumstance and Archie almost felt as though he were tempting fate by listening to a living man's last words. Even telling himself that this was part of an investigation didn't make him any more comfortable with what he was doing.

Archie started the digitized speech from the beginning again and filtered out Nick's voice while the CSI was still identifying himself. As soon as Nick's voice was less audible, Archie began picking up other sounds. The sound of the plexiglass cracking gave him chills, and he was happy to filter that out as well. That left a series of sounds that were to low to be readily identified. The noises were there for the entire length of Nick's speech. There was a strange spike in Nick's levels suddenly, and Archie reluctantly checked that. He amped Nick's track, then immediately stopped the whole thing again and pulled off the earphones.

Looking around covertly to make sure he was alone, Archie dropped his head into his hands.

Nick.

Screaming.

That had to be when the ants began attacking.

The sound wasn't going to leave his head anytime soon.

Taking a deep breath, Archie put the headphones back on, reminding himself that once he figured out what the hell was going on with this tape, he would never have to listen to the damn thing again.

Okay. Nick's track--off. Plexiglass breaking--off. That leaves...

Archie shook his head. What the hell was it? He amped it up, frowning in concentration. Not static. Breathing? Breathing? Not Nick's breathing, either.

Not this again.

A little further on, the noise took on a cadence, and Archie just knew what it was going to be. Once again it was too low to register without some help, so Archie reluctantly adjusted the track's bass and treble to sharpen its sound. Then, steeling himself, he played the track from the beginning again.

It was bad from the beginning, because that sound wasn't harsh breathing, it was panting. And not the panicked panting he'd heard from Nick, either. This had something to it that was almost... anticipatory.

After that, the speech was almost a relief. Only almost though, because it was that same guttural voice. It wasn't speaking English this time, either. Wasn't speaking any language Archie had ever come across, but it was definitely a language--one very heavy on vowel sounds.

Eyeh-eye?

Eja deweebuh chi-a...

How was he going to identify it without letting Grissom know he'd blatantly ignored orders?

As long as he concentrated on Grissom's possible anger, it was easier to ignore the tone of the voice, which made the message loud and clear, no matter the language. It was greedy and gloating and distinctly predatory.

The spike that indicated Nick beginning to scream caught Archie's eye briefly, and in the next few seconds, he had ripped the headphones from his head and thrown them across the desk, for once unmindful of the expensive equipment that was usually his pride and joy.

He shut down the program without bothering to save the individual tracks and pushed himself away from the desk. He was not listening to that again. No fucking way.

Archie did not hear Nick begin screaming, he'd kept the volume on that track low, but he did hear that...that...thing's response to the desperate man's cries.

That goddamn thing was laughing.

Jim Brass knew Gil Grissom well enough not to take it personally when, after telling Gil all about his visit to Kelly Gordon, the entomologist's only response was-- "I'll go see her myself."

Well, not too personally, anyway.

That was why he found himself driving along US-93 toward the Southern Nevada Women's Correctional Facility for the second time that week.

"What exactly did she say about Nick's visit?" Gil asked, making Jim smile ruefully. Although Gil hadn't shown any reaction when he heard that Nick had been to visit the Gordon woman, his curiosity had obviously been poking at him ever since.

"Just that he'd been there," Jim replied. "There wouldn't be much to tell. Look at her visitors' log. Nicky was only there for a grand total of eight minutes."

Gil opened the folder Jim had handed him before they'd set out, frowning all the while. "Nick drove thirty--sixty miles to talk to someone for eight minutes? And only a week after he got out of the hospital. It makes no sense."

Jim could hear a note of disapproval in his colleague's voice. "Are you pissed because he went or are you pissed because he went without checking with you?"

Gil's lips tightened and he looked back at the folder without speaking, which gave Jim his answer.

Point scored, he went on, "I don't know what you expect to get out of her. She wouldn't give me a damn thing."

"But you said you thought she was hiding something." Gil shot him an innocent look, "I trust your gut instincts."

Jim let that slide with no more than an amused snort. Truth to tell, he was rather curious to see how Gil would get on with the cold-hearted bitch. Normally, Gil would be just as cold and clinical in return, but with Nicky being involved, there was no telling what his reaction would be.

"You didn't mention the tape?" Gil asked as Jim turned at the prison gates.

"You asked me not to."

"Right."

If the warden thought there was anything strange about all the interest Captain Brass was taking in Kelly Gordon, he didn't show it as he led both men into an empty interrogation room. Shortly after they were settled, Kelly Gordon was led in, shackled. The guard seated her, then took up a post outside the door. Kelly Gordon showed no surprise at seeing Brass again, either, her narrow, pinched face was as stony as ever.

Jim doubted that Gil would have any more luck than he'd had, even though the graveyard supervisor had surprised him on occasion. Kelly Gordon, though, wasn't going to lift a finger to help another human being unless she liked the payoff, and Jim didn't buy that two years in prison had done it to her. He'd seen people go through much more for much longer without turning as stone-cold as this woman, and he could only suppose she'd gotten it from her father.

"Ms. Gordon," Gil said as he sat down across from her. "I'm Gil Grissom from the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

Gil's cordiality didn't seem to have any effect on her. "And what do you want?" she asked in that same hard voice Jim always heard from her.

"I'd like to ask you some questions about your father."

"He's dead."

As Jim watched, Gil's expression became glacially calm. "I'm aware of that. I was there," his replied in a voice cold enough to match hers.

Not so much as a blink, Jim noted. Gil, even you aren't going to crack this one. But he stayed out of it, knowing he was likely to tick her off even further.

"Did your father have any associates? Close friends?"

"No."

Imagine that. And with that charming Gordon personality.

"He came to visit you during the week before Nick Stokes' abduction," Gil's expression tightened as he spoke. "Did he mention anyone else being in on it with him?"

"No. And I already told him that," she glared at Jim. "Why do you want to know all this?"

"Because," Gil glanced at Jim, and Jim knew he was about to play the trump card. "We have a recording your father left to taunt Nick, and there was another voice on it."

She didn't seem to react to this news either, but Jim thought she became a bit paler.

"The tape more or less proves that your father wasn't working alone, and may even suggest that this wasn't entirely his idea. On the tape, it almost sounds as though he wants confirmation from someone else."

"Look," Kelly's voice shook for a split-second. "If my father was working with someone I don't--I didn't want to hear about it."

Gil tilted his head, encouraging her to continue.

"I mean, I didn't hear about it. I don't know anything about it."

"If you're worried about retribution from this person," Jim stepped in. "We can arrange special conditions for you here."

"Your special conditions don't mean shit."

"I could play a copy of it, if you like--"

"No!" Kelly jumped out of her chair, shackles jangling. "No. I don't need to hear it."

"Ms. Gordon--" Gil stood as well. "If you know something about this--"

Kelly pounded on the door with her hands. "We're done!"

Jim could sense fear pouring off her, something he never would have expected.

The guard opened the door and grabbed on of Kelly's arms when she tried to go past him. "Everything okay in here?"

"We're done," Kelly said, shooting a look over her shoulder.

The guard looked at Jim questioningly and he in turn, glanced at Gil.

With a sigh, Gil put one of his business cards on the table. "If you change your mind, Ms. Gordon, you can call me at any time."

"Now what?" Jim asked as they walked back to his Taurus.

"I guess we go back to where it started," Gil replied in his usual cryptic manner.

* * *

He knew what people would say. They would tell him he'd spent one hour too many in front of the Sci-Fi channel.

In fact, the list of people Archie was willing to tell about this was a very short one. Fortunately, the first name on it belonged to a man Archie knew would keep quiet if asked and who, even if he thought Archie was nuts, wouldn't be jibing him about it forever.

So after most other techs had already taken their breaks, Archie made his way down to Ballistics. "Hey, Bobby," he said as he walked in. "You take a break yet?"

"I'm due for one," Bobby said. He hadn't lifted his head from the comparison scope, but that didn't bother Archie. "I've just got to confirm a couple more matches."

"Could I talk to you about something? Privately?"

That did make Bobby look up, and he nodded when he saw Archie's somber expression. "Sure. Soon as I get done here--I'll only be another few minutes, then I'll meet you...out back?"

"Thanks," Archie nodded. He stopped in the break room only long enough to grab a soda, then headed for the crime lab's rear exit. A slab of concrete decorated only with a wooden bench, a trash can and a sand-filled ashtray was the lab's concession to smoking employees. There were, oddly enough, very few of them on the graveyard shift, and the little area was one people used when they wanted to be positive no one else would hear their conversation. The light was perpetually burned out, but nowhere in the city was ever completely dark.

"Hey," Bobby joined him on the bench, coffee in hand.

"Hey." Archie reflexively checked his pocket again. Yeah, the player was still there, just in case Bobby had to hear to believe.

"So what's up?"

Archie sighed heavily, suddenly unsure how to begin.

"Whoa. That doesn't sound good."

"This doesn't go anywhere."

"You got it," Bobby nodded.

Archie was immediately reassured, he always believed it when Bobby told him something, and the ballistics expert hadn't let him down yet. "You...aren't hard-core science, right? I mean, you don't automatically discount something just because it hasn't been scientifically explained. You said once your mom was a ghost hunter or something?"

Bobby laughed, but definitely looked intrigued. "She was a paranormal investigator--not just ghosts. And yeah, there's plenty of stuff out there science doesn't cover."

"So if I tell you something that sounds a little...out there," Archie stopped, wondering if he was going about this properly. "This is about Nick."

Curiosity was immediately replaced by concern. "Nick? Okay."

Archie took another deep breath. Here goes. "Walter Gordon put a recorder in the box with a message on it to mess with Nick. At one point Nick recorded something of his own on the other side. The cassette survived the blast and Grissom brought it to me to analyze. He also told me it had to stay between us."

Bobby nodded encouragingly.

"Walter Gordon's side was slightly damaged, but there's a voice at the end saying ‘Perfect,' and it's not Gordon's."

"An accomplice?" Bobby whispered, even though they were alone.

"I don't know. This is where it gets weird. The voice isn't human. It exists at a frequency we can't achieve."

"What did Grissom say when you told him that?"

"That it was due to the damage." Archie shook his head, "And although that could account for the change in frequency, it isn't likely. So even though Grissom told me specifically not to, I listened to Nick's recording--it was undamaged. I filtered out Nick's voice, because--well..." he shifted uncomfortably. "Anyway, once Nick's voice was gone, I began picking up other stuff. Again, too low a frequency for human speech, but the echoing pattern suggests that whatever it is was in the box with him."

"All the tests?" Bobby asked.

"All the tests. Multiple times. Not human. And not English in the second case."

"And you...you think that's what's causing Nick's problems?"

Archie blinked. He hadn't been thinking about the voice in relation to Nick's current condition. He'd always assumed--"That's post-traumatic stress." Maybe. "Isn't it?"

"Is there any way I can hear it? I don't want to hear Nick, just--"

Archie pulled the player out of his pocket and handed Bobby the ear buds. Once Bobby nodded, he pushed play.

Bobby asked to hear it twice more before taking the buds out. "You've already checked that that's not some reversed language."

"Of course," Archie replied with a slight smile.

"It's definitely a language, though," Bobby mused. He took several sips of coffee before saying anything else.

Archie could tell he was considering the implications very seriously and so forced himself to be patient.

"You haven't told Grissom yet?"

"No. I'm not looking forward to getting my head ripped off."

"Impossible frequency?"

"Impossible."

"Well, I've got an idea," Bobby said slowly. "But you're not going to like it."

"At this point, I'll take anything I can get."

* * *

Warrick punched in the code to turn off Nick's alarm when he received no response to his knock. Nick had given it to him along with a key and didn't bother protesting when Warrick said he'd check in a couple of time a day. Warrick insisted on it after several days went by without Nick calling after nightmares Warrick knew he'd had. That Nick barely protested this arrangement was just another sign of how tired--and scared--he really was.

Nick was due in personnel to sign more insurance forms--a couple of times a week someone from Personnel worked a night shift, and Nick wanted to go during his usual shift to visit even though he'd barely been away more than a week. Warrick suspected that the crime lab somehow made Nick feel normal--maybe safe. When Warrick suggested they go out and grab some dinner first, Nick liked the idea so much that he didn't argue when Warrick said he'd pick him up and drive him to the lab. Especially surprising considering Nick knew it was a rare night off for Warrick.

Warrick walked into Nick's place, looking around curiously. The bedroom door was shut, and Warrick took that as a sign that Nick was finally managing to get some decent sleep. Since sleep was much more important for Nick than insurance forms or even dinner, Warrick considered leaving a note and going home. Then he remembered how pissed Tina was when she heard he was hanging with Nick on the first night off they'd had together in weeks.

Maybe he'd just stay and watch some TV until Nick woke up.

But he knew he really should go back and try to patch things up at least a little with Tina.

A loud crash and a strangled scream from the bedroom took the decision out of his hands.

He rushed into the bedroom, but couldn't see Nick until a frightened sound drew his attention to the far side of the bed. Hurrying around it, he found Nick crouched by the night stand, his back pressed against the wall. Judging by the tangled sheets half-off the bed, Nick had fallen out while trying to fight off another nightmare. For all Warrick knew, he was still fighting it--there was no way to tell if Nick was even awake. "Nick?" he knelt beside the terrified man. "Nicky?" Carefully, Warrick reached out and laid his hand on a bare shoulder.

Nick jerked and stared blankly at him. "W-Warrick..?"

"Yeah."

With a small, choked sound Nick collapsed against him and Warrick immediately wrapped his arms around the trembling body. He knew that trying to get Nick to speak at this point was probably useless, so for the time being, he just held on.

It was a solid twenty minutes before Nick stopped shaking, and during that time he'd barely made a sound--almost as though he was afraid to. Warrick got the distinct impression that Nick was trying to hide within the circle of his arms and tightened his hold. In response, Nick tried to burrow even closer.

"Nick?" Warrick prompted quietly.

"Oh god..." Nick's voice was barely audible.

"Talk about it, Nicky," Warrick urged. "Tell me what you remember."

"I can't."

"Yeah, you can," Warrick encouraged. "Was it the same as last time?"

Nick broke free from the embrace and struggled to stand. "I've gotta...I need to get out of here." Warrick helped him to his feet, and Nick blindly pushed past him. "Out," he muttered, making his way to the door. He paused in the doorway while his eyes adjusted to the brighter light.

"Nick," Warrick stood behind him, trying to act as though Nick's behavior wasn't freaking him out a little. "Nick, man, talk to me. Out--where are you going?"

"Just...out of that room..." Nick hugged himself as he stood in the middle of his living room, looking around as though dazed.

"Nick, come on," Warrick turned the smaller man to face him. "Was it the same as last time? You couldn't move?"

Nick shuddered, "I thought I was awake--it always starts like that. As though I've just woken up in my room. And I--I could hear something in the room and I thought if I was quiet...but then something...something was holding me down and I couldn't make a sound if I'd wanted to and I couldn't move, but I could feel..." Nick dropped his head and moved slightly closer to Warrick, seeking security.

His bare skin was cool and clammy to the touch, but that didn't stop a tiny sliver of want to from darting through Warrick's body. Disgusted with himself, Warrick put his hands on Nick's shoulders and edged him away, "Robe?"

Nick glanced warily at the bedroom, "Behind the door."

Warrick retrieved the thick robe and helped Nick into it. "Coffee?" he asked, and at Nick's nod, walked to the kitchen. He couldn't help noticing that Nick stayed barely a step away from him at all times. Things were obviously getting worse, in spite of Nick's insistence that he'd get past it eventually. He got the coffee maker going, and while it brewed, he turned back to Nick. "Hey, Nicky, have you ever considered a physical cause?"

"What?" Nick frowned.

"Something neurological or a sleep disorder."

"Oh." Nick sat at the counter with a tired sigh. "I had a bunch of those when I was in the hospital. EEG, MRI, PET--all those letters. The doctors did all sorts of tests when they heard how you guys got me out. They all came back okay."

"What about Dr. Kane? Have you seen him again?"

"I have an appointment next week," Nick kept his head bowed. "Or is that this week?" He frowned, "Did I write it down?"

Warrick looked at Nick's calendar. "It's on Thursday."

"This week," Nick muttered.

"You slept okay on the couch the other day," Warrick pointed out. "Why don't you just start crashing there?"

"For how long?" Nick asked with a sudden scowl. "Forever?"

Long enough for you to get enough rest so you can think straight. "Just until you catch up on your sleep, bro."

"Beds are for sleeping in. There's no reason why, if I'm gonna sleep, I shouldn't be able to sleep in my bed. That's just--stupid."

Seeing Nick's jaw beginning to jut stubbornly, Warrick decided to ease off the subject. He realized he only had a small window after a nightmare before Nick would shore up his flagging defenses again and continue on resolutely. That attitude had gotten Nick through a lot, even through his ordeal underground, but Warrick was starting to wonder he'd finally found something he couldn't just "get past."

Nick let out another sigh. "Sorry. Look, I'm lousy company. Don't worry about dinner. I'll just go to the crime lab in a while and get those papers signed."

Warrick barely stifled a derisive snort. Yeah, like you're driving anywhere. "Picture that. I'll take you to the lab and we can pick up something to eat on the way back. Then, if you aren't going to crash on your couch, I will."

The dark eyes widened in surprise. "You can't stay here. Tina--"

"Yeah, well," Warrick shrugged. "We're...uh...we could probably do with some time apart..."

Nick looked troubled. "If you need a place to stay, then...well, of course. But shouldn't you--I mean, you just got married..."

Let him think he's helping me out. Why the hell didn't I think of that before? On the other hand, he didn't want Nick worrying about his marriage. "Maybe just let things cool off. I'll go back tomorrow and see about straightening things out." And then think of another excuse to stick around and make sure you get some more sleep.

That seemed to ease Nick's mind a little. "I'll get ready to go in a minute."

To Warrick, it looked as if Nick found just the thought of showering and changing exhausting. "No rush, we've got more than an hour before anyone expects us." He couldn't help but notice that Nick perked up a little at the idea of going to the lab. Looks like neither of us are too happy in our own houses right now.

* * *

He said no, of course, but that wasn't enough to stop Bobby, who continued to cajole for ten minutes and still didn't look ready to give up. Archie, the other hand, didn't look too thrilled to even be having the conversation in the first place. What the hell did they want to talk to his sister for, anyway? He just knew this was some sort of trick.

"You're going to have to tell him," Bobby sounded resigned.

"Like hell," Archie said immediately.

Okay, now he was curious. "Tell me what?"

Archie sighed. "Make sure no one comes in," he told Bobby.

So while the firearms expert kept an eye out for eavesdroppers, Archie proceeded to tell him just why they wanted to talk to his sister.

David Hodges then proceeded to tell Archie just how far off the deep end he'd obviously gone.

"Look, I'm serious, okay?" Archie glared at him. "I'm not asking you to believe me, I'm just asking you to put me in touch with your sister and then keep your mouth shut, although I realize that last part is damn near impossible."

Well, well, if it was enough to make the mild-manner A/V tech start biting... "What is Grissom going to say about this?"

"I haven't told him," Archie shifted uncomfortably. "He specifically told me not to listen to that side. Look, I've done everything I know how to do to figure this out. I think it's time to...step off the beaten path. Bobby told me your sister was psychic."

"Laurel is not psychic," David said through gritted teeth. "She just happens to have a sensitivity to...changes in her atmosphere." He knew it sounded lame, but he was still rattled by the request.

"Thought you told Jacqui she blew the Rhine test out of the water," Bobby said, keeping his gaze on the hallway.

"I said that to point out how invalid the Rhine test could be," David gritted out.

"We've heard about a Laurel Hodges whose helped the police in Cincinnati," Bobby continued.

"Flukes are possi--"

"Two or three times."

"People around here need to mind their own business," David snapped, knowing that was a bit rich coming from him.

"So do you have a problem with your sister's abilities or just your sister in general?" Archie asked.

"Excuse me," David glared at the younger tech.

Suddenly, Bobby let out a very loud cough. "Guy-in-question," he said rapidly.

David barely had time to register his meaning before Nick and Warrick walked into the trace lab. "Party in here?" Warrick joked.

"Satellites drawn to the pull of my genius," David said dryly, making Warrick groan and Archie roll his eyes.

"How you doin', Nick?" Bobby asked, although the question wasn't necessary.

"Okay," Nick said, and everyone let him get away with the blatant lie. "I just finished with some of the paperwork. Hopefully, I'll be back...be back before I need another batch." He slumped slightly against the door frame for balance.

David met Warrick's eyes briefly, and knew that the CSI was trying not to let his pity show. This man with the circles under his eyes that were dark enough to be bruises, the hollows in his cheeks, the drooping posture and the fuzzy way of speaking--this man was about as far removed from the handsome, athletic, alert and cheery Nick Stokes as a person could get. More than pity, David felt a wave of real fear for Nick wash over him and it was difficult to act as he always had. He did manage to get a few comments in, though--wouldn't do to have Nick noticing anything different.

After about fifteen minutes, Warrick said they ought to be going, and no one missed how watchful he was being of Nick. Once they were gone, the smiles immediately slid from Bobby's and Archie's faces and they exchanged horrified looks before turning to David.

David nodded slowly. "I'll call Laurel tomorrow afternoon."

"Hi, David."

"Y'know, that's not such a big deal. Plenty of people have caller ID."

"So lovely to hear from you," Laurel continued pleasantly.

David rolled his eyes. He loved his sister--really he did--but it still pissed him off that he never managed to rattle her, no matter how much he tried. Laurel always remained serene and vaguely amused.

It drove him crazy.

"Do you know why I'm calling?" he asked sarcastically.

"You need my help with something," she replied promptly. "Something that calls for my unique abilities."

David was glad video phones weren't widespread. Laurel would have laughed herself silly if she could see him gaping.

"David, you get snippy when you have to ask a favor," Laurel sounded as though she were smiling. "And you never refer to my abilities if you can help it. That's not psychic, that's big sister."

"Must you do that?"

"It's so much fun," Laurel laughed. "But all right, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, a friend asked me to talk to you." The irony of the statement was not lost on David. If he ever needed to ask Laurel about something paranormal, that's the exact way he would go about it. But when he does actually use that line, it's the truth.

Laurel, being Laurel, knew it was the truth. "I may need his name, David."

"Well, this friend wants your help because he's worried about another friend." Who's on first? David thought irrelevantly.

"And you're worried, too. That's also in your voice," she added quickly so David didn't have to wonder.

"His name is Nick Stokes," David said, then waited. He'd seen Laurel know things just after hearing a name.

"He...yeah, okay."

David wasn't sure what to make of that. "Well, this guy I work with--actually we both work with Nick, he--"

"Dogs."

"What?"

"Dogs. Why are there dogs? Are there dogs involved? Does Nick have a dog?"

"No," David snapped in spite of himself. "There's no dogs. No one--"

"Dead dogs. One was a lure and the other--"

Oh.

"--was a test, but it became a...a step. It became a step. Are there dogs?"

"Well..."

"It began with dogs."

"Yeah," David admitted reluctantly. "I guess so."

"And Nick Stokes was...saved."

"Yes."

"But...he's not safe."

"What?" David couldn't help wondering how he was going to explain this to Gil Grissom should the need arise. Or worse, to Nick himself.

"Is he..? He's not well. Not safe."

David relaxed a little. "Well, it was a traumatic event. It would take awhile to recover. But I actually called you about--"

"A voice."

"Jesus, Laurel," David breathed.

"There's a voice and it's...it was...oh, David."

David tried not to freak out. The last time she'd said his name in that tone, their favorite cousin had been paralyzed in a car accident three days later.

"I think...David, I can't come out there--"

"No one asked you to," David nearly snarled--fear was making him short-tempered.

"And I'm not sure I'd be very helpful in this situation."

"What situation? You haven't told me a damn thing!"

Laurel didn't take offense at the ridiculous accusation. "There's someone at the university there in Las Vegas who may be able to help you. Certainly more help than I would be."

David knew there were plenty of weirdos in Nevada but at--"WLVU?" What? A psychic janitor?

"A professor of folklore. I have the contact information here somewhere..." There was the sound of Laurel moving around her house.

"Can't you just conjure it up?" David snarked.

"I've always sucked at addresses," Laurel replied mildly. "You know that."

"Wait--you said a professor?"

"She's also a Shoshone medicine man--well, woman. I believe Nick may need her."

* * *

Nick dutifully made another appointment with Dr. Kane at the end of his session, even though he didn't really see any point. The session he'd just finished hadn't done much to help him, and he didn't believe that more of the same would, either.

Of course, Dr. Kane might have been able to help more if Nick had told him honestly what was going on, but he didn't know how to explain something he didn't fully understand himself. At least he hadn't felt so much like a zombie when he went to see Kane. Sleeping on the couch might seem like giving in, but it was such a relief not to wake up completely exhausted once in a while.

That Warrick was usually there when he woke up did bother him, though. Or rather, it bothered him that he liked having Warrick there when he woke up. Warrick had a wife now. And whatever Nick had thought while they were partnered on swing shift, whatever kind of flirting Warrick seemed to be doing with him on occasion, no matter how intense Warrick had seemed in the days following his rescue, the fact was that Warrick was married now. He belonged to Tina and anything Nick may have hoped for needed to be put quietly back on the shelf.

Besides, it wasn't as though he hadn't had to deal with crushes before this, Nick reminded himself as he walked into his house. Look at how long he'd had a crush on Grissom--well, okay, he still had a bit of a crush on Grissom.

So if his feelings for Warrick ran deeper than a crush, then it would just take him a little longer to get over it. Odd, though, that his crush on Grissom had never gave him a painful ache in his chest and throat like the one he got whenever Tina was mentioned.

With a sigh, Nick pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He thought about making himself lunch but decided on a shower first. Although he hadn't discussed everything that happened in his nightmares with Dr. Kane, he had remembered all of them, and they had left him in a cold sweat. He felt disgusting and figured his appetite would be better once he felt clean and relaxed.

He was right. The hot spray felt even better now than it had that morning and Nick felt much of the tension from his session ease away. He bent his head forward to soak his hair, and then just as suddenly straightened again. The sound he thought he'd heard was gone.

Must have got water in my ears.

No. There it is again.

Breathing?

No.

This can't be happening now. I'm awake.

I'm awake.

"I'm awake," he said aloud. Then more forcefully, "I'm awake."

He stood frozen, listening intently. It was gone. He had just been imagining things.

Great just what I need. My nightmares are taking over my waking hours, too.

Nick took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, letting the water relax him again. When he found himself slammed against the shower's tiled wall, he was too shocked to do more than gasp.

A hand--it felt like a hand--gripped the back of his neck and part of one shoulder, holding him immobile against the wall. In fact, his whole body was immobile. It was a sickeningly familiar feeling.

"I'm awake," he insisted. "I'm awake!"

Then the grip on his neck tightened slightly. Not enough to cut off his air, only to stifle his voice.

And the other hand, that one wasn't keeping him still. Even worse, it was exploring.

Nick had thought nothing could have made him feel more vulnerable than being trapped in his bed.

But I'm awake! No one falls asleep in the shower.

So that's not breathing. That's not...

Moaning?

I'm awake so this can't--this can't--

And then he knew what was happening.

Oh, no, no, no...

Something...a leg? Forced his thighs apart.

Nick strained every muscle, but couldn't move. His terrified mind kept focusing on one thing.

I'm awake. Oh god, please, this isn't happening...

This can't be happening because I'm awake--I am.

Oh please please wake up...

Wake up!

Wake up before--

A strangled scream escaped him when something brutal and relentless forced itself inside him.

Nick thought he would pass out from the pain, but even worse--he didn't.

Instead, he was completely aware of the thrusting, the panting, the groaning as

the nightmare...it's a nightmare...

pounded into him for what seemed like an eternity.

Then with a guttural sound, everything stopped, and whatever had been there was just as suddenly gone.

Nick's legs gave out on him and he slumped into a corner of the shower, ignoring the water that still rained down on him. He huddled against the cold tile, trying to move as little as possible for fear of somehow triggering another attack. His mind was blank except for the one fact that he remained certain of--

I'm awake.

* * *

Gil knew the warehouse had been released as a crime scene less than two weeks after Walter Gordon's death. Once Nick had been found, the building had been given a cursory examination by the day shift CSIs covering the case and released. At the time, Gil hadn't thought anything about it--their main concern with the warehouse had been clues to Nick's whereabouts. With Nick safe, the building hadn't been nearly as important.

Although he wasn't entirely certain what he expected to find, it definitely wasn't what he saw when he drove up. The warehouse was gone and tents of various sizes and construction surrounded the pit where it had once stood. Leaving his kit in the Denali, Gil walked slowly toward the dig, because everything he saw suggested that's what this was.

As if to confirm his suspicions, a thin young woman wearing shorts, a WLVU sweatshirt and a fine coating of dust approached him. "I'm sorry, sir, but this is private property. You can't be here."

Gil held up his ID, and continued to survey what he could see of the deep wallow in the ground. "May I speak to the person in charge, please?"

She took a moment to read his ID, then glanced around. "This way," she said, leading him to a canopy under which a man was seated at a folding table that was currently covered with shards of pottery and index cards. His weathered face and lean, wiry body identified him so obviously as an archaeologist that it was almost clichéd. "Dr. Ramsey?"

The man looked up, his intelligent eyes landing on Gil immediately.

"This is Dr. Grissom, from the crime lab," the young woman continued. "He'd like to speak to you."

"Thank you, Kris," Dr. Ramsey nodded to her and she left them alone. "Wallace Ramsey," he said as he stood.

"Gil Grissom," Gil shook the offered hand. He kept his attention focused on the archaeologist, even though he was sorely tempted to look more closely at the dig. He doubted it had anything to do with was he was investigating, but that did nothing to diminish his curiosity.

"Dr. Grissom. I believe I've heard your name at the University once or twice," Ramsey gestured Gil toward another folding chair. "The building that stood here was a crime scene a few months ago, wasn't it? There was a bomb or some such thing."

"That's right," Gil nodded. "How long have you been here?"

"About three weeks. We've been making excellent progress," Ramsey gestured to the array before him. Then he frowned slightly, "Despite a glitch or two."

"How did the university become involved here?"

"The bank that owns this property demolished the warehouse and several artifacts were found. I was called in to verify and when it was established that this is a very promising site, the bank's board of directors voted to allow us eight months to conduct this dig."

Gil tried to recall the records that had been pulled. He was sure Walter Gordon had been listed as the owner. "The bank owns the property? Which bank?"

"Wells Fargo. The owner was mortgaged to the hilt, and when he passed it all went back to the bank. The owner–-is he the reason this is a crime scene?"

"Yes." Gil said, knowing that this site would no longer yield any helpful information.

Ramsey regarded him sympathetically. "Not the answers you were looking for."

"No. But that's something we both have to deal with in our given professions." Having gone as far as he could go on casework, Gil finally gave in to his nonprofessional curiosity. "What sort of answers have you been getting, if I may ask?" He studied the shards on the table. "Are these Paiute? Shoshone?"

Ramsey warmed to Gil's obvious interest, and with a fair amount of pride he said, "There are several indications that these are Anasazi."

Gil looked back down at the shards as though they'd suddenly turned to golden scarabs. "Anasazi."

"If we can confirm it, it will be the first proof we have that they lived in Nevada as well as New Mexico and Arizona."

Before Gil could ask any more questions, a studious-looking young man approached them. "Dr. Ramsey, we've found another one."

Ramsey seemed torn between elation and concern. "Partial?"

The youth shook his head. "Appears to be an entire skeleton."

"Size?"

"More than nine feet."

Ramsey sighed, "Take your time uncovering. Then lay it out in the same tent as the others. I'll get to it as soon as I can."

"Yes, sir," the young man hurried back down into the dig.

Now Gil's curiosity was nearly overwhelming. "If I may..?"

Ramsey looked up at him questioningly.

"Wouldn't the discovery of a skeleton be a bonus? Even if it is an animal?"

"Dr. Grissom..."

Gil's raised his eyebrows at the formal address.

"This is a very...sensitive subject. I'd ask as a professional courtesy that this go no further than you or I."

"As long as it has nothing to do with my crime scene, I can give you my word."

"These skeletons are human--or at the very least, humanoid," Ramsey said quietly, "And nine feet is not the largest we've found."

"How many have you found?" Gil asked, not bothering to hide his fascination.

"This makes seven full skeletons. That's not including all the individual bones we've uncovered."

"‘There were giants in the Earth in those days...'" Gil murmured.

"These skeletons have been found all over the world, but this could very well be the highest concentration of them found in North America," Ramsey explained. "And to find them in the same strata as artifacts such as these..." he gestured toward the table, then sighed again. "To discover signs of the Anasazi in Nevada is one thing, but these giant skeletons are still a very touchy subject among the archaeological community. Too much publicity about them, and the university could very well decide to cut our funding, especially if word of this spread to some of the more...alternative groups."

Gil frowned briefly, but then caught on. "Alien enthusiasts."

"Most digs don't have that to deal with, but here in Nevada..." Ramsey let his sentence trail off. "No, I want these skeletons kept quiet until they've been completely and fully analyzed."

"I understand," Gil said as he stood up. "It's difficult to keep objective if you're surrounded by too many varying opinions."

"Exactly," Ramsey smiled as they shook hands again. "I guess you would understand that as well as anyone."

"I do," Gil assured him. "And there's certainly no reason for me to pass this along to anyone."

The utter collapse of his marriage was not at the forefront of Warrick's mind as he drove the familiar route to Nick's place. It was secondary to the fact that Nick wasn't answering his home phone or his cell. Warrick supposed it was somehow appropriate, the lack of response from his friend was what finally finished everything off.

Tina had been trying to talk to him about something--probably their marriage being in trouble--but Warrick really had no idea because he had been wondering how Nick was after the session with Dr. Kane. He listened to Tina--mostly--while he tried Nick's numbers, and by the fourth or fifth try, Tina blurted out in frustration that she wished he'd told her he was in love with someone else before they'd gotten married. Warrick didn't protest quickly enough--he was considering several things that could have gone wrong with Nick's session--and by the time he registered her words, there was no point in protesting at all.

"You know, if neither of us contests it, we can have this annulled in about ten days," Tina didn't sound angry. Just very sad and surprisingly--rather understanding.

"I never meant--"

"I know."

"I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.

"I know that, too."

"I've got to go check on Nick."

"Then go."

And he did.

And that was that.

Warrick was actually relieved as he turned onto Nick's street. There would be no more conflict. He could focus all his attention just where he wanted. Telling Nick about his feelings at the moment was not the best idea, Warrick knew, so he would wait until his annulment went through, and Nick got over these night terrors. After that...Warrick couldn't help grinning as he parked next to Nick's truck.

Just as quickly his smile disappeared. Nick's truck meant Nick was home.

Shit. Warrick ripped off his seat belt and hurried for the door. He's stuck in the middle of a nightmare. I knew it. He rushed into Nick's house and skidded to a halt in the middle of the living room. Nick had pushed his black leather wingback over to the wall near the kitchen and was huddled in it.

"Warrick," he said cordially, as though the man hadn't just burst into his house.

"Nick," Warrick replied slowly. "You weren't answering your phone."

"Oh," Nick glanced toward the counter. "Was that you? I thought it might be a trick."

"Trick? Whose trick?"

Nick frowned in thought, then gave a vague smile, "...mine..?"

"Oh-kay..." Warrick took off his jacket and tossed it on the sofa. "What happened?" he asked as he stepped closer. "Another nightmare?"

Nick stared at him in silence while the seconds ticked away, then chuckled.

The hollow sound to it made Warrick's heart clench. "How was the session with Dr. Kane?"

Nick blinked, looking genuinely surprised. "Yeah. That was today, wasn't it?"

Oh god. Warrick crouched down in front of Nick and from that angle could see bruises on Nick's cheek and forehead. "Nicky, how did you get these bruises?"

Another chuckle escaped Nick, and then he started laughing.

Warrick was getting scared, and whenever he got scared, he also got angry. "Nick. What the hell's going on? You might have a concussion."

"God, I wish," Nick's choke was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"I think I should take you to the hospital."

"What kind?" Nick smiled humorlessly.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I think..." The laughter vanished and Nick's voice started to shake. "I think I'm done, Rick."

"Done?" Warrick frowned in confusion.

"I had...I was awake, Warrick. You can't...do that. People don't do that unless..."

"A nightmare? That's where the bruises came from?"

"The tiles in the bathroom. I slammed against the wall before--" Nick choked back several sobs and curled in on himself.

"Nicky..." Warrick wanted to pull Nick into his arms, but something about Nick's posture told him not to. For the moment, he settled for laying a hand on Nick's arm. "Nick, please, just tell me what happened."

Nick stared at him, and the brown eyes were so haunted, so defeated, that Warrick almost took his request back. "I was taking a shower."

"Okay..."

"And it--it happened again...I couldn't...move..." Nick focused on a point just over Warrick's shoulder. "I heard breathing first. And it slammed--something...I slammed against the wall. And then it...I could feel..." Nick pressed his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut.

While he was in the shower. So...hallucinations? Dammit. "Nick, what else?"

"...wh--no...s-s--assault..."

Warrick had to strain to hear. "Assault? What do you..? Sexual assault?!" Rage coursed through him. "Goddamn--someone was here?!"

"No," Nick shook his head and started laughing again. "No one. No one was here." It wasn't long before the laughter melted into helpless sobs.

Horrified by what he was hearing, Warrick could only stare for several minutes. Jesus, I knew things were bad but... He tugged carefully on Nick's arm, and was relieved when Nick went willingly into his embrace. "Nick," he murmured when Nick's tears had subsided a bit. "This was right after you got back from seeing Kane?" Nick didn't reply, but Warrick felt him nod. "Maybe we should call him."

Nick stiffened. "I don't want to get put away."

"Nicky, no one's going to put you away."

"Well, what else is there to do with me?" Nick pulled away. "I mean...my god, no one--there has to be something seriously wrong with me to--"

"But, Nick, you know it wasn't real."

"No, I don't," Nick whispered fearfully. "That is, I know...I know it can't be real, but I felt--I could feel..." His voice dropped to little more than a whisper, "It hurt...and it still..."

Warrick swallowed hard. "Maybe we should get you to a hospital. Have someone take a look at you."

"There's nothing to see," Nick said, and the tears began again.

"C'mere," Warrick drew Nick back into his arms. "Nicky, I know you don't like hearing it, but post-traumatic stress can do some really weird things. And, my god, you've been so tired...it's no wonder you're--experiencing such vivid...that doesn't make you crazy, okay? It just means you need some help getting through this."

Nick was nodding again, but Warrick suspected that was just to placate him.

"You need sleep, Nicky. More than anything else."

"I can't," Nick whispered hopelessly. "I can't. I feel like I have to...watch."

"Watch?" Warrick frowned, and then several things clicked into place. The bathroom and bedroom doors were shut, and Nick had moved his chair to a spot where he could keep an eye on both his living room and kitchen. Oh, Nicky... "Okay. Then we'll get out of here and find somewhere else for you to sleep. My place is out--" he couldn't help a wry smile. "Technically, it's not even my place, I guess."

"What?" Nick looked at him.

"Tina and I...well, we're getting an annulment."

Nick's eyes widened. "Rick...oh god...Warrick, I'm so sorry..."

Warrick was a bit surprised to find how easy it was to just wave his marriage away. "Don't worry about it. Probably never should have happened. Hey, how about this? I'll call in to work. If you can't sleep here, we'll find you a hotel where you can--there's plenty to choose from."

"Warrick..."

"If you don't like that idea, we'll put the seat in my jeep down. You grab a blanket and pillow and you can sleep while I drive. It's always easy to zonk out in a vehicle."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask. I'm offering."

Looking troubled, Nick only shook his head.

"Hey," Warrick said softly. "What makes you think you gotta do this alone?" He could see Nick was struggling to keep from breaking down again, although a few tears did escape. "What do you say, Nicky?"

"Yes...please," he breathed.

Warrick smiled reassuringly.

And even more quietly--"Thank you."

* * *

It was Bobby's night off, Ronnie was at a conference, Warrick had called in sick and Nick was still off. The night shift was practically down to a skeleton crew. That was probably why David thought it would be all right to discuss the situation in the break room. Archie was far too curious about what Laurel Hodges had to say to worry about where they had the conversation. He knew that as long as they kept an eye on the door, they'd probably be fine.

One thing that did surprise Archie, though, was the way David kept things short and to the point. Normally, David would have loved expounding in front of a captive audience, but it was obvious this was not his favorite subject.

"According to Laurel, Nick needs...professional help."

"Professional?" That was not what Archie expected to hear. "Like a shrink? I think he's already seeing one."

"More along the lines of a medicine woman."

Whoa. "Medicine woman. Seriously?"

David let out an aggravated sigh, then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "Laurel has a...colleague here. Glenda White Feather. She's also a professor at WLVU."

"Wow," Archie took the paper. "This is just like on--"

"So help me if you find some sci-fi show to compare this to..." David let his voice trail off threateningly.

"This is unbelievable."

"Then don't call!" David's voice began to rise. "It was your bright idea to call in a psychic in the first place. I just got stuck as the middlemen. Against, I might add, every--"

"Okay, okay," Archie made quieting motions with his hands. "Keep it down. I didn't mean unbelievable as in I don't believe it. I meant unbelievable like...this is a whole new thing for me unbelievable."

Pacified, David lowered his voice again. "Laurel said this woman should be able to help with the voice."

Archie frowned. He'd never played the tape for David--the trace tech had never shown the slightest interest in hearing it. "What did your sister say when you told her about the voice?"

"I didn't."

"Wow."

"So when you go see Ms....White Feather, you might want to bring a copy of it."

"When we go," Archie corrected.

"Me? Where'd you get that idea?" David snorted derisively. "I already talked to one psychic for you."

"Your sister," Archie said pointedly. "This woman will know you. I mean, wouldn't your sister have called her?"

"Probably. What does that have to do with it?"

"Well...you're the contact person, then, right?" Archie had hoped David would come along--almost as back up. Considering David grew up with a sister who was psychic, he was bound to know more about this sort of thing than Archie did. "I mean, yeah, I'll go. But you'll come with me, right? You know all about this stuff."

David pursed his lips in annoyance. "No, I don't. I'm a scientist, in case you've forgotten."

Archie decided things were desperate enough to hit a low blow. "But even if it's weird, I thought you'd do it if it helps Nick."

"Help Nick how?" came a new voice. "What's all this about psychics?"

Both techs looked to find former tech Greg Sanders standing in the doorway to the break room. Archie realized with a sinking feeling that they had no idea how long he'd been standing there. He turned to glare at David and found David was glaring equally hard at him. "Why weren't you keeping an eye on the door?"

"Why weren't you?" David shot back. "This whole damn thing was your idea."

Greg sauntered into the room and joined them at the table. "So which one of you is going to tell me what's going on?" Then, with no apparent shame at such outright blackmail--"Because if I've just got time on my hands, I'm sure there's plenty of people who will want to hear that you guys are consulting psychics."

* * *

Gil carefully set the receiver back in its cradle and stared at the phone on his desk, silently willing it to clear up all the questions Kelly Gordon had refused to explain. According to her, she had called for Nick several days in a row before being told he was off on sick leave, and so had decided to call him instead. She asked if he could arrange for Nick to visit her, and despite Gil's efforts, she wouldn't say why. She did say when, however--"As soon as possible."

They finally settled on the day after tomorrow, and after that, Gil did everything he knew how to do to keep her on the line and get more information. She did stay on the line--Gil had a sneaking suspicion she liked hearing someone other than inmates or guard--but she didn't give him so much as a whisper of anything new.

After reminding himself that mind over matter rarely worked, Gil picked up the receiver again and dialed the number for Nick's cell phone. It was only after the second ring that he realized Nick was probably sleeping, he was about to hang up when the cell was answered.

"Hello."

What the hell did I dial? Gil looked at his phone in bemusement. "Warrick?"

There was a long silence at the other end. "Gris?"

"Sorry for bothering you. I meant to dial Nick's number."

Another silence, then a sigh. "You did."

"Where are you?"

A longer pause. "A few miles from Caliente."

That made Gil hesitate before speaking. "I thought you called in sick."

"Actually, I didn't. I just said I couldn't make it in."

When Warrick started hedging like this, Gil knew things couldn't be too good. "Where's Nick? Can I talk to him?"

"Do you have to? He only fell asleep about an hour ago."

Which explained why Warrick was keeping his voice so low. "Where are you guys going?"

Warrick sighed heavily. "Nowhere. I'm just hoping he sleeps better in the jeep than he has been at home."

Oh. Gil knew Nick's nightmares had been getting worse, but he'd been so intent on investigating the Gordon case that he hadn't taken time to visit Nick very often. "It's that bad?"

"I don't know what else to do, Gris," Warrick sounded rather weary himself. "I went to see him tonight before work and--it's getting serious. He needs a solid 18 hours before he'll even begin to be properly rested. Hell, if he can get four hours in a row, I'll be happy."

Gil let out a sigh of his own. This probably meant a visit to Kelly Gordon was not a good idea, but if it was something about an accomplice--"Okay, I'll let you go. Do you think Nick could get in here to talk to me tomorrow? If not, I can go to his place."

"I think he'd rather go to the lab," Warrick said. "I'll bring him just before shift starts."

"All right. Let me know if you need anything. And don't worry about your time off."

"Okay. Thanks, Gris."

Gil hung up and stared at the phone again. Was there ever going to be a point tonight when the damn thing provided answers instead of more questions?

When he first returned to work after his ordeal, Nick had worried he wouldn't be able to handle working surrounded by all that glass. That concern now seemed laughable. The cool, clean atmosphere the glass provided was soothing to his shattered nerves and just being in the lab provided him with a sense of security.

He felt far removed from what had happened the day before--it was somehow easier to believe that what occurred in the shower had been a nightmare after all. Nick would have been able to completely dismiss it as such if it weren't for the occasional twinge of pain.

It had been strange to fall asleep near the city limits heading out of town and then awaken on the Strip going in the opposite direction. In the meantime, Warrick had told him with a grin, they had traveled to Caliente and back. Nick could only gape, because he couldn't believe he had slept for more than six hours and he didn't know how to thank the man who would drive all night just so he could sleep through it. Although six hours wasn't nearly enough to solve all his problems, Nick felt refreshed enough to return to his place--once they'd stopped by Warrick's to pick up a few of his things. After everything Warrick had done, Nick felt the least he could do was offer him a place to stay until he'd found somewhere new. That he automatically felt more comfortable with Warrick there went without saying.

The rest of the day had passed uneventfully. Nick felt so good after his six hours and was so used to existing on much less that he didn't try sleeping again. He caught up on his reading while Warrick crashed on the sofa and then they'd just hung out together for the rest of the day--something they hadn't done since Walter Gordon entered their lives.

He was feeling a little stronger, but the need for sleep was beginning to press down on him again when he walked into Grissom's office. Grissom's expression when he entered told Nick he still looked like the walking dead--and Nick knew the bruises on his face probably didn't help. Seating himself in the chair in front of Grissom's desk, Nick summoned what he hoped was a casual smile. Then he just prayed that Grissom wouldn't begin with--

"How are you, Nicky?"

So much for that. Unable to come up with an answer that was both honest and reassuring, Nick just sighed and shook his head.

"Okay, nevermind," Grissom nodded his understanding. "I received a phone call from Kelly Gordon yesterday. She would like you to visit her--again."

"Oh." Nick didn't bother asking how Grissom knew about his first visit. "I wonder what brought that about. The last time I saw her she didn't seem...well, who could blame her?"

Grissom just stared at him, looking a bit flummoxed.

"What?" Nick asked.

"There's...something I completely overlooked."

Bronze this moment. "You?"

"I need to tell you..." Grissom took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Nick," he sighed. "The tape Walter Gordon left with you--it was recovered."

Oh. Ohhh. This is another dream. At least it's not as bad as the others. It's just humiliating. Like the one where you show up at a crime scene and all of a sudden you're naked and it turns out to be an evalu–

"Nick," Grissom said his name firmly.

Nick blinked, Grissom's tone brought him swiftly back to the office. Not a dream. Oh, God. "When...when did you get it?"

"Just after you first returned to work," Grissom said. He sounded steady even though he looked uneasy.

"Why didn't you..? Why didn't I..? Why?"

"Nicky..." Grissom sighed again and shook his head. "I believed I was doing the best thing for you. It was poor judgement on several levels."

"So...the team has been..?" Why didn't Warrick tell him?

"No. Only myself and Archie. Brass knows of the tape but hasn't heard it. We only examined the side with Walter Gordon's voice and that's what I want to--Nick?"

Nick was sure he should be feeling something by this point--curious, at the very least. Maybe betrayed? Violated? That last brought a grim inward chuckle. Instead, he felt a vague interest, and that only because he knew he was supposed to react.

"Nicky, there was a second voice with Gordon's on the tape."

That snapped him back into the conversation. "An accomplice?"

"It appears that way, yes. The tape has been too damaged for Archie to have much luck. Jim and I have been to see Kelly Gordon, and it certainly seems as though she knows something, but she hasn't given us anything."

"And you think she'd be willing to tell me whatever it is."

"Yes. She's the one who called, after all."

It occurred to Nick that he should be angry-–furious--about so much of this, but he just couldn't muster the energy it required.

"Nicky." Grissom's voice took on that sharper tone that Nick knew meant focus, "Nick. I want to make sure you're up to this. That's why I need to know how you're doing. The night terrors--are they still very bad?"

"I'm having them when I'm awake," Nick said without thinking, and saw Grissom's expression tighten. "At least I think I'm awake," he shrugged.

"What? Like a flashback?"

That sent a jolt of surprise through him. A flashback. A flashback. Of course. Nick desperately grasped at that idea, but just as quickly realized it wasn't likely.

"Could these ‘awake' nightmares be things that you didn't remember about the abduction?"

Reluctant though he was to let go of the idea, Nick shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, if they were--well, they gave me a thorough exam in the hospital. I'm sure they would have found signs--evidence if that--" Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! He abruptly swallowed the rest of his sentence, but Grissom was looking a bit horrified and had obviously caught on. Nick pressed his lips together and looked away--at the floor rather than the insect-lined walls.

"You've been seeing Dr. Kane about this, haven't you?" Grissom asked carefully.

Unable to speak, Nick merely nodded.

"Nick, if you'd rather not visit the prison, I completely understand. I can--"

"When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon? She said as soon as possible. Say three?"

"Sure. I'll meet you there."

Grissom tilted his head doubtfully. "Why don't Jim and I stop by your place and pick you up?"

Thinking there was a vague chance he could sleep in the car, Nick nodded.

"Those bruises, Nicky?"

"Yeah," Nick touched a tender spot on his forehead. "That happened when--while I was in the middle of a nightmare."

They sat in silence for several minutes, then both spoke at the same time.

"I'd better be going," Nick stood.

"If there's anything I can do to help," Grissom's words overrode his.

"No. I...I'm working on it," Nick said, but that didn't erase the doubtful expression from his supervisor's face. Nick hated that expression, even though he knew logically that it didn't mean Grissom was finding fault with him. He tried to sound as capable as possible when he said, "Talk to you this afternoon, Gris."

He even managed to keep his head up and shoulders straight until he was out of Grissom's office.

* * *

Warrick resisted the urge to phone Nick. Instead, he went to his locker and began to change clothes so he could head out to the suspicious circs he'd been assigned. Nick had taken a cab home after his visit with Grissom--despite Warrick's protests--and Warrick had managed to hold off calling for just over an hour. When he had, Nick had said he was going to try getting some more sleep.

That had been two hours ago and Warrick didn't want to risk waking Nick up when he still needed sleep so badly. On the other hand, if Nick somehow got stuck in the middle of a nightmare... Warrick sighed. Maybe he would call once he got this latest case underway.

He held off another two hours, until his scene was processed and was showing itself to probably be a suicide after all. On the way back to the crime lab, he dialed Nick's number. It rang four times, and Warrick was prepared to turn toward West Charleston, but it was answered on the fifth ring.

"‘lo..."

"Nick?"

"Hey, Rick," Nick said sleepily.

"Oh, no." Guilt coursed through him. "I woke you up."

"S'okay. I just went to sleep...what time is it?"

"Nearly three."

"Really?" Nick's voice cleared a little. "Oh. Then that's four hours I've been sleeping."

"No nightmares?" Warrick asked.

"No." Nick paused, "No. Y'know, I don't think I dreamed at all." A yawn. "Not that I can remember, anyway."

"Shit, and I woke you up."

"Don't worry about it," Nick assured him. "I think it's that six-hour drive of yours that put me on the right track."

"Okay," Warrick couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Well, I'll let you get back to sleep, then."

"Actually, I'm gonna grab something to eat. I'm starving. Then I'll sleep some more." Nick sounded wonderfully lazy rather than exhausted.

"Then...maybe I won't phone again before my shift is over," Warrick suggested tentatively.

"That's right, you're staying at Hotel Stokes," Nick actually seemed cheerful again. "Don't expect a complimentary breakfast."

"I'll grab something on the way back."

"Enough for two, yeah?"

"Mooch."

"Says the man sleeping on my couch."

I'm up for other suggestions, Warrick thought, but managed to keep from saying it. He laughed instead--it came so easily. "I'll talk to you later, Nicky."

"See ya, boss."

His good mood lasted until nearly the end of his shift, when he learned that everyone on graveyard--except Greg, who had somehow pulled a Sara before Sara and maxed out on overtime--were now working a double because the entire dayshift was covering a gun fight. He dialed Nick's number, and this time it was answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Nick."

"Where's my breakfast?" Nick asked, and although he didn't really sound like his old self, it was a respectable imitation.

"How about a late lunch?"

That was enough to explain the situation to a co-worker. "Working a double?"

"Yeah, day shift is covering a gunfight in North Vegas."

"I saw it on the news," Nick said. "Something like four dead, seven injured."

"More like six and ten," Warrick corrected, relaxing into a familiar work conversation. "Figures the press is already there, though. Anyway, we're on if anything else comes up."

"Okay. I'm actually thinking of going back to bed again," Nick sounded a bit embarrassed by the admission.

"Good," Warrick smiled. "I'll talk to you this afternoon."

"Later," Nick said around another yawn.

"Later, Nicky," Warrick hung up and tried to stop grinning before someone in the crime lab saw him and started asking questions.

* * *

Having maxed out his overtime on two triples and three doubles the week before, Greg couldn't help feeling a little left out as he made his way to the locker room. He was the only graveyard CSI not on this double. He'd managed to beat Sara with overtime because he'd worked as secondary on cases with her, Warrick and Catherine during the previous week. Normally he only seconded one or two CSIs any given week, but Grissom had been busy with other things.

Passing by the A/V lab, he saw Archie and Hodges in a heated discussion. After finding out about Archie and the tape, and Nick and some voice, and Hodges and a psychic, there was no way he was going to pass on by. He had no intention of spilling the story to his fellow CSIs, because he wasn't entirely sure it wasn't an elaborate tech scheme, but if it was the real deal, he definitely wanted to be in on it. Figures. I finally get out in the field and the lab busts loose. Either they're pulling, like, the most complicated pranks in the world, or they're doing some covert ghostbusting. Why didn't things like that happen when I was in DNA?

He was very sure though, that both men were serious. Archie would never pull a stunt that would hurt Nick, and Hodges' sense of humor--what little there was--just didn't lean that way.

Ergo, I want in on this chat, Greg decided, walking into trace. "Hey, guys? What's up?"

Hodges rolled his eyes and pointedly turned away, but Archie looked at Greg as though he was with the calvary. "You working a double?" he asked immediately.

"No, I'm maxed out."

Archie turned to Hodges who immediately began shaking his head. "No. No. I'm not going and I'm definitely not going with him."

Ignoring Hodges, Greg raised his eyebrows at Archie.

"I'm pulling a double to go over the surveillance from that gunfight," Archie explained. "Bobby is, too, so I want Hodges to go see Professor White Feather because I can't."

"And I don't see why it has to be done today," Hodges added.

Archie stiffened, "Because we don't know that it'll only take one visit and to wait anymore could be--didn't you see Nick tonight?"

Hodges looked away, muttering something under his breath. Greg hadn't even known Nick was coming in, but he'd seen him a few days before and Nick hadn't looked too great then. "Is he a lot worse?"

"He's got bruises," Archie said.

Terrible unease began to coil in Greg's stomach. "Bruises?"

"You have no way of knowing how he got those," Hodges pointed out, refusing to get excited.

"So you don't give a damn what happens to Nick," Archie accused, obviously finding Hodges' ennui completely out of line in this case. "You figure we should just write him off."

That brought a little of Hodges' temper to the fore, "Yeah, because that's exactly what I just said."

Greg glanced at the door, relieved to see the hallway was still empty. "Guys, take it easy..."

"I just don't think chasing shadows is going to do Nick any good."

"Shadows!" Archie slapped his iPod against Hodges chest. "You listen! You listen to that thing in there with Nick. Because I'm fucking sick of having to do it!"

"Arch..." Greg wasn't sure what else to say, because Archie wasn't the sort to lash out, even when he was pissed off. David was too startled by Archie's actions to reply and instead, he slowly took the iPod Archie was still shoving at him.

"I've got to keep listening and analyzing that until we figure this out, and goddamn it, I've had enough!" Archie's voice cracked slightly. "Because whether I'm right or Grissom is, Walter Gordon was not the only voice there with Nick and until we figure it out one way or another, Nick could still be in danger."

Greg swallowed hard, trying to loosen the sudden tightness in his throat.

Hodges looked down at the iPod in his hand and back at Archie. "Is it on here for her to listen to?"

Archie nodded, Greg thought he might have shocked himself with his outburst, as well.

Then Hodges turned to him, "Should I phone and see if we can meet with her today?"

"Sure," Greg decided this wasn't the best time to comment on Hodges' suddenly subdued attitude.

"I'll call from outside, just to be safe." Then his dry tone returned full force, "And if we do go see her, we're taking my car. Not that death trap of yours."

"Fine," Greg nodded, feeling a slight smile tug at his lips. "I'll be out in a minute."

Hodges darted a quick glance at Archie, "We'll call if this turns up anything." It was probably as close to an apology as the man ever got.

"Okay, thanks."

Greg waited until Hodges had left, then turned back to Archie. "Arch. You gonna be okay, man?" he asked, unable to express just how unnerving it was to see the normally placid tech so agitated.

"Yeah. I'm just--" Archie sighed, "You know how when you listen to something over and over, your reaction to it is eventually dulled?"

"Sure."

"It doesn't happen with this. Greg...it's evil, I swear. I don't care how weird that sounds."

"Okay," Greg tried to look and sound reassuring. "We'll figure something out. But are you going to be okay to work?"

"Oh." Archie smiled humorlessly. "Sure. Hours of dull surveillance tape ending in gunfire? It'll be a nice change."

"All right, then. Way to rattle Hodges' cage, by the way."

Archie's smile became more genuine, so Greg felt at least somewhat successful as he left the lab and then the building. Outside, he headed toward Hodges' car, only to find the trace tech waving for him to get in.

"She's out doing some sort of consultation," Hodges explained when Greg was inside. "But she said if we met her there in an hour, she'd probably have time to talk to us."

"Cool," Greg was glad to hear something going right. "So where are we going?"

"Uh..." Hodges picked up a post-it from the dash. "It's 4672 Carney Lane--off Boulder Highway."

Greg frowned at the familiar street, then felt that terrible unease creeping up on him as he realized what it was. "What--what kind of consultation?"

"I don't know," Hodges shrugged. Then he peered at Greg with a frown, "You look weird."

"That address--that's Walter Gordon's warehouse."

Archie was pleased and surprised when it only took a couple of hours to find the video evidence from the gunfight. Now all he had to do was wait for reports from the CSIs and detectives on the case so the time line could be properly established.

He took a quick stroll through the quiet hallways to stretch his legs and rest his eyes. The crime lab was practically deserted, all the day CSIs were still in North Vegas while, according to the board, Catherine and Sara were on a 419 at the SNWCF and Warrick was working a home invasion in Spring Valley. Turning the corner, Archie decided to grab a soda before going back to work.

"Archie?"

Archie glanced back over his shoulder and saw Grissom beckoning to him through his open door. Taking a deep breath, he backtracked and stepped just inside the office.

"Any progress?"

"Sure. I've got the surveillance tape all lined up for day shift to see." It was the first time Archie had ever tried to project utter cluelessness.

Grissom gave him one of those looks that was more telling than any words.

It was time to come clean, Archie finally decided, and hoped he still had a job when he was finished. Closing the door, he seated himself in the chair before Grissom's desk. He started to speak, then stopped, and chewed his lip nervously.

The entomologist knew something was up and perched on the side of his desk rather than sitting behind it. "I'll need a copy of Walter Gordon's recording. I want to play it for the daughter. To see if she recognizes the voice."

Here goes nothing. "And the other side?"

"Excuse me?" Grissom's voice held just a hint of warning.

He thinks I'm still looking for permission to listen to it, Archie thought with a dark amusement. He braced himself, then said, "The same voice is on the other side, as well."

"You listened to Nick's message?" Grissom's entire attitude dropped several degrees.

Archie swallowed in spite of himself. "No. That is, not after his first few words. I filtered his voice out, and only went by the readings for it. And then only turned it up when there was a noticeable spike in the volume and treble."

Grissom's look pretty much demanded further explanation.

"When the ants began attacking," Archie said quietly.

"And the voice was...what?" Grissom asked, still cold. "Underneath Nick's message?"

"It was in the box with Nick."

"That's impossible."

Archie clenched his teeth briefly and then continued, "It also registered outside human range. And it's not in English."

Grissom looked as though he was debating whether to remain angry or let his natural curiosity take over. Not much of a contest, really. "Any idea on the language?"

"No."

"I'll have Jim review Walter Gordon's contacts, perhaps--"

"Captain Brass knows about this?"

Grissom looked vaguely surprised at being questioned by a lowly tech, "Yes, I needed his help."

Oh, what the hell. You're already in deep. "I told Bobby."

"Bobby...Dawson?" Grissom's expression began to darken again. "Why?"

"Because I needed to talk to someone about it."

Grissom relented a bit, obviously seeing his frustration. "About your theory that this voice is inhuman."

No longer nervous, Archie snapped, "That is not a theory."

"Look, Archie--"

"Bobby mentioned that Hodges' sister might be able to help," Archie said, figuring he might as well get it over with while he was too ticked off to worry about the consequences. "So we told David and he called her. She recommended a professor at WLVU. Greg happened to overhear us, so today he and David have gone to talk to her."

There was only silence, and Archie realized he might have made his boss too angry to speak. Finally-- "I can't even begin to express how out of line you are."

In for a penny... "Actually, I thought the same thing when you decided to keep it a secret. Especially from Nick."

That seemed to take some of the wind out of Grissom's sails. "I made a judgement call."

"So did I," Archie shot back immediately.

Grissom lifted his chin slightly in acknowledgment.

"Listen to the voice," Archie spoke more respectfully now that his burst of anger had subsided. "Not to Nick. You're right, no one should be listening to that--I didn't. I still don't want to. But listen to the voice in there with him."

"All right." Grissom stood up.

Archie quickly rose as well, and led the way to the A/V lab. Handing Grissom a set of headphones, he quickly retrieved the CD and queued up the files. "This is a digitized copy of the original, straight off the tape," he explained. "I'll just filter Nick out." He took out the cracking of the plexi-glass and amped the voice as well.

Grissom nodded.

Archie pointed to the display, "Just so you know--when these waves spike, that's when Nick has started...yelling."

"Play it," Grissom ordered, his eyes on the display.

Setting the recording in motion, Archie kept his eyes on Grissom's face. He already knew the damn thing by heart and wanted to track the man's reaction.

Grissom's expression tightened, and grew darker as the recording played. When the waves spiked, Grissom reached convulsively for the headphones, but then lowered his hands--Archie could see it had taken a very conscious effort. "Again," he said, but his voice held none of its usual strength.

Archie complied.

Finally, Grissom removed the headphones, slightly paler than when he'd put them on. "Did you--"

"I ran every test I know how to run," Archie said firmly. "Even called a friend of mine from LA to see if there was anything new I hadn't heard about yet and tried a couple of his suggestions. That recording was made all at once--it was a blank tape. The echoing pattern on the voice runs parallel to Nick's--it might not be human, but it was recorded in the same place."

"There's an explanation for this," Grissom insisted as he put the headphones down. "We just haven't found it yet."

Archie barely repressed a sigh.

* * *

"What. The. Hell?"

David glanced over at his passenger. "I thought you said this was where the warehouse was."

"It's gone," Greg sounded dazed.

"That must be the sort of observational skill that got you into the field so quickly."

Greg's glare was actually getting fairly effective, David decided with amusement.

"The new owners must have decided to start fresh," Greg said as they got out of the car. "I guess it would be easier that cleaning up bits of Walter from everywhere."

"Archaeological dig?" David mused as they crunched across the gravel.

"Looks like," Greg nodded.

"We agree. My life is complete."

They approached the tents, but before they got close to the actual dig, they were blocked by a tall, lanky man. "Hey, we don't just let anyone into a dig."

Greg pulled out his ID, "I'm with the Crime Lab."

The man shrugged. "Unless you're with the University and have authorization, you don't go in."

David shot Greg his most withering look. "I don't know what Grissom's told you, but that doesn't get you in everywhere." He turned back to the taller man, "We're supposed to meet Professor White Feather here. Just tell her...David Hodges--Laurel's brother--is here."

"Oh," the watchdog relented a bit. "I'll get her. Don't go any further."

"That was actually...civil," Greg said with dry amazement.

David noticed that Greg was edging closer and closer to the pit, and dragged him back a couple of steps. "Look, I'm not crazy about being here, but now that we are, try not to get us booted."

"That must be her," Greg said, nodding toward the figure emerging from behind a tent.

The short woman was not fat, but definitely solid-looking. David got the impression she was in her fifties, at least, even though her bronzed skin was unlined. Long black hair pulled back in a braid showed only a few streaks of grey. Overall, David thought she was far too ordinary-looking to be a shaman and psychic of the degree his sister claimed.

"May I call you David?" she asked as she held out her hand.

"Certainly," he replied.

"And I'm Glenda."

"Greg Sanders," Greg said when she turned to him.

"And you're the one who has been here before," she noted as they shook hands. "Under very unpleasant circumstances."

Greg looked suitably impressed, but still asked, "Do you know what happened to the building that was here?"

"I understand from Dr. Ramsey that the land is worth more without it," Glenda explained. "It was during demolition that artifacts were discovered."

"Then you're here as a professor of folklore?" David asked.

"Officially," she sounded amused, even though her facial expression didn't change. "But there have been strange occurrences here, otherwise Dr. Ramsey would have just asked me to recommend books on the subject."

Greg looked intrigued, but David was determined to keep things on track. "That's not what we're here about, though. Laurel told you--"

"Actually," Glenda paused and tilted her head. "It is what you're here about. Nick has ties to this place."

Greg frowned slightly. "Well, actually--"

"You found the dog here," the solid black eyes fastened on Greg.

"Yeah, we did," Greg's voice shook slightly, but David could tell it had nothing to do with Glenda's accuracy.

"That was the ladder," Glenda nodded. "Nick took something away from here with him."

"I doubt it," Greg said slowly. "He would have likely been unconscious."

"Yes, and he was barely here ten minutes, but it was long enough. It went from the dog--the ladder--directly to Nick. It only manipulated the other man. He was hollow and of no use, and it had no strength to leave the grounds until the hollow man brought Nick to him."

David wasn't sure what to say. This was nothing like his sister's visions, when she spoke haltingly and felt things as she went. Glenda White Feather relayed her visions the same way he or Greg would relay evidence. David wanted to ask her to distinguish between fact and vision, but thought that might sound disrespectful, and whatever he believed or didn't believe, he knew a powerful woman when he saw one. Obviously respected by her colleagues and probably even more so by her tribe, she likely didn't have her words doubted very often.

Even Greg must have sensed it, because his tone was very respectful when he asked, "The hollow man, do you know his name?"

"He hardly needs one any longer. Even when he was on this earth, he had nothing left inside," Glenda shook her head regretfully. "Such an empty man to cause so much pain to others--Walter Gordon."

Greg swallowed hard and after a glance at David, he walked away. David let him go. "So this...thing was actually responsible for Nick coming here."

"It compelled the hollow man to bring Nick to him, and that took much of its strength. The hollow man's intentions had already formed--it merely took advantage of them."

"Hey!" Someone shouted from the pit. "You can't be here!"

David turned to see Greg jogging back toward them. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

Greg ignored him. "Are those real? I saw a skull. Is that real?"

Glenda nodded.

"Is that what..?"

Glenda nodded again. "This is the site of a massacre."

Ohhh... David nodded as well. "Was it..?" he hoped he was phrasing his question properly. "Was it whites of natives or vice versa?" He frowned when he saw Greg shaking his head.

"No. This happened long before the white man ever set foot here," Glenda explained. "The artifacts are Anasazi."

"Whoa," Greg turned as if to go back, so David caught him by the collar.

"So this dig is a big deal," David noted. "No wonder they're being so closed with it."

"Oh, I don't think that's why," Greg snorted, straightening his collar. He looked at Glenda. "The skull was nearly two feet in diameter."

"Most of them have double rows of teeth," Glenda added.

"Wait," David held up his hand. "A human skull that's two feet in diameter would have to belong to someone--" It was really too ridiculous to finish.

"There's a legend from the Ute tribe about their ancestors. How they were continually attacked and enslaved by a tribe of giants they called the Bibachee-Nee. The Bibachee-Nee were brilliant, depraved and vicious. After decades of subjugation, several tribes that were formerly at war banded together, and there was a great slaughter of the Bibachee-Nee. This dig may very well be evidence of that slaughter."

"How does that have anything to do with Nick?" David asked, hoping she wasn't going to say what he thought she might.

"One of the Bibachee-Nee had enough hatred, enough of a thirst for vengeance to sustain him over the centuries," Glenda took on that lecturing tone again. "Its strength ebbs and flows, but ultimately it is growing stronger. Initially, much of its power was drained just communicating with Walter Gordon in a way the man would understand." She looked at Greg again, "You have an example of its voice?"

David was impressed in spite of himself, because Greg had taken possession of Archie's iPod on their way over. Greg dutifully took out the iPod and handed her the earbuds. Once Glenda had them on, he began playing the file.

Glenda remained expressionless while she listened, then asked Greg to repeat it. "It almost sounds like a combination of Ute and Pueblo," she said once she returned the buds to Greg. "It shares many characteristics with both. That would make sense, since both Nations claim the Anasazi as ancestors." She looked toward the dig, and stood in silence for several minutes. "The Baichee-Nee came from here," she finally said. "It came from this dig--pulled itself up using the dog. This site will have to be cleansed, but one of them has locked itself onto Nick." She turned back to them, "Since the last sunset, Nick has had a respite. Baichee-Nee had business elsewhere, and could not attack Nick while building its strength again. It will recover soon, though. The respite will end well before the next sunset."

"Respite from what?"

"Attacks," Glenda replied without hesitation. "For revenge, for amusement. Nick is young and strong-hearted and vulnerable, practically a feast for the creature."

"So...what exactly does this creature want from Nick?"

"It doesn't want him dead," Glenda replied at once, obviously knowing that was what David really meant. "It wants him alive to terrorize, to...play with. But Nick will only be able to endure it for so long. Although Baichee-Nee wouldn't be directly responsible for Nick's death, it would still be the cause. Nick would have to be cleansed if he is going to be saved."

Greg looked at David, and David could tell he wanted to find a reason not to believe any of it. Glenda White Feather certainly sounded like she knew what she was talking about, though. "I don't think Nick is going to buy any of this," David finally said.

"Perhaps he wouldn't have believed it a month or even a week ago, but the news may actually come as a relief to him at this point," Glenda said matter-of-factly.

Greg had another concern. "I don't know how we're going to explain this to Grissom."

David almost felt more alarmed by that than anything else he'd heard. "Who says we have to?"

"Dr. Grissom?" Glenda raised her eyebrows. "Of course. You both work at the Crime Lab, then?"

"How did you--?" Greg stopped, looking embarrassed. "Nevermind."

Glenda smiled reassuringly--it was the first time her face was anything other than placid since they'd met. "Dr. Ramsey mentioned that Dr. Grissom was asking about the owners of this land."

"Grissom was here?" Greg asked, and David would have bet any money his voice hadn't cracked like that in years.

"Yes, after it was established this had nothing to do with his case, Dr. Ramsey said they had a short discussion about the dig itself. He actually walked Dr. Grissom to his car, and Dr. Grissom asked to be notified should anyone else not affiliated with the university come by."

Greg lips made a soundless "oh."

David wondered how much ass he would have to kiss in order to get his old job in LA back.

* * *

Gil had been going over all the information he had on Walter Gordon, Kelly Gordon and Nick's abduction with the hope of finding something new. The only other person even remotely involved was Kelly Gordon's boyfriend, and he was also in prison. Gil was considering doing a more thorough background on the boyfriend, but had his doubts about how helpful it would be. He was actually quite glad for the distraction when the phone on his desk rang.

"Grissom."

"Gil, do you know where Nicky is?"

Jim's words, and especially his tone, sent Gil into red alert mode. "I assume he's at home," he said, determined not to show his unease. "We aren't scheduled to go pick him up for hours."

"And why did you send Catherine and Sara on this call? I expected someone from day shift."

Gil pondered but could only remember Catherine breezing in to say she and Sara would take the 419. "Where are you?"

An aggravated sigh. "The women's state prison."

"Oh." Oh.

"I've been trying Nicky, but I can't get a hold of him."

"Kelly Gordon?" Gil asked, forcing himself to loosen the white-knuckled grip he had on the receiver.

"We're assuming, since she was recently assigned to her own cell." Jim took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "I don't know what to tell you, Gil. Kelly Gordon was--"

"Murdered," Gil said heavily.

"Shredded," Jim corrected.

He stopped by Grissom's office to clear up some facts about the recent case they had worked together, but seeing his supervisor on the phone, Warrick waited just outside the door.

"...know that it's even her? Until we test for DNA--"

That made Warrick wince slightly in sympathy, cases where the only means of identifying the victim was through DNA were usually pretty nasty.

"Well, I'll do that as soon as I'm done here, I--" Grissom sighed and glancing up, saw Warrick. "Just a minute, Jim."

"I can come back later," Warrick offered once he had Grissom's attention.

"No. When was the last time you spoke to Nick?"

Although the words were innocuous enough, Grissom's tone sent a jolt of fear through him. "Just before I started my double. Why?"

"Kelly Gordon was murdered. Jim's been trying to reach him."

Fuck. He didn't take the time to answer, but just bolted from the lab. Nick hadn't had time to tell him everything about his meeting with Grissom, but Warrick knew about the possibility of a Walter Gordon having a partner and that Kelly had asked to talk to Nick.

Speeding toward Nick's place propelled by frantic worry was becoming an all-too-familiar sensation, as was the task of trying to convince himself that everything was probably fine. Warrick thought he should probably give up on the latter, since he'd rarely arrived to find that things were fine.

As soon as he was inside, Warrick's eyes went to the bedroom door. It was slightly open, revealing the darkened interior. With a cursory glance around the rest of the apartment, he headed for the bedroom and immediately heard a steady thumping. Son of a bitch. He took his gun out of its holster, but kept it lowered at his side.

He pushed the door open, but even with the light from the living room, it was too dim to make anything out. Warrick flipped the light switch, and his mind initially rejected what he was seeing. Once it registered, he still stood frozen while his whole reality shifted in an instant.

Nick was on his bed, on his knees, but bent over so his chest was touching them and his head was pressed against the mattress. Both arms were pinned behind his back at what had to be a painful, nearly impossible angle, and although they were taut with strain, they were immobile, and only Nick's fingers clenched and unclenched helplessly. His body was moving in a violent rhythm that should have been impossible for him to achieve alone. The room was silent except for the sound of the headboard beating against the wall and the creaking of the mattress, which was sunken as though it was supporting something three times Nick's weight.

A choked sound made its way past Nick's throat, breaking Warrick's dazed spell. With no real idea how to free Nick, but knowing bullets would be useless, he holstered his weapon and took Nick by the shoulders. Then the silence was broken by Nick's pained cries and an unearthly voice snarling at them in some language Warrick didn't know--didn't want to know. He was dimly aware of something rushing past him, and of seeing a moving shadow out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was focused on Nick, who had slumped into a prone position on the bed.

"Nick," Warrick sat with his back against the headboard and tried to take the shaking man into his arms. "Nicky..."

"No, no," Nick tried to move away, his hands tangled in the sheets as though trying to hold himself still.

"Nicky, it's me," Warrick wanted to say it was okay now, but he knew it wasn't.

Nick raised his head just enough to stare at the wide leather watch band Warrick always wore. "Rick..." He tried to inch closer, moaning in pain at the movement.

Warrick carefully gathered him close, wrapping one of the blankets securely around him. "I gotcha, baby. I'm right here."

Burying his face in Warrick's shoulder, Nick clung to him for dear life.

For all Warrick knew, that was exactly the situation.

Gradually, Warrick became aware that although the snarling had stopped, there was still something muttering in that same language. Looking around, he saw a murky shadow above the door, roiling and undulating and occasionally slithering down toward the bed only to retreat again, making more furious noises. "Yeah, you'd better back the fuck off," Warrick told it, even though he had no idea how to actually fight if he had to.

"Wh-who are you talking to?" Nick whispered as he slowly became aware of his surroundings.

"I...don't know," Warrick admitted, bending protectively over him. "But, Nick...I don't think you were ever dreaming." That this was happening in a lit room, in the middle of the day, made it impossible to refute, yet somehow made everything more surreal at the same time.

Nick drew in his breath sharply, then let out a stuttering gasp.

"Nicky?" Warrick felt moisture under his hand and glanced down. He let out his own gasp of shock when he realized it was blood. Nick's skin, perfectly smooth a moment before was now riddled with scratches and bruises. Some were fresh, but most ranged from yellowed to dark purple, from newly scabbed over to nearly faded. Even as Warrick watched, several more appeared on his back, almost like large bite marks and also not new--if he had to guess he'd put it at two days before. "Oh, my god..."

"Warrick," Nick shifted and almost managed to bite back a whimper. "I think...oh, God...I think I need a hospital..."

Warrick was about to say he might be able to take care of them himself, but then Nick shifted again and another moan escaped through his clenched teeth. The implication struck Warrick like a blow. "Oh, Christ..." he swallowed hard and pressed his face into Nick's hair. "Okay."

The nebulous, smoky shadow chuckled at them, making Nick cringe closer. It let out another spate of incomprehensible sounds, but the malice and spite in them were obvious. Then the waves and tendrils began to curl in on themselves, and in a matter of minutes, it was no longer there.

Warrick barely allowed himself to breathe and was certain Nick was doing the same. The sudden warbling caused both of them to jump, Warrick swearing loudly while Nick gasped at the pain the movement caused him. "Shit," Warrick let out a shaky laugh. "My phone."

His breathing shallow, Nick nodded and tucked his head back down against Warrick's shoulder.

Keeping his right arm securely around Nick, Warrick fumbled his phone out and on left-handed. "Brown," he said, panting a little.

"Warrick?" the voice on the other end was cool, but still managed to convey a wealth of concern.

"Grissom."

"Is Nick all right?"

"No," Warrick said, trying to get his own voice under control. "I'm gonna get him to a hospital."

"What happened?"

Warrick surveyed the ceiling again. "I'm...not sure."

"Was someone there?" Grissom was starting to sound impatient about his lack of answers.

"Someone..." Warrick looked down at the ugly marks on Nick's skin, then around the room. "I think...that's a no."

"Warrick," Grissom was definitely getting testy. "Someone killed Kelly Gordon and now they may very well be after Nick. Stop being so damn vague and tell me what's going on."

"I don't think it's about someone, Gil," Warrick said carefully. "I think--Jesus, I know this is...I'm pretty sure it's something."

"He's never going to believe that," Nick whispered hopelessly.

"Who have you been talking to?" Grissom demanded. "Has any--there you are." His voice turned icy in an instant, confusing Warrick until he heard the entomologist's next words. "No, you sit right there. I want to talk to you."

Warrick had no idea who Grissom was talking to, but he felt a little sorry for them. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard his supervisor sound like that. "Gris, maybe I should--"

"Just a minute," Grissom said, then snapped at the other person again. "No, it's not Nick, it's Warrick. He's taking Nick to the hospital. No, you can't talk to--Greg!" Grissom sounded both amazed and furious.

"Warrick?" came Greg's voice.

"Greg?" Warrick blinked. "Did you just grab the phone away from Grissom?"

"What?" Nick roused a little when he heard that.

This day was getting weirder by the minute.

"Yeah," Greg replied offhandedly. "Look, where are you guys going after? Back to Nick's?"

After another scan to reassure himself that he and Nick were the only two in the room, Warrick said, "I hadn't really thought about that yet. Probably...not."

"No, you've got to," Greg said firmly. "Give me a shout when you're done at the hospital and I'll meet you at Nick's, okay?"

"Y'know what, Greg? There's stuff going on that--"

"It's connected to Nick, not the building. It doesn't really matter where you go except that if it has to give chase, that might make it angrier."

Warrick pulled Nick closer on pure reflex. "How do you..?"

"I'll explain later, okay?"

Seeing as Greg seemed to know exactly what was going on, Warrick agreed.

"What was that about?" Nick asked when Warrick disconnected the call.

"I'm not sure," Warrick admitted. "Did...you didn't tell Greg about this...thing, did you?"

"I didn't even know it myself," Nick whispered. "I thought I was going...and then today I was able to sleep so well, so I thought--maybe that sort breakdown was somehow what I needed..."

"Greg wants to meet us back here when we're done at the hospital."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, but he talks like he knows something about it. We'll call him after we get you fixed up, okay?"

Nick hesitated, then nodded.

"Providing that he makes it out of Gris' office in one piece, that is."

* * *

Flashing his very best smile, Greg handed the receiver back to his boss. "He's taking Nick to the hospital."

Grissom was not impressed. "Sit down."

Greg sat.

"What do you think you're doing?" Grissom demanded coldly. "Where were you?"

"Hey, c'mon, Gris," Greg tried to maintain his smile. "Y'know, on my time off I do...my stuff. I don't know if you really want to get into that, but I guess--"

"Greg."

Greg fell silent. He couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't after hearing Grissom say their name like that.

"What is this professor supposed to do to help Nick? For that matter--Hodges' sister?" Grissom's lip curled slightly. "What the hell are you people trying to do?"

Looking anywhere but at Grissom, Greg tried to think of the best way to start.

"Where is Hodges, anyway?" Grissom demanded.

That was a little easier to answer. "Well...he chickened out and went home. He figured that you might let Arch and me off the hook for this, but that you'd get his ass fired for sure." Greg didn't add that he though Hodges probably had every right to be worried--Grissom rarely bothered to make a secret of his disdain for the chemist. "Glenda's supposed to call him when she's ready."

"Glenda?" Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Is that the professor?"

"Of folklore," Greg nodded. "But she's also a medicine woman--Shoshone. And a psychic, too, I suppose. Hey," his smile returned almost involuntarily. "Guess where she asked us to meet her."

"Greg..." Grissom sounded several steps beyond exasperated.

"At this dig out on Carney Lane. Go figure."

Grissom blinked several times. "What did you say?"

"Dr. Ramsey had asked her to go out there and take a look around. Seems that some really strange stuff was happening on that dig, and I don't just mean those giant skulls," Greg said, and proceeded to relay the legend Glenda had told them.

"Greg," Grissom interrupted impatiently. "What does any of this have to do with Nick?"

"It's funny, Hodges asked the exact same question." When Grissom's stare intensified, Greg cleared his throat and continued. "Glenda--Professor White Feather--says that one of the Bibachee-Nee have...well...she thinks it used the dog to lift itself out and then attached to whoever Gordon brought to the warehouse--Nick, as it turned out."

Grissom stared at him in silence until Greg couldn't help shifting uncomfortably. "You believe," the entomologist said slowly. "That Nick's recent problems are being caused by the ghost of a giant that was slaughtered by a near-mythical race."

Greg winced, "Well, when you say it like that..."

"All right," Grissom sighed. "I'll need to speak to her."

"Why?"

"Excuse me?" Grissom sounded as though he felt Greg's question was a direct challenge.

Knowing it wasn't in his best interest to piss Grissom off any further, Greg hoped the truth would prove enough of a diversion. "I'm not sure you'll be able to reach her. Maybe if you called right away, but...she said she was going to prepare before she saw Nick." Although tempted, he decided it was probably better not to go into the quick little lesson he and Hodges had received about finding someone's totem animal. He certainly wasn't going to mention the white sage, Piñon needles and cedar he'd been handed, along with a grey pot to smudge them in. "She gave me some instructions that should help in the meantime."

"Really," Gil's voice was flat.

Greg felt himself beginning to waver in the face of Grissom's abject disapproval, but then remembered that Warrick had definitely understood him. "Even if Professor White Feather's recommendations don't help, they aren't going to do any harm."

"We don't know that," Grissom countered. "If we're wasting time that needs to be employed elsewhere, it could be harmful. Kelly Gordon was to speak to Nick today, and she was found dead this morning."

Since the last sunset, Nick has had a respite. "Baichee-Nee had business elsewhere..." Greg murmured, recalling Glenda's words.

"What?"

"How was she killed?" Greg couldn't help leaning forward.

"We've only begun investigating," Grissom replied, suddenly looking uncomfortable himself. "Actually, I have to go down there to have a look. Then I'm going to be talking to Nick about this situation."

"Good," Greg said, blithely ignoring the inherent warning. "Glenda said the more people that are around him, the safer Nick will be." He stood, "I'm just gonna go fill Archie in before I head out to Nick's." Then he beat a hasty retreat before he pissed his supervisor off any further.

As he headed for the A/V lab, Greg wondered just how angry Grissom would be to learn that the reason he trusted Glenda White Feather was because when she spoke of ancients and entities, she sounded just like Gil Grissom talking about maggots and beetles.

Greg was waiting in Nick's driveway and gave a little wave as they pulled up next to him. Warrick returned the wave, then turned to his passenger, who was sound asleep. Reluctantly, he spoke, "Nick? Nick, we're back."

Nick roused slowly, so Warrick got out and walked around to the passenger side. The nurses had shot Nick with a couple of strong painkillers and God knew what else for infection, leaving him a little out of it. The doctor at the Mountain Sky Medical Center had wanted to keep Nick overnight, which Nick flatly refused. The doctor had urged him to file a police report, which Nick also refused. That had been one of his main reasons for not going to Desert Palms where he would have likely been recognized by staff. Nick left AMA and Warrick, still mindful of Greg's strange warning, didn't try to talk him out of it.

Warrick kept a firm grip on Nick's arm as he slowly climbed down. Seeing this, Greg came around to help as well, closing the vehicle door and taking Nick's other arm until the Texan shook his head stubbornly. "I can walk," he insisted, apparently unaware of the wobble in his legs or how skewed his path for the door was.

"Humor us," Warrick said, and Nick did, although not without a--rather slurred--word or two about the situation.

By the time they settled him on the sofa, Nick seemed a bit more alert. Warrick was just glad that the meds were too strong for Nick to focus much on the pain or the attack, it gave the exhausted man something of a reprieve from the horror he'd been enduring. "Hey, G," he looked up and gave Greg a vague smile.

"Hey," Greg smiled in return, but Warrick could see him mentally cataloguing the bruises on Nick's face along with the marks that weren't covered by his shirt.

"So what's going on, Greg?" Warrick asked as he sat next to Nick. "You said you would explain everything."

"Well, maybe not everything," Greg replied as he sat on the coffee table facing them. "There's some of it that I don't get. I wasn't involved in all this until recently, but the other people have--it's about that tape. The one Walter Gordon..."

"Left with me in the box," Nick sighed. "Grissom already told me they'd heard another voice."

"Yeah, but on the other side--" Greg faltered to a stop when Nick dropped his head.

"What?" Warrick asked.

"I left messages in case I wasn't found in time," Nick's voice hitched slightly.

Warrick couldn't help jumping in when he heard that, "Hey, no one had that right. Not without telling Nick. He should have been informed the minute the tape--"

"Wait, wait," Greg held up his hands. "As far as I know, no one has heard any of that. Archie said he filtered out your voice because--well, because. But he picked up another voice in there with you, and that's what we've been working with."

"In...in the box with me?" Nick whispered, and several shudders went through him. Warrick grabbed a blanket from the end of the couch and draped it around him, wondering how long it would be until the medication knocked him out completely.

Apparently, Greg noticed too, because he quickly went on to relay how word of the mysterious voice went from Archie to Bobby to Hodges to Hodges' sister, took a slight detour when Greg found out and then went on to Professor Glenda White Feather.

Warrick was fully prepared to be pissed of on Nick's behalf, since Nick was obviously too tired to bother, but after hearing about the legend and White Feather's assurance that this...Bai--Bibachee--whatever could be driven off, he decided he probably owed Archie a beer or two instead of an ass-kicking.

"She wants to come and see you tomorrow," Greg said. "If that's okay."

"I have an appointment tomor--" Nick frowned. "Wait. That's today."

"What's today?" Warrick asked, already deciding it would be better to cancel any visit with Dr. Kane.

"I'm supposed to go with Grissom and Brass to talk to Kelly Gordon," Nick straightened as best he could and started to shrug off the blanket.

Warrick prevented that, wrapping it securely around Nick's shoulders. "Yeah. That's off now."

"No, I can go," Nick insisted, and he did sound a little stronger. "They think it has something to do with--"

"She's dead, Nicky," Warrick said quietly.

"What?" Nick looked from Warrick to Greg, who nodded, and back again. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Warrick said. "But it sounds pretty bad. They need DNA for identification."

"Nick..." Greg said tentatively. "Since last night...did you get kind of a break? Like more sleep?"

That made Nick focus, and Warrick as well. "How did you know that?"

Greg hunched one shoulder briefly, always a giveaway of his nervousness. "Glenda--Professor White Feather--said that you'd had a respite since...since the last sunset. That the Baichee-Nee had business elsewhere. But it would come before the next suns--"

"Yeah, it's been back," Warrick said shortly.

What little color that had been left in Nick's face was gone. "Do you think--Kelly knew and...and meant to tell us?" his voice was wispy, and almost nonexistent by the last word.

Warrick and Greg exchanged frightened looks, then both stood. "Come on, Nicky," Warrick urged. "You need to lie down. Get some more sleep while we're here."

Greg crouched by the sofa. "Glenda said the more people that are around you, the less likely there is to be an attack. So Hodges and Archie want to know if they can stop by later."

"Okay," Nick's eyes were damp. "What if Kelly had been--"

"And Glenda gave me some stuff that's supposed to help," Greg lifted a buckskin bag into Nick's line of vision. "Something called smudging. She told me how to do it--it's like a cleansing thing."

"Yeah, okay," Nick whispered.

Warrick nodded to him and Greg got the hint, moving away from the couch. "C'mon, Nicky, try to sleep a little, okay?" He sat on the very edge of the sofa and laid a hand over Nick's rapidly beating heart. "Cath and Sara were on it--and Brass, too. Grissom's on his way out there. They'll take care of it. They'll figure it out."

"This is...I don't know how to handle this..." Nick's voice broke a few more times.

"I know," Warrick soothed. "I know, baby. But you've got a lot of back-up. We'll get you through this." He continued to give Nick all the reassurances he could muster until the exhausted man's breathing evened out and the tense muscles had relaxed. Only then did he move away, walking to Nick's dining table where Greg was taking everything out of the buckskin pouch. From there he could discuss things quietly with Greg but still keep a close eye on any disturbances to Nick's sleep.

Greg glanced over at Nick when Warrick joined him, then consulted the notepad beside him again. That he had taken notes from this professor was something Warrick found both amusing and a bit disturbing. "Do you believe in all this stuff?" he asked as Greg checked the contents of a smaller, beaded bag.

"What stuff?" Greg consulted his notes and dumped several pieces of charcoal into the pot. "The ghosts, the psychics or the smudging?"

"All of the above," Warrick said, watching as Greg used a taper to light the charcoal.

"Do you?" Greg experimentally sniffed at a second bag, this one woven with blue beads.

"I believe what I can see," Warrick returned. "And I saw something...attacking Nick. I don't know what it is and I don't know how to stop it. But I know it's real. This other stuff, though..."

"Well," Greg dumped some of the blue bags contents into his hand, then sprinkled that over the smoldering coal. "The smudging is something that I don't know much about, but I do believe Glenda."

"Really?" Warrick was briefly distracted as the scent of cedar wafted up from the bowl. "But you just met her today."

"I can tell when people know what they're talking about and she does," Greg sprinkled something else that he got from a different bag--pine if the smell was anything to go by. "If she thinks this will help Nick, then I'll go along with it."

Greg was definitely taking it seriously, Warrick decided, because except for the strange ingredients, he could have been back working in his DNA lab. "What about this thing, though? You never saw it."

"No, but you did. And Archie heard it. I believe both of you."

Warrick shook his head, this was not what he expected from some as immersed in science as Greg had always been. "So ghosts...psychics...none of this is a problem for you?"

"I didn't say that," Greg tilted his head, his eyes tracking the tendrils of smoke that were rising. "Most things can be explained, but there are some questions out there that we just don't have the answers to, and maybe never will. Why did the Anasazi disappear? Who built Stonehenge? Who wrote the Voynich Manuscript? What does your wife think about you calling Nick baby?"

His last question threw Warrick off completely. Then as he thought back he realized that he had called Nick that without even knowing it--more than once, actually. "That's none of your damn business," he told Greg sharply, because he didn't know what else to say.

"See? Another mystery for the ages." Greg might have meant it for a flippant remark, but there was a slight edge to his tone.

"We're getting an annulment," Warrick muttered despite what he'd just told the rookie CSI.

Greg relaxed visibly. "One less mystery for the ages, then." He added something from the last beaded bag--sage, Warrick assumed--and picked up a large feather. "Okay," he wafted the feather through the smoke a few times. "Where is--damn," grabbed his ringing phone. "Yeah?...Oh....Yeah, I'm just starting. Where are you?...Well, aren't you coming over here?...Yeah. Of course I'm sure." Greg looked at Warrick. "It's cool that Hodges is coming over, right?"

Warrick was breathing in the scents from the smudge and thinking they weren't all that bad together. He nodded in response to Greg's question, hoping that with a psychic for a sister, Hodges might be able to answer more questions that Greg.

"Yeah, it's fine....Okay? Later." Greg snapped the phone shut and shoved in back in his back pocket. "The guy is seriously covering his ass," he said, making Warrick snort. "Okay," Greg took a deep breath. "I'm supposed to start where the most activity has been."

"In the bedroom."

"Really?" Greg raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Warrick steeled himself not to lash out at Greg's teasing tone.

His expression was enough to give the situation away, though. Greg's humor vanished and he turned greenish-grey. "Glenda said this thing was--but I didn't think it could possibly..." he swallowed hard and placed the stone bowl on the piece of buckskin in his palm. "I'll start there, then."

"Do I go with you?" Warrick asked.

Greg shook his head, "Stay out here with Nick." He walked into Nick's room, but Warrick had barely sat back down in the living room before he emerged again, carrying a bundle of sheets.

Warrick got up, "What are you doing?"

"I don't know when Nick will sleep in his bed again," Greg said, dumping the sheets in Warrick's arms. "But I don't want to chance these being forgotten. Besides, Glenda told me to get rid of anything negative, and I think this counts."

"Yeah, it does." Warrick saw blood every day on the job, but these streaks made him feel queasy. "I'll find out where he keeps clean ones when he wakes up."

Greg went back into the bedroom, and Warrick looked around for Nick's hamper. He finally found it in a corner of the bathroom, and was shoving the sheets down into it when the door slammed shut. Seconds later, he heard the bedroom door slam shut as well. "Greg?" he called, wondering why all this noise was necessary.

"Warrick?" Greg's alarmed exclamation came from the bedroom. "What's going on?"

No. No way. Warrick tried to turn the doorknob, then used both hands. He managed to move it slightly, but something abruptly pulled it shut again. No goddamn way. He strained his ears to hear anything from the living room, but the sound of Greg pounding on the bedroom door drowned out everything else. "Greg! Get it together, man!"

The banging stopped.

"Rick?" Nick voice was still far away and rather drowsy. "What's going on?" Oh, nononono...

"Warrick? Greg?" Closer now. Alert and concerned. "Are you guys okay?"

No, Nicky... Warrick was about to say it out loud, but a loud crash and a pained cry told him he was too late.

"Nick?" Greg sounded truly panicked now.

"Nick?" Warrick pounded uselessly on the door, then tried wrenching it open without success. "Nicky!"

Hideous laughter filled the house.

David eyed the three vehicles warily as he walked past them to knock on Nick's door. This was the only time he'd interacted with the CSIs outside the lab and it was making him extremely uncomfortable and therefore irritable. He knocked again and then in some strange throwback to high school humiliation, wondered if this was some sort of trick and people were inside snickering.

These were adults, David reminded himself, and this was a very serious situation. He tried the door and when the knob turned, he opened it just enough to peek inside. He was immediately assaulted by a cacophony that really should have been audible from outside--two men yelling, something snarling and laughing, and everyone banging on walls with all their might. As he stepped inside--reflecting briefly that this was how people got killed in horror movies--he could make out that the voices were yelling for Nick, and seconds later David spotted the Texan pinned with his back to the wall while his hands scrabbled uselessly at his neck.

After just a single step in Nick's direction, a clinking sound made him turn toward the kitchen. He ducked just in time to avoid the three heavy mugs that hurtled straight for his head. They ended up shattering harmlessly against the door. The instant the sound of breaking ceramic stopped, so did everything else. Nick fell to his hands and knees and both doors next to him flew open.

Before David had moved another few steps toward Nick, Warrick was there, helping Nick to his feet, examining his injuries and--David couldn't help noticing--being a little more handsey about it than necessary. Not that Nick seemed to mind, he was holding onto Warrick's shoulders for balance--maybe.

Greg was standing in the other doorway, still looking like he'd gotten a little more than he'd bargained for when indulging in this bout of curiosity. David gave him a break and didn't comment about what happened to cats in Greg's situation.

"Are you sure?" Obviously, as far as Warrick was concerned, there was no one else in the house except Nick. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be fine, thanks," David said in his driest tone, which got him a shaky laugh from Nick and a dirty look from Warrick.

"I think..." Greg stopped uncertainly when everyone turned to look at him. "I did that. I mean, the door slammed when I started...smudging."

"Didn't your medicine woman warn you about this?" Warrick glared at Greg.

"Rick..." Nick said quietly.

"Actually, she did," David couldn't help pointing out. "Weren't you told that it was better for Nick to have people around? Why did you leave him alone?"

"He wasn't alone," Warrick turned on him.

David envied those laser-green eyes that could probably kill at twenty paces, but he wasn't going to allow them to have any effect on him. "I'm sorry," he said in his snottiest tone. "It looked to me like you and Greg were each stuck in separate rooms and Nick was out here by himself."

Warrick stiffened visibly. "Hey, you only got here two minutes ago--"

"And that somehow changes the definition of ‘alone'?"

"Hey, hey, hey. No fighting in my house." Nick's voice wasn't particularly strong, but there was no mistaking an order was being given. "Not each other, anyway," he amended, sounding reluctant to have to acknowledge the Baichee-Nee. He also sounded like he was running on little more than adrenalin, and David was relieved when Warrick ushered him back to the sofa. Nick stopped at the sight of broken glass in front of his door. "What happened?" he asked as he carefully settled himself on the sofa.

"The thing decided to try cracking my head open by throwing a few coffee mugs at me," David replied. When stunned silence greeted this remark, he added, "I ducked."

"Good call," Warrick said dryly.

"Seemed like the thing to do."

"Do I...keep smudging?" Greg was still in the bedroom doorway.

David said yes at the same Warrick said no, then sighed internally because he knew an argument was coming.

"Are you crazy?" Warrick glared at him. "Look what happened last time."

"That means it's working," David returned logically, although he had a feeling that tactic wouldn't go over well with Warrick at this point.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It must be working, Warrick," Nick said quietly. David doubted he had any choice besides speaking quietly, as drained as he looked at the moment. "Even though it had me against the wall, I could still move. That never happened before." When Warrick still looked dubious, he continued, "I mean, it was just the one hand holding me. It couldn't even pull any clothes off to--" he stopped, suddenly realizing he and Warrick weren't the only two present. "--do anything else." Nick lowered his gaze to the corner of the blanket he was holding.

Without another word, Greg retreated into the bedroom. David wanted to do the same, but was concerned Nick would think he and Greg were discussing what had just been said--that's what he would think, anyway. Instead, he went for the first new subject he could think of. "Do you have a broom or something I can clean up this mess with?"

Nick spoke to the mess on the floor rather than David, "There's one in the kitchen closet."

David found it and began sweeping, keeping his back to the other two men, which was the only privacy he could give them at the moment. In a fit of unprecedented sensitivity, he also deliberately tuned out the murmur of their voices. David was almost finished cleaning when the sound of a vehicle in the driveway made him look up. Seeing the dark grey Denali pull up, he quickly swept everything into a single pile and left the broom against the wall beside it.

This would be the perfect time, he decided, to give Greg a hand with the smudging.

Nick watched Hodges hurry into his bedroom through half-closed eyes. "Where's he goin'?"

Warrick shrugged in response, "Check on Greg maybe?" He was sitting in a chair he'd placed right next to one end of the sofa. Except for those few minutes before Hodges arrived, he hadn't been more than an arm's length away from Nick.

Nick was fairly certain that was the only reason he hadn't checked out completely yet.

"Oh," Warrick's lips twisted into a wry smile as he peered through the blinds behind the sofa. "That's why he ran." The doorbell rang. "It's Grissom."

Part of Nick was amused that although a raging entity hadn't rattled Hodges, the arrival of Gil Grissom made him run like a rabbit. That was only a small part, though. Mostly Nick wanted to pull the blanket over his head and pretend none of this was happening.

He didn't, of course. Instead, when Warrick got up to let their boss in, Nick tried to think of some way to convince Grissom of something he could barely accept himself. He knew that what was happening to him was real, though, as much as his mind tried to shy away from the fact. And if he needed any further reminding, some of his pain medication was wearing off and his body was beginning to twinge and ache all over.

He watched as Warrick got up to let Grissom in, and instead of increasing, all his worry seemed to disappear--along with every other emotion he'd been feeling.

Shock. Was he going into shock? Why would he do that now? Maybe he was still in shock from before. Had they mentioned it at the hospital? He couldn't remember. He really wanted to ask, but knew the question would only freak everyone out.

"Nicky?"

Nick blinked in surprise. At some point Grissom had come in and sat down in the wing chair. He double-checked to make sure Warrick was in his usual spot before turning back to Grissom. "Kelly Gordon?"

Grissom shot a concerned look at Warrick before answering. "She had recently been moved to a single cell. She was found at the morning check."

Now all he needed to know was--"TOD?"

"Between four and five this morning."

His stomach flipped and he looked at Warrick, "I was sound asleep."

Warrick nodded.

"Nick, that has nothing to do with her death," Grissom said firmly. "What are you--? What did Greg tell you? Surely you don't believe--"

"It's true, Gris," Warrick interrupted quietly.

"It's a theory," Grissom insisted. "And a rather far-fetched one at that. Really, what evidence is there to support this?"

Nick couldn't tell him. He just couldn't. Thank God Warrick could.

"I saw it," Warrick said, stopping Grissom cold. "I wouldn't have believed it otherwise, Grissom--you know that. I've witnessed it twice now. It's real."

Grissom still looked dubious and although he wanted to, Nick couldn't bring himself to help Warrick convince him.

"It happened just before you got here," Warrick continued. "Now unless you think that the four of us--Nick, Greg, Hodges and me--are mass hallucinating, then you're just gonna have to accept what we're telling you."

"Warrick--"

"You'll also have to think that I've been hallucinating all morning," Warrick added. "Because I saw something attack. It might have been nebulous and without any real form, but I saw something, Gil. I saw something."

For a split-second, Nick was terrified that Warrick was going to tell Grissom about the nature of attack. It was bad enough that Grissom already suspected it, worse that Greg and Hodges more or less knew, but that didn't mean they had to discuss it like any other case. The thought that something like that might happen, that word could possibly spread through the lab, made Nick want to disappear. Then it occurred to him that some of it could have already spread through the lab. "Who else knows about this?"

Both Grissom and Warrick stopped talking and stared at him. Nick realized belatedly that they had been talking about something else entirely and now he looked like an idiot--or worse. Uncomfortable with the blue and green eyes on him, he shifted the blanket on his shoulders.

"Your shirt is torn," Grissom said in that neutral tone he reserved for the most bizarre of situations.

Nick looked down. So it was. On the left side from the collar to the shoulder seam. "That must be just this last time."

"Nick," Warrick spoke quietly. "Maybe show Grissom some of the scratches..."

It definitely wasn't something Nick wanted to do, but he knew it was necessary, so he sat up straighter and let Grissom examine some of the marks through the tear in his shirt.

Grissom's touch was careful and gentle as he examined the cuts and bruises and Warrick was right beside him, and Nick was fine with the situation. He didn't say anything when Grissom commented that the strange bite marks were abnormally large and even took his shirt off and leaned forward so Grissom could see the marks on his back. Nick knew the hand he felt was Grissom's and the touch was purely professional, so of course it wasn't any sort of problem for him.

When Greg and Hodges mentioned that the bite marks--well, that was actually a bit odd, because he'd thought they were cleansing the other room and hadn't noticed their approach. Even so, when they discussed how the bites corresponded with the doubles rows of teeth supposedly possessed by the giant skulls, that didn't bother Nick in the least. They were scientists, he was a scientist, and he was fine with all of it.

It did occur to him that perhaps he should be concerned when all the voices began to blend into a dull buzzing, but he shrugged it away. That was fine, too, and much easier on the ears.

So he was fine.

Slowly, slowly, the buzzing changed back into voices. Or rather, one voice.

"We're done now, Nicky," Warrick was there--had he even been gone?--helping him to lie down. "Hey," he sounded pleased. "You back with us?"

Oh god. Nick kept his eyes locked on Warrick's because he did not ever want to see Grissom's reaction to this. "He ain't never gonna believe it now." Wow. Was that his voice?

"Don't worry about it," Warrick soothed, pulling the blankets up around him.

A small part of Nick's mind pointed out the oddity of having Warrick Brown tuck him in. The rest of him just wanted to know--"What happened?"

"It got to be a little much for you, that's all." If Warrick was the slightest bit disturbed by any of this, it didn't show in his face or voice. "You just...went away for a little while."

Fear squeezed his chest so he could barely gasp out, "How long?"

"Twenty minutes--tops."

Oh. Nick wouldn't have been surprised if Warrick had told him "six months." He tried to think of something to say to show everyone he was okay, but the words that were usually automatic now escaped him.

"You still need rest, Nick," Warrick told him. "Try to get some more sleep."

Okay. So he wasn't crazy--Warrick was. "Sleep? But Grissom still doesn't--we have to talk to...there's the thing with the smoke..."

"Hey," Warrick shook his head. "Hey, I've got it covered, okay? I'm taking care of it."

Of course he was. When didn't Warrick take care of things? Of him?

"Just try to rest, Nicky."

That sounded good. Sleep sounded good. This time Nick saw the wave of unawareness coming toward him, so that had to be better, right?

Conrad always had the sneaking suspicion this would happen. That if he ever let his guard down and became even remotely tolerant of Gil Grissom, the man would take blatant advantage of it.

That certainly seemed to be the case today.

Exactly what was going on, Conrad didn't know. He was the damn lab director, and he didn't have the slightest idea why several members of the graveyard shift weren't showing up for work. Oh, he knew it had something to do with Nick Stokes--that much he'd been able to figure out. And really, he wanted the Texan to recover as much as anyone, but this would be the third shift in four days that Warrick Brown had called in, not to mention that he had just cut out in the middle of a double that very morning.

Johnson had already been assigned this shift off, but Conrad was fairly certainly Hodges had not. Hodges wasn't there, though--Henry Andrews was returning a favor and working his shift. It annoyed Conrad no end, because he had planned to call Andrews in to speed things up that night.

Grissom himself had shown up for work late, and then told--told--Conrad that he might have to leave at any given moment. Sanders also checked in, seeming prepared to stay for the whole shift, but looking shell-shocked about something he wouldn't discuss.

This was just not what Conrad needed tonight. The sheriff was all over the bizarre homicide at SNWCF--not only was it the second death at the prison in as many years, but the victim had been in the news lately linked with a CSI. They wanted it wrapped up neatly and quickly. The home invasion Brown had been investigating had happened to the mayor's niece, so although the lack of injury or damage meant it wasn't technically a priority case, the mayor had a different opinion and wanted to know why the investigation wasn't moving faster.

He'd relayed these problems to Catherine before Grissom's arrival and she had done a fairly good job of covering even though it was obvious Grissom had not told her a single thing about what was going on. As far as Conrad was concerned, Grissom's behavior on that score was not so much poor supervisory skill as it was blatantly stupid. Catherine Willows was not only a co-supervisor, she was also a woman you did not want to piss off.

Grissom must have managed to get some information across to his team, because rather than being angry at being left out of the loop, Catherine smoothly stepped up to run the shift, leaving Grissom to pore over several files and texts in his office. She handed off Kelly Gordon's homicide to day shift, and assigned Warrick's case to Sidle, leaving herself and Sanders free to take care of any incoming calls. Conrad got the distinct impression that none of them had received any explanation, yet strangely, even the temperamental Sidle didn't seem to have a problem with that. Hell, Brass had walked into Grissom's office demanding answers and walked out muttering something about "going on faith."

Maybe, Conrad decided, it wasn't that he was irritated by Grissom's disregard for his authority after all.

More likely he was irritated by his own envy.

How Grissom managed to wrap a team of such diverse personalities around his little finger with such ease was a secret Conrad would give nearly anything to know.

* * *

Archie arrived just before Grissom, Greg and Hodges had to leave for their shift. The idea of their numbers dwindling from five to three didn't sit well with Hodges, so in the face of Grissom's disdain, he called in a favor from another trace tech. Warrick wasn't about to say anything, but he was very glad Hodges was staying. The man complained non-stop about everything, but he treated the situation so matter-of-factly that it made things much easier on Nick. That was all that mattered to Warrick.

It wasn't long after Grissom and Greg left that the thing decided to make its presence known again. There was no actual attack, merely sounds, but they were enough to set everyone's nerves on edge and Warrick could see they were slowly driving Nick back to a state of deliberate unawareness. Warrick had done his best not to let on, but he was terrified that if it happened too often, one of these times Nick wouldn't make it back.

As if having that thing snarling and laughing at them hadn't been enough, Hodges began complaining that Nick was taking up the couch when someone else could probably use a rest. He dragged Archie along with him and remade Nick's bed, then insisted that if Nick was going to "lie around the whole night," he do it in his room. Nick was still too fuzzy to really register the remarks, but Warrick was not. Since it seemed to be the only way to shut Hodges up, he brought Nick in the bedroom and settled him in bed. He also refrained from throwing a punch at Hodges, which took more effort than anything else.

They had decided early on that no one would be in a room alone unless absolutely necessary, but Warrick didn't bother pretending that was his reason for seating himself at the head of Nick's bed. It was only after Nick fell asleep that Warrick noticed how much quieter it was. Even with the open door, the thing's ranting was barely audible. After several more minutes of bemusement, Warrick realized that Hodges had maneuvered them into the only room which had been thoroughly smudged.

Although Warrick could no longer hear the entity outside the bedroom, he could still hear Hodges complaining to Archie. About the contents of Nick cupboards while he cobbled together something for them to eat. About the Sci-Fi channel Archie was watching, thereby distracting the unnerved young tech away from the horrible noises. About being a servant while he finished cleaning up the broken mugs. About, about, about until Warrick dozed off to the sound of it.

He awoke with a crick in his neck and a stiff back, which meant he'd been sleeping in his upright position for some time. Glancing at Nick's bedside clock, he saw that he'd been out for just over three hours. Stunned, he immediately looked down at his side and let out a sigh of relief when he saw Nick sleeping peacefully. Lying with his back pressed close to Warrick's leg, Nick's breathing was deep and even, his expression untroubled. When Warrick reached down to stroke his hair, Nick merely let out a soft murmur.

Warrick heard footsteps and turned to see Hodges standing in the doorway. "I suppose you expect me to bring you a cup of coffee," the chemist said by way of a greeting.

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks," Warrick felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Seems a bit quieter out there."

"For the past couple of hours," Hodges nodded. "So we drank all Nick's beer, ate all his food and ordered pay-per-view on his TV."

The smile got away. "I'll let him know."

Hodges snorted in acknowledgment and left.

Warrick looked down at Nick again, tempted to stretch out beside him for reasons that had nothing to do with sore joints. Before he could even consider all the reasons that might be a bad idea, Nick began to shift and make small noises. Keeping his eyes on Nick's profile, Warrick watched the long lashes flutter briefly, then open. "Hey," he said softly.

Nick twisted slightly to look up at him and smiled a drowsy smile that made Warrick's heart speed up. Then slowly, the smile faded and awareness crept into his expression. "Hey," he replied, more subdued now than seconds before. "Update?" he requested tentatively.

"You've been asleep for three hours," Warrick smiled at him. "So have I, for that matter. Hodges says the thing shut up a couple of hours ago."

"That's good," Nick slowly began to push himself into a sitting position, wincing slightly.

"Want me to get your meds?"

"No," Nick stretched cautiously. "It's not intolerable, and I don't like how foggy they make me." Moving like someone thirty years older, he finally got out of bed and headed for the door. He paused briefly after crossing the threshold, but when nothing happened, he continued on to the bathroom. There was a brief moment of awkwardness that Warrick settled by leaning against the doorjamb with his back to Nick. Nick didn't protest, apparently deciding that the less said about this particular aspect, the better.

Archie immediately stood up when they reached the sofa. "Hungry?" he asked Nick.

Nick shook his head as he sat down carefully.

"When was the last time you ate anything, anyway?" Warrick asked. Nick sighed, and that was answer enough. Warrick detoured to the fridge and grabbed a protein shake which he handed to Nick with a stern look before sitting next to him.

Archie made a face. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have something else? We could probably order something."

"This is all I can handle right now, Arch," Nick said as he opened the bottle. "Thanks, though."

The silence that fell over them quickly became tense and uncomfortable. They were all on edge, watching and listening for the slightest sign of the thing's return. Archie certainly wasn't helping things, as far as Warrick was concerned. The A/V tech would watch Nick intently until Nick happened to glance in his direction, then he'd quickly look away. Not surprisingly, his actions were making Nick uneasy. It was something Archie had been doing since he arrived, but Nick had still been in a haze and hadn't noticed then.

Warrick knew Archie had been instrumental in helping Nick, but that didn't give him the right to stare as though Nick was a sideshow attraction. He was about to say something to that effect when Archie squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Nick."

Nick looked up and relaxed a touch when Archie didn't look away.

"I just--I wanted to say I'm sorry about...this."

"About--?"

"The tape," Archie glanced away again, then back. "Grissom specifically told me not to listen to your recording, and I knew you wouldn't like it, either...but I went ahead and--well, I filtered your voice out after the first few sentences. I wasn't trying to--no one else heard any of it."

"Arch--" Nick held up a hand.

"I just--look, you're probably pissed off about it--I can see why. It's--I know it's something that bothers you. I remember the...Crane case, and that's why I tried to keep it to myself."

Suddenly Warrick remembered, too. Archie had been the one who had to go through hours of Crane's videotapes looking for incriminating statements--that couldn't have been easy. Now that annoyance was no longer coloring his perception, Warrick could see that this had taken its toll on the young tech, as well. Archie's face was noticeably drawn, and his usually neat hair was shaggy--obviously he'd had more important things on his mind lately.

Nick, of course, had picked up on it before he had, and managed to push aside most of his anxiety in order to reassure Archie. "Easy, okay? I'm not angry. Really."

"Okay," Archie nodded and released that pent-up breath. "Hearing that god awful voice was bad enough, but I knew how you'd feel about--I never felt right not letting you know. So I tried to--" he shook his head, unable to continue.

Hodges let out an exasperated noise. "When I traded off my shift for this, I expected to be stuck with evil entities, not maudlin Trekkies."

Warrick had to look away to hide a smile, giving Hodges silent credit for dispersing the tension. Archie settled for a glare instead of a retort, and Nick relaxed enough that his voice was steady when he spoke. "Archie, don't worry about anything you did, okay? If anything, I'm grateful. This morning I was convinced I was going crazy, but now we actually know what it is--more or less. And as of tomorrow, we'll be able to start getting rid of it."

The words had barely passed his lips when the entire house went dark--even the lights outside suddenly disappeared.

"Nick?" Warrick immediately reached out until he found Nick's arm and held on. Nick didn't say anything in reply, but Warrick could hear his terror in his sudden change of breathing.

"Dammit," Hodges' voice had taken on an edge. "It must have been saving up its strength for this."

"What--what do we do?" Archie sounded as though he was barely maintaining. "Will that smudge thing work?"

Something shattered near the kitchen counter.

"I'm gonna go with ‘no,'" David said.

The next thing that broke sounded as though it hit the wall not far from Warrick's head and he ducked automatically. Something else splintered, then something else, picking up speed until it sounded as though the entire contents of Nick's kitchen were hurtling at them. "Get down!" Warrick ordered, rolling off the couch and pulling Nick with him. "Sorry," he said when Nick let out a yelp of pain.

"No..." Nick whispered, then let out another sharp cry.

The thing started laughing again.

"Nicky?" Warrick pulled Nick closer and felt a warm stickiness through the shaking man's shirt sleeve. "No...goddammit, no!"

"What is it?" David yelled to be heard over the ever-increasing noise. In addition to the horrific laughter, all doors in the house began rapidly opening and slamming shut.

"It's attacking him," Warrick said, trying to protect as much of Nick as he could. Nick was trying to stifle his reaction, but Warrick could still hear his pained gasps.

"What if we--ow!"

"Stay down, Archie!" Warrick ordered.

"We can't just sit here!" Archie's voice came from much lower this time.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything stopped and a voice said with chilling clarity--"This ends now."

Warrick's eyes took a few moments to adjust when the lights flickered back on, and it took several more for him to believe what he was seeing. He expected to find Nick's house in shambles but it looked almost exactly as it had when the lights went off. The only things that were different were Nick's spilled protein shake, the broken smudge pot and the stocky woman standing right in the middle of the place.

Obsidian eyes surveyed every corner of the living room and kitchen before coming to rest on Hodges. "This building wasn't completely smudged."

It was merely an observation, and there was nothing accusatory about it, but Hodges still took offense. Warrick wasn't surprised--it was how Hodges reacted to nearly everything. "Hey, don't look at me. I wasn't the one all gung-ho to do it."

"Was Greg distracted?" she asked.

"Yeah, our boss was here," Hodges replied, some of the pissiness leaving his tone.

Warrick was helping Nick back onto the couch and didn't notice the woman's approach until they were seated again.

"Hello, Nick," she said quietly. "I'm Glenda White Feather. David and Greg told you about me, I believe."

"Yeah," Nick mustered a welcoming smile.

"And..." Glenda turned to Warrick, and Warrick found himself being weighed and measured by those black eyes. A look of surprise flickered across the medicine woman's face, then she nodded to herself.

"Warrick Brown," Warrick said.

"Glenda White Feather," she returned. "I'm very glad to meet you. I'd like to apologize for not arriving sooner. I knew the situation could become serious, but I wanted to be better prepared. There were problems discerning Nick's totem animal."

Nick laughed humorlessly and shook his head. "Sorry," he said, looking back up at Glenda.

"That's all right," Glenda nodded in understanding. "It would help if you believed, but it's not an absolute necessity. I'll be the one banishing Baichee-Nee, so all that matters is that I know and believe." She reached out and put one hand under Nick's chin, tilting his face upward. The moment she touched him, the thing began raging--light fixtures rattled and cupboard doors began opening and closing. Nick looked as though he wanted to jerk away, but Glenda shook her head, so he remained still. Glenda refused to move in the face of all the spitting and snarling, and after only a minute or two, the thing's tone turned petulant, then eventually stopped. Only then did Glenda take her hand from Nick's chin. "This may not be as difficult as I originally thought," she said, glancing at Warrick, then back at Nick.

"That's good to know," Nick said quietly, and when he looked at Warrick, there was the tiniest spark of hope in his expression. Warrick still wasn't sure what to make of Glenda, but he wasn't about to discourage Nick, so he smiled and nodded in return.

"You were hurt again," Glenda observed. "Do you have a first aid kit?"

"Yeah, um...my bathroom cupboard," Nick looked at the deep scratches on his arms.

"I'll get it," Archie offered, looking relieved to finally know what people were talking about.

"You don't have plants and herbs you use for that?" Warrick asked, belatedly realizing he might sound mocking rather than just dubious.

Glenda didn't take offense. "Chemicals work just as well for healing the body. It's when healing a spirit that the medicine needs to come from other living things."

Although her words weren't quite smack down, Warrick still felt vaguely chastised. Whatever he thought, she was in charge and knew what she was doing. It was a little like working with Grissom.

"Why isn't anything broken?" Archie asked when he returned with the first aid kit.

Warrick took it from him and began tending to Nick's more serious wounds.

"Sounds often taken less energy than actually moving things," Glenda explained. "Baichee-Nee may be stronger than most, but even it couldn't cause that sort of chaos and attack Nick at the same time. Except the doors. Doors are something of a specialty for many spirits. Which is why I didn't knock, by the way."

Warrick frowned and glanced at the others--from their confused looks it was obvious they didn't know if Glenda was joking, either.

"May I?" Glenda gestured toward the wing chair.

"Of course," Nick said, then winced as Warrick began cleaning another gash.

"There are several layers of protectiveness in your home," Glenda told Nick matter-of-factly. "Although that kept Baichee-Nee from attacking sooner, it has also made it more determined and vicious." She tilted her head to the side, then nodded again. "Many layers. All of them placed unintentionally, though. If all these people who wished to keep you safe had known how to project such protection intentionally, it's doubtful Baichee-Nee would have ever been able to touch you. That certainly explains why it wanted to remain hidden."

The blinds behind Nick rattled angrily.

"Don't move," Glenda said sharply, when Nick began to rise off the couch. "If it had the energy to attack directly, it would have done so."

Nick stayed where he was, but a shudder ran through him. Warrick instinctively shifted closer.

"I don't exactly call that remaining hidden," Hodges observed.

"He's been discovered--seen," Glenda looked at Warrick. "When?"

"When did I actually see something?" Warrick glanced at Nick, trying to reassure him with a look that he was not going to tell a stranger everything he'd seen. He suspected Glenda might already know about it, anyway. "This morning."

"And the physical wounds were hidden until then?"

"Yes," Nick nodded wearily. "They all...appeared at once."

"It wished to isolate you as much as possible," Glenda told Nick. "With no one acknowledging it, Baichee-Nee had more opportunities to...strike."

Warrick was grateful to Glenda for not referring to the nature of the attacks, even though everyone present probably had a good idea about it. He was equally relieved that her presence seemed to be reducing much of Nick's fear, but he wanted her to do her job, and quickly. "This is all really interesting," he said, trying to sound polite despite his impatience. "But what we really want to know is how to get rid of it."

Glenda raised an eyebrow, "Should I just snap my fingers and banish it?"

Another bit of chastising, Warrick knew, but he didn't really care this time. "Everyone keeps implying that whenever it's quiet, it's gathering strength. Should we be giving it that opportunity?"

There seemed to be a new respect in Glenda's expression when she looked at him, "You certainly do pay attention, even if you don't necessarily believe. And you're absolutely right, but it's also important we not be rushed. Hurrying would only lead to mistakes."

Warrick backed off, albeit reluctantly. He knew without testing the theory that Glenda White Feather was not going to do anything until she felt it should be done. Since any arguing or pushing from him would only make things more difficult for everyone concerned--especially Nick--he decided to keep his peace. The thing--Warrick was not going to give it the benefit of any sort of name--seemed less powerful while she was there, and he was willing to wait as long as things stayed that way.

"You need more rest, if you can," Glenda laid her hand over Nick's. "I'll try to take on as much of the burden as possible, but your strength will be needed as well."

Nick shook his head, but didn't pull his hand away. "I'm still not really sure..."

"I know," Glenda said. "But do you believe I want to help you?"

After studying her in silence for a time, Nick nodded.

"Good. I've done more with less."

* * *

"I just got off the phone with Archie."

Gil looked up from his computer screen. He waved Greg inside, saying, "Close the door behind you." He also made a determined effort not to let it bother him that Greg was being kept in the loop before he was. "How's Nick?"

"Okay," Greg sat down. "There was another attack, but Glenda's there now."

"Did they call her?"

"Nope," Greg gave a nervous laugh. "She showed up ahead of schedule. Arch said the Baichee-Nee has left Nick alone since she got there."

The alert expression in Greg's eyes made it obvious he was looking for Gil's reaction to the news. The young CSI would have to wait a long time--Gil saw no reason to mention that he'd spent the past several hours researching shamanism and Native legends. That his research also included checking Glenda White Feather's reputation was, of course, a given. He had no desire to see that overly-innocent expression of Greg's that suggested he was taking the medicine woman's involvement a bit too personally.

Greg gave up on any reaction after a few seconds of looking. "She's redoing the smudging. I did the bedroom properly, but not the rest of the house."

It took some effort, but Gil refrained from commenting on that. "Did Archie say when she would begin the...cleansing?"

"When she's ready."

Gil acknowledged that with a nod and the barest hint of a smile. It fit in with everything else he'd learned about the woman. She had a no-nonsense reputation that he would not have expected from someone so deeply involved in the supernatural.

Served him right for assuming.

He was trying to maintain his usual calm, collected attitude toward this situation, but doubted he was fooling anyone into believing he considered this another case. For one thing, it involved Nick, who had barely finished recovering from his first ordeal. For another, it was challenging every logical, scientific theory he'd always counted on. There was no solid scientific proof that ghosts existed, but how could he not believe what Warrick--one of the most pragmatic people he knew--was telling him? The marks on Nick's body could be explained away, but it would likely mean believing that Nick was so far gone he was inflicting them on himself. Ghosts were certainly the preferable option in that case.

The coincidences of the Fortean-like dig on Carney Lane, Kelly Gordon's death and Nick's attacks would be too much to ignore under any other circumstances. Gil had often been ready to consider the very edge of scientific certainty--just barely acceptable theories and possibilities--and it usually served him well. This time he was going to have to go one step further.

"Are you going back to Nick's?" Greg looked unnerved by Gil's silence.

"Of course," Gil replied. "As soon as the shift ends."

* * *

Nick didn't protest when Glenda suggested he rest until she was ready to begin, even though he "had no sleep left," as he used to tell his mother when he was little. He was wide awake, but the idea of lying down was very appealing to his bruised and battered body. That fact that Warrick stayed with him in the room was equally appealing to his bruised and battered psyche.

No matter how hard he tried to face what was happening to him, much of it still seemed surreal. Reality was Warrick prodding him into drinking another protein shake to make up for the one that had been spilled. Even the fact that he had been assaulted in this very room, on this very bed, seemed to fade into illusion. Reality was lying still and closing his eyes, even though he wasn't sleepy, because when he did, Warrick would begin running strong fingers through his hair. The voices outside--Glenda smudging, Archie questioning and David complaining--seemed much farther away than the next room. What was important was the way Warrick used the endearment "baby" without seeming to think about it.

Nick did doze off and on--it was almost impossible not to when cocooned so wonderfully in the darkness with Warrick right next to him. At some point Warrick decided to save wear-and-tear on his back and stretched out as well, although he remained propped on one elbow most of the time. Thoughts filtered through Nick's mind as he floated comfortably in that drowsy space between the waking and sleeping worlds.

Because it seemed so far away right now, he thought about the rape and how he felt--rather that he still didn't know how he felt. He'd taken the courses and read the literature about victims and the myriad of reactions they experienced, but still wasn't sure how he felt about it. This was nothing like what happened before--that was secret and horrible and something he still couldn't tell because he would never be entirely certain he hadn't somehow been responsible. This had been witnessed, several people were aware of it, and although that made cringe, at the same time it seemed less of a burden than what happened when he was nine.

Because it was so close, Nick thought about the way his relationship with Warrick had shifted. He had a strong suspicion that he had some part--however small--in the downfall of Warrick's marriage, and if he tried very hard, he could even feel a little bit bad about that. It was something of a relief, though, to know that he hadn't misread all the cues Warrick had sent over the last year or the emotions Warrick had displayed during his early recovery. When this was over and Warrick's annulment final, it was something they would have to explore.

Because his self-doubt had only increased over the past several months, Nick couldn't help worrying that any relationship between himself and Warrick could be over before it began, thanks to this creature's actions. He hadn't been with many men, but at least that thing hadn't been the first--Nick couldn't repress a shudder.

"S'okay, Nicky," Warrick murmured and Nick could feel warm breath on the nape of his neck.

He smiled, suddenly unable to imagine ever fearing of Warrick's touch and if he ever did...well, he knew he'd be able to get through it if it meant being with Warrick.

There was always the chance that Warrick was being so caring and comforting because of the situation, but Nick didn't think so. Fortunately, there was a way to find out.

Before he could get scared and change his mind, Nick reached up to take the hand that was stroking his hair. He felt Warrick freeze behind him, but then Nick twined their fingers together and the larger man relaxed again. Nick held that hand close to his chest, wondering briefly if Warrick could feel the rapid beating of his heart.

He didn't realize they had fallen asleep until he opened his eyes to see Glenda standing over them.

"It will be time soon."

Warrick and Nick walked into the living room to find Glenda ushering Greg and Archie toward the door while both young men protested the whole time.

"Ideally, only Nick and I would be involved in the banishment," Glenda explained calmly in the face of Greg's coaxing and Archie's insistence. "But I know that's impossible in this case. The next best option is to have three others besides Nick and myself. Any more would only provide Baichee-Nee with opportunities for distraction."

"And you decide who it's going to be?" Archie frowned. "No discussion?"

"Is this because I messed up on the smudging?" Greg looked hurt. Warrick couldn't tell it was real or for Glenda's benefit. "I'll pay more attention for this, I swear."

"This has nothing to do with your desire to help Nick," Glenda assured them, herding them along all the while. "It is plain you would do anything--and have already done very much. The three who are staying are doing so for very special reasons."

"Which are..?" Archie looked at the jacket in his hand as though wondering how it got there.

Glenda explained patiently, "Warrick, obviously, is the closest person to Nick." Archie and Greg both nodded readily at this. "Dr. Grissom is Nick's mentor and possibly the most protective after Warrick." If either man objected to Grissom being chosen, neither had the nerve to say so with their boss in the room. "And David has done this before."

"What?" In unison from Archie, Greg and Hodges. Greg pointed as if to say-–See?

Glenda glanced over her shoulder. "David, do you mean to tell me that in all your years you've never been there when Laurel has helped a spirit move on? Never seen her giving a malevolent spirit an extra push?"

Warrick looked at Hodges curiously, as did everyone else in the room. "Not with a bunch of ceremony like this," Hodges said, trying to sound snide but not quite pulling it off this time.

Glenda turned back to Greg and Archie, "The best way for you to help Nick now would be to go home and rest. You've already done much and he may still need your support after Baichee-Nee is gone."

Greg and Archie exchanged glances, then Archie nodded reluctantly. "Someone has to call us when it's finished."

Grissom opened his mouth, but before he could reply, Glenda did, "Someone will."

"Okay," Greg looked at Nick, who was still standing near the bedroom door. "Good luck."

"Thanks for everything, guys," Nick said.

Archie looked troubled by his words, and Warrick knew it was because they had a vague ring of finality, but the A/V tech managed a smile and a wave before going out the door. Greg followed after another gentle shove from Glenda.

"Hodges, have you really done this before?" Grissom sounded as aggravated by the chemist as he ever did.

Hodges glared at Glenda and Warrick knew he was thinking any reputation he'd had as a scientist had just gone up in smudge smoke.

"I didn't say he had banished a spirit," Glenda corrected, moving some of Nick's furniture around as she spoke. "I said he was present when it was done. Although I don't believe Laurel has ever encountered a spirit such as Baichee-Nee." She shot Hodges a questioning look.

"I would have heard about that whether I wanted to or not," Hodges agreed.

Glenda made a small sound of amusement. She surveyed Nick's great room, having pushed furniture out of the way in order to set one pair of dining chairs directly across from each other, about eight feet apart. The second pair were the same distance apart, perpendicular to the first so they looked like four points of a compass. Taking Nick's arm, she led him to the center of all four chairs. "Just stand there for now, Nick. Dr. Grissom?" she looked at him.

"I'm still not convinced this is the best course of action."

"You don't have to be," Glenda took his arm as well and guided him toward the chair near the bedroom door. "What is important is that you do not step outside the invisible boundaries created by the chairs."

"The circle," Grissom said flatly.

"Yes," Glenda nodded her approval, seeming glad that Grissom was keeping up. "You may move about your half as much as you like, but also must not cross into the opposite half of the circle."

Grissom opened his mouth as if to speak, but Glenda had moved onto Warrick, sending him to the chair to Grissom's right, putting him directly in line with Glenda and Nick, even though Nick's back was to him at the moment. Warrick was not pleased with the distance between himself and Nick, and Glenda picked up on that at once. "When the ceremony has begun, you may all move as close to Nick as you like, providing you don't cross into the opposite half or distract him from what he must do. Is that clear?" She spoke to all of them but looked at Warrick.

Not trusting his voice, Warrick nodded in agreement.

Glenda checked the small buckskin pouch she wore around her neck, then picked up a smoldering smudge pot and a large eagle feather from the kitchen counter. "David," she nodded to the chair across from Grissom.

David strode to the chair, muttering something under his breath that Warrick would have loved to have been able to catch.

"Nick," Glenda's voice was quiet but deadly serious. "You have much in your favor to make this less difficult than it would be for most people, but that doesn't mean it will be easy. The ceremony doesn't require your belief, but will require your strength. Baichee-Nee will try anything to disrupt the ceremony, including but not exceeding everything it's done to you before." She paused as Nick's breath hitched, "But if you can endure it once more--in this ceremony--it will be the last time. Do you believe you can stand it?"

Warrick would have given anything to see Nick's expression, but instead he could only watch as Nick's head dipped slightly. "I can do this," Nick said, his voice surprisingly firm. "If it means it's the last time, I'll stand it until you tell me to let go."

After patting Nick's arm reassuringly, Glenda took a few steps back. "Once I begin, none of you will be able to cross those boundaries I've indicated. If--"

"Wait." Grissom stood up, "Nicky, are you sure about this?"

"Gris, it's a little late to worry about that now," Nick laughed nervously.

"Forgive me for being late, but I only learned about this recently." Grissom's tone kept Warrick from jumping into the conversation. "This could be something very serious, Nick. Haven't you looked into some...less alternative options? I don't feel right encouraging this."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Glenda said calmly, drawing Grissom's attention away from Nick. "Your presence would have been very helpful."

"Really?" Grissom regarded her with a cool stare. "I don't presume to know everything about your system of religion, but wouldn't you require the belief of the participants? I'm afraid I wouldn't be much help in that case."

"As I told Nick before you arrived, only I need believe in the power of the ceremony--I am the one performing it. The rest of you are here to provide extra help and protection for Nick through your wishes for his recovery." Glenda sounded as though she were dealing with a recalcitrant student, "All I ask is that you sit in that chair and concentrate on hope for Nick's well-being. If you feel you are unable to do that, then perhaps it would be best that you leave."

A heavy-silence fell over the men. Wide-eyed, Nick looked behind him at Warrick, then over to Grissom.

His expression unreadable, Grissom sat back down.

"Are you ready, Nick?" Glenda asked. She waited calmly while Nick looked around again, then nodded to indicate he was. "Then turn so you're facing west, please."

Nick blinked. "West?"

"That'd be me," Hodges said.

From the corner of his eye, Warrick saw Grissom tilt his head, which meant he was wondering why Hodges was at least somewhat familiar with the ceremony. Warrick was actually wondering the same thing.

"Sue me for knowing my directions," Hodges said snidely. Warrick knew the chemist was speaking to him, because he would never have directed that tone at Grissom.

Glenda ignored them and began wafting smudge smoke along the length of Nick's left side. Nick sniffed appreciatively, "At least the stuff smells good." Warrick could tell he was trying to hide his nervousness.

"And Dr. Grissom was kind enough to check for hallucinogens," Glenda said mildly. "Face west please, Nick," she added when Nick began to turn to look at Grissom.

Warrick was free to look at Grissom, though, and saw his mentor watching the medicine woman's every move. He also saw Grissom start visibly when a low muttering began reverberating through the house, but after that Warrick returned his attention to Nick. He was relieved to see Nick was actually maintaining fairly well, his breathing had speeded up, but otherwise he hadn't reacted to the noise.

"Now south, Nick," Glenda said evenly, as though there wasn't anything swearing--Warrick assumed it was swearing--and growling at her in some arcane language.

Warrick smiled encouragingly when Nick faced him, and Nick nodded in return, but wasn't able to summon a smile of his own. All Warrick could content himself with was that the brown eyes remained alert and here. Nick was obviously determined not to let the creature drive him away again.

The thing was growing louder all the time, so that when Glenda told Nick to face Grissom, she had to nearly yell. Grissom, Warrick could tell, was trying to sort all this out even as he regarded Nick steadily. Only when Glenda finished Nick's left side and had him face her--north--did Grissom give Warrick an astounded look. Warrick could only shrug as if to say didn't I tell you?

Glenda frowned and stopped wafting the smoke toward Nick. "Ne sua'en," she bit out.

The room went absolutely silent for a split-second, then erupted into a symphony of rage. It was mostly noise, but several pictures fell off the wall and the cupboard doors began their usual tricks. Glenda patted Nick's arm once more then continued smudging. Eventually the creature subsided again, although its voice was even more malicious now.

"Wh-what did you say to it?" Nick asked, his voice low.

"I said ‘I know you.' And now Baichee-Nee knows it is dealing with a descendant of those who defeated it in life."

"Do you think provocation is a good idea?" Grissom asked.

Some part of Warrick was amused that Grissom didn't actually acknowledge there was anything incorporeal in the room--the rest of him wanted to ask Grissom the same question of Glenda.

Glenda's entire concentration was on Nick and she didn't answer the entomologist. She laid a hand on Nick's shoulder. "If you would sit on the floor, Nick, we'll begin the banishment."

Grissom now had an entirely new line of inquiry. "Where will you be banishing it to?"

That question was deigned worthy of an answer. "It's called a banishment ceremony, but in this case, it's actually an imprisonment." She knelt in front of Nick and set the smudge pot and feather some distance away from them before pulling the pouch from around her neck and opening it.

"Where are you going to imprison it, then?" Grissom was determined to have answers no matter how bizarre the situation.

"Here," Glenda pulled a small, pale blue feather from the pouch. The thing decided to sweep everything off the kitchen counters in response. The medicine woman took Nick's right hand and laid the bluebird feather on his palm, then pressed both his hands together. "Keep them together from here on out, no matter what happens. That is the most important thing about this ceremony."

Warrick could see Nick's shoulders and arms flex in response to Glenda's order.

"Now," Glenda regarded him steadily. "Where do you want Baichee-Nee to go, Nick?"

"In...into the...feather?"

Glenda gave him one of her rare smiles. "And do you believe the feather can hold Baichee-Nee, Nick? Truthfully?"

"Ummm..."

"Forget where you believe I want Baichee-Nee to go. Where do you want it to go?"

Nick shook his head, at a loss. "Away from me..."

"Perfect," Glenda nodded her approval. "Then that's all you need concentrate on--that and holding the feather. Let me worry about everything else." She looked around at the three other men, "I assume you all want that for Nick, so you need to concentrate on that alone. I will do the imprisoning. Now close your eyes."

Warrick half-expected her to begin chanting, but instead Glenda spoke in a coaxing voice. The thing did not appreciate whatever she was saying and almost immediately, Nick's bookshelves began to rattle.

Hodges, whose chair was in front of the shelves, took a quick look behind him and planted himself on the floor where he was better shielded. "First cups, now this," he muttered. "Should have gone to work--at least I'm the one throwing stuff there."

Warrick and Grissom quickly followed his example when books began flying off the shelves. Several books narrowly missed Nick and Glenda, and Warrick saw Glenda pass her hand over Nick's eyes. Likely Nick wanted to see what was happening.

"I knew it was doubtful Baichee-Nee would move on simply because I asked," Glenda explained, speaking to them all but keeping her eyes on Nick. "But it had to be attempted."

Books were scattered all over the floor, but no one had been hit. Grissom was surveying the scattered library as though searching for a book that held the answers he sought. For someone who was in complete disbelief and had suddenly been thrown into a maelstrom of actuality, Grissom seemed to be dealing with everything fairly well. As for Hodges, he seemed to be looking over the place and cataloguing anything else that could be hurled.

Warrick could hardly blame him.

Then Glenda began singing in--Warrick assumed--Shoshoni. He had no idea what she might be saying, but it seemed to be more of a challenge or command than a song. The creature did not take kindly either to commands or challenges, and Warrick knew what was coming when all the lights in the house began flickering. He was looking out the window at the bright morning light when everything around him went black, and couldn't help wondering what Grissom made of this.

After several minutes of listening to Glenda singing and the thing raging, the darkness was broken by several small fires throughout Nick's house. Warrick was about to get to his feet until he realized the fires were all outside the borders Glenda had set. Grissom was standing, but froze when Glenda stopped singing long enough to say--"Leave them. They're lures." She sang another line, then spoke again. "Nick, don't concern yourself with what else might be going on. Don't let go of the feather."

In the flickering of firelight, Warrick saw Grissom slowly crouch back down, and then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nick's back stiffen.

"Remember, Nick," Glenda told him, then sang a line. "Endure now and it will be for the last time."

Cautiously, Warrick moved closer, almost mesmerized by the way the flickering flame reflected off the sheen of sweat that covered what little he could see of Nick's face and neck. He glanced briefly at Glenda, then did a double take when he saw deep scratches forming on her skin as well.

"Nick," Glenda's voice was urgent. "Don't let go of the feather."

Nick let out a choked sound, and the tendons on his neck and arms strained as he struggled to keep his hands pressed together with the feather between them. For a moment, Warrick thought the dim light was playing tricks with his eyes, and nausea swept through him once he couldn't deny what he was seeing.

The oldest wounds on Nick's body had suddenly become new. Warrick could see the once-faded scratches on Nick's arms glistening with fresh blood, and dark splotches formed on the light-blue t-shirt Nick wore. Then Warrick knew what was going to happen. This creature, this monster, this thing was going to repeat everything it had done to Nick, but in rapid succession.

So it has to work this time. If we try the ceremony again later Nick will have more to go through.

Without thinking about whether what he was doing was good or bad, Warrick gripped Nick's shoulders and bowed his head until it was pressed between Nick's shoulder blades. "Hold on, Nicky, please..."

He could feel the sweat through Nick's shirt, feel Nick's fear and resolve. Then suddenly, he could feel the creature as well. There was such a certainty of superiority, such a sense of entitlement, that Warrick was sickened. More than that, there was rage that it had somehow been defeated in life by those meant only for its amusement and pleasure, and there were centuries worth of retribution for that defeat.

But not Nick, Warrick focused his thoughts on that. Nick is not here for your revenge or amusement or pleasure, dammit.

You have no right to do what you've done to him. You have no right to exist.

You lost once, you damn freak. You don't get another chance.

Nick is not another chance for you. You lost the game a long, long time ago.

You don't belong here. Nick doesn't belong to you.

He belongs to me.

Screaming white light exploded in Warrick's mind, but before he lost consciousness--did he lose consciousness?--he saw a streak of tawny from the corner of his eye, then a small flash of blue. Then darkness descended again, only to lift when he opened his eyes.

He found himself kneeling in the center of Nick's--unburned?--townhouse, books still scattered on the floor, with Glenda kneeling across from him. Nick was between them, half-lying on Warrick's lap, his arms and shirt covered with blood, his body limp and his face streaked with drying tears. Grissom had one hand on Warrick's shoulder and was taking Nick's pulse with the other, looking more pale and shaken than Warrick had ever seen him. Hodges was on his other side, intent on cleaning some of Nick's wounds with the scarf Glenda handed him.

Glenda gently pried apart Nick's interlaced fingers and took the--somewhat singed--feather, putting it back in the pouch around her neck. "My people will know how to safely dispose of Baichee-Nee's prison," she said, tired but confident.

"What the hell--?" Hodges sounded bewildered, which was so unlike him that it drew both Warrick's and Grissom's attention. "It's not...is this even Nick's blood?"

Warrick stared at Nick's arms--the areas where Hodges had wiped the away the blood were in the same nearly-healed state they'd been before the ceremony began. Everyone looked at Glenda questioningly.

"Baichee-Nee was too busy fighting me to do much actual damage," she explained readily. "You could say it was only thinking in the short-term. It wanted to distract Nick and thereby ruin the ceremony. It could cause Nick to see and feel the wounds, but not actually make them."

Then Nick began to stir, struggling slightly until Glenda put her hand on his chest. "Nick," she said clearly, and Nick opened his eyes. "It's over."

Warrick didn't even make it to the locker room before he was accosted by Ecklie. He closed his eyes in weary frustration before turning to face the Assistant Director.

"I'd like to speak to you in my office."

Not moving except to pull himself up to his full height, Warrick tried not to let his exhaustion show. Everyone had been tired after they'd finally gotten rid of that thing and broken the circle properly, so Grissom had suggested they all go home and get some rest before the next shift. Glenda left after smudging the entire house once more, but promised to return to stay with Nick while the others were at work, just to be on the safe side.

After looking at everyone to assure himself they were all right, Nick's eyes filled with tears of relief, and he fell into a deep sleep. He slept so soundly it worried Warrick, and instead of catching some shut eye himself, he kept checking to make sure Nick was still breathing. Warrick didn't regret that a bit, but knew he was probably going to pay for the lack of sleep now.

"Look, I know I've got a lot to catch up on," Warrick said, trying not to sound too on edge. "So whatever it is, let's just clear it up here and now and I'll get on with my job."

Ecklie studied him, obviously debating whether to press the issue of going to his office. Looking vaguely disturbed, he finally nodded. "Sidle took over your home invasion case. You can assist her."

Was that supposed to be a punishment? Probably, from Ecklie's point of view. "That's fine."

"I take it you don't have a doctor's certificate for the shifts you missed."

"‘Fraid not," Warrick crossed his arms, knowing it probably made him look belligerent, but not caring at this point.

"Then the first two shifts will count as sick days. The third--as well as the shift you cut out on--will cost you two vacation days."

If Ecklie thought he was going to argue losing an entire vacation day to replace a half-shift, he was sadly mistaken. "No problem."

"And when you can find the time, you need to get to Personnel and redo your insurance forms to reflect your marital status."

"Not necessary," Warrick said easily. "We're getting an annulment."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ecklie said, and Warrick was surprised he made the effort to say so when he probably could have cared less. "Now get to work."

That was more like it. Warrick snorted and turned back toward the locker room, only to find himself face to face with Catherine.

"Annulled?" she arched an eyebrow and quirked a half-smile at him.

* * *

In the course of his career, Gil had exposed any number of cover ups, and had never dreamed he'd one day find himself perpetrating one of his own. If he truly wanted to, Gil supposed he could justify this particular cover up, and with a little more effort he could probably even find reasons why this wasn't really a cover up at all. None of that changed the fact that the Walter Gordon case was going to end up with a couple of loose ends.

Gil Grissom hated loose ends.

What else was he to do, though? The problem was made crystal clear as soon as he arrived for shift and found Sara waiting outside his office. She wanted answers--Sara always wanted answers. It was what made her a brilliant criminalist, but right now it was the last thing Gil needed. Although it hadn't been easy, he eventually managed to convince her that for Nick's sake, this recent activity was something he could not discuss. She accepted that, but then, her main concern was Nick's well-being, and that wouldn't be the case with everyone.

If the day's events went into a report, it would certainly mean problems for himself and the other witnesses, but it would be absolutely horrendous for Nick. Any report, even the most confidential, had a way of becoming known throughout the lab and something this bizarre would definitely get out to the rest of the police department. It could even, God forbid, be leaked to the press. Nick had been a subject of interest since his burial, and it was only by releasing the most mundane of statements that they had managed to deflect the press' interest. Reporters would descend on supernatural activity like vultures.

The painfully honest voice in the back of Gil's head asserted itself and said that all this nonsense about a cover up was simply his way of avoiding what he'd seen in Nick's house. He stifled that voice with years of practice and turned his attention to the tape. He could have Archie get rid of all the copies he'd made--Gil was sure Archie would be thrilled to do it--but that still left the tape. Gil couldn't bring himself to actually destroy evidence, no matter what the reason. With the case closed, however, Nick might be able to petition for the tape, citing his personal recording on it. What Nick did with it after that would be his own business. Gil made a mental note to mention it to Nick.

That left the Kelly Gordon homicide.

For the first time in his life, Gil didn't want to know what had happened.

The case had been handed to day shift, and they were more than welcome to bang their heads against that particular brick wall. Of course, the detective on the case--

"Gil?"

Gil smiled ruefully and beckoned Jim forward. "Come on in and sit down."

"Door?"

"Door."

Jim closed the door behind him and took a seat in front of Gil's desk. "I hope this means you're going to tell me what the hell is going on."

"Day shift is handling the Kelly Gordon case," Gil told him.

"I know."

"And the Walter Gordon case is closed."

Jim shook his head slightly, as though to clear it. "Closed? What about the accomplice? A voice on the tape?"

"Closed," Gil repeated firmly.

"Connections to Kelly Gordon's homicide?"

"Nonexistent."

"Nick's safety?"

"Taken care of."

Jim leaned back in his chair and regarded Gil through narrowed eyes. "Are you going to give me any sort of explanation?"

"Jim..." Gil took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know how. It just...isn't really explainable."

Silence settled over the office, then Jim shifted more comfortably into his chair. "I know how you love my Jersey stories," he said, making Gil smile. "So here's another one for you. I'd been a detective for a couple of years. Working a missing person's case. Young woman--Angie delVecchio–-her mother reports her missing. Days go by, and we're getting nowhere. Woman comes into the station--looks like she could be Angie's twin sister--and tells us to check Angie's boss and even where to find the body, then just left--disappeared. Well, we looked into it a few hours later and sure enough there's a body where she said there would be--and it looks very familiar."

"And Angie didn't have a twin sister," Gil said.

"Exactly. What's more, the body had been there for days. We eventually found proof to nail Angie's boss," Jim shook his head. "Did you ever try to explain that in a report?"

"As a matter of fact..."

Jim nodded slowly, "Y'know, I was thinking--considering I worked Nick's burial, I probably should recuse myself from the Kelly Gordon case."

"That would be...something of relief," Gil admitted.

Another silence fell, and again Jim was the one to break it. "You ever going to tell me what this was all about?"

"Someday," Gil promised. "Whenever I figure it out myself."

* * *

Warrick had made a quick excuse about finding Sara and managed to avoid Catherine, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do that for long. Catherine proved him right by walking into the locker room midway through the shift. Warrick was getting a clean shirt from his locker, since an unfortunate sneeze had left the one he'd been wearing covered in print powder.

"Hey," Catherine said, going to her own locker.

"Hey." Warrick told himself there was absolutely no reason for him to feel uncomfortable, or to try finding a reason not to change with her there. It was ridiculous, actually. Any other time he'd have no trouble changing his shirt in front of Catherine or any number of people--the little streak of the exhibitionist in him even enjoyed it a bit. At one time, knowing that Catherine fantasized about him and having her show an interest in his annulment would have led to some smugness and maybe some flirting, but that was no longer the case.

"How's Nicky?" Catherine asked.

Trying to conceal his utter relief, Warrick opened his locker. "Okay. I think...I think things are going to get better from here on out."

"Thank God," Catherine murmured.

That's what you get for having such a big head, Brown. Of course she wanted to know about Nick. Much more relaxed, Warrick began unbuttoning his shirt.

"So...annulment."

Fuck. "Yeah," Warrick kept his eyes on the interior of his locker. "Should be final by the end of the month."

"I'm sorry to hear it."

Warrick frowned. Catherine could usually lie better than that. "Really?"

"Sure. For Tina. In an abstract sort of way."

Finally, Warrick turned toward her. "Catherine, I don't know how to--"

Catherine held up her hand and gave him a smile that was more genuine than any since she'd spotted his ring. "I'm sorry I ever told you what I did, Warrick, since it's put a strain on our friendship. But I have and I can't take it back. So let me just revise it a little by saying that it's much easier to give up a fantasy when you know why."

"You didn't know why before?"

"I didn't know Tina, so technically, I didn't know why." She looked at him steadily, "In this case--I know why."

Warrick couldn't think of anything to say.

"And I'm happy for Nicky, too."

* * *

He'd been ambushed.

Really, he should have known Dawson was setting him up by saying Archie and Greg were waiting for him in the break room. He should have just stayed in the trace lab instead of going out back for a break.

No sooner had the back door closed behind him then Archie and Greg stepped out of the darkness into that single circle of light as though they were in some 1940's film noire. All either of them had been told thus far was that Nick was all right and out of danger, but that was enough to lift their moods to the point that they looked ridiculously pleased with the success of their ruse.

"So?" Greg asked him, practically bouncing on the spot.

"So...what?" David asked.

"What happened?" Archie pressed.

"You already know what happened," David rolled his eyes. "The ceremony was a success. The Baichee-Nee is gone. Nick's probably going to sleep for a week, but should be okay eventually. The End."

"That's it?" Greg was practically pouting.

Oddly enough, the pout was more difficult to ignore than the glare. "What else do you need to know? Glenda is with him right now, and is going to stay with him for the next couple of nights. The rest of the time, Warrick is going to be looking after him."

"That's a given," Greg's pout turned into a wicked grin.

David already had his suspicions about that, but it sounded like the rookie CSI might have some stronger evidence. "It is?"

"Nick and Warrick?" Archie added. "For sure?"

Greg shrugged lightly. "For sure from Warrick's side anyway, probably from Nick's too, but definitely Warrick."

"How do you know?" Archie asked.

"I think he was more careful after," Greg explained with a chuckle. "But before everything started going down, he was calling Nick...y'know, baby and stuff. Gotta give him credit--not many people can make it sound that good."

Well, that was an interesting observation.

"Anyway, this was before I knew about his annulment, so--"

"Annulment?" Archie exclaimed.

"Didn't you get the e-mail?" David jibed.

"I mean, Nick is my friend, too," Greg continued. "So...well, I called Warrick on it."

"No way," Archie gaped at him.

David was impressed in spite of himself. "You've got all kinds of nerve, don't you?"

Greg's smile widened, even as he ducked his head.

"That's enough for me, man," Archie laughed. "I've got to go let Bobby know everything turned out okay."

David started to follow, but Greg grabbed his arm and didn't let go until the door had closed behind Archie. "What?"

"What was it like?"

How long did Sanders think he had for his break, anyway? "It was lights going out, books flying, doors banging and fires starting. What do you think it was like? It was chaos."

"Is it true what Glenda said? About you being around your sister when stuff like this was going on?"

David decided he wasn't going to dignify that with an answer.

"C'mon," Greg said, ducking his head again. If David didn't know better he'd almost say Sanders had been overcome by shyness. "You were the only one there not freakin'. I mean...how did you do that?"

Before he even realized what he was doing, David admitted, "Strange stuff used to happen around my sister quite a bit when we were growing up."

"Can't you fill me in on all this? Like...maybe we could go for breakfast after shift."

David had an arsenal of cutting remarks for a situation like this, but it was difficult to summon one when big brown eyes were peeking up at him from under longish bangs. "If that's what it takes to satisfy your curiosity," he replied, gratified to see the irrepressible young man blush.

* * *

No one bothered asking Warrick if he was working overtime. Even though not a murmur of anything supernatural had gone around, apparently news of his annulment had spread like wildfire. Warrick didn't concern himself with that, or with the inevitable speculation about the relationship between Nick and himself. The annulment was the truth, and the other soon would be if he had any say in the matter. So when he dropped off a surveillance tape with Archie and received a teasing grin in addition the usual "have a good morning," Warrick just snorted in amusement.

He hadn't received any calls while at work, but then Glenda was staying with Nick, and Warrick suspected she could handle anything that might come up. Besides, there was a good chance that Nick had slept just as soundly through the night as he had through the day. As he pulled up next to Glenda slightly beat-up VW, Warrick reflected that it would probably be some time before Nick felt like doing anything besides sleeping.

Glenda was sitting in Nick's wing chair reading, but she stood up when Warrick walked in. Warrick was struck again by how ordinary-looking she was, especially considering the extraordinary things she was capable of.

"Hi," he smiled when she greeted him. "How's Nick?"

"Asleep again. He woke up briefly a few hours ago and I managed to get some soup into him along with the pills he's supposed to be taking, then he was out like a light again."

Warrick wasn't surprised to hear what Glenda had accomplished, or that Nick was asleep again. "Great."

With a nod, Glenda gathered up her book, bag and coat. "I'll be back to stay with him tomorrow night as well, but he should be all right alone after that."

"Are you sure?" Warrick asked, again realizing too late that it sounded like he was doubting her word.

"I contacted powerful shamans from three other tribes. They are preparing now, and...well, tomorrow, actually, we will hold the ceremony to destroy the feather and Baichee-Nee. Nick will be safe after that."

"Thank you," Warrick said, his throat tightening suddenly. "I don't know what else to say--"

"There's no need," Glenda assured him, then let herself out.

Warrick locked up behind her, then went to the bedroom. Nick had gotten into the habit of leaving the door open so the room was no longer completely darkness, and Warrick could see Nick's peaceful expression.

Stripping down to his shorts, Warrick was eager to rest his weary body and mind next to Nick, until a sudden though occurred to him. Now that it was all over, should he still be sleeping next to Nick? Wouldn't that be pushing things? He didn't want to railroad Nick into anything. For all he knew Nick's responses to him had been the actions of a man searching for safety and security--God knew there were enough reasons for it if they were.

He was just considering going out to sleep on the sofa when Nick stirred, coming awake with a slight gasp, but calming again immediately. "Rick?"

"Yeah, I just got finished work," Warrick said in a low voice.

Eyes closed, nearly asleep again, Nick held up the covers.

Warrick's heart threatened to burst from his chest at the silent invitation. Without another word, he slipped into bed, smiling when Nick nestled in as closely as possible.

"I think the rest of your stuff is gonna have to stay in storage," Nick said as he surveyed his crowded living room.

"Or we could find a bigger place," Warrick said mildly.

Nick gave him what he knew was a somewhat goofy grin, but he couldn't help it. It had been nearly three weeks since the banishment ceremony, and by moving in some of Warrick's things they were acknowledging something that they had both known since Warrick first mentioned his annulment.

Warrick wasn't going anywhere.

Most of their co-workers seemed much less surprised by this new relationship than they had been by Warrick's marriage--a marriage now annulled. If anyone thought they were rushing things, no one so much as hinted at it. Nick didn't know if living together was the best idea or not, and he didn't care. Warrick wanted to be there and he definitely wanted Warrick there, so he didn't see the point in worrying about anything else.

"A bigger place?" Nick asked as innocently as he knew how. "So you want your own bedroom?"

Warrick stepped over some boxes to pull Nick close. "You want me to have my own bedroom?"

"No." Nick's smile widened, then he lifted his head to accept a soft kiss.

The kiss deepened almost immediately, but Nick could tell Warrick was still being very careful with him. Nick was grateful for his patience, but part of him didn't like the way Warrick stayed slightly detached when things heated up, always gauging his reaction. At the slightest flinch or pause from Nick, Warrick would slow things down.

As much as Nick loved the gentle kisses and caresses, he wanted to go quite a bit further. Not the entire way, but a lot further than they were getting right now. He felt certain that if Warrick could just overlook a few of his minor hesitations and keep going, things would be fine.

Nick slid one hand under Warrick's untucked shirt, making Warrick murmur appreciatively into his neck. Sometimes Nick was tempted to really push things just to see if he could crumble Warrick's iron control, but he never tried too hard. He knew Warrick had every reason to be so methodical and careful with him, especially considering that Warrick had seen an actual assault taking place--

Oh god, Nick froze as realization hit.

Warrick had seen it.

Sure enough, Warrick drew back slightly, even though things were nowhere near as intense as they sometimes got. "What is it, Nicky?"

Nick felt warm breath against his forehead and followed by soft lips. He lifted his head to meet worried green eyes. "Nothing," he said with a smile, but knew that despite the protestation, they were done for now. Warrick cradled his cheek in one hand and studied him in silence and Nick was relieved when the phone rang. Reluctantly untangling himself--because whatever else, he loved Warrick holding him close--he stepped over a few more boxes to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hello, Nick. It's Glenda White Feather."

There was the tiniest spark of fear in the pit of his stomach, but Nick furiously extinguished it.

"I'm sorry it's been so long since I followed up with you," Glenda went on. "But after Baichee-Nee was finally banished, exams were practically on me and I had to see to that."

"Don't worry about that," Nick said with a smile. "You already did more than your fair share."

"Still, there must be questions you want answered, and I'd like to see for myself how you're doing, if you don't mind."

"Of course not," Nick agreed readily. He barely knew the woman, but was happy to grant her any request. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel comfortable in his own house and knew that she was responsible for restoring that and the feeling of finally being rested and relaxed to him--although Warrick deserved a lot of the credit for that last one. The fact that he was returning to his job in the next week was also due to Glenda. If the woman wanted to rifle through his belongings or rack up long distance charges on his phone, Nick was going to let her do it. "I go back to work next week, but anytime this week..."

"How about Thursday? I don't have afternoon classes on that day."

"Thursday it is. Any time after one."

"I'll be there by one-thirty. I look forward to talking to you under less...fraught circumstances."

"Same here," Nick couldn't help laughing. "See you Thursday."

"Say hello to Warrick for me," Glenda said before she hung up.

Nick looked at the phone with bemusement, then shrugged and set it back in its nest. He looked at Warrick, "Glenda says hello."

"Ah," Warrick chuckled. "That's why the funny look. So she's coming to visit?"

"Yeah," Nick moved back toward him. "Thursday. She wants to see how I am, and she'll answer any questions we have."

"Do you have a lot of questions?"

"Hell, yeah. So many I don't know where to start," Nick shook his head.

"Hunh. That's kinda how I feel about all this unpacking." Warrick slid an arm around Nick's waist. "Your Cowboys are playing in fifteen minutes, cowboy. Let's ditch the unpacking for the day."

Nick put up a token protest, but fifteen minutes later, they were both on his sofa watching the game. It was just like old times--almost. Instead of sitting side-by-side, Nick spent most of the game with his head in Warrick's lap and Warrick toying with his hair.

He had no idea if the Cowboys won or not.

* * *

"I'll answer any questions I can, of course," Glenda said as she accepted a bottle of water from Nick. "Hopefully they aren't of the all-encompassing sort, though. I teach folklore, not religion or philosophy."

It was much easier to accept Glenda as a professor than a shaman, Warrick thought with a smile. He doubted he'd ever stop being thrown by how completely her appearance belied her abilities in his mind.

"Is it gone?" Nick asked immediately.

Warrick looked at him with concern. Nick had been doing so well in the past few weeks, had been so happy, that Warrick never for a moment considered he was worried about such a thing.

"It is," Glenda said simply. "Banished to the Shadow Land."

Warrick felt Nick relax next to him. "Greg or Hodges also mentioned something about you being at the dig on Carney Lane. Are there more?"

"There were. Did Greg or David tell you the legend of the Bibachee-Nee massacre?"

"That's what happened on the site," Warrick said.

"Yes. The remaining Bibachee-Nee were nowhere near as strong as their leader. I suspect he may have drained what little energy they had to strengthen himself. We performed a ceremony at the site, and Dr. Ramsey has said it's been peaceful ever since."

"Bibachee-Nee?" Nick frowned, stumbling over the word. "I thought it was Baichee-Nee."

Glenda smiled, "Bibachee-Nee is the group. Baichee-Nee is one."

"Oh," Nick returned the smile with sheepish one. "Umm...I don't remember much about the conversation we had that night, but...uh...the problem you had? With my...er, totem animal?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I was wondering..." Nick glanced at him for help, but Warrick wasn't sure where the question was going and had to shrug.

Glenda's smile widened, "Even if you don't believe these things, some curiosity is natural. All you have to do is ask."

Warrick tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh, and got a quick elbow for his trouble.

"What exactly was the trouble with it, though?"

"There was the strong presence of more than one animal, and no one has two totems. Well, actually, it can happen on rare occasions." Glenda went into professorial lecture mode, "When one twin dies, the survivor inherits a second totem. The same can happen if a mother dies in childbirth--which of course happened fairly regularly in the past. I knew neither was true in your case, though. What's more, the animals in your case were much too diverse to both belong to you."

"Okay," Nick looked impressed. "What was mine, then?"

"I'm surprised you haven't guessed," Glenda replied. "Why do you think we used a bluebird feather to imprison Baichee-Nee?"

"A bluebird? It...you...seriously, a bluebird?"

Warrick had never seen Nick look so completely nonplused, and he turned away to hide a smile.

Glenda didn't react to his obvious disappointment. "Yes, Nick."

"Are you sure?" Nick asked, making it impossible for Warrick to stifle a snicker. "A bluebird? That's like...what my sisters' group in Girl Scouts was called."

Warrick nearly choked.

Nick shot him a quelling look. "I mean--what was the other animal?"

"The other animal is not your totem," Glenda said, as calm and implacable as ever. "It was taking a protective stance over your totem."

"The bluebird," Nick confirmed.

"Nick, we've established that totem animals are not part of your belief system," Glenda reasoned. "So what difference would it make?"

"I guess," Nick still looked disgruntled. "But for curiosity's sake, what was the second animal?"

"Mountain Lion," Glenda said, and Nick perked up immediately. "No, Nick. It wasn't your totem." Warrick was taken aback when she looked pointedly at him.

Nick shot him a look as well. "Oh...see, you only think he's the mountain lion because of those eyes of his."

That was nice to hear. Warrick couldn't help giving Nick a pointed look of his own, amused when twin spots of color bloomed on his cheeks.

Glenda looked as though she was trying not to laugh as well. "Really, though, Nick. After meeting you, I'm more certain than ever of your totem."

"Gee, thanks," Nick's cheeks were still tinged with red.

"Bluebird as one's totem represents many things," Glenda explained. "A great capacity for happiness, modesty, but the most important quality of Bluebird is its resilience."

Nick was silent as he disgested this, and it was Warrick who mused aloud, "Resilience..."

"Despite many predators, Bluebird always survives--and thrives."

That, Warrick decided, was enough to make a believer out of him.

* * *

Warrick was surprised to see Nick still up when he returned from his shift. "I thought you'd be asleep," he said, wrapping his arms around Nick from behind and dropping a kiss on the nape of his neck.

Nick abandoned the coffee pot he was rinsing and leaned back, tilting his head to give Warrick better access. "I thought I'd better start getting into graveyard hours again. I've been up since you left, so I should be ready for bed before too long." He sighed happily as one of Warrick's hands found its way into his robe to stroke the skin of his stomach.

"What a coincidence," Warrick nuzzled behind an ear, making Nick shiver with pleasure. "I should be, too."

"That is convenient," Nick loosened Warrick's arms just enough so he could turn to face him and wrap his arms around the taller man's neck.

Warrick lowered his head to capture Nick's mouth in a deep kiss. "It's not that you had a nightmare, is it?" he murmured against Nick's cheek when they finally broke apart.

Nick sighed. "Talk about a mood-killer," he muttered, removing Warrick's hands from his waist. "No, I did not have a nightmare. I've hardly had any nightmares--you know that."

"Okay," Warrick reached for him again, but Nick took a step back. "Come on, Nicky. I just thought that after all that discussion about the legend and stuff today, it might have stirred up a few things."

Nick was just about to acknowledge that as a valid point, when Warrick added--

"Don't get your feathers all ruffled."

It could have almost been forgiven as a figure of speech, but there was no mistaking that smirk of Warrick's. "You jerk," Nick's words were belied by his wide smile.

The smirk turned into a full-fledged grin.

"Gotta wonder why I put up with you," Nick allowed himself to be pulled close again.

"Yeah?" Warrick arched an eyebrow, "Maybe this'll refresh your memory." He covered Nick's lips with his own, immediately taking advantage of Nick's soft moan to begin exploring with his tongue.

Nick was arching eagerly against him, and Warrick could feel Nick's burgeoning erection against his thigh. "Easy, baby," he murmured, dipping his head to dedicate himself to the tempting hollow of Nick's throat. He nipped lightly at the skin before he thought about it, and Nick startled against him.

Cursing him, Warrick started to pull back, but was halted by one of Nick's hands in his hair. "Please, Warrick..." he groaned, and his words were tinged with desire, not distress.

Encouraged, Warrick began untying the belt of Nick's robe with every intention of bringing Nick off as well as he could. What he hadn't counted on were Nick's fingers deftly unfastening his belt and fly. "Nicky," he whispered. "You don't have to. This is all you."

"Together," Nick whimpered frantically against his neck. "Please, Rick. I want it to be together."

Warrick didn't know anyone who could resist such a plea--he certainly couldn't. Nick didn't seem like he could wait--which was understandable considering how long it must have been for him--so Warrick just pushed his clothes aside enough to get the job done. He grasped Nick's hips and pulled the smaller man tight against him, so their straining cocks could provide mutual friction.

With a sound almost like a sob, Nick began moving against him, and Warrick matched his rhythm. Although determined not to let himself go until Nick had come, Warrick wasn't sure how long he would last, and was glad when Nick began moving faster. Nick let out a cry of pleasure and when Warrick felt a telltale warmth between their stomachs, he let himself go, pumping against Nick's body as it still jerked and shook in the last throes of release.

Warrick knew the kitchen counter was the only thing keeping them on their feet. Nick was slumped bonelessly against him, arms around his neck and face buried in the crook of his neck.

"Jesus," Nick mumbled against his skin. "That was..."

"Yeah, it was," Warrick agreed, a bit surprised by how husky his voice was.

"And it gets even better down the line, yeah?"

"You'd better believe it."

End

A/N: This was probably the most fun I've ever had writing a story. Although it jumped the tracks several times, there was never a point when I didn't know "what would happen next." And bunches of kisses to everyone who commented. I know this was a little weird for a CSI story, so it was nice to know others were enjoying it.

Now I have a few things to clarify about the legends--what I based everything on:

The Anasazi are purported to have lived in New Mexico and Arizona. I've never read about them actually having lived in Nevada, but I figured it wasn't much of a stretch. Many Native American tribes trace their ancestry back to the Anasazi, including Shoshone and Paiute.

Giant skulls (with double rows of teeth) have been reported in several states in the US, as well as all over the world. I've never read an account in Nevada, but again, not a big stretch. The legend of the giants enslaving smaller humans was an Osage one that I adapted for my purpose, I added on the story of the massacre. The names of Bibachee-Nee and Baichee-Nee are adaptions of "bibiaichi'nee" which is the Shoshoni for "big."

As far as totems go, I used a website on shamanism to decide what Nick's totem was. I don't know how accurate it was, but I suppose it's a subjective subject at best. The story about someone inheriting another's totem was something I made up--sound good though, doesn't it?

That's all I can think of right now. Just chalk up any more discrepancies you find to artistic licence, okay?

Vic

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