Demonology

Nick stared blankly at the stack of paperwork he was filing--attempting to file. Reading over the report on the organ bank case, it was impossible not to think of the man he'd worked the case with.

Mike Keppler.

It had only been a few days after the false crime scene Keppler had planned with Catherine, Brass and the undersheriff and Nick had still been trying to "let it go." Catherine's deception had hurt the most, but Brass' had stung as well--those had been the toughest to come to terms with. Nick had never had much respect for the undersheriff to lose and as for Keppler, somehow it had been easier to give him a break, perhaps because he'd been the new guy. Without any history there, it had been easier to start over.

Keppler had made no apologies and gave no excuses, remaining stoic in the face of everyone's initial hostility. He'd practically telegraphed the mantra "what's done is done and I'm getting on with the job."

It was an attitude Nick could respect. What's more, it was one he could relate to. So Nick had made an extra effort to get along with the new guy, and had been surprised to find it relatively easy.

Once they'd wrapped up the organ theft, there were dozens of tissue samples that needed to be tested and logged. When Keppler had offered to lend a hand, Nick accepted gratefully. After several hours of working companionably, Keppler had surprised Nick again by taking him up on his offer to grab a drink.

Two hours later, Nick had found himself braced against his kitchen counter, panting encouragement as Keppler--well, he'd started calling him Mike at some point--pounded into him.

It wasn't Nick's first with another man, by any means, and he didn't think it was Mike's. Besides, he was past caring about any lack of finesse. All he'd wanted was to give himself up to the sensation of being filled by another man.

After they were finished, Mike slid his hand along Nick's spine once more before getting dressed and leaving without a word. At one time that would have bothered Nick--a lot--but he hadn't expected or wanted anything more. He hadn't been looking for anything other than a temporary release and had somehow known Mike was looking for the same thing.

Even if they hadn't known one another very well, their individual demons had recognized and were drawn to each other.

Nick now knew that those demons were vastly different, but it hadn't mattered that day. Or the next day, when Mike fucked him on the sofa. Their parting was exactly the same, and the next time Nick had seen Mike was on their way into a hotel room containing the bodies of a hooker and a retired cop. Thirty-six hours later, Mike had been dead as well.

Other than the usual sorrow for a fallen colleague, Nick wasn't sure how he felt about Mike's death. He thought he'd be more broken up. Hell, he'd slept with the guy twice and thought he would--should--feel like some sort of connection had been broken. Instead, Nick had the sneaking suspicion that it was envy lurking around his consciousness and that--well, that was worrisome. He couldn't ever remember having envied the dead before.

Before.

Because that's how he'd thought about his life for the past two years. There was now and there was before and there was the chasm between the two.

Before being envious of the dead never would have registered with him, barely would have made it onto his radar. Before, when death was just a part of his job. Before he'd held a gun under his chin and tried to decide whether he wanted to suffocate or blow his brains out.

Now Nick couldn't help reflecting that at least Mike's troubles were over. Mike's past had caught up with him, but never again would he have to worry about it endlessly overshadowing his future. Never again would he have to check over his shoulder to make sure of it. The other shoe had dropped for Mike Keppler and as final as it was, Nick couldn't help thinking it must be something of a relief.

Nick knew this was a dangerous mind set and always tried to make himself concentrate on something else when his thoughts turned in that direction. He was successful some of the time, but just as often, those thoughts would creep up to consume him again.

Like right now.

Growling under his breath, Nick tried to refocus his attention on the paperwork in front of him.

"Nick."

He looked up to see Catherine framed in the doorway.

"That arson Warrick and Greg are working turned out to be a lot bigger than anyone thought. They're bringing in some of the debris and I could use your help going through it. I'll be in the second trace lab."

"Okay. Just let me clear this stuff up and I'll meet you there in a few."

Catherine nodded and disappeared again.

This time, Nick didn't bother trying to stifle his sigh. Just a short time ago, Catherine would have popped her head in with a "Hey, Nicky, get your butt into some coveralls and meet me in the second trace lab." He would have gone without question and Catherine would have filled him in once he got there.

Since the "reverse forensics" fiasco, Catherine had been treading carefully to the point that Nick did feel a bit bad for her. He just didn't know how to tell her that he was trying to put it all behind him. What was he supposed to do? Break the news while they were driving out to the scene? "Cath, even though I'm still pretty ticked about the way you lied, I'm not sure I even have the right to be angry with you."

Which was what a lot of things in his life seemed to boil down to. Before, when he was angry, he was angry, and that was it. He'd rarely questioned whether he had the right to be angry, he just was. Now he questioned that all the time.

What right did he have to be angry at people who had suffered while he was missing and gave everything they had to find him? So Catherine had lied to him. She had also risked her reputation and God-knew-what-else to get his ransom from Sam Braun.

It had been the same thing when he discovered Grissom had hidden the recovered tape from him. So what? According to what Nick had heard while in the hospital, Grissom had risked his life to deliver the ransom and had been the one to find the break that lead to the team finding him.

Whenever he thought about it, Nick would still be overwhelmed and humbled by gratitude, yet it was never quite enough to sweep away the anger. He knew he would never be able to repay these people for what they'd done for him, and most of the time, that mad him angry, too.

He tried to shake it off before he joined Catherine in the lab. They worked in near-silence, sifting through ashes and charred debris looking for anything telling or unusual.

"Two-eighteen Gillespie Street," Catherine said, looking over the police report. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

It sounded familiar to Nick as well, and he lifted his head to share a bemused look with Catherine before it came to him. "Keppler," he said, dropping his gaze back to the table. "That's right near the lot where Mike left his phone for us to find the victim's hand."

Silence descended again, but this time for only half an hour before Catherine broke it. "There was a rumor going around swing and days that I was sleeping with him."

"Who?"

"Mike."

"Oh." Nick wasn't sure what she expected him to say to that, so he didn't say anything.

"I didn't."

Nick couldn't stop his laughter from escaping. "I know." He could feel Catherine's gaze and knew she was probably wondering why he found it funny. Since meeting her eyes would mean speaking, Nick looked the other way, only to see Warrick in the doorway, glaring. At him? Yeah, at him.

Great. Now what? During the past two years their friendship had become increasingly unstable. Although most of the time Nick could still sense that solid base they had established over the years, distance and disagreements had taken their toll until the teasing and talking that had once come so naturally were now forced. There was no telling why the green eyes were focused on him with laser intensity. "Hey."

Warrick's poker face appeared as soon as Catherine noticed his presence. "Cavaliere already has a suspect in custody."

"Yeah?" Catherine raised her eyebrows. "The guy looks pretty good for it?"

"I'll say," Warrick snorted. "It goes beyond a confession--he's taking credit for it. Claims the building's owner cheated him in a real estate deal."

Catherine shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"So this isn't the rush we thought it was. Anytime you guys want to stop rooting through those ashes, Greg and I can finish up."

That sounded good to Nick. His last several cases had been document-heavy and although he wasn't behind yet, he wasn't far from it, either.

"We can finish this up first, right, Nick?"

"I've got a lot of paperwork to take care of. I'll help you clean up here first, though."

Catherine looked disconcerted. "No, that's fine. I'm going to keep going."

"Okay. Great." Nick stripped off his gloves and bagged them. "Later, Rick," he said as he walked out the door.

After cleaning up, Nick went back to his case files and settled in. He made good progress, finishing up only twenty minutes past his usual end-of-shift. Pleased with a job well done, Nick filed everything away and headed for the locker room. The only other person there was Warrick. "Hey," Nick said as he unstrapped his sidearm and unloaded it. It didn't register that Warrick hadn't replied until he felt the weight of those eye on him. He turned, and sure enough, Warrick was glaring again. "What's up?"

"What's up with you?"

"Just heading home." Nick knew that wasn't what Warrick meant, but couldn't figure out what had the guy so ticked.

"How long you gonna keep doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Giving Catherine the brush off like that. Treating her like crap."

That was way out of line, as far as Nick was concerned. No matter how angry he'd been at Catherine, he'd never treated her badly. He couldn't believe what a big deal Warrick was making just because he'd bowed out of sifting duty. "You said it wasn't a priority. And I really was getting behind in my files."

"And what about when she was trying to talk to you about Keppler?"

"Jesus, Rick, how long were you standing there listening?"

"Long enough to hear you laughing at her when she was trying to explain things to you."

"I wasn't laughing at her, I was laughing at the rumor she'd slept with Mike." Nick felt his temper getting away. Had Catherine been complaining about him to Warrick? "What did she say after I left?"

"She didn't say anything. Didn't have to. I'm talking about what I saw and heard."

"What you saw and heard was Catherine telling me about the rumor she'd slept with Mike and me laughing because I knew it wasn't true."

The green eyes narrowed suddenly. "When did he become Mike?"

Okay, now he was getting seriously pissed off. "Man, what is your problem?"

"I'm not the one who has the problem. I'm not the one who comes to work a different person every goddamned day."

Nick slammed his locker shut, "I don't need this today." Especially since Warrick couldn't seem to decide what he was pissed off about. "I'm outta here." He stalked out of the locker room and out to his truck, eager to leave work behind him.

As he drove home, Nick tried to figure out what exactly had set Warrick off. Was it really the fact that he'd ducked out of ash duty? Or his treatment of Catherine? Maybe it wasn't the warm relationship he and Catherine had before, but it wasn't crap either.

Maybe Warrick thought he shouldn't have moved to a first name basis with Mike because Mike had basically played them all. Nick wasn't sure if Warrick suspected he and Mike had slept together, but it wasn't like that would blind side Warrick completely. Warrick already knew that although Nick slept with women, he preferred men, just like Nick knew that Warrick didn't limit himself entirely to women.

Once, years before, that knowledge had led to an encounter between them. Afterward, they'd both agreed that it was a one-time thing and wouldn't happen again because it would only mess up their friendship. Actually, Warrick had said that and Nick had agreed. What else could he have said at the time?

So it didn't make sense for Warrick to be uptight about that.

Unlocking his door, Nick entered with a sigh, reflecting uneasily on Warrick's last accusation. So he was different now. Did Warrick think that was news? Besides, Warrick had changed plenty, too, marrying a woman he'd only know for a few months and then divorcing her barely a year later. And then he had the nerve to suggest Nick's behavior was erratic?

Nick let out a derisive snort as he hung up his jacket.

He was just heading to the kitchen to grab some breakfast when he heard a vehicle pull up. He had a sinking feeling he knew who it was.

When the knock sounded, Nick opened the door, but stood so he was blocking the doorway. "I thought we were done," he said to the man on his front step.

"Not by a long shot," Warrick replied firmly.

Nick debated whether he should just close the door in Warrick's face and ignore the whole thing, but when it came down to it, he wanted to have it out. Clear the air once and for all and maybe repair the friendship that was becoming badly frayed. Besides, there were a few things he wouldn't mind getting off his chest. He stepped aside to let Warrick pass.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," Warrick remarked as he walked in.

Closing the door, Nick leaned against it and folded his arms across his chest. Despite his desire to get things out, he wasn't able to bring himself to actually say anything.

"I don't know what's going on with you anymore. One day you're assaulting bystanders at a crime scene."

Was he kidding? "That guy was the ringleader!"

"You didn't know that at the time. He was just some jerk lipping off--we're supposed to ignore them."

"That was months ago--"

"And you did the same thing last year to a kid in the McBride case."

"Last year!" Nick repeated. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I thought the thing with that punk was just a one time thing, then I find out you've done it before. You're just damn lucky neither me or Sara reported you."

Nick tightened his jaw and looked away. This wasn't quite what he'd expected.

"Some days you seem fine, and the next thing you're talking about the job getting to you and leaving Vegas."

"Everybody thinks about that sometime," Nick shrugged, but didn't unfold his arms.

"What about the Zamesca case? You get mad at Catherine but suddenly you're all cozy with Keppler? What the hell was that?"

"That's none of your business."

Warrick didn't say anything, and after several minutes, Nick turned to find Warrick staring at him intently. "You slept with him." It wasn't a question, so Nick didn't see any reason to reply. "You son of a bitch."

Startled by the venom in Warrick's tone, Nick was momentarily thrown off balance.

"You were pissed off at Catherine, so you slept with Keppler."

For a moment Nick could only gape at him, but then the anger returned. "Man, when you are wrong, you are so wrong." He pushed away from the door and shouldered past Warrick.

"Then what the hell was it about?"

"That's a stupid question," Nick retorted, and Warrick's expression grew livid. "What is your problem, anyway? The only time you talk to me anymore is when you're on my case about something." Nick could sense things beginning to spin out of control, but instead of attempting to diffuse it, he found himself relishing the confrontation. "So what is it this time? You're still ticked about your divorce and taking it out on me? You're jealous because Catherine had a thing for Mike? Jealous of me for sleeping with him?"

"Stop calling him Mike like you knew him!"

"You're jealous of Mike," Nick said in sudden realization. "Why? Because Cath had a thing for him or because I slept with him?"

Warrick took a step toward him before catching himself.

Nick knew he'd hit a nerve. It was rare he ever felt he had the upper hand these days, and now that he did, he was going to make the most of it. "Or are you just uptight because you haven't gotten any since the divorce?"

"You are really pushing your luck," Warrick growled.

"Hey, I didn't start this. You came to my place."

"Yeah, and this is exactly why. Half the time you're like someone else."

Just like that, he'd lost the upper hand. "Get the hell out of my house."

"We're not done yet."

"Yeah, we are," Nick gave the larger man a shove toward the door.

"Don't, Nick," Warrick warned, catching Nick's arm. "You know I can put you on the ground again, just like I did back in that alley."

Nick twisted his arm free and gave Warrick another shove.

Warrick clamped his other hand on Nick's shoulder, dragging him forward and leaning down so they were almost nose-to-nose. "I said we aren't finished yet."

Nick used both hands to break Warrick's grip. "Then say what you want and get the hell--" The rest of his words were muffled when Warrick's mouth covered his, hard and demanding. And somehow Nick wasn't shocked or even surprised. Almost instantly, he went from trying to break Warrick's hold to grabbing handfuls of his shirt and pulling it free of the waistband. When they broke off the kiss, Nick latched onto the skin at the hollow of Warrick's throat. There'd be no half-open shirts for Mr. Suave at work tonight.

In return, Warrick bit down hard on his earlobe, making Nick shudder and sending a jolt straight to his groin.

Nick was undoing the few remaining buttons on Warrick's untucked shirt, but had to stop when Warrick abruptly yanked his polo up and over his head. Releasing Warrick, Nick quickly got rid of his own shirt before getting back to Warrick's. He pushed the open shirt off the broad shoulders, but held onto the placket edges, using them to tug Warrick toward the bedroom.

Once inside, Warrick pulled his arms free and wrapped one hand around the back of Nick's neck, dragging him closer and devouring his lips again. When Warrick's tongue invaded his mouth, Nick sucked hard on it until Warrick was moaning in the back of his throat.

This time Warrick broke the kiss to nip and bite at the skin on Nick's neck and shoulders.

Nick felt his bed against the back of his legs and let himself fall back, pulling Warrick down on top of him. Even though they were still wearing their jeans, Nick wound his legs around Warrick's hips and began thrusting up against him.

It was only a few thrusts before Warrick untangled himself and stood again. Surprised, Nick propped himself up on his elbows until he felt Warrick's hands at his belt. He slumped back down briefly before twisting to reach for the drawer of his night stand, but only managed to snag a condom before he was pulled away by Warrick's violent tugging on his jeans.

Nick didn't bother worrying about the lube, quickly sitting up and opening the wrapper while Warrick took off his own jeans. Warrick stepped forward and slipped his fingers into Nick's mouth, and Nick immediately began sucking on them, mustering up as much spit as he could. In the back of his mind he noted that Warrick's formerly flat abs had been replaced by a bit of a gut, but he wasn't nearly as interested in that as he was in the big straining cock that would soon be filling him.

Warrick reached down and grabbed one of Nick's ankles, raising it up to rest against his shoulder while his slicked fingers probed Nick's cleft.

Only giving him time for the barest preparation, Nick wrapped his legs around Warrick's waist again, urging himself closer. When Warrick drove into him, Nick gritted his teeth against a yell, but it didn't take long for his body to adust. He hitched his legs higher so that Warrick could plunge deeper, and hit the perfect spot.

They had barely spoken a word up until now and there were still none as their mouths locked together, their tongues jousting in an echo of the rhythm their bodies were making.

Underlying everything was an instinctive teamwork that assured they were both getting as much pleasure as possible. No matter how angry Warrick was with Nick, when Nick reached for his cock, Warrick's hand was there as well. And even though Nick's own release was suddenly upon him, he managed to tighten his legs and draw Warrick in deeper when Warrick came.

This was what had been missing with Mike. With Mike it had been purely physical.

With Warrick, no matter how physical they got, for Nick it would never be just that.

Nick lay still when Warrick collapsed on him, content to just listen to their breathing as it slowly returned to normal. A few minutes after it had, Warrick withdrew and moved off him. While Warrick discarded the condom, Nick found his jeans and shorts and used the latter to clean himself off. Then he got under the covers and was about to settle in until he saw that Warrick was getting dressed.

"I've gotta go," Warrick explained, obviously noticing his surprise. "I'm looking for a new place today."

Nick considered pointing out that they hadn't settled anything Warrick wanted to settle, but the last thing he wanted was to revisit that argument. "Good luck. I'll see you at work tonight."

"Yep," Warrick buckled his belt. "I'll lock the door on my way out."

"Thanks," Nick said, watching him walk out of the bedroom. He waited until he heard his front door close before letting his head fall back to the pillow. Vaguely disappointed, but comfortably satiated, Nick easily drifted off to sleep.

Warrick caught himself humming along with the radio as he drove to work, and couldn't remember the last time his mood had been good enough for that to happen. Certainly not a few nights ago, when he had almost called in sick just to avoid seeing Nick. With no real way to explain what had prompted his actions, he was grateful that Nick seemed to accept it as simply another hitch in their friendship, just like that time years before.

And not even a bad hitch, necessarily, because since it happened, things had been less difficult between he and Nick. Of course, that might also be because Warrick had dropped the subject of the changes in Nick's personality. He was still concerned about it, but decided to let it alone for a while, considering what had happened the last time. As a result, Nick was a bit less guarded around him and working together wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as it had been for the past few months.

Things were looking up for the first time in a while. His divorce had finally gone through--the initial delay was his own fault. Although he hated to admit it, the stalling he'd done had more to do with his own feelings of failure than with losing Tina. All in all, it turned out being much friendlier than he'd expected. He had the sneaking suspicion that Tina figured out she might have taken on more baggage than she could handle and was glad to be out of the situation.

They had agreed that Warrick would stay at "their" place and Tina with her parents until he found somewhere new to live. Earlier today, he'd done just that, signing a lease for an apartment on Sahara. It was only one bedroom, but fairly roomy and not too pricey considering the nice neighborhood. In another week he'd be able to move in and put this giant mistake behind him.

He arrived at work to a very dull night for Las Vegas, pulling only a burglary and an assault. Sunrise--and Grissom--found him writing up the nights' reports across from Nick at the conference table.

"Hope you guys are up for a double," Grissom said.

Warrick hadn't worked a double for nearly five days, a highly unusual occurrence. "Sure."

Nick was obviously of the same mind set. "What is it?"

"DB out in the desert. Off 161 near Ripley--just before the turnoff for the Goodsprings Bypass. Couple of off-roaders found it. Sofia's out there already and the coroner's on his way."

Warrick quickly gathered his files and stood, taking the slip from Grissom. "I'll drive," he said.

Nick shot him a rueful smile and nodded in resignation--he was still gathering up his files.

"Meet you outside," Warrick grinned. It was Nick's own fault--one of the hazards of spreading your work out everywhere as was the Texan's habit.

"So how's the apartment hunt going?" Nick asked once they were on their way out to the scene.

"It's done. I found a place and I'll be moving in at the beginning of the month."

"Need a hand?"

"Sure." There was the Nick that Warrick had always known--friendly and generous. Still, Warrick had learned that nowadays Nick could shut down so much he rivaled Grissom if something provoked him. "I was gonna ask if you'd be able to get a dolly from that guy you played softball with."

"Probably," Nick nodded. "I'll give him a call."

"Cool."

After that, their conversation turned to the usual subjects, with one exception. There was no comparison of notes about their love lives--they both knew who the other had last hooked up with.

It was a little more than half an hour before they finally spotted the police cars--one state trooper, a squad car, a detective's unmarked and the coroner's van. Warrick pulled in next to Sofia's Taurus and they got out, grabbing their kits and a camera as they walked toward the grim-looking group.

"Couple of teenagers found the body," Sofia said, without so much as a smile in greeting. That did not bode well. "They were out here riding their ATVs. The coroner's with her now, I'm going to finish talking to the kids." She nodded behind her before walking away.

"That doesn't sound good," Nick said, slipping the camera around his neck as the continued on in the direction Sofia had indicated.

They rounded a patch of scrub and found David crouched next to the body. A small body with long matted hair. The tatters of what once might have been a pastel nightgown barely covered her. There was no way to know for certain, but Warrick guessed she couldn't have been more than nine or ten.

"Ah, no..." Nick sighed, echoing his thoughts exactly.

David glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, guys," he said before turning back to the body. "No rigor mortis, corneas are opaque--she's been dead at least three days. Fingers and toes show the beginning of mummification, so considering the weather, she could have been out have been out here most of that time."

Nick shook his head, frowning, "There's no sign of animal activity. If she's been out her three days..."

"She has scratches on her face and arms," David continued. "And her nightgown is torn up and stained." Gently, he picked up one of her hands, "Fingernails are jagged."

"Hope she got a piece of whoever did this," Warrick muttered.

"Bands of bruises on both wrists, likely ligature marks, but no other outward signs of trauma."

Letting out a sigh of his own, Warrick gave Nick a slight nudge. "Let's get to work, bro."

When Nick got to work, there was a message waiting for him from Dr. Robbins to say he'd finished the post on their little Jane Doe. As soon as he found Warrick, who had received the same message, they went down to the morgue. It hadn't taken them long to process the scene that morning. It looked like a body dump, and after three days of wind and heat, there hadn't been much evidence left in the surrounding area.

The nightgown yielded a bit more information. There were vomit stains, but very little blood. They sent samples of both to DNA along with scrapings from her nails and swabs from the scratches on her arms and neck.

Looking down at the pathetically thin body on the cold metal, Nick tried unsuccessfully to brace himself against a wave of sadness so intense it bordered on despair. Her face, especially her cheeks and eyes were sunken more than he would have expected, even after three days in the desert.

"COD?" Warrick asked.

"Renal failure due to massive dehydration," Robbins replied. "Also signs of ketoacidosis."

Nick clenched his jaw in an effort to keep his voice steady. "She was starved to death."

"Basically, yes."

"Do we know how old she is?" Warrick continued.

"She has her first adult premolars, but not her second. That puts her at about ten years of age."

"This took a long time," Nick said, all the while wondering how someone could starve a ten-year-old. It took such deliberate and sustained cruelty. "From the ligature marks on the wrists we thought this might have been an abduction, but now...are there many signs of previous abuse?"

"None," Robbins replied.

Warrick looked as surprised as Nick to hear that. "What?"

"Bones show no sign of healed fractures. No scars. No signs of genital trauma. Judging from her teeth and bones, she appears to have been well-nourished up until recently. I'd say whatever happened to her happened in the last four months."

"So it could have been an abduction. Well, at least that gives us a time line to work with. What about the scratches?"

"Not very deep, so any bleeding from them would have been sluggish at best. Judging from the size I'd say it was a woman or another child." He held out a copy of the report. "That's all she can tell you, gentlemen."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and her prints will be in a school's child-find program," Nick suggested, knowing that was a very long shot.

"While you run that, I'll start going through missing persons," Warrick said as they headed for the door. "Thanks, Doc."

"You would have to pick a day like this to move," Nick said, wiping his forehead. "It must be getting close to a hundred and five out there."

Warrick almost pointed out that it wasn't exactly his choice, but he was too damned hot to bother. He set down the last two boxes that he'd brought up and closed the door against the scorching air outside.

"That's the last of it, yeah?" Nick asked.

"Almost all. I've still got some stuff in storage, but I can get that another day." He walked over to the A/C unit that was humming quietly. "Guess it's time to see how well this works," he turned it up to almost it's highest setting.

"So you know where you want everything to go? You might as well get that done, too."

Warrick looked at all his boxes and furniture they had piled haphazardly in the dining and living areas. "Break first," he said going to the kitchen. "The beers should be good and cold."

"You got beer already?"

"First thing I unpacked," Warrick replied, checking his watch--they still had ten hours before work.

"And I'll bet that's the only thing in your fridge," Nick chuckled as Warrick handed him a beer.

"Of course," Warrick moved some boxes off the sofa in the middle of the room and sat down.

Nick followed suit, taking a long pull from his bottle before sighing with relief. "It's a nice place," he said as he looked around. "Noticed you got a dishwasher now."

"Thank god," Warrick muttered. One thing he absolutely loathed was doing dishes. Tina hadn't liked dishwashers, subscribing to her mother's theory that it didn't get dishes clean enough. Warrick had never been able to wrap his head around that one.

"Lazy ass," Nick replied offhandedly.

Warrick grinned and took another sip of beer. Nick's genial mood, what Warrick thought of as "the old Nick," had lasted for most of the week and that was longer than usual for him. Especially considering they still hadn't gotten anywhere with their little Jane Doe despite working on it every chance they could without completely neglecting the rest of their caseloads.

Warrick still hadn't mentioned his concerns about Nick's behavior again, not wanting to ruin his friend's good mood. Besides, always in the back of his mind was the hope that this time the old Nick was back for good. It was a hope that always lasted until Nick said or did something that just wasn't him.

"If we'd have been thinkin'," Nick commented, still looking around. "We'd have put everything in its place when we brought it up."

"I still haven't decided where I want stuff to go," Warrick shrugged. He might be a stickler for organization about plenty of things, but moving was definitely not one of them.

"Well, your dining table obviously goes there," Nick jerked his thumb toward the nook near the kitchen, then looked behind them. "The couch could go against that wall or we could leave it here, turn it ninety degrees and put the bookshelves behind it to sort of separate it from the table and chairs."

Surprised, Warrick couldn't resist. "Never knew you were so into interior design. What color should my curtains be?"

"Don't go there, man," Nick sounded amused. "I grew up with five sisters. Do you have any idea how often the furniture in our house got rearranged? Hell, they still do it when we all go down for a visit."

Warrick laughed. "The only thing I want to make sure is done is my bed," he said, and rolled his eyes in response to Nick's raised eyebrows. "If I get stuck working a double tonight, I want to be able to come home and crash in a bed, not be stuck out here on the couch."

"Makes sense," Nick agreed, finishing his beer. "Let's get to it."

It didn't take that long to get his bed put together and all his bedroom furniture arranged, but by the time they were finished, Warrick found himself puffing quite a bit. It was his own damn fault. During the last few months of his marriage, Warrick had really let himself go, mostly in reaction to Tina's constant monitoring of his fat, sugar and carb intake. Sitting on his newly made bed, he was almost tempted to catch a quick nap then and there. He grabbed a pillow and put it behind his head as he laid back, but immediately sat up again when he heard Nick laugh.

"You wiped already? You still got more'n half your furniture to arrange yet."

"Yeah, yeah. Just gimme a minute."

More laughing. "Yeah, I noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"That you've gotten a little flabby. Put on a few pounds, haven't you?" Nick's eyes twinkled with amusement.

Embarrassment and irritation brought Warrick to his feet, although he wasn't angry--exactly. "What did you say?"

Nick's grin didn't waver. "Y'know, a gut." Then the guy actually had the nerve to poke him in the stomach.

"Hey!" Warrick slapped his hand away.

"C'mon, Rick." And damned if the son of a bitch didn't poke him again. "You gotta admit you're carrying a little extra there."

This time Warrick caught Nick's wrist and didn't let go. "And what? You think that might give you some sort of advantage?"

The dark eyes widened, but only for a split second before they sparked with challenge. Instead of trying to pull away, Nick moved toward him, pushing until Warrick fell back on the bed. "You were saying?"

Instead of responding, Warrick ran his hands up Nick's bare arms, then grabbed the front of Nick's tank and pulled him down. Nick offered no resistance, his lips meeting Warrick's hungrily. Then Warrick moved his hands back down to the hem of Nick's shirt and pulled it up. While Nick was occupied with taking it off, Warrick made his move, rolling so that he was on top.

Nick let out a yelp of protest and quickly tossed his shirt away.

As he straddled Nick's hips, Warrick quickly stripped off his own shirt to Nick couldn't try the same trick, but found that Nick wasn't even trying to escape. Instead, he slid his hands up Warrick's chest, pausing to toy with his nipples briefly before wrapping his arms around Warrick's neck and drawing him down so their lips could meet again.

This was different from both their other times together. The first had been the result of half-drunken mutual daring, while the last had been fueled mainly by anger. And maybe by jealousy, but Warrick didn't like looking at that possibility very closely. This time, he may have started out a little annoyed, but it wasn't easy to stay angry with Nick thrusting up against him.

Warrick decided he was better off not examining his motives too carefully this time, either, and to just get on with breaking in his new place properly.

Nick's hands were trailing down his back and easily slid under the waistband of his track pants. Then a thought occurred to Warrick that made him get off the bed, despite the tantalizing sensation of Nick's hands kneading his buttocks.

"What?" Nick asked, sitting up.

Now would have been a good time to back off, to say this wasn't a good idea, but what came out of his mouth was--"I hope you have something we can use, because I don't know where the hell anything is out there."

Nick grinned and raised his hips off the bed to get his wallet. He took out a condom before tossing the wallet onto the night stand. "It's lubed. Should be good enough."

"Right. A regular Boy Scout."

Nick smirked up at him, maintaining eye-contact as he yanked down Warrick's pants and shorts.

Warrick nearly lost his balance and was about to protest when he felt warm breath on his skin as Nick nuzzled the base of his cock. Slowly, Nick licked his way along the length, then took Warrick in his mouth. Warrick almost made a comment about Nick apparently not being turned off by a few extra pounds, but couldn't form a coherent sentence. It didn't take long for Nick to bring him close to the edge, and he gently pushed the dark head away. Quickly, Warrick got rid of the rest of his clothes.

Nick stood to do the same, and the instant he finished, Warrick moved in close behind him, putting his hands on Nick's hips and nipping at the back of his neck. Nick shivered and fell forward onto the bed in response to Warrick's slight shove.

The saltiness of clean sweat along with a taste that was just Nick made for a heady combination as Warrick kissed and licked his way down to the firm ass. Nick was already squirming when Warrick reached his cleft and let out a desperate moan when Warrick parted his cheeks, plunging his tongue between them. It didn't take more than a minute of teasing the puckered opening with the tip of his tongue before Nick was whimpering frantically.

Warrick withdrew and found the condom, opening and putting it on as quickly as he could. He prodded Nick to move a little further onto the bed and Nick complied, parting his legs as he did. Stretching out on top of him, Warrick entered as slowly as possible, wanting to be sure Nick had plenty of time to adjust.

Out of nowhere, a thought hit Warrick and he froze.

Maybe Nick was thinking of Keppler right now.

"Please..." Nick moaned, raising his hips as much as he could. "For God's sake move!" It was almost a whine. "War-rick!"

Or maybe not. He slid both hands under Nick's body, one at his waist to grasp Nick's leaking cock, and one around his chest to pinch and pull at Nick's nipples in time with his thrusts as he started to move. He dipped his head into the crook of Nick's neck, "C'mon, Nicky," he whispered. "Come for me...come on..."

Nick gave a long, low moan and Warrick felt warmth coating his hand as Nick's body tightened around him, pulling him over the edge as well.

When he could finally think again, Warrick carefully eased out of Nick. The other man let out a murmur of discomfort, which was understandable--there hadn't been nearly as much preparation as Warrick would have liked, this time or the previous one. He'd definitely be more careful the next time.

Whoa.

There wasn't supposed to be a next time.

Sighing, he rolled off the sweat-slick body and removed the condom. There was still no waste basket in the room, so he tossed it into one of the empty boxes. He retrieved his shirt from where it had landed at the end of the bed and used it to wipe away some of his sweat before handing it to Nick.

Nick rolled onto his side and cleaned up himself and the bedspread as well as he could. Then he sat up and scanned the room for his clothes. "Guess I'd better be going."

"Nah," Warrick pulled the bedspread off. It was so warm that just the two sheets would easily be enough. "You can never stay awake afterward. I don't need you zonking out behind the wheel on your way home." He climbed under the covers and slapped the empty pillow. "Might as well crash here for a few."

"Oh," Nick looked slightly pole-axed, but after a moment he got into bed as well. "Thanks."

"No problem," Warrick replied. Although they lay in bed not touching, it was nice to have the sound of another human next to him again as he fell asleep.

Nick snapped his phone shut and started gathering together the evidence he would need for the interrogation. He paused to take another look at the photographs of the crime scene despite the fact that they were practically seared into his memory. He'd drawn the case just two nights before. He and Warrick still weren't any closer to even identifying their little Jane Doe and now he had another dead child.

This time it was eight-year-old Scott McLure, who had been found in a wooded corner of Pueblo Park, just a few blocks away from his family's home. COD was exanguination and the reason had been obvious--there were dozens of cuts on his body and the ground beneath him had been soaked with blood. Bound and gagged, it initially looked like a classic abduction until epithelials found under Scott's nails came back to Bryan Kittle, Scott's stepbrother. Brass had just called to say he was being brought in.

Nick climbed in his truck and pulled out onto Westfall, then made a right on Tropicana. He hated to think that a twenty-year-old college student--a family member--could have done this, but the evidence was pointing to him.

According to interviews with the family, Scott's mother had been widowed and married Bryan's father six year before. Nick tried to imagine what an eight-year-old could have done to set off a twenty-year-old like--no. Nick thought about the cuts. Whoever had done it hadn't been set off. Those cuts had taken time and consideration. Scott would have been two when Sam and Maggie Kittle married. What would have caused such hatred to fester in Bryan that he could do something so vicious? Jealousy of a sibling was something Nick was able to grasp, but to torture another person because of it...

It made Nick think of Walter Gordon, as much as he tried not to.

Grief and rage over his daughter's incarceration, Nick had been able to understand. Holding CSIs responsible for the perceived injustice and wanting revenge was somewhat skewed logic but still not completely unrealistic. The part that chilled Nick's blood, that made the bile rise to the back of his throat was how Walter Gordon had gone from revenge to deliberate torture. All those resources, all that energy could have gone to appealing his daughter's case and probably helped get her released sooner. Instead the man had chosen to arrange for the long, painful death of a person with no connection to him or his daughter.

The whole thing made Nick sick with anger. Not just at the fact that he'd been the one to suffer at Walter Gordon's hands--that was something separate and still unfathomable--but angry at the stupidity, the utter waste of Walter Gordon's decision.

Nick pulled up in front of the station and tried to shake everything off before going inside. He was going to learn to control these sudden surges of temper that had been overtaking him if it was the last thing he did.

Brass was waiting outside the interrogation room. "Hey, Nicky."

"He say anything?"

"Not yet. You ready?"

"Absolutely."

Brass hesitated another moment, giving him a hard look. Nick made an effort to unclench his jaw, knowing it was a dead giveaway. "Let's go."

Nick followed Brass into the stark room and sat down next to him, opening his file while the Captain stared their suspect down.

The college student was leaning back in his chair, his head thrown back and his arms folded across his chest, partially obscuring the Sun Devils' logo. If he was at all concerned with the situation, he was hiding it well.

"So, Bryan," Brass began casually. "You come down from Arizona State for the weekend, huh? Haul down some laundry, visit with old friends, slice up your kid brother..."

"Stepbrother," Kittle corrected.

"So what was it? Didn't want anyone else inheriting the family fortune?" Brass' tone was mocking since they all knew the family had been getting by and not much more.

Kittle blinked slowly but didn't reply. Nick couldn't believe the guy was sitting looked bored when he was being accused of a child's murder--a family member's murder.

"Or maybe this was the way you and your parents planned to make the family fortune? Is there an insurance policy your folks didn't tell us about?"

Kittle still didn't answer. Nick remained silent while Brass continued to prod, speaking as though Kittle's guilt was a foregone conclusion--which it wasn't. Although epithelials under the victim's nails were enough to arrest Kittle, they didn't guarantee a conviction. A good defense attorney could come up with several different ways they could have got there.

So far Kittle hadn't denied anything, and until he did--or unless Brass signaled him--Nick didn't want to jump in with his evidence and possibly throw of the rhythm of the interview. Brass became more provoking with each question. "Or maybe Scott was just convenient. You got a thing for little boys?"

The only response that received was a roll of the eyes.

Even if Kittle had a plausible explanation for his skin under Scott's nails, his utter indifference to the child's death was like a neon guilty sign to Nick. When Brass looked at him and gave the barest nod, Nick began laying out photographs on the table. He couldn't help noticing that Kittle didn't seem surprised by the sight of his stepbrothers mutilated body.

"Mr. Kittle, we found your skin under Scott's fingernails. Can you explain how it got there?"

Kittle shrugged, his lips twitching slightly.

Nick tried to hold his temper by telling himself that the twitch wasn't necessarily a smile. Just to be sure, he pushed forward a picture that documented the worst of the wounds. "How did your DNA get under that boy's fingernails?" he asked more forcefully.

Kittle leaned forward to get a better look, almost as though Nick was demonstrating a card trick. "Brat," was all he said, but there was a smug, gloating note to his voice that immediately conjured up a smug, gloating, recorded voice for Nick.

When Kittle reached for the photograph, Nick's hand shot forward and he grabbed Kittle's wrist, finally making him jump slightly. Nick twisted his hand so it was palm up, revealing several nicks and cuts. "Little warm for long sleeves, isn't it?" he asked, pushing it up to reveal several scratches on his forearms.

Kittle yanked his arm free.

Brass had stood the moment Nick reached from Kittle's hand, but still managed to look unhurried. "Where'd you get those scratches, Bryan?" His voice was as calm as ever as he strolled around the table to stand behind Kittle, but he gave Nick a deadly look once he was out of the suspect's line of sight.

Nick sat back down. He didn't know where the interview was going to go, but he knew he'd be hearing from Brass when it was over.

Right now, though, Brass was still working Kittle. "Scratches like that could make people suspicious, especially when you try to cover 'em up by wearing long sleeves in hundred-degree heat."

Instead of pulling his sleeve back down, Kittle pushed the other one up, almost as if showing off the scratches. He'd regained his composure--he'd barely lost it--and was once again smirking at the photos.

Brass had completed his circuit and was facing Kittle again. "Something funny, Bryan?"

"Yeah," Kittle snorted. "You guys. Trying all these interrogation tactics when I know you're both convinced I did it. You could've saved a lot of trouble if you'd just asked straight out."

Nick remained silent, even though he wanted to punch that look of the punk's face. He'd already done enough to jeopardize the case.

"Okay, I'll bite," Brass said, although he looked dubious. "Did you kill Scott McLure?"

"Yep. Took my sweet time doing it, too."

He sounded so satisfied with himself that Nick's fury disappeared under a wave of sick disbelief. Nick began gathering up the photos and reassembling his folder. All he wanted now was to get out of there and away from this situation.

"No more questions?" Kittle taunted, looking from one man to the other. "Didn't you want to know why a few minutes ago?"

Nick kept his head down. There was no denying Kittle had gotten to him. Nick knew it.

"What about details? I can give you those, too." Kittle knew it.

"You'll get your chance." Brass opened the door and waved in the uniforms waiting just outside. "Get him out of here."

And Brass knew it.

Nick started toward the door, despite the fact that Brass was blocking it.

"Okay, we can probably get away with saying you had just cause to check under his sleeves, but what the hell, Nick?"

"Yeah, uh...I apologize for that." It had worked on Sara, after all.

"Yeah, fine. What are you doing putting your hands on a suspect?"

Obviously, it didn't work on Brass. "I guess he just--what he did...the way he was acting, it just got to me."

"Kittle isn't the only one who's got to you in the past year," Brass pointed out, then raised his eyebrows in response to Nick's surprised look. "You think what patrol sees doesn't get back to me?"

Nick looked down, not knowing what to say and wondering how hard the hammer was going to fall.

"Nicky, I'm trying to look out for you here and I'm telling you to do something about this while it's still your choice."

Warrick decided to swing by the police station on his way home, to check if Nick was still in interrogation or when he'd left. They'd both been working a couple hours of overtime and were supposed to meet up for breakfast when they were done. If it turned out to be more than breakfast...well, it wasn't the plan, but whatever happened, happened.

Just as he was pulling into the parking lot, his phone buzzed with a text message.

Can't make breakfast today. N.

Warrick frowned. Why wouldn't Nick call instead of texting? The answer came to him immediately. Because Warrick would be able to tell something was up.

Well, guess what, Nicky. Warrick can still tell something is up.

He parked his jeep and went inside, going in search of Brass--he knew that's who Nick was working his latest homicide with. He found the Captain in his office and knocked on the open door. "Was Nick here?" he asked when Brass looked up. "We were supposed to catch up for breakfast, but he just cancelled."

Brass waved him inside.

Warrick went in with a sinking heart.

"Nick got a little carried away during interrogation," Brass said.

Oh, hell. "How bad?"

"Twisted the guy's arm--not behind his back or anything, just to..." Brass sighed. "You know the case Nicky's been working, right?"

"The little boy in Pueblo Park?"

"Yeah, well, we were questioning his stepbrother, and let me tell you, this guy is a piece of work. I've seen cold-hearted in my day, but he's something else," Brass shook his head. "He was getting his kicks out of everything, from the killing to the interrogation, and that just set Nick off."

Warrick noticed Brass watching him closely and quickly schooled his face into a concerned but bland expression.

"Y'know, at one time I would have just mentioned this to Grissom and not worried about it again," Brass continued. "Gil would have spoken to Nick and that would have been the end of it, but I don't think that works anymore."

Warrick nodded in agreement. It was difficult to believe that at one time he used to wish that Nick wouldn't take what Grissom said so much to heart.

"I told him he needed to do something about it. I can't let it go another time, Rick."

Warrick nodded again. "Did he go home?"

"That, I don't know."

"Okay. Thanks, Jim."

As he left the station and got into his jeep, Warrick wondered what in the world he was supposed to do next. He smiled when the idea finally came to him. It was lame as hell, but if it got him inside to talk to Nick, it would be worth it.

So he stopped at his apartment before going on to Nick's place, where he wheeled the borrowed dolly up the walk and rang the doorbell.

Nick answered and Warrick couldn't tell if he was dismayed or glad to see him. "You didn't get my text?" Nick asked.

Despite the unwelcoming greeting, Warrick gamely went through with his farce. "Yeah, I did, so I decided to run a few errands instead. Thought I should get this back to you."

Nick looked at him doubtfully, then sighed and walked back into his house, leaving the door open behind him.

It wasn't exactly a gilt-edged invitation, but Warrick was glad to take it. He wheeled in the dolly and closed the door.

"I'm guessin' you talked to Brass," Nick said, leaning against the breakfast counter.

"I was on my way to the station when I got your text. Nick..."

Nick held up his hand. "Don't turn this into a big deal, Rick."

"Not a big deal? This is the third time you've assaulted someone without any reasonable provocation."

"I just grabbed his wrist. I didn't assault him."

"Because Brass was there to stop you."

"The guy sliced up an eight year old kid," Nick growled as he pushed away from the counter.

"I know," Warrick said, trying to keep his voice even. "I know, but you've dealt with crimes like that before without crossing the line."

"You weren't there, okay?" Nick began pacing. "This punk, he carved up his stepbrother and he doesn't care. I mean, really just doesn't care. Doesn't care what it'll do to his parents. He's going to jail for the rest of his life or even getting the needle and he's proud of himself! He was sitting there grinning about it."

Warrick was concerned to see Nick getting so worked up just talking about it. "Nick, it's just that you never had such a short fuse before."

Nick spun around, looking ready to yell, then abruptly shut his mouth and resumed his pacing.

"Nick--"

"Look," Nick finally stopped directly in front of him. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"One of these times you're gonna go too far and get yourself in serious trouble."

"That's not your problem! This is my business."

Now that pissed Warrick off. Even discounting what had happened between them recently, even if Nick hadn't been his best friend for years, they were still colleagues, and as a co-worker--"This is my business! I'm not gonna let this go anymore. It's gotten out of hand."

"Get the hell off my back!"

Warrick lost his tenuous hold on his temper. "You didn't mind me there the other day!"

"Oh, you wanna turn it into that, huh?" Nick grabbed Warrick's collar and pulled him down for a bruising kiss.

That was all it took to ignite what was continually smoldering between them nowadays. Somehow they were naked by the time they got to Nick's bed room and managed to find what the needed. Warrick's plan about being more careful went right out the window. Once again it was hot, hard, fast and fantastic.

They sprawled, panting, on the bed afterward, their anger exhausted along with their bodies.

Warrick's mind was still a little fuzzy. That was the only reason he could think of for saying what he said next.

"Look, Nicky, I can get on board with us doing this a couple times a week, but all the fighting beforehand has got to stop."

To his surprise, Nick let out a laugh. Then a yawn. "Go to sleep, Rick."

So he did.

It didn't take long for a couple of times a week to turn into every second day, and just as Warrick wanted, there had been no fights for the past few weeks, either. Whether Nick's efforts at maintaining his temper were paying off or whether there were just no situations that sparked it, he'd managed to remain on an even keel since the mess with Bryan Kittle.

There was also the possibility that what was going between him and Warrick was having some effect, but Nick couldn't see it being a major factor. It wasn't like it was anything serious--he didn't think. Yeah, the sex was great, and sure, it was nice waking up next to another person, but other than that, their friendship was pretty much the same. It wasn't as if they were going to go out for romantic dinners or sleep in each other's arms, and they were both content with things that way.

That is, Warrick seemed to like things the way they were and if so, then Nick was fine with that.

Today, they were supposed to go to his place after work, but Nick was late getting back from a home invasion he was working with Greg so he told Warrick to let himself in and he'd be there soon. When he got back to the lab, though, Ecklie wanted to talk to him, and when that was over and Nick could finally head home, he was struggling to hold his temper once again.

Warrick was drowsing on the couch, but jumped up when Nick slammed his door. "Hey," he said, blinking. "What's up?"

"Ecklie," Nick kicked off his shoes.

"That'd do it," Warrick agreed. "What is it now?"

"He wants us to drop the little Jane Doe case." Originally, Nick had started called her "little" Jane Doe to differentiate her from another Jane Doe he'd been working. Even though the older Jane Doe had since been identified, the child's name stuck.

"Oh," Warrick sighed and nodded. "Yeah."

Nick's frown deepened. Warrick didn't sound upset or even surprised. "You knew?"

"Yeah. Ecklie got in just before graveyard ended and he told me then."

"And you're fine with that?"

"I wouldn't say I was fine with it, but what else is there to do?" Warrick rubbed his eyes. "We've gone back six months in missing persons, and not just Nevada, but surrounding states, too. We've run her prints and DNA through every possible database without a hit. What else is there, really?"

"So we're supposed to abandon her just like everybody else did." Nick headed for the kitchen, knowing he needed to cool off and hoping that doing so literally would help diffuse his anger. Opening the fridge, he almost went for the beer, but decided on a bottle of juice instead.

Warrick followed him up to the breakfast counter. "We're not abandoning her. There's just nothing else we can do for her. At least now her prints and DNA are in the system so she won't be forgotten."

It sounded like Warrick was just humoring him. Nick took a sip of juice to keep from saying something he might regret and ended up slamming back half the bottle.

"Nick, we did everything we could." Warrick seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "You did everything that could be done for her. You've gotta learn to let some things go."

It's over. Let it go. It's over. Let it go. Like it was his choice. Like he wanted the constant choking sensation that only disintegrated when it was burned away by rage. Like he enjoyed being unable to keep a handle on his temper anymore. Lite he wanted to hear Walter Gordon's voice every time some suspect got an attitude.

What the hell did any of them know about it?

Warrick jumped when Nick hurled his bottle into the sink with such force it shattered.

"Stop telling me that! Who the hell do you think you are?"

Warrick had never seen Nick get so angry so quickly and cautiously moved around the counter to approach him. "Nicky--"

"Don't," Nick snarled. "Don't you dare start with the Nicky and the buddy and the bro like we're rock solid."

Warrick hesitated, Nick looked like he could easily start throwing punches this time instead of just shoving. "Look, I know we--I know things haven't been that great between us since--" Jesus, just how long had things been off-kilter, anyway? He at least had some idea why it had happened, though. "Nick, you...it was like you kept everybody at arm's length."

That didn't work, in fact, it only seemed to anger Nick further. "You're putting this on me? You're saying this is my fault?"

"Not fault," Warrick hastened to assure him. "But you just--you've been going from one extreme to another."

"Me? Me?!" Nick's voice rose in outrage. "I'm not the one who never left your side in the hospital and then turned around and got married a week after you got back to work."

He was an idiot. How could he have not realized the root of the problem all along? Of course this somehow led back to that horrible May night two years before. "Oh, God...Nicky..."

Abruptly, Nick's angry expression dissolved into one of panic. "Get out," he ordered flatly.

"No," Warrick shook his head, knowing not that was the worst thing he could do. He'd done it once too often. "Nicky, I'm not going anywhere."

Several expressions flickered over Nick's face. "Fine. Then I'm outta here."

Quickly, Warrick moved to block him. "No. Not until you tell me what exactly you're so mad about. Because I got married?" He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted that to be the reason. It was something he still didn't like looking at too closely. "Tell me what's got you so riled and I'll see what I can do about it. Is this--" A shudder ran through him just at the thought, "Is this about the coin toss?"

Nick actually took a step toward him, fists raised, before catching himself. "You..." he voice was choked and shaking. "You think I'd rather it had been you in there? You son of a bitch! You think I'd wish that on anyone? Let alone someone--"

"Okay," Warrick raised his hands. "Okay, I should have known better than that, but this is still about what Gordon did. Jesus, Nicky, I had no idea. I thought you--"

"Should have let it go by now?" Nick finished bitterly.

Where was all this coming from? Christ, if Nick had two years of this bottled up inside, no wonder he'd been wound up in so many knots. "Nick, you seemed...I should have known better, but when you came back to work it looked like you were handling everything so well." And now Warrick could see that Nick had kept up that facade just long enough for everyone to stop worrying.

"Yeah," Nick seemed to be struggling to get a hold of himself. "I know. I know. Look, I guess I let that little girl's case get to me more than I should have."

Then Warrick recognized something else that Nick had been doing for the past two years. Retreating when someone got too close to the actual problem, putting up that wall of professionalism and control that would inevitably make everyone back off. And part of Warrick wanted to do just that, but knew letting Nick get away with that tactic now was unforgivable. "No way. You can't pull that on me anymore, Nicky. We're gonna talk about this."

"Now you want to get into it. Why? Because now you're worried it'll affect the job?"

"No, I'm worried about you."

"Two years later? After what happened to Greg six months ago, you were checking on him every night, asking if he's okay. And when his case was up, how long did you spend working up that simulation?"

Warrick wasn't sure how Greg had suddenly become an issue. The only thing he could think was that Nick felt cornered and was throwing out any accusation that came to mind. It was especially strange, considering--"You did the same thing. You were more upset about what happened to him than nearly anyone. And you were the one who told me Greg's case was in trouble. You kept checking to see how he was doing."

"Of course I did! Greg's my friend and I was worried about him. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel like--" Nick stopped and pressed his lips together.

He'd already said enough, though. "Like you did?" Warrick finished. Nick looked away and Warrick knew he was right. And even though this wasn't about excuses or explanations, Warrick still felt the need to defend his behavior. "Nick, whenever anyone asked, you said you were okay--that you were fine." Even though now he knew that if his own head hadn't been a mess, he never would have accepted such trite answers.

Warrick half-expected Nick to lash out at him again for offering such a lame excuse, but Nick seemed to have finally spent all his anger. Now he stood with his head bowed, looking embarrassed and ashamed of himself. "I know," his voice was low. "I did and said whatever I had to to make you guys think everything was fine. I didn't want anyone to think..." he sighed. "I don't know."

He should have never bought it--Warrick knew that now. He had been so relieved not to have to deal with what happened that he'd accepted answers he should have known weren't true. It was time to--as Nick put it--man up. "You're right. Okay?"

Nick didn't look up, but Warrick could see him frowning.

"I don't know about anyone else, but I...I let you down, Nicky. Big time. I couldn't handle what happened to you--I still don't know how you managed, because I couldn't. And I more or less backed out on you."

"No, wait. Rick, I never meant you..." Whereas just a few minutes ago, Nick had been right in Warrick's face, now he couldn't seem to meet his eyes. "I just want--you were there for me in the hospital. Hell, you helped get me out of that hole. I know you refused to climb out of there even after they told you about the semtex. I have no right--"

Warrick shook his head, the last thing he wanted was for Nick to see his actions as heroic. He had been so high on adrenaline and fear that the reality of the explosives hadn't even registered. They had found Nick after over twenty-four hours of searching and nothing else had mattered. "No, Nick, you're right. I bailed on you afterward. I didn't stick it out because I couldn't handle it. I still can't figure out how you've handled it for this long."

"Except that I haven't," Nick sighed. "I really thought I had, but I guess..."

"How long did you see someone afterward?"

Nick shifted uncomfortably. "The required amount."

"Jesus, Nicky. Even I went more times than Ecklie ordered me to. How many visits were your required amount, anyway?"

"Six."

Warrick wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "Six?" That just wasn't possible. "Six. In two years? You expected to get through this with--I don't believe this."

"You know I'm not big on therapy and stuff," Nick frowned.

"I know, but..." Warrick didn't know what to say. Something like this had never occurred to him. He almost asked if Nick knew what had happened to him. It was a ridiculous question, but he couldn't imagine how anyone would ever dream of tackling something so horrendous with stubbornness and nothing else.

"What?" Nick broke the silence that was beginning to stretch on, and sounded a bit defensive.

Wiping a hand down his face, Warrick tried to organize his thoughts. "I'm trying to figure out why you aren't curled up in a corner, drooling."

Nick finally looked at him, his expression both puzzled and vaguely disgusted.

Now that Nick was calmer, Warrick began moving closer. "Nick, man, who do you think you are?" Nick blinked, then looked indignant. Okay, that didn't come out right. "What the hell do you think you're made of? I hate to be the one to break this to you, pal, but you're human."

Nick let out a small sound that could have been a laugh.

Warrick decided to take it as one. "No one can get through what happened to you without getting some sort of help. Look, you know I'm not one for spilling my guts to some doctor, either, but Nicky, no one, no one..." He still couldn't even begin to describe the myriad of emotions that still overtook him whenever he thought about what Nick had gone through. That Nick had managed to deal with it alone this long was unfathomable. "Nick...man, I don't know what else to say."

"Good," Nick sighed. "Because I don't really feel like talking about it anymore." He moved back to the counter and began cleaning up the broken glass.

Warrick was about to say he wasn't going to let it go this time, but hesitated. Studying the slumped shoulders, he decided it might be better to leave it for the rest of the day. They had talked about it more this morning than they had in the past two years and Warrick doubted it would help anything to push further right now. If he did, Nick could either get angry again or shut down, and Warrick didn't want to see either of those things happen. Now that he had some idea what was going on with Nick, he would be able to broach the subject again at a better time. "Hey, why don't I run out and grab us some breakfast? You should eat something before you go to bed."

Nick finished cleaning up before he replied. "Thanks, but--look, I know we usually..." He shifted, looking uncomfortable again, "Rick, I'm sorry, but I don't really feel like it today."

There wasn't usually a whole lot of touching between them lately that wasn't directly related to sex, but Warrick didn't think twice before putting his hands on Nick's shoulders. "Hey, I don't expect anything to happen after all this." Almost of its own accord, one hand slid up to cup Nick's neck, "I can just get breakfast and then go."

Nick leaned into his grip slightly. "I'm not really that hungry."

"Oh." He was concerned about leaving Nick alone, not disappointed that Nick wanted him out of there. "Okay." That's what he told himself as he took his hands away. "I'll get going."

"Well, no," Nick said quickly. "I mean, aren't you hungry? Because I've got plenty of stuff for sandwiches if you want something to eat."

"Sure," Warrick agreed before Nick could change his mind about the offer. "Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Nah. And...y'know, you might as well crash here. You were going to, anyway."

Never mind that he lived only fifteen minutes away.

Warrick had crashed at Nick's plenty of times before they'd started sleeping together--on the couch after one too many beers. He knew without asking, though, that he wouldn't be on the couch. It would mean a shift in whatever was going on between them--one that would be impossible to take back. "Sounds good," he nodded.

It couldn't make that big of a difference.

Nick had endured plenty of nightmares over the years--his first homicide, his worst homicide, Amy Hendler, Nigel Crane--and he'd learned that they usually followed a certain pattern for him. They were frequent immediately following the event and then would taper off over the course of months, only reappearing when he was stressed or upset. That was the way it had always been.

Before.

Since getting out of the ground, there had been nothing predictable about his nightmares, except that they were worse than any he'd experienced before. It had taken nearly a year before the tapering-off began and "tapering off" was a generous term for it at best. He sometimes had them after a bad shift, but just as often they would occur when he was relaxed enough to fall into a deep sleep. He hated those kind, because they were more difficult for him to climb out from.

Sometimes he'd wake up screaming, but more often it was just like today, when he awakened with a gasp, unable to move and barely able to breathe. As always, it took five or ten minutes for him to shake off the paralysis and by then he'd broken out into a cold sweat.

As he sloughed off the last of the clamminess under the spray of a warm shower, he wondered if sheer luck or something else was the reason he'd never before had a nightmare while sleeping next to Warrick.

Going by the law of averages, it was bound to have happened sooner or later, and Nick was just thankful it hadn't been one of the screaming ones. That would have been all he needed after last week, he smiled ruefully at the thought as he got out of the shower.

It had been a relief to get everything out that day--there had even been some things he realized that he'd never realized before. That didn't mean he was ready to stretch out on some shrink's sofa, despite Warrick's less-than-subtle suggestions. Thus far, Warrick hadn't mentioned it again, but Nick knew it was only a matter of time.

Nick padded back to the bedroom and was relieved to see that Warrick hadn't been awakened by all his moving around. Normally he would turn the lights on or open the blinds for about fifteen minutes or so to further dispel the memory of being underground, but that definitely would have awakened his bedmate. According to the clock, he'd only been asleep for a couple of hours, so Nick carefully slid back under the covers, hoping he'd be able to get a few more hours.

"Did you go take a shower?" Warrick rumbled.

So much for being quiet. "Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you?"

"S'okay. Why? Usually you sleep longer."

Nick tried to think of a plausible reason, but knew he'd taken too long about it when he felt Warrick shift in bed.

"Nick?"

"Don't make a big deal out of this, okay?"

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Warrick shifted again, "What's no big deal?"

Sighing, Nick decided he might as well be honest. "Nightmare. I still get them."

"Oh." Warrick didn't sound very surprised. "Bad one?"

Nick settled into his pillow. "Well..."

"Dumb question. They're all bad."

It was comforting to know that Warrick got it. "You have them too?"

At the same time, Warrick asked, "What was it about?" and they wound up cancelling each other out.

"Answer my question and I'll answer yours," Nick offered. "You have nightmares about... that...too?"

"Yeah. Not as often anymore, but yeah."

Nick nodded, even though Warrick couldn't see him.

"Nicky?" Warrick prompted.

Oddly, Nick found he didn't mind talking about it. The same darkness he usually hated after a nightmare somehow made it easier to speak. "There's different ones. This was the one where the box kept cracking until dirt started to fill up the box. It's getting harder and harder to breathe and I know any second the whole thing is going to collapse and crush me."

Warrick was silent for a while, which didn't bother Nick as much as it might have at one time. He knew now that much of the time Warrick simply didn't know what to say when confronted with his burial. That had made it a bit easier to come to terms with what had appeared to be Warrick's avoidance when he'd returned to work.

"You said this one," Warrick's voice was husky. "Are there a lot of them?"

Nick felt compelled to answer by the pain he heard in Warrick's voice. It wasn't easy--he'd always worked hard to not think about the nightmares. "They're all different, but there's...y'know, the basic similarities. The one where the ants just--" he shuddered, even talking about it conjured the sensation of hundreds of tiny legs. "Or the one where I know I'm going to suffocate and I try to--" he couldn't bring himself to say. "Except my gun doesn't work and I run out of air--" he stopped when Warrick made a choking sound. "What?"

"Sorry." The pain was more apparent than ever. "It's just that in my nightmares, your gun always works." Nick couldn't suppress another shiver. "Sorry," Warrick said again.

"You mean...what are yours about?"

"Don't worry about it. Mine aren't even based on any sort of reality."

Nick wasn't sure why he wanted to know. Whether it was some strange morbid fascination or just another means of avoiding his own nightmares, he couldn't say, but he wanted to know. "What are yours about?" he asked once more.

"Just...usually that we found you a few minutes too late. Sometimes I hear the gun go off while I'm still digging and I know that when I brush the dirt away I'll see..." Warrick's voice trailed off, but there was no need for him to elaborate. They both knew what a gunshot wound to the head at close range looked like.

"Jeez, Rick, I'm sorry," Nick said, because he didn't know what else to say.

"You're sorry," Warrick let out a rough laugh. Nick heard him move and the next thing he knew, Warrick had rolled on top of him. "You had the nightmare, dumbass. What the hell are you worried about mine for?"

Automatically, Nick wrapped his arms around Warrick's neck. "Who you callin' dumbass?" was all he had time for before Warrick's mouth descended on his.

The sudden halt to the conversation was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. In fact, it was probably just what he needed to shake off the last remnants of his nightmare. It was odd, considering the contents of his nightmare, that being in the dark with 200 pounds of weight on him would actually be comforting. It probably had something to do with the way Warrick's lips were leaving a trail of heat down the column of his throat, or the way Warrick's hands eagerly roamed his body.

They'd started fooling around earlier that morning, but had decided to turn in after Warrick let loose a gaping yawn at exactly the wrong moment. Obviously the two hours sleep had rejuvenated him completely.

Definitely rejuvenated. Nick grinned as he worked his hand between their bodies to grasp Warrick's erection. With a little maneuvering, he was able to line both their cocks up in a loose grip and began stroking.

"Nicky..." Warrick moaned against his skin. "Unless you want it this way, you're gonna have to stop that."

"Stop what?" Nick asked as innocently as he knew how, continuing to stroke.

Warrick growled something else and bit at his collarbone.

Then Nick heard him flailing for the night stand, so he reached over with his free hand to help. He got the drawer open and Warrick reached inside for the lube, meeting Nick's lips briefly before beginning to work his way down.

Nick released their cocks and reached for the box of condoms, only to knock it over when Warrick began pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down his sternum and stomach and stopping to nuzzle at his bellybutton. Meanwhile, one of Warrick's hands trailed down his ribs to his hips and then his thighs before sliding underneath.

Nick bent his leg to make it easier for Warrick to insinuate a hand between his buttocks, then made himself relax as Warrick slid a finger inside him. After their initial few times together, Warrick was always careful to fully prepare him--sometimes torturously careful.

Not today, fortunately. After two fingers and some scissoring, Warrick finally took the condom Nick kept trying to shove into his hand. Hearing the sound of the wrapper, Nick then felt Warrick's hands under his knees, urging his legs up. He pulled them as close to his body as he could, and took a deep breath when he felt Warrick nudging against him, seeking entrance.

Once Warrick was in all the way up to his balls, Nick wound his legs around his hips, holding him still for a few moments before they began moving.

"Fuck yeah, Nicky..." was all Nick let Warrick get out before grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling his head up to devour those full lips. As they moved faster, but still in harmony, Nick released Warrick's hair and ran his hands down his back to grip Warrick's ass, urging him on.

Warrick tore his mouth free and pushed himself up, bracing his arms so he could drive harder and deeper.

Nearly every thrust hit that intense bundle of nerves deep inside and made sparks ricochet behind Nick's eyes. "Rick, come on...come on!" That was all he had time to say before the ability for coherent speech completely left him. Arching up against Warrick, Nick used the friction to push himself completely over the edge. Just seconds later, Warrick collapsed on top of him.

Nick stroked Warrick's sweaty back, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal.

After a few minutes, Warrick shifted, slipping free. Nick grabbed a towel to clean himself off, then handed it to Warrick and settled back against his pillow. He closed his eyes, knowing it wouldn't be difficult to go back to sleep now.

He wasn't sure what to make of it when he felt Warrick's arms around him, pulling him close and throwing one leg across both of his. They'd always kept to their own sides of the bed and although they would occasionally wake up with one arm thrown across the other's body, that was it.

Nick certainly didn't mind, though. It was more comforting than he'd ever imagined--not that he'd imagined it too often--but it was also...odd. "Rick? What're you doin'?"

"S'matter?" Warrick murmured, his breath warm against Nick's neck. "You'll be able to sleep like this, won't you?"

He sounded so nonchalant about it that Nick was happy to go along. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Cool," Warrick let his lips rest against Nick's temple.

Nick listened as Warrick's breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep. He knew he should be doing the same. But if he stayed awake for a while longer just to soak up the sensation, that wasn't hurting anything, was it?

On to Part 2