Demonology Part 2

Despite how rough the past six months had been, Greg Sanders rarely regretted his decision to become a CSI. He certainly didn't miss being stuck in the DNA lab.

Except on shifts like this.

It would have been nice to just be able to give the results to a CSI and consider himself out of it. Wendy definitely seemed anxious to do just that when she handed over the results in a rape case he was working with Sara.

Even Sara seemed to balk a little when she read them, but then pursed her lips with a determined expression that never failed to worry Greg.

From the moment the DNA of their suspect in the rape case they had pulled got a hit in CODIS linking it to an unsolved rape years before, Greg had known that Sara was on a mission. Even worse, according to the file from five years ago, the unknown suspect was also wanted in connection with rapes in Arizona and New Mexico. When comparing the files, it had become obvious that the guy was escalating--their current victim had barely survived her attack.

Sara had stepped things up, asking Wendy to run the DNA in every available database in the hopes of some sort of hit and that's what they were holding in their hands right now. The hit was a moderate stringency match, with their suspect having seven alleles in common with a reference sample kept on file to eliminate possible contamination by personnel.

Greg wanted the rapist put behind bars as much as anyone, but as far as he was concerned those results meant it was time to slow down, not charge ahead. Time to go to Grissom, or even Ecklie. He knew that Sara would never willingly discuss a case with Ecklie, but hoped she might go to Grissom with it.

It wasn't like the suspect was the relative of some cop they barely knew or even someone from dayshift.

"He's back from the scene he was working, isn't he?" Sara asked, walking through the hallways and looking into labs as she passed. "I'm pretty sure I saw him."

Hurrying to keep up with her purposeful stride, Greg was overcome by a feeling that was becoming far too familiar--that of being in way over his head. Not with the job, but with his co-workers. "He's probably in his office."

"His office?" Sara paused with a perplexed frown.

"Aren't you looking for Grissom?" Greg asked, hoping she would take the hint.

"Why would I be looking for Grissom?" Sara's frown deepened as she handed him the paper. "Didn't you see the results? Come on."

"Look, shift's almost over. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow night."

"And risk this guy doing it again? No way. Once I have a name, I'm working a double and getting Cavaliere to haul him in. There he is!" she exclaimed, hurrying toward the break room.

What Greg really wanted to do was hurry in the other direction, but he dutifully followed.

With a sense of impending doom.

Sara actually hesitated in the doorway for a minute and Greg had a moment of fleeting hope that she might back out after all.

Then she squared her shoulders and walked in. "Hey."

Her quarry looked up from his paperwork. "Hey."

"I need a name from you."

"Yeah?"

"Your father. I need to contact him."

Warrick appeared dumbstruck. "What?"

"I need to reach your father," Sara reiterated.

"Is this some kind of a joke?" Warrick frowned.

"Absolutely not," Sara's voice was taking on an edge as well.

"Good, because it's not funny." Warrick whipped the papers he'd been working on back into their file and stood up.

"Warrick, I need that name," Sara wasn't giving an inch. "Unless there's a reason you don't want to give it to me."

Greg kept his mouth shut.

"What the hell is this about?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I can't get into that."

"Then we're done here." Warrick grabbed the rest of his things and stalked to the door, the look on his face so dangerous that Sara didn't even try to block him.

Greg watched him disappear down the hallway. "That went better than I expected," he said honestly.

Nick looked over the list of names Dr. Kane had given him with a vague sense of disappointment. He'd been hoping that after making his decision and talking to Kane, he would feel like some sort of weight had been lifted from his shoulders, but instead there was a burgeoning panic at the thought of discussing that with a complete stranger.

The list included several doctors who specialized in "delayed PTSD"--a term Nick knew he was going to be very tired of before very long. According to Kane, Nick would likely have better results one-on-one with a professional that in a support group. That was a suggestion Nick agreed with wholeheartedly. The only thing worse than spilling his guts to a shrink would be spilling his guts to a room full of people.

Folding the list up, Nick put it in with his bills where he'd be sure to come across it in a week or so.

He wasn't avoiding, he assured himself. He'd already taken a step by going to Kane and that was enough for now. After all, that decision had only come after spending most of his night off thinking about it.

Kane hadn't asked about his reasons for finally seeking help, which Nick found reassuring. Although Nick was certain that why he finally decided to deal with this wasn't nearly as important as how hard he worked at it, he knew that others might not see it that way.

The first hint that maybe it would be okay to see someone about this was soon after he and Warrick had it out. He knew how difficult it had been for Warrick to talk about that and his actions afterward. As far as Nick could recall, they never had before, not even in the hospital. If Warrick was willing to level the way he had, then Nick was willing to believe what Warrick was telling him.

Nick's faith in Grissom had been irrevocably damaged by his boss' concealment of Walter Gordon's tape, just as his faith in Catherine had by reverse forensics. His faith in Warrick had been shaken, but never broken and hadn't been difficult to restore. So when Warrick said Nick needed more help than just a friend could provide, Nick trusted that.

What really pushed his decision, though, was the possibility that what was between he and Warrick could become permanent. If there was any chance of that happening, Nick didn't want to risk screwing it up with his own issues.

Ever since Nick's most recent nightmare, Warrick had been more physical, even when sex wasn't on the agenda. Nick would have been happy to return such affection wholeheartedly, but couldn't bring himself to when that tension, anger, darkness, something still lurked deep within him and there was the chance of another outburst. Although the outburst was no longer likely to happen between him and Warrick, wherever it happened, it wouldn't be good for the two of them or for what was between them.

Whatever was between them.

And whatever was between them, it had progressed to the point that if it went down in flames, there would be no salvaging their friendship from the ashes. It had gone too far without either of them really noticing, and there was no backing out now. The only way left to go was forward, and that's exactly what Nick was going to do.

He was just going to do it in his own time.

With a satisfied nod at his desk, Nick headed out to the gym. He spent the rest of the day running errands and taking care of chores and even had enough time for a few extra hours of sleep. He hadn't heard from Warrick that day, but that didn't bother him. They hadn't made any plans together--when one of them had the night off they rarely did--and for all Nick knew Warrick had ended up working a double. He would catch up with Warrick at work.

But when he got to the lab, Nick found out that Warrick had snapped up a solo scene just outside of Caliente and wasn't expected back until morning. He also wasn't answering his phone, according to what Nick heard Greg cautiously telling a very angry Sara.

"I can't believe he'd do this!" Sara sounded astonished and angry. "This is obstruction."

Obstruction? Warrick? Nick decided to find out what was going on and walked into the conference room just as Greg was saying--

"But he doesn't know why we were asking."

"Hey," Nick greeted them. "What's going on?"

"Hey," Greg looked relieved to see him. "Did you talk to Warrick before he went out to his scene?"

"No. Why?"

Greg looked at Sara, who shifted and tucked her hair behind one ear. "Why wouldn't he want to give us his father's name?"

That was probably the last thing Nick expected to hear. "Excuse me?"

Sara's brows drew together. "What's going on here? Is there some sort of secret about Warrick's father?"

This was not going to turn out well, whatever it was. Nick already knew that, and although he didn't want to talk about something that was really Warrick's business, he also couldn't let Sara think Warrick was hiding something. "Sara, he can't tell you who his father is. He's never known."

Sara's mouth fell open and Greg's eyebrows shot up until they disappeared into his bangs. "Oh. My god." She exchanged another look with Greg, then tried unnecessarily to push her hair behind her ear again. "Oh, no."

"What's going on?" Nick asked.

"Umm..." Sara glanced around the room before meeting his eyes. "Y'know, I think I'd better talk to Warrick. First. Before anyone else. Get this straightened out."

Nick nodded his agreement, even though he was itching to know what was going on. Still, whatever it was, Warrick deserved to know about it first.

When he saw Sara's car was still in the parking lot, Warrick was tempted to turn around and drive back to Caliente. He'd hoped after three hours overtime that most of graveyard would have been cleared out, but he should have known better. Sara wasn't going to let go of something she wanted to know so easily.

It wasn't that Warrick had minded the question so much as he'd been caught off guard by it. The question itself hadn't pissed him off--much. What had was that Sara had actually looked suspicious when he hadn't answered immediately--as though she automatically assumed he was hiding something.

Warrick had put any issues about his father--or lack thereof--to rest many years ago. Growing up, it wasn't that big a deal. He was teased for his eyes and his bookishness, but his parental situation wasn't an uncommon one in the neighborhood. It was only when he got older that people seemed to find it unusual.

Might as well get this over with. Warrick gathered up the evidence bags and walked into the lab. He was curious why Sara needed to know at all, but at the time, his irritation had outweighed his curiosity.

He didn't see Sara as he made his was to the evidence locker, so he began logging everything he'd brought back from his scene.

"Hey."

Warrick looked up and saw Sara standing in the doorway. "Hey."

"I wanted to clear up what happened yesterday," Sara said as she walked in.

She was much calmer than Warrick had expected, so he decided to meet her halfway. "Yeah, I might have been a little defensive."

"It's okay," Sara assured him quickly. "I didn't realize you couldn't tell me. I just thought you wouldn't."

So she knew now. That was fine by him. Even if it wasn't that big a deal for him, he still didn't like having to tell people. He did wonder, though--"Who told you?"

"Nick. He overheard me talking to Greg and I was getting...well..."

Warrick nodded. He knew how Sara could get.

"Anyway, he didn't want me to think you were hiding anything, so he told me."

"Oh. Okay." Wasn't like it was a secret. "Why did you want to know?"

Sara's eyes went to the evidence on the table, and she straightened some of the bindles. "We got a hit in the reference samples--DNA from...from a case Greg and I are working."

"Oh." Warrick's world shifted slightly. He had assumed this all had something to do with paperwork, not DNA, not anything so real. He'd ceased thinking of his father as an actual person years ago and to be presented with hard evidence of his existence was jarring. "Which case?"

Sara stared at him in silence. There seemed to sympathy in her expression along with a myriad of other things Warrick couldn't identify. "Yeah, uh...Warrick, this is kind of a weird situation. Unless we manage to identify him, I don't know if it's a good idea to..."

Now he was really wondering. "So this is part of a case."

"An ongoing case. Jeez, Warrick, I...I'm not sure what to do here..."

Warrick knew it couldn't be easy for Sara to admit that. He'd gone his whole life without knowing anything about his father, did he really need to learn now? This very moment? A big part of him wanted to drop the whole thing and never mention it again, even once the case was closed. "Hey, don't worry about it. If you can't say, that's cool." And it would be cool, just as soon as he put it back in that little box where it belonged.

Sara gave him a long, searching look before she nodded. "Okay. I just wanted to--so we're good?"

"We're good."

"Okay. Okay, good."

Warrick watched her leave before going back to logging his evidence. By concentrating entirely on the case as he worked, he was able to finish without thinking about this new development.

Much.

It was nearly noon before he finally left the lab, and he briefly debated going to Nick's. He's probably sleeping by this time.

After sitting in his jeep for a few minutes, Warrick got out his cell and dialed Nick's number.

It was answered on the first ring. "Rick?"

"Whoa. What? You waiting by the phone now?" he teased.

"Well, I knew Sara wanted to talk to you and I was...well..."

Worried. Warrick knew that was it, even though Nick would never say so. "Everything's fine. I was just calling to check if you were still awake."

"You coming over?"

"I was, yeah. That okay?"

"'Course. I stopped by Siempre on my home. Felt like having their chorizo. There's some left if you want."

"Hell, yeah," his stomach started growling at the thought. "I'll be there in a few."

Warrick hung up and started his vehicle. It was about ten minute more from the lab to Nick's than to his place, but Warrick knew he would have driven three times that.

Rarely did Warrick think about what was going on between them. He was just glad he no longer felt like his loyalties were being divided. That had probably been a major contribution to the failure of his marriage, even though he hadn't been able to see it at the time. He'd thought that spending less time with Nick and concentrating more on Tina would help, but it had actually had the opposite effect.

"It's open!" Nick called in response to his knock.

Nick was just coming out of the bathroom, clad only in a robe and toweling his hair. It was a sight guaranteed to improve Warrick's mood.

"I just jumped into the shower after you called," Nick explained. "I didn't get the chance before."

"So you were waiting by the phone." Warrick used the robe's belt to pull Nick in for a quick, hard kiss.

Laughing, Nick freed himself, then went back to drying his hair. "I knew Sara would be talking to you. That, and I didn't know how you'd feel about me telling her--"

"Nah, don't worry about that." Warrick found the leftovers and popped them in the microwave. "If Sara was on a roll, it was probably the best thing to do."

Nick didn't say anything else until Warrick had his plate and was sitting at the dining table. Then he sat at one of the stools at the breakfast counter and draped the towel around his neck.

Warrick could feel the dark eyes on him as he dug into his eggs. "What?" he asked around a mouthful.

"You okay? What happened?"

"Yeah. We cleared the air. No problem."

"Warrick," Nick frowned. "What about your father?"

"What about him?" Warrick returned. "I don't know anything about him, and neither does Sara. If she had, she wouldn't have been bugging me."

"Didn't she say why she wanted to know?"

"She didn't want to. Ongoing case." He took a swig of soda and saw Nick was still watching him with concern. "What?"

"That's it, then?"

Warrick sighed. "What else do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Something."

"Okay. How about I don't give a shit if I ever find out or not?"

"Warrick..."

"Look, I know it's hard for you to believe, but it's really not a big deal. You always had your dad around so you can't imagine being raised without one. I never had a father around, so I can't--" Warrick laughed, because this much was definitely true, "--I can't imagine anyone but Gran raising me."

"Well, she did a good job," Nick said quietly.

Warrick looked at him. It was hard to tell if the flush to Nick's skin was leftover from the hot shower or due to something else. "Thanks. She worked hard at it. But that's life." He hoped Nick would get the hint.

He seemed to, maintaining his silence until Warrick finished eating and brought his empty plates to the kitchen. Then--"I went to see Dr. Kane yesterday."

"What?" If it was about what Warrick thought it was, then this was pretty major. He leaned on the counter across from Nick.

"Yeah. I decided to...maybe...start seeing someone."

"What did Kane say?"

"He gave me the names of some shrinks who specialize in delayed post-traumatic stress disorder. He thinks that what I'm exhibiting signs of."

Nick didn't sound like he believed it, so Warrick didn't say that he wholeheartedly agreed with Kane's assessment. "What're you going to do?"

"I'll give a couple of them a call, I guess," Nick obviously was not enthusiastic about the prospect.

Even if he dragged his feet about it, though, Warrick was relieved to know he was doing something. Although Nick had been more his old self these past few weeks, Warrick knew by now that that could change at any time. "Are you going to--"

Nick shifted on his stool. "I don't know about anything else yet."

In other words, he wanted the subject dropped. Warrick decided that was fair. "I just have one more question," he said as he moved around the counter to stand next to Nick's stool.

"What?" Nick sighed.

"Whatcha got on under the robe, Nicky?" he grinned, reaching for the belt again.

Nick returned the grin with a wicked one of his own. "Why don't you check and see?"

Three murder scenes, two of them very messy and one a double, meant that everyone was teamed up that night. Warrick never minded being paired with Greg, but he was glad and a bit relieved to be working with him tonight. Working with Sara would have been painfully awkward and Warrick knew that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't have been able to stop thinking about the DNA.

Working with Nick would have been fine, but he was glad Nick was working with Catherine while he was in good spirits and on a more even keel. It was a chance for things to improve between them. Warrick hoped so, because although Nick never talked about it, Warrick knew he missed the warm friendship he used to share with Catherine.

It was soon evident to Warrick that although it was very messy, the scene he and Greg had drawn was also fairly straightforward. Still, they'd be spending several hours in the urine-soaked alley off Sierra Vista where a man had been bludgeoned to death.

The body was still next to the dumpster where it had fallen when the police had apprehended the woman who had been trying to hoist it in. Not a big mystery, considering the woman was wild-eyed and covered in blood. She was definitely strung out on something, and Warrick thought it was most likely meth. They couldn't get anything coherent out of her at the scene, so Warrick let the officers haul her away with instructions to bag her clothes and send them to the lab.

Then Warrick pulled rank and sent Greg into the dumpster while he photographed the rest of their scene. He wasn't sure how Greg would be about working in an alley nearly identical to the one they'd found him in and figured he would be better off annoyed with Warrick than thinking too much about his surroundings. Ever since talking to Nick about how much the kidnaping still affected him, Warrick had been watching the Texan for things that could trigger bad memories, and some of that concern seemed to be extending to Greg as well.

That, and who the hell wanted to root around a funky dumpster if they didn't have too?

"Tire iron," Greg's voice echoed up from inside. Then a rumpled head popped over the edge. "Blood and hair on it." He held out the iron and shone his mag on it.

Warrick snapped open a large paper bag and walked over to collect it, taking a moment to inspect the likely weapon. Blood gleamed wetly in the light of Greg's mag and Warrick could make out what appeared to be brain matter and slivers of bones amidst bits of rotten food. "Oh, yeah. Plenty on there for a match."

"So I can get out of here now?"

"You find everything?" Warrick asked as he sealed the bag.

With an aggravated sigh, Greg disappeared again. About a half-hour later, he finally climbed out. "Okay, I don't think there's anything left to find in there."

"I finished photographing and the sketch, so we just have the processing. You want to take the right?"

"Sure. Just let me lose the jumpsuit."

As they worked, Warrick noticed that Greg kept glancing in his direction. He couldn't help wondering if Greg was feeling nervous and wanted to make sure someone was nearby. There were three uniforms still on the scene and two high-powered lamps were flooding the alley with light, but if it made Greg feel better to know where he was, so be it.

They made good time, considering what the scene was, and were back at the lab with several hours remaining in their shift. If they didn't get called to another scene, they would be able to put most of the case to bed and still have time left over.

It wasn't until they had finished logging the evidence and began collecting samples to send to Wendy that Warrick realized Greg was still watching him. So it wasn't about the alley, after all. He was about to ask what was wrong, but Greg beat him to it.

"Sara said she talked to you about our rape case."

Warrick shook his head, figuring it must have slipped her mind with everything else that had been going on. "No, what about it?"

Greg frowned, obviously confused. "She said you guys had cleared things up."

"We did. What's that got to do with--" Oh. Suddenly everything clicked into place. A rape case. Male DNA in a rape case. That pointed in only one direction. It certainly explained why Sara had been so determined to get a name from him initially and why she hadn't wanted to tell him about the case later. "He's your suspect."

"Oh, shit," Greg swallowed hard. "I thought you were dealing a little too well."

Warrick felt his lips twist into a parody of a smile. "I'm dealing. Fill me in on the case. Was it spousal--no." It couldn't have been. If the suspect had been known, Sara never would have needed a name from him. "The victim didn't know who attacked her." Random or a stalker--those were always worse.

"Warrick, maybe--"

"Greg," Warrick straightened to his full height and stared the younger man down. "The case."

Greg glanced at the doorway. Warrick couldn't tell if he was hoping for rescue or judging his chances for escape.

Warrick could tell it this was even worse than the usual rape case--if there was such a thing. "How bad is it?"

Greg gave the door one last look, then met Warrick's eyes briefly before fastening his gaze on the table. "The first time we ran the DNA through CODIS, we got a hit on a suspect in a rape from five years ago. When we dug deeper, we found that he was also wanted for the same thing in two other states."

"Serial." Warrick barely got the word past the dryness of his mouth.

Greg cleared his throat. "There were signs that he was escalating and that's when Sara had Wendy run it in every database she could access."

Warrick rubbed his eyes as he tried to absorb what Greg was telling him. A rapist. A serial rapist. An escalating serial rapist.

The few occasions that Warrick had allowed himself to speculate about his father, he'd tried to be realistic about it. He'd never imagined a hero, but he'd never imagined anything like this either. Christ, no wonder Sara had been so fired up about this case.

"Warrick?" Greg sounded almost timid.

Warrick shook himself mentally. He hadn't thought about his father--and suddenly Warrick couldn't even stand the term father anymore--in years, and this was no time to start obsessing. "Okay, you get those samples to Wendy. I'm gonna see if Doc Robbins has posted our vic yet."

He tried to keep his mind off it with work again, but it didn't work nearly as well this time. In the morgue, in the trace lab, checking in with Grissom, in the locker room, it kept prowling through his thoughts.

His father was a rapist.

One time it didn't intrude was when he met up with Nick for a few minutes. That was a good sign, so Warrick was even happier than usual to agree to meet at Nick's for breakfast--hopefully being with Nick would help keep his mind off it.

And it did. At least most of the time. Which was surprising because Nick knew something was bothering him and kept trying to find out what was wrong. It actually helped, because Warrick's mind was occupied with trying to divert the subject and keep Nick from finding out what was going on.

Warrick knew Nick would find out eventually. Warrick planned on being the one to tell him. Just not today. Not until he'd had the chance to wrap his own head around it.

Sighing, he took his coffee and moved from the dining table to the sofa. He noticed Nick watching him with concern and mustered up a smile. Nick crooked a half-smile at him in return, obviously not completely convinced, but not calling him on it, either.

"I'm just gonna grab another cup," Nick said. "You want some more?"

"Nah, I'm good." Warrick set his coffee aside before leaning back and closing his eyes.

His father was a serial rapist.

Warrick didn't know if he'd ever be able to believe that. How in the world did his mother ever get involved with--oh.

Oh, Jesus, no.

His guts twisted inside out and he barely made it to the bathroom before he lost his breakfast.

"Rick?"

Warrick could hear Nick approaching and straightened enough to shut the door before another wave of nausea swept over him. When there was finally nothing left in his stomach, he flushed the toilet and moved to the sink.

"Warrick, are you okay?"

He knew by Nick's voice that it would only be a minute before the Texan came in. "Yeah, I'll be out in a sec," he called before bending to splash cold water on his face.

It wasn't possible. That was something the neighborhood would have talked about. That was something he would have heard.

"Warrick."

After drying his face and rinsing out his mouth one last time, Warrick finally left the bathroom.

"How you doin'?" Nick met him just outside the door.

"I'm okay," Warrick said, then to explain the hoarse croak in his voice--"I must have caught some sort of bug."

Nick had taken his arm and was steering him toward a chair. "I'll see if I've got anything for it, and then you can crash."

Warrick deftly side-stepped and continued on to the door. His only goal now was getting the hell out of there. "Nah, man, I think I'd better go home."

"Warrick, you can stay here. It's no problem."

"It will be if you catch whatever I've got." His hand was on the door knob. Almost there. "I'll call you later." And he was out. He walked quickly to his jeep, glancing once at Nick standing in the doorway, worry evident on his face. He waved to Nick before getting in, but no longer had the wherewithal for even the tiniest smile.

After not hearing from Warrick all day, Nick expected him to call in sick to work. The stomach flu was not something you wanted around a crime scene--if that's what was wrong with him.

Warrick was already at work, looking like hell, when Nick arrived. Questions about how he was went nowhere. In fact, Warrick barely spoke two words to anyone that wasn't directly related to work. Then he left the minute shift was over, still without speaking.

Grissom and Catherine seemed to assume Warrick was just having a bad day, but Sara looked a bit worried and Greg looked...guilty. So it was Greg Nick went to, asking if anything had happened during the previous night's shift.

Although obviously torn about it, Greg finally told Nick what he had inadvertently told Warrick. It was possibly the last thing Nick ever expected to hear, but it certainly explained Warrick's behavior. Nick didn't know yet how he was going to handle it, but he at least needed to let Warrick know he was there for him.

After doing his best to reassure Greg that Warrick wouldn't be angry at him, Nick went home. He'd originally planned to go straight to Warrick's, but decided it would be better to give him more time--after all, Warrick had only known for twenty-four hours. Instead, he called and left Warrick a message letting him know and telling him to call if he needed anything.

But the next night at work, it was the same thing. Warrick didn't look any worse, but he spoke even less, which Nick wouldn't have thought possible until he saw it. Again, Warrick went home right after work, but this time Nick followed.

Seeing Warrick's jeep in its spot, Nick pulled into a visitor spot and went up to Warrick's unit. He knocked twice, then listened. There was the sound of someone moving inside, even though no one came to the door. "Rick?" he knocked again. "Warrick, it's me."

After a few seconds, the door opened. "What are the odds of you turning around a going home?"

"Pretty much zip," Nick refused to be discouraged.

It worked. Warrick stood aside to let him in. "What do you want?" he asked after he closed the door behind them.

"How you doin'?"

"I'm fine," Warrick's hand was still on the doorknob. He looked ready to usher Nick back out at any moment. "That all you wanted to know?"

"Rick, look, I know--"

"No. You don't."

Nick reminded himself to be patient. "Not how you feel. I wasn't going to say that. Just that I know this must be--" What? Rough? A shock? Strange? They all sounded trite and pretty stupid. "You're right. I don't really know at all. But I want to help, if I can."

"How?"

"I don't know. However I can."

"You can't. Nothing to do about it."

"No, but you need to--"

"What? I need to...One visit to Kane and you're gonna fix everybody?"

That stung, especially since visiting Kane had more or less been Warrick's suggestion, but Nick tried to keep his temper in check. "Rick, I just want to help. It's not gonna be good for you to let things just--"

"What is this?" Warrick demanded. "Some sort of payback for the way I was on you about getting out of line?"

It was getting really hard to stay calm. "You know that's not true." But now that Warrick had mentioned it--"Why was it okay for you to come to my place and give me crap until I spilled my guts, but when I--"

"Oh, is that what I was doing? Giving you crap?"

"No. You were trying to help," Nick replied, hoping Warrick got the point.

He did. Sort of. "Except I don't need help."

"Like hell."

"Hey, I'm not attacking suspects. I'm not biting co-workers' heads off."

"What the hell do you call this?" Nick gestured around them.

"This is different," Warrick moved as close as he could get without actually touching. "You know that."

Nick's body never failed to react when Warrick's voice dropped to that low purr, and he struggled to maintain his composure. "Rick, we're not done talking."

"Wanna bet?" Moving swiftly, Warrick pinned him against the wall and brought his mouth down in a crushing kiss.

Nick had started kissing him back before he remembered. With a great effort, he tore his mouth away. "I thought you said you didn't want any more fighting beforehand."

"So who's fighting?"

Warrick knew damn well what he meant, and Nick was about to say so, but then Warrick's lips found that spot just below his ear and at the same time, Warrick's hands found their way under his polo and Nick couldn't quite remember what his point was. Almost instinctively, he sought the hem of Warrick's t-shirt, sliding it up and seeking out Warrick's nipples.

That made Warrick growl against his throat before moving away just enough to yank Nick's shirt up and off. Before Nick had the chance to return the favor, Warrick's fingers were already deftly working on his belt and jeans. Nick left him to it, but grabbed a handful of Warrick's hair to keep that mouth close enough to latch onto.

Warrick plunged his tongue into Nick's mouth just as he freed Nick's erection. When he felt Warrick's hand around him, stroking him, Nick began sucking frantically on Warrick's lips, his tongue, the skin of his throat, anything he could reach. Sliding the other arm around Nick's waist, Warrick maneuvered him toward the love seat nearest the door, pushing Nick's jeans down to his knees as they went.

Nick didn't care that he was only half-undressed when Warrick turned him to bend over the arm. Nor did he care that Warrick wasn't undressed at all when he heard the sound of a zipper, then a condom wrapper behind him. At some point Warrick's seething emotions had inflamed him as well, and now all he wanted was release. "Come on, dammit!" he growled.

Almost immediately, he felt Warrick's cock probing between his cheeks, and braced himself against the love seat. Nick knew Warrick was trying to go slow to make up for the lack of lube, and also knew that today Warrick wanted just the opposite. Warrick wanted it fast and rough and nasty to echo the mood he was in.

So did Nick, and he pushed back, impaling himself on Warrick's cock in a single movement and letting out a yelp at the sudden burning. But in the next moment, Warrick's length was sliding along his prostate and any discomfort vanished. Warrick was gripping his hips hard enough that Nick would have bruises the next day, but that hardly mattered when every stroke slid against that magic gland and shook another moan from him.

Nick didn't need Warrick's hand to help him this time. He grasped himself, coming faster and harder than he had since they'd started together. Either his incoherent vocalizations or the shudders that wracked his body or both soon pushed Warrick to completion as well.

The arm of the love seat was digging into his stomach, and his ass was going to be sore for days, but Nick could have cared less as he let his upper body fall against the cushions. He let out a hiss of pain even though Warrick withdrew carefully. "Nick..." Warrick's voice was ragged.

Nick felt fingers between his buttocks and realized what Warrick was checking for. "I'm okay," he said, and instead of crawling onto the love seat to relax like he wanted to, he stood up. "I'm a little sore, but nothing major." He turned around as saw Warrick, still fully dressed, staring at him with a stricken expression.

"Oh, Jesus, Nick...I'm sorry..."

Nick knew in an instant what Warrick was thinking. "No. Rick, no."

"I'm so sorry...I didn't--"

"Warrick, listen to me," Nick said, as forcefully as he knew how. "No, no, no. You hear that?"

Warrick nodded mutely.

"You didn't hear it before, so don't."

Warrick nodded again, but Nick doubted it sank in. "I...uh...I gotta go..." Warrick muttered, fastening his jeans.

"What?" Nick quickly began setting his clothes to rights as well. "Rick, you live here."

"I just can't...not right now, Nicky..."

He looked so miserable that Nick couldn't bring himself to push the subject further. "Okay. Okay, I can go. I'll see you ton--"

"No, you can stay. Why should you--I'll go."

Before Nick could protest, Warrick was out the door. Nick knew there was no point in following, so after tidying up, he left and returned home.

Warrick spent the rest of the day doing something he hadn't done since before he was married. He just wandered through the city, prowling in and out of stores, hotels, casinos and bars without stopping and without any particular destination. It was still midmorning and most of the city was moving slowly--for Vegas. The partiers were headed home and the tourists weren't out in full force yet. Most of the people moving around were Vegas natives going to and from work. He stayed off the Strip, sticking to Fremont and the older, slightly seedier part of town.

It was where he felt he belonged right now.

He knew, logically, that he hadn't really hurt Nick. He certainly hadn't raped Nick--something that Nick tried to make perfectly clear--but none of it meant a damn thing at the moment.

The scientist in him coolly debated which characteristics might possibly be passed on genetically while the rest of him tried to recall if there was ever a time he'd forced or coerced another person into having sex with him. He didn't think so. Once he'd passed the awkwardness of puberty, it had never taken that much effort on his part. That had been a matter of pride with him--after spending most of high school ignored or teased, much of Warrick's turn-on was about women--or, once he started college, men--pursuing him, and he'd learned every trick toward that end.

Except Nick, who he'd never really pursued or been pursued by, but whom he wanted more than anyone in memory. That was the person he got rough with.

So was that nature or nurture?

His phone vibrated and Warrick flipped it open to see a text message.

Back at my place. You can go home now. N.

He sighed and put it back in his pocket. He'd made an ass of himself by running out of his own apartment, but he knew if he'd stayed, Nick would have tried to talk to him about this again.

Nick seemed to think that their situations were somehow comparable, but to Warrick, his situation was as far from Nick's as a situation could get. Nick had been buried alive and nearly suffocated, while in Warrick's case, nothing had actually happened to him. There was just no comparison.

Besides, what the hell was there to talk about? Right now Nick knew as much about his father as he did. So did Sara and Greg, for that matter.

Nick was just starting to work on his own problems and didn't need to deal with all the questions that kept going through Warrick's mind. Especially since none of those questions could ever really be answered.

The worst one still swamped him with nausea. Had his mother been raped? Was that the reason she'd never mentioned his father? Because she hadn't known who he was? Warrick had gone through all the memories he had of his mother for some sign that he had ever been anything to her other than the most important thing in her life. He couldn't recall any whispered secrets or strange looks that his child's mind wouldn't have been able to comprehend at the time.

Of course, he'd only been seven when she died, so who knows what he might have learned as he'd gotten older. And at seven, what would he have known about it? His biggest concern at that time had been that the other kids constantly teased him about being a nerd because he always carried at least one book with him. His mother had managed to fix that, though. She had just gone back to school herself the year before and made the biggest fuss about the two of them going to school together, dropping him off at his elementary school before catching a bus to her college. All the taunts from classmates were forgotten when he and his mom would sit down at the kitchen table to do their homework together.

That just didn't seem like a woman who had conflicting emotions about her child.

And Gran had been strict, sure, but would she really have made his mother keep a baby conceived under such circumstances? But then, those were very different times. Maybe they hadn't really had a choice.

Then another memory surfaced--about a conversation between his grandmother and one of her cronies, Angeline Seldon. They had been talking about a young woman who had terminated her pregnancy and Angeline had been saying something about how she shouldn't be allowed in the church. His grandmother had simply said, "Judge not." Sixteen at the time, Warrick had been surprised to hear such a view from his grandmother.

Was that a sign that she wouldn't have made his mother if she hadn't wanted to, or did it mean that she understood because she'd gone through such an experience with his mother?

Gran had certainly left no doubt as to how she felt about him. Whenever she'd referred to her "work-in-progress," it had always been with pride in her voice.

But why hadn't they ever mentioned his father?

The really lousy thing was that he knew, he knew that none of it changed who he was now. He was 37 years old and his character had long since been formed. Obsessing over who or what his father had been wouldn't change a damn thing.

That didn't keep him from wondering.

After hours of just roaming around Fremont, Warrick decided he'd better go home and get some sleep before work. It took him another hour to ramble back to where he'd parked, mostly because he'd stopped for a burger along the way.

I really gotta start working out again, he thought as he finished eating.

That's it, he snorted softly. Think about anything except what's going on.

Nick set his cordless back in its nest and stared at the time and address scrawled on the notepad. Then he sighed and moved to the couch. So there it was. Next week at this time he'd be in Dr. Lyndon Demarest's office, spilling his guts. He wasn't looking forward to it, but was determined to keep the appointment.

This decision to take yet another step came a few days after the argument about how Warrick was taking the discovery of his father. Since then Nick had only seen Warrick at work, so he hadn't had the chance to talk much, but Warrick seemed to be handling it better. At the very least he looked like he was getting enough sleep.

Court, first a day for Nick, then two for Warrick, meant that there just wasn't time for them to meet up, so Nick had no way of knowing if Warrick was just maintaining his poker face at work. Certainly Warrick was quieter than usual, but other than that, not much was different. Nick didn't feel right about bringing it up when Warrick's work wasn't being affected--at least not in the way Nick's issues had affected his.

Maybe he had been trying to turn the tables, just like Warrick said. Maybe he was so interested in Warrick's situation because it was easier than dealing with his own. After all, he'd had two years to deal with his problems, but still hadn't. Warrick had barely had a week to deal with such a huge shock. Maybe he just needed to lay off and let his friend adjust.

Maybe Nick needed to handle his own business instead of worrying so much about Warrick's.

That was the thought that prompted Nick to get out the list of names Dr. Kane had given him. Dr. Demarest was the fifth name on the list, and one of the reasons Nick chose him was because he'd suggested a sort of interview to determine whether they'd be suited as doctor and patient instead of trying to convince Nick he was the only one who could help. The first four doctors he'd phoned seemed to do their best to give Nick that impression.

Two of the therapists had stressed a holistic approach, which Nick doubted would work for him, while another had heard about his kidnaping and was eager to work with him. A little too eager for Nick's liking. He did experiments, he didn't want to end up someone else's. There were a few more names on the list, but Nick decided to wait and see how things went with Demarest. If it didn't work out, then at least he had more options.

Nick gave himself a mental shake. No more thinking about it until next week. He got up and got ready to go to the gym. A good workout was what he needed to take his mind off this.

And Warrick.

It wasn't until he got home from work that the most important thing about this whole mess finally hit Warrick.

He had spent two days on a bench outside of a courtroom waiting to testify. It would have been the ultimate irony if the trial had been a rape case, but it wasn't. It was a very messy double shooting and the defense was taking much more time-cross examining each witness that the prosecution had ever expected, which led to the two days of waiting. There was only so much work he could bring along, so most of the time he had nothing to do but think. That was the last thing he wanted to be doing right now.

He tried to keep his thoughts focused on work. Even trying to figure out just what was going on between he and Nick would have been preferable. Inevitably, though, his thoughts would focus again on his father. On whom his father was. On what his father was.

Once he finally got to testify, he only had time to go home for a quick nap and a meal before heading back for his usual shift. That night he managed to bring down a guy for vehicular manslaughter. The real satisfaction was that the punk had two rape charges that he'd manage to get out of, but there was too much evidence for him to slither out of a prison sentence this time.

It had been four days since he and Nick had been together and more than anything, Warrick wanted to see him again. What he didn't want to do was fight any more and he knew that was the most likely outcome, considering where his mind was at.

So he went home after shift without talking to Nick and still feeling unsettled. Once he got inside, he realized what had been nagging at him.

For the past few days, all he'd thought about was his father. About whether there was a chance of him inheriting some sort of inclination to criminal behavior. About whether his mother had been raped and what he might have really meant to her. Even about what other people would think if they found out.

He'd been so worried about how the case affected him that he'd forgotten the most important thing.

There was a serial rapist on the loose.

A serial rapist was out there. By all accounts his crimes were escalating. Warrick was the only link to his identity. It didn't matter if this man had contributed half of his genetic make-up. It didn't matter that it was actually Sara's case. It didn't matter that Warrick still had dozens of questions.

There was a rapist on the loose and it was Warrick's job to help put people like that away. Other than a random DNA hit, Warrick knew he was the mostly likely lead they had to finding the guy.

He'd never before tried to find out anything about his father. Looking back, he could only suppose he'd never felt there was a reason. Now he had a reason--a damn good one.

So where did he start? He had to find out for certain if his mother had been raped. Who would know about something like that besides his mother and grandmother? Most of his Gran's closest friends had passed away as well--the few friends still living wouldn't have been close enough to know.

A memory stirred. His godmother. Not his Aunt Bertha, but someone else. He remembered hearing one time that his mother had wanted her best friend as his godmother, but she was moving out-of-state, so Bertha had been asked instead. She had moved back to Vegas not long before his mother died.

What was her name?

Warrick went out to the storage closet off his balcony and found the box of mementos he had of his mother. He spotted a pale blue book and pulled it out, flipping through pages filled with his mother's rounded handwriting. He turned to the family tree page, not really expecting to see his father's name there when it hadn't been on his birth certificate. It wasn't in the book, although his mother's side was filled out up to his great-grandparents. The box for father was filled out, however.

N/A.

It wasn't left blank. It didn't say unknown. It said N/A.

That struck Warrick as odd and he filed the information away for later.

In the section for "Gifts," the first entry was for the baby book itself along with a mobile and crib set from "Aunty Judith."

Judith. Judith...Leslie.

She might not even live in Vegas anymore. She might have a different name. It was a long shot, but it was also the only shot Warrick had.

He went to his laptop and looked up the name "Judith Leslie" in Las Vegas. He got two Judy Leslies and one Judith. Taking a deep breath, he dialed her number, then hung up when he realized he had no idea what to say. He took a few moments to compose himself and dialed again, then waited for her machine. "Ms. Leslie," he said after the beep. "My name is Warrick Brown and I'm trying to contact any friends of my mother, Lena Brown. I came across your name and--"

Suddenly the phone was picked up. "Hello?"

"Ms. Leslie?" Warrick was thrown off balance.

"Yes. This is Warrick? Lena's son?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good Lord. It's been...what? Thirty years since your mother passed?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What...what can I do for you, Warrick?"

Warrick thought he'd planned what he was going to say, but found himself floundering. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about my Mom. You were around when she had me, weren't you?"

"Yes, for the first few months, but I had received a scholarship to CalState and only moved back to Vegas a few months before she passed."

"Ms. Leslie--"

"Judith."

"Judith," he amended. God he hated having to ask this. "Would you know anything about my father?"

There was a long silence. "Don't you?"

Warrick tried not to grit his teeth. "No, ma'am."

"So she probably never told your grandmother."

Warrick had to remind himself to breathe. "Told her what?"

"Who he was."

Warrick sat down hard. "You...you know?"

"Well...Lena never said for sure, but I always figured...Warrick, I'm not sure I want to get into this..."

This is a lead. It's a case. This is a lead in a case. "Ms. Les--Judith, it's very important I talk to you about this as soon as possible. Can I meet you somewhere?"

"Now?" she sounded uncertain.

"As soon as possible," he repeated.

"I don't know..."

He had to pull out his last card. "I work for the Las Vegas Crime Lab. It's part of an investigation."

Another long silence, then--"I don't have much more than an hour before I go to work. Can you meet me at the Boyar Café in the Romanov? I can be there in about twenty minutes."

"I'm on my way," Warrick promised, and hung up.

Warrick ordered a cup of French Roast, but declined the pastry menu offered by the perky waitress. His mouth was too dry for him to choke down anything other than coffee. He scanned the café as he tried to collect his scattered thoughts and calm his hammering heart.

From the moment he took out the box of his mother's things until he sat down at in the café, Warrick hadn't allowed himself to think about anything except working the case. All that he had focused on was finding a source of information. He thought that would be the most difficult part.

He tried to tell himself that he had nothing to lose. After all, it wasn't like things could get any worse.

He hoped.

Today--in just a few minutes--he might learn the answers to questions that he'd wondered about in childhood and eventually left behind him. Questions that had begun to plague his every waking minute for the last several days. He was finally going to find out his father's name after 37 years, only to try to put him in jail.

What sort of man did that make him?

"Warrick Brown?"

Warrick stood when he saw the smartly dressed woman standing by his table. "Judith Leslie." He held out his hand.

"I recognized those eyes of yours," Judith smiled as she shook his hand. "You were the prettiest baby."

Oddly, the first thing that popped into Warrick's mind was that Nick would laugh his ass off if he heard that. It helped him return her smile as they both took their seats.

The perky waitress was there instantly and served Warrick his coffee. "Your usual, Ms. Leslie?" she asked anxiously.

"Thank you, Marni."

"You must be a regular," Warrick commented, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Or a manager," Judith replied.

"Of the café?"

"Of food services for the Romanov."

"That would explain why Marni was quaking in her boots." Now that the time had come, Warrick found himself casting around for something else to talk about.

"I'm glad to meet you again, but I'm sorry it's not under better circumstances." Judith paused when Marni brought her coffee. "You said this was part of an investigation?"

"Yes, ma'am. I work for the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and although I can't discuss any details of the case--" Jesus, how the hell was he going to explain without giving away any confidential information? Warrick ran a hand absently over his chin as he tried to think of some way to explain.

"You don't need to make an excuse for wanting to know who your father is."

Warrick nodded. Let her think it was an excuse. "I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice."

"Well, on the phone you said as soon as possible, and you sounded..." Judith's sentence trailed off and she studied him.

"There is some urgency involved."

"You have to understand that Lena never actually told me. This is just based on what was going on at the time. I'm pretty sure, though, because Lena didn't run around."

Warrick stared into the dark depths of his coffee. "Would you know if..." How the hell could he ask this? "If she was..." He couldn't, and merely shook his head.

Judith was staring at him now. "If she was what?"

A case. It's a case. It's a case. It's a case. "Assaulted."

He risked a glance up. Judith was frowning, but then suddenly her eyes widened. "You mean...you think that's why no one ever told you--" She reached across to touch his hand fleetingly before drawing back. "I can't imagine...if something that bad had happened to her I'm sure I would have--of course, it's always possible, but I'm sure I would have noticed. Even if Lena didn't tell me, I would have noticed something."

Warrick felt a knot in his chest loosen. It wasn't definite, but then nothing about this was. At least this was something.

"No. No, those eyes of yours are so much like Anthony's that it can't be a coincidence."

"Anthony?"

"Anthony Tyndall. He was a few years older than we were and one good-looking man. Lena was head over heels for him even though he wandered--a lot. He always came back to her, though, and she always took him back. She was heartbroken when he was killed in that car accident."

And the knot was back again. If Anthony Tyndall was dead, then--"He can't be my father."

"I know, he died at least a year before you were born. I just wanted to explain how--" Judith sighed and her gaze turned distant. "After Anthony died, his family was devastated, Lena was devastated and she spent a lot of time with them. Especially with Earle. Anthony's brother," she clarified before Warrick could ask.

Warrick nodded, beginning to understand where this was going.

"It only lasted a few months before Lena broke it off--she never would have had anything to do with Earle if Anthony had lived. Anthony might have been a dog, but Earle was...bad. Everyone could tell he had nothing but trouble in his future." Judith paused to study Warrick again. "You don't look a thing like Earle, but you sure look like you're from the same family as Anthony. I always supposed Lena just didn't want you to have anything to do with Earle. Lord knows your grandma didn't have any use for him."

"When my mother broke it off with him, how did he take it? Do you remember?"

"Mmm...not really. He took off not long after--L.A., I think. I don't think I saw him more than once or twice after that." She looked intently into Warrick's eyes. "Your mother and grandmother did what they thought was best for you. That I know for sure."

Warrick was able to hold her gaze as he said, "I never doubted that for a minute."

"Are you going to try to contact--" Judith stopped and shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

" I'm not sure what I'm going to do," he said honestly.

Nick was changing his boots before heading out to his assigned crime scene when Sara caught up with him. "Nick, can you take this solo?"

They had been assigned to a drowning in Arden. "Sure. What's up?"

"I just got a break in an open case. Grissom should be able to give you a hand if you need it."

"Nah, I should be fine." He couldn't help noticing that Sara didn't look nearly as jazzed as she usually did when she got a major break. "Something wrong?"

Sara moved closer. "It's a rape case. The DNA--"

Nick winced. "Warrick's father?"

"Yeah. We've finally got a name."

Oh, God. "Does Warrick know?"

"He gave me the name."

"What?!"

Sara nodded, her expression somber. "He tracked me down before shift started and told me the name. Said it wasn't 100%, but was as close as he could get."

"How did he find out?" Nick was still trying to process the news.

"He didn't say. He just told me that and left. I didn't want to ask."

Nick knew Warrick had to have been giving off a very bad vibe for Sara to not satisfy her curiosity. "Where is he now?"

"He went with Catherine. Suspicious circs in Vegas Heights." Sara opened her phone, "I've gotta go find Brass. Thanks for taking the case."

"No problem," Nick replied. Once she left, he finished changing and kicked his locker door shut. It had been five days since he'd seen Warrick and Nick was determined to track him down as soon as shift ended, but first he had a crime scene to process.

Three hours later, he was almost done, and was convinced he had a homicide, not an accidental drowning as it had first appeared. He'd have to wait for Doc Robbins' post to know for certain, and he didn't want to tip off the wife who was his number one suspect.

Robbins confirmed his suspicions, and Nick handed off the case to Vartann to make an arrest while he went out to his second scene of the night. It was a nasty home invasion that led to several hours of overtime, and when he finally got back to the lab, the only other person from graveyard left was Sara, who was working at one of the general computers.

Nick knocked softly on the door and waited until she looked up. "Everyone else take off?"

"Grissom might still be around, but I think everyone is gone."

He wanted to ask how the case was going, but doubted she would tell him. He could live with that, because Sara remaining tight-lipped meant less chance of the case running through the lab's gossip mill. "Okay, see you tomorrow."

"See ya," Sara was already focused on the monitor again.

Nick decided to call Warrick, but wasn't sure how to let him know he wasn't going to try making him talk about his father. What was he supposed to say? "Come on over, I promise not to nag"?

He sat in his truck until an idea occurred to him. With a smile, he dialed Warrick's cell. It rang several times and just when Nick had resigned himself to voice mail, Warrick answered. "Hey."

"Hi. Uh...you busy?"

"Nah, what's up?" Warrick sounded wary.

Nick suspected Warrick knew he knew. "Well, I just...it's the first time neither of us has had court this week and--" He was going to start sounding like some kid with a crush any minute. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I recorded the Rangers-Cubs game last night, so I thought you might want to come over and catch it." Baseball wasn't usually Warrick's favorite sport to watch, but maybe...

"Sure," Warrick replied immediately, and Nick could hear much of the tension leave his voice. "I'll grab the pizza if you get the beer."

"Deal." Nick closed his cell and started his truck. He got home first, and Warrick arrived about five minutes later, carrying two large pizza boxes. "Christ, how much are you planning to eat?"

"That a trick question?" Warrick returned, although it didn't sound quite as suggestive as it normally would. It almost seemed automatic.

They settled on the couch and Nick started the game. They made their way through six innings, three-quarters of a pizza and two beers each before Warrick leaned back with a sigh and stared at the ceiling.

They weren't sitting at either end of the couch as they would have at one time, and although they weren't snuggled up together, either, Nick didn't have to shift much for their shoulders and legs to touch. "Rick." He watched Warrick's profile and saw his eyes close in resignation. "I don't want to ask a bunch of questions."

Warrick sighed. "But..."

"You gave the name to Sara, but you're hands off for the rest of it, right?"

Warrick's expression darkened. "What're you sayin'?"

"I'm not saying anything, I'm just askin'."

"I don't know."

"Look, I've done some stupid things that could have hurt cases and you called me on it. I'm just trying to do the same."

"I did what I was supposed to do. You want to just drop it?"

Nick took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Okay. I just--okay."

"I know," Warrick didn't sound angry anymore, just tired.

Nick reached up to massage Warrick's neck and the base of his skull with one hand. Warrick groaned and let his head fall forward. Eventually, Nick moved his hand so that his fingers were twined in Warrick's hair, and he tilted Warrick's head back before leaning in for a kiss. Warrick parted his lips so Nick could explore his mouth, but made no other move.

That was somewhat unusual, and Nick drew back slightly. When Warrick didn't follow, Nick knew he wasn't really in the mood.

"Sorry," Warrick muttered.

"Dumbass." Nick wasn't able to keep the affection out of his voice. He let his hand slip back to Warrick's neck and continued the gentle kneading, not sure what else to do. It seemed to him that at one time he knew how to deal with Warrick better, just as at one time he'd been more likely to accept Warrick's questions without getting angry. Had that changed because they were sleeping together?

No, Nick quickly decided. It went back further than that. It was another thing that had been different before. Before, it seemed to Nick, he never had to think so much about how to act around Warrick when he was troubled. He was probably thinking about it too much, when before he never worried so much what Warrick would think about what he said or did.

It took a conscious effort to shut of the questions--Would Warrick think he was being a sap? Would he think Nick was trying to push things somewhere he didn't want it to go? Where did Warrick want this thing to go, anyway?--and follow his instincts. He leaned in enough to rest his chin on Warrick's shoulder, "How 'bout we just go get some sleep?"

Warrick didn't reply, and after a few minutes of silence, the pizza and beer in Nick's stomach began to sour. Then Warrick turned so he could rest his forehead against Nick's. "That sounds like the best thing I've heard for days."

Sometimes it seemed to Catherine that even though the team had been back together for nearly two years, it was still split along graveyard and swing lines. Grissom usually teamed himself with Sara or Greg, while Catherine worked with Warrick and Nick. It wasn't a problem, or at least it hadn't been before she'd decided to fake a crime scene. She'd tried to keep to her motto of "never doubt and never look back," but that wasn't easy when she missed her guys.

Having Sara angry with her didn't phase Catherine much--she didn't like it that way, but she could deal with it. Greg shrugged the whole thing off with relative ease. Nick, though, had been hurt--she'd seen it and knew he'd felt betrayed.

He remained professional when they worked together, but that was as far as it went for a long time. Catherine had seen him do the same thing with Grissom after Kelly Gordon's suicide--she still wasn't sure Grissom had noticed--and it had taken nearly a year before Nick began to thaw toward the entomologist. Catherine didn't want it to take that long for things to get better between she and Nick. She wasn't normally the type to tiptoe around people, but she willingly did it and to her relief, Nick began to respond to her tentative overtures after only a few weeks. It wasn't the same Nick she had been close to for so many years, but then, that Nick hadn't been around for some time.

She'd noticed it, suspected Warrick had too, but Grissom either didn't notice, chose to ignore it or didn't think it was important. Catherine had always meant to talk to Grissom about Nick, but things always seemed to come up to prevent it. Nick was too edgy and Catherine hadn't wanted Grissom to blunder and make things worse, then Nick seemed more like his old self and there was no problem. When Catherine finally realized that something needed to be done, it was just one thing after another--Brass getting shot; Lindsey's kidnaping, afterward Catherine worked as little overtime as possible; Sam's death; the miniature killer that Grissom seemed obsessed with; then Grissom seemed too disturbed, too weary and finally took a sabbatical; then Keppler arrived and everything went to hell. Before she knew it, more than a year had gone by.

So when Nick, while they stopped to have breakfast, told her he'd had his first appointment with a therapist, Catherine inexplicably found herself tearing up.

That wasn't like her.

She had been satisfied when Nick agreed to grab something to eat together on their way back from tracking down a car rental. Now she didn't know what made her happier, that Nick was seeking help or that he was willing to confide in her again.

She knew how Nick felt about therapists and felt like she needed to let him know she was proud of him for making that decision, but she also knew he wouldn't want her to get sappy about it. Since he'd mentioned work in the same breath, that gave her a good angle to work with. "If your sessions are in the afternoon, they probably won't interfere with your shift, but let me know any time there's a problem. It takes a lot of guts for someone in our line of work to start seeing someone and anything I can do to make it easier..." she let her voice trail off as she returned the first genuine smile Nick had given her in a long time.

She was ready to put many of her concerns about Nick aside, because he seemed much steadier after that. Then, only a few days later, she noticed he started to seem a bit down. It wasn't a big deal, it happened to everyone, but had been over a week now. Catherine resolved to keep a close eye on him.

And then there was Warrick.

His marriage and subsequent divorce had cooled any feelings she'd had for him back to the comfortable friendship that had always existed. He'd been there for her and Lindsey after Lindsey's kidnaping and Sam's death despite the fact that his marriage was on the rocks at the time.

His divorce a few months later barely made a ripple in his work.

She was surprised, but grateful, when Warrick was willing to forgive and forget the false crime scene, especially since he was the one who'd had to waste his time processing it. Through all the turmoil over the past year or so, he had remained rock solid. That was probably the reason his actions now bothered her so much.

For several years, Warrick had been one of the most reliable CSIs on the team, and that was saying something. He'd always been available to pick-up overtime or on-calls. Catherine couldn't remember him ever being unreachable when called upon, even if it was his day off.

So when he started turning down overtime and not answering his cell on his time off, Catherine let it go. By that time she knew, as did most of the lab, that Warrick's father was wanted in a series of rapes. It wasn't discussed too much in the lab, considering what a juicy piece of gossip it was. Catherine suspected no one wanted to caught talking about it by any of the CSIs--especially not Warrick.

If anyone knew about paternal problems, it was Catherine, so when Warrick started trading off his on-calls, she let that go, too. She was just relieved to learn from Sara that after giving her the name, Warrick had remained completely hands-off the case, not even asking for updates.

Unfortunately, despite how hard they were working it, Sara and Brass still hadn't located Earle Tyndall.

Catherine hoped they made progress soon, because recently Warrick had started switching off shifts as well. Luckily for him, there were several people who owed him shifts, so thus far there was nothing he could be called on. Until then, there wasn't really much she could say to him, because Warrick was acting as though nothing significant was going on. He was as laid-back as ever, strolling through the lab with that innate style of his that all of the lab techs--and quite a few cops--would have killed for. On the rare occasion that anyone got anywhere near the taboo subject, a dangerous glint would appear in the green eyes that convinced them not to pursue it.

The only time Warrick seemed unable to maintain it was around Nick. Either he lost his cool completely or turned ice cold. Thus far, Nick had simply rolled with it, but Catherine had a feeling that wouldn't go on much longer.

For the life of her, she couldn't think of what might happen when it did stop.

Nick was just on his way out to the parking lot when his cell rang. Checking it, he recognized Sofia's number. "Stokes."

"You up for a little overtime?"

"Sure," Nick answered immediately. It wasn't like he had anything else to do. It wasn't like he had anyone to meet. He and Warrick got together the day after their non-discussion about Sara's case, but that had been more than two weeks ago. Since then Nick had asked Warrick over twice and Warrick always had something else to do. Nick stopped asking after the second time. "What've you got?"

"A possible lead on your Jane Doe."

"Little Jane Doe?" Nick blurted before he thought.

"The one found out by Goodsprings," Sofia replied. If she thought there was anything strange about Nick's reference, she didn't let on. "I got a call from a woman there who runs the local grocery store. I was going to drive out to talk to her and wondered if you wanted to come along for the ride. I can swing by and get you on my way."

"Absolutely," Nick said. "I'll grab the file and meet you out front." He closed his phone and hurried back inside. It didn't take him long to find the file--he'd never relegated it quite as far back as Ecklie wanted--and he was waiting outside for Sofia as promised.

"I just tried Warrick to let him know," Sofia said as Nick got in. "But he's not answering."

"I'll fill him in when I see him at work." Nick buckled himself in, knowing there was no real need to elaborate. He knew Sofia had to have heard about Warrick's father by now, just like everyone else, and like everyone else, she probably assumed that was why Warrick had been making himself scarce lately.

Nick wasn't sure that was it, exactly, but he hadn't had the chance to actually talk to Warrick in order to find out what was going on. Even at work, Warrick managed to avoid situations where they were alone. When he couldn't avoid them, he went from cool to cold, shrugging off any overtures. Nick knew Warrick had to be sorting through tough issues and tried to be understanding, but whenever Warrick brushed him off, a flicker of anger would ignite again, and it was a little brighter each time.

"So what did we have on her?" Sofia asked.

Nick opened the folder. "Caucasian female, approximately ten years of age. COD was renal failure due to dehydration. Ligature marks on wrists and ankles, but no other signs of physical trauma. All vomit on her nightgown was her own, as was all DNA under her fingernails."

"Strange," Sofia mused.

"There was no one in missing persons who matched up."

"But she'd been healthy, right?" Sofia maneuvered through the interchange and onto I-15.

"Right. Doc Robbins guessed up until about four months before she died."

"How far did you extend the search?"

"We went back a year for Nevada and the surrounding states. We were going to go national when Ecklie told us to set the case aside."

"But she's in the system."

"Yeah, of course. But no hits so far. What've you got?"

"Vina Strazisar called the department. Police had canvassed her when we found the body, but she claimed not to know anything about it. Now she's saying differently."

"Does it sound suspicious to you?"

"She sounded uncertain to me. Kept saying she didn't know if it was anything, but she was worried about one of her customers. When I asked for a name, she said it was probably nothing."

Nick frowned, that didn't sound like a whole lot to go on, but it was the only outside lead they'd had in the case.

Sofia glanced his way and interpreted his expression correctly. "I checked her out. She's a widow, owned the store with her husband, now the sole owner. One son who lives in Reno, married, but no kids."

"So nothing that jumps out."

"Nothing. Not for the husband or son, either. Daughter-in-law has an outstanding parking ticket," she added dryly.

"Make sure you get an APB out on her," Nick replied in the same tone, making Sofia chuckle.

They continued to speculate over the case as well as a shooting they were working together for the rest of the thirty minute drive.

It didn't take long to find the Goodsprings Grocery, since it was one of only three businesses in town besides the Gold Strike Casino. Once inside, Nick decided that "grocery" was a generous term for a place that was an odd cross between a convenience and an old-fashioned general store. A round, but tidy-looking woman was behind the counter going over a ledger. Nick couldn't remember the last time he saw someone keeping their books by hand. She looked up and smiled when they walked in, then closed the ledger and set it aside when they approached the counter. "Can I help you?"

"Vina Strazisar?"

"Yes."

"Sofia Curtis, LVPD," Sofia displayed her badge. "This is Nick Stokes from the Las Vegas Crime Lab. You and I spoke on the phone."

The woman's eyes widened behind her glasses. "Oh. I--I said that I wasn't sure it meant anything. I don't want to get anyone in trouble when I'm not even sure there's anything wrong."

"You were concerned enough to call the police, ma'am," Nick pointed out. "Is there something you've learned about the little girl we found?"

"Well, there was--look, for all I know they moved, or started going to a different store."

"Who?" Sofia asked.

Vina sighed. "Ben," she said reluctantly. "He usually comes in about once a month for supplies."

"Ben?"

"Ben Sweeting," Vina replied, shifting uncomfortably. "He lives--well, I'm not sure exactly where he lives--out in the desert somewhere."

"And you think he might have abducted a girl?"

"No!" She looked horrified at the thought. "He--he has a daughter, Joanie. Most of the time she'd come in with him."

"Can you describe her?" Nick asked.

"She's ten. Light brown--almost blond--hair. Blue eyes. Freckles. Very cheerful little girl. Always smiling."

Nick couldn't confirm the last two facts, but everything else matched little Jane Doe. He took a photograph from the folder and held it out. "Is this her?"

Vina's eyes barely focused on the picture before she gulped and looked away. "Oh, I can't...I can't..."

Nick exchanged a look with Sofia, who nodded. He felt bad, but was willing to push if it meant identifying little Jane Doe. "Ma'am, please?"

Sneaking another look, Vina quickly turned away again. "Oh, I--I don't know. Joanie was always so nice and neat and that--that...I can't tell...I might be, I don't know."

"Ma'am?"

"I can't look at it again."

"When did you last see Joanie?" Nick asked, putting the photo away.

"Oh," Vina relaxed a bit now that the picture was no longer in front of her. "January, I think. Ben didn't bring her along every time."

"When was the last time you saw Ben?" Sofia took her turn.

"About...three months ago? That's why I started to think something might be wrong."

"Where did Joanie go to school, do you know?" Sofia was busy writing on her notepad.

"Ben home schooled her. But she was very happy," she stressed. "She seemed well-adjusted."

"Do you know how to contact Ben Sweeting?" Sofia asked.

"No, I...I never had to."

Sofia looked at Nick questioningly, and he nodded. They had a new lead to chase. "Thank you, Mrs. Strazisar."

"Ben's a very nice man," Vina looked truly distressed now. "I can't imagine--"

"We'll be checking to see that he's all right," Sofia reassured her, although Nick knew that probably wasn't her first conclusion.

Vina's eyes widened, "You think something might have happened to Ben...of course. That makes sense."

After a few more pleasantries, they went back to the car. Nick was almost positive that they had finally ID'd little Jane Doe, and left Warrick a text message to tell him.

"So what do you think?" Sofia asked when she saw he was finished.

"I suppose it's possible that something happened to both of them, and Joanie's body is the only one that's been found."

"But not likely," Sofia finished.

"Not as likely," Nick clarified.

"I'll run the name as soon as I get back, see what I can get on him."

"Call with what you've got?" Nick asked.

"Sure, I figured you'd want in on it."

Warrick hadn't returned his text message by the time Nick got back to the lab. Annoyed, he dialed Warrick's number as he walked into the building, but it just rang until he had to hang up so he could put the file away. Now he was starting to get pissed off. He knew Warrick wasn't likely to be asleep at this time and the guy should have gotten the point from the text that this was about work, not Nick chasing him like a lovesick fool. Why the hell hadn't he picked up?

He climbed into his truck and dialed one more time. When he got voice mail, he left Warrick a message.

And then some.

On to Part 3