Demonology Part 3

"For the third time, Sofia got a lead on the little Jane Doe case. We've already been out to Goodsprings and have a possible ID. Sofia is checking it out and will get back to me, since you don't give a good goddamn."

When the message ended, Warrick snapped his phone shut and went straight out to his jeep. Twenty minutes later, he was pounding on Nick's door. Nick answered, a blank, vaguely questioning expression on his face.

"What the hell kind of message was that?" Warrick demanded.

"Hey," Nick feigned bewilderment. "Warrick Brown, right?"

"Very funny," Warrick shouldered past Nick and into his house.

"Come on in," Nick commented dryly.

"Drop the sarcasm. You sound like you've been spending too much time with Hodges."

"What difference would that make to you?"

That sparked something else inside Warrick. Was Nick saying he had been spending time with Hodges? He couldn't tell, and that only pissed him off more. "What the hell is your problem?"

Nick slammed the door and turned around. "My problem?" he asked incredulously.

"Hey, when you were having trouble, I didn't give you attitude."

"No," Nick let out a derisive laugh. "You either ignored me or accused me of stuff. Hey! Whaddya know? You do the same thing when you're having trouble."

"Yeah, because I really want to spend time with you when you're being an asshole," Warrick injected a little sarcasm of his own.

It had no effect on Nick. "Don't try pulling that crap! You know damn well there was no attitude before you started acting like a jerk!"

"You ever think I didn't want you to have to deal with my problems?"

"You ever think that's for me to decide?"

"The hell it is!" Warrick couldn't figure out how, even though he was shorter, Nick seemed able to get right in his face. He barely knew what they were arguing about any more, but he was determined not to let Nick have the last word.

"The hell it is!" Nick fired back. "You can handle my problems, but I can't handle yours?"

Now this was starting to go somewhere Warrick didn't care for. "Hell with this." He started for the door, only to have Nick block him.

"You keep showing up at my place, getting on my case, and the minute I say something you don't like you think you can turn around and leave? No way, man!"

Warrick moved left and Nick countered. They bumped chests and Warrick grabbed Nick's shoulders to move him out of the way.

That was a mistake.

Touching Nick, feeling those muscles flex under his hands again, made Warrick forget everything else.

Nick froze, as if sensing the sudden change, then he surged forward, grabbing fistfuls of Warrick's shirt. Warrick moved one hand to the back of Nick's head, pulling him in for a kiss. While he was busy devouring Nick's mouth, he was vaguely aware of the sound of fabric tearing and when he felt Nick's hands on his skin, realized it was his own shirt.

The sound let Warrick know without a doubt that Nick wanted this as much as he did. He broke off the kiss long enough to yank Nick's shirt up and off before latching onto his collarbone. Nick was just as busy, quickly removing Warrick's shirt completely and tearing it again in the process. As soon as his shirt was gone, Warrick felt Nick's hand at his belt and sought to return the favor. Then it was a struggle to see who would unfasten the other's jeans first.

They wrestled their way into Nick's bedroom and Warrick couldn't have said who threw whom down on the bed. Warrick kicked his jeans the rest of the way off, his socks going with them. He had no idea at what point he'd gotten rid of his shoes.

Nick was reaching for the night stand even as Warrick finished pulling his jeans off. Arms and legs on either side of Nick, Warrick crawled up the length of his body and took the lube from him. He shifted so he was kneeling beside Nick, trying to give him at least some preparation despite the demands from his body. Even that was difficult with the way Nick was moving around.

Then Nick flipped over onto his back, the condom wrapper between his teeth. Warrick quickly took that as well, and put it on with shaking hands. Nick got onto his knees, then shifted to straddle Warrick's hips and almost before Warrick knew it had happened, Nick was impaled on him.

Mutual groans were swallowed as their mouth locked again, then Warrick eagerly followed the pace Nick was setting. After only a few minutes, though, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out nearly as long as he'd hoped.

Warrick slid his hands under Nick's legs to the backs of his knees and abruptly yanked Nick's feet out from under him, throwing his weight forward at the same time. Nick's back hit the mattress and he let out a yelp of surprise that quickly turned into a groan as Warrick thrust deep inside again.

"Oh, hell yeah, Nicky..." Warrick panted into Nick's neck. "You wanna go for a ride, baby? Huh?"

"You know I do, Rick," Nick gasped hitching his legs higher up around Warrick's hips. "Come on...you know I do."

Warrick increased the pace, but was still surprised when Nick stiffened and let out a sharp cry. He felt the wet warmth against his stomach only seconds before he felt Nick's muscles tighten around him, pulling him over the edge.

Warrick lay with his face pressed into the crook between Nick's neck and shoulder, breathing deeply. Eventually he moved just enough to discard the condom and clean up before resuming his position as Nick threw a sheet over them. Warrick felt like he could have stayed there forever, breathing in Nick's scent, but he didn't want to deal with the subject that he knew would come up again. After a brief debate, he decided to compromise.

He waited until Nick fell asleep before he left.

Nick awoke to the sound of his cell ringing and an empty bed. He found his cell on his night stand and supposed Warrick put it there before he left. Picking it up, he saw Sofia's number and answered immediately. "Have you gotten any sleep?"

Sofia chuckled. "Did I wake you?"

"Yeah, but you're forgiven if this is about the case."

"It is. Some interesting history on Mr. Ben Sweeting, along with an address--of sorts. I'm taking a black-and-white with me for--well, a welfare check. If you care to join me, I can fill you in on the way there."

"Sure I can meet you in front of the lab in..?"

"Forty-five minutes?" Sofia suggested. "I've got another case I've got to deal with first."

"I'll be there," Nick assured her.

He had plenty of time to shower and even time to grab something to eat. He called Grissom to let him know he might be late for his shift and why, but didn't bother calling Warrick, figuring that leaving without waking him up was a pretty blatant hint.

Obviously he and Warrick had moved on to just fucking. No big deal. At least the sex was great. Nick knew he'd get used to things this way.

Eventually.

Seeing he had a few extra minutes on the way to the lab, he stopped for a couple of iced espressos. He'd need the extra jolt of caffeine since he was starting his shift several hours early, and didn't feel like drinking hot coffee now that the temperature had shot up again over the past few days. He pulled up at the lab only a few minutes before Sofia, so he double-checked his kit. There was no way to know if he'd need it, but he wanted to bring it just in case. Sofia wouldn't be going out to check at this hour unless she was fairly certain they had something.

When Sofia pulled up, Nick put his kit and camera in the backseat before grabbing the coffees and getting in the passenger side. "Here. I'm not sure if you like these..."

"I do," Sofia said, taking one. "Thank you. I did manage to get some sleep, though."

"Figured the caffeine couldn't hurt," Nick smiled. "So where are we going?" he asked as Sofia headed down Tropicana, just like they had that morning.

"About twenty miles west of Goodsprings," she replied after taking a sip of coffee. "Ben Sweeting lives right in the middle of nowhere."

"And what else about Ben Sweeting?" Nick asked, settling comfortably into his seat.

"He's a Presbyterian minister, widowed five years ago. Has a ten year old daughter, just like Mrs. Strazisar said. Know where I got most of my info on him?"

"Where?"

"From the Southern Nevada Correctional Center in Jean."

"What was he in for?"

Sofia threw a little smirk his way. "It's a women's prison. He was a chaplain there for three years. He resigned just over six months ago."

"Well, that's an interesting time frame."

"I thought so."

"So when you say 'resigned,'" Nick said. "Exactly whose decision was that?"

"By all indications, it was his." Sofia had a thoughtful frown as she sipped at her coffee. "If our Jane Doe is Joanie Sweeting, what could have turned this guy from--by all accounts--a decent, hard-working father into someone who either didn't care that his daughter went missing or turned on her himself?"

"Yeah, that is strange. It's possible that someone abducted them both or killed the father and took the girl." Those seemed like the most likely scenarios to Nick, barring the father being guilty. Good thing he had at least some equipment along, they could be walking into the scene of a struggle if the father wasn't there, or a murder scene if he was.

There was only so much they could speculate about, and there were stretches of silence in between the little spates of conversation or banter. Nick knew he wasn't the best company tonight even though he tried to keep his mind on anything except Warrick. Even the case wasn't proving sufficient distraction.

They arrived at Goodsprings and Sofia turned west on a secondary road. "There's supposed to be a dirt road about 20 miles down."

After about fifteen miles, a lone light in the distance signaled that the turnoff was near. Once they had gone a few miles down the dirt road, the darkness seemed to close in even closer around them, and Nick found the headlights of the squad car behind them reassuring.

"If he's home," Sofia said. "He knows someone's coming."

"Not easy to sneak up on someone out here," Nick agreed.

As they got closer, another light appeared, shining from the window of a small, adobe-styled house. That light remained the only sign of life in the house as they pulled up next to a car--Nick guessed it was a Monte Carlo from the late eighties. As he reached for the door handle, it occurred to Nick that if Sweeting had seen them coming, he could be inside with a shotgun, just waiting to pick them off.

"Hang back," Sofia told him, obviously thinking along the same lines.

Nick wasn't crazy about that plan, either, but dutifully waited until the uniforms had moved into position before getting out of the car. Drawing his weapon, he followed Sofia onto the small front porch without incident.

Sofia stood off to the side of the door, and although she didn't pound on it, she knocked hard enough to be heard throughout the house unless Ben Sweeting was an exceptionally deep sleeper.

Or dead.

"Mr. Sweeting!" she called for good measure. "Las Vegas Police!"

The door opened to reveal a slender man whose thick, dark hair was brushed off his high forehead and whose narrow, intelligent face was partially obscured by a beard.

"Ben Sweeting?"

"Yes. Can I help you?"

His calm demeanor immediately set off warning bells for Nick. If cops pulled up at a person's door after dark, they were bound to be agitated unless they already knew what was going on.

"I'm Sofia Curtis from the Las Vegas Police Department and this is Nick Stokes from the Crime Lab. We'd like to talk to you about your daughter, Joanie."

"Come in," Sweeting stepped aside.

Since no immediate threat was visible, Sofia signaled for the uniforms to wait in the doorway as she stepped inside. Nick followed, looking around the room that was obviously the main living area. It was sparsely decorated, but the mostly wooden furnishings looked sturdy and appeared to be of very high quality. On a sideboard accented by beautiful carvings, was a framed picture of a bright-eyed, smiling girl and Nick's heart sank when he saw it. He picked it up and handed it to Sofia before he cleared his throat. "Mr. Sweeting, I'm sorry to have to tell you this," he said, just in case by some chance the man was innocent. "But we've found your daughter--"

"No, you haven't," Sweeting replied with certainty.

"Sir, we--"

"You found her shell."

So Sweeting knew his daughter was dead. He probably knew how and why as well.

"What happened to her, Mr. Sweeting?"

"That's not important. Joan is safe. That's all that matters."

Nick exchanged a look with Sofia. Oddly enough, none of the anger he usually felt when dealing with uncooperative suspects was surfacing. Perhaps it was because Sweeting wasn't being defensive or cocky like so many suspects were. There was an air of sadness and quiet pride about the man along with another quality Nick couldn't pin down. Whether this house was the primary crime scene or not, it needed to be processed. "I'll get my kit," he told Sofia quietly.

She nodded. "Mr. Sweeting, you'll have to step outside."

Nick went to the car to get his equipment and once he had, he saw Sweeting being handcuffed and led to the squad car.

Sofia stepped closer. "He just admitted to leaving her body next to the bypass. It's enough to bring him in and to give you access to the house."

"I want to process the car, too," Nick said. "It's going to take a while. How do you want to work this?"

"I thought I'd ride back with Wolz and Sweeting in the squad car. Osbourne can wait out here with you and the unmarked. I'll call Warrick and let him know what's going on and he can drive out with a Denali so you can process properly. I'll call for a tow for the car, as well."

"Sounds good," Nick said. And it did. Most of it. He wasn't sure how well that Warrick part was going to work out. "I'll get started."

"Just a sec," Sofia said, and hurried to the squad car. She spoke briefly to Sweeting, then Wolz and returned, holding out a small, bulky envelope. "Keys to his car. They were in his pocket when we patted him down."

"Thanks." Tucking the envelope into one of his vest pockets, Nick walked toward the Monte Carlo as Sofia returned to squad car.

Osbourne, a big, buff rookie, followed him--obviously he'd gotten the don't-let-the-CSI-out-of-your-sight chat from somebody. As he pulled on his gloves, Nick watched the taillights of the squad car disappear into the night. It was an eerie quiet, but Nick shook off any uneasiness with a determined effort and got to work.

Nick started with the trunk of the car, since finding signs of Joanie in the passenger or back seat wouldn't mean much. He went over every inch, finding several hairs and a small piece of material that could match the nightgown they'd found Joanie in. After nearly an hour, he locked it up again and headed for the house, Osbourne dogging his heels.

A flicker at the corner of his eye made him turn, and he saw headlights moving along the gravel road. "Someone's coming."

"Good," Osbourne said emphatically.

Nick shot him a commiserating grin. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one a bit unnerved by their remote surroundings. Once inside, he started with all over shots of the premises--with no specific scene, it was all he could do unless he spotted something unusual. Opening the drawers at the top of the sideboard, he found several documents and records for home-schooling, all of them meticulously kept. Nick photographed but didn't bag them.

When he heard the door open, he adopted his most professional mien before turning to face--"Greg?"

"Hey," Greg set down his kit and held out his hands with a shrug. "Warrick called in sick, so Grissom sent me out to give you a hand."

Warrick had called in sick? That was almost unfathomable to Nick, especially since he knew Warrick was not. It was so unlike him that Nick found he wasn't even angry--he just didn't know what to think.

Neither did Greg, apparently. "So do you need a hand, or..?"

Nick realized he'd been staring at the younger man in bewilderment. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks."

He briefed Greg on the case and sent him to check the kitchen and bathroom while he took Joanie's room. There was no telling what was relevant, nor did anything seem out of place, except perhaps the lack of toys. A doll, a teddy bear and a stuffed dog were all he saw. Old edition, hardcover children's books filled the shelves, which were painted white, just like the rest of the old-fashioned furniture. He ran his mag over the bed and was debating whether to ALS when he noticed the paint on one bedpost was scraped off. He checked the other posts and found paint worn away on all four of them--all at approximately the same height.

After photographing the post, he added the filter to his flashlight, but as he bent over the bed, he caught a whiff of something foul. He stripped the bed and stared at the stained mattress. There were no visible blood stains, but he noticed vomit, urine and fecal stains and took a sample of each. Remembering the ligature marks on the small wrists and that Robbins had said there was no sign of illness, Nick hated to think what could have caused such a mess.

Another ninety-minutes that included a fruitless search of Sweeting's room convinced Nick that he wasn't going to find anything else without talking to Sweeting to get more of a perspective. He and Greg were back in the main room discussing what they'd found--and hadn't found--when Nick realized he hadn't finished looking through the sideboard after Greg arrived.

He hunched down and opened the doors at the bottom, revealing a stack of text books and a cardboard box with a heavy crucifix on top of it. Nick photographed it, then set the crucifix aside so he could open the box.

"What the hell?" Greg crouched down beside him.

Nick stared for a few seconds before snapping pictures. Then he took out the set of restraints and handed them to Greg to be bagged. They were medical restraints, designed to injure as little as possible. Underneath, were several books--"The Book of Occasional Services," "The Strange Case of Annelise Michel," "Rituale Romanum," and "The Web of Destiny"--and from their titles, Nick knew that most of them were religious in nature. The fact that they were under the restraints made them important enough to bag and tag.

"Rituale Romanum?" Greg frowned. "The Roman Ritual? But this guy wasn't Catholic."

"You know about these books?" Nick asked, a bit surprised.

"Well, I've heard of this one," Greg held up the Roman Ritual. "Isn't it what they use for exorcism?"

"Exorcism?" As far as Nick was concerned, that only belonged in the movies or the Middle Ages. Still, it wouldn't be the strangest thing they had seen on the job.

It would be right up there, though.

Nick was mulling over the possibility as they packed up the Denali for the trip back and didn't even bother arguing with Greg over who would drive. The tow truck driver was already gone, and Osbourne was only too happy to hop into Sofia's car and head back to Vegas.

"How do you know about the Roman Ritual?" he asked once they were underway.

"I don't really know about it," Greg replied. "I've just heard that...y'know, that's the book they use."

"Exorcism." Although Nick knew very well that there were probably people who believed such things--somewhere. "Like the movie."

"Well, wasn't the movie based on a true story?"

"The movie was based on a novel." That much, at least, Nick knew for certain.

"Okay, then the novel was based on a true story. In the forties, I think."

"The nineteen-forties?"

"Yeah, I saw a documentary about it. Same with that movie 'The Exorcism of Emily Rose,' it's based on a case somewhere in Europe. In the sixties or seventies."

It would put some things in context, particularly Sweeting's "Joan is safe" statement, but Nick had a difficult time making himself believe it. Of course, it didn't matter if he believed in it, it only mattered if Sweeting did.

"You think that's what this is?"

"I don't know," Nick admitted, resolving to check through the books and look up the subject online.

When he got back to the lab, he called Sofia only to find that she was out on a scene. So he settled himself into one of the quieter evidence rooms and began looking through the books they had brought back. With fresh pair of gloves on, he started with "The Strange Case of Annelise Michel." A quick skim was enough to reveal it was indeed about the possession and exorcism of a woman in Germany in the mid-seventies and the court case that followed. The pages marked in "The Web of Destiny" also dealt with casting out demons.

Checking online, Nick discovered that Annelise Michel was the basis for the "Emily Rose" movie Greg had mentioned and that exorcisms were still sanctioned by many mainstream religions. Most of them required extensive medical and psychological testing before sanctioning an exorcism, but some religions claimed that anyone with sufficient faith could cast out demons.

Had Sweeting truly thought his daughter was possessed? Or had he read these so he could stage an exorcism and hide a murder? Why would anyone use something so bizarre in an attempt to cover up a murder? That angle didn't make sense, but that only left Sweeting's belief in an actual possession. The more he read about it, the more it fit the case. The only thing that didn't fit was the dump site--why leave the body exposed?

He left a message for Sofia to call him whenever she was ready to interview Sweeting, then went to check in with Grissom. He didn't share his new theory, he merely told the entomologist that they were making progress on the case.

Fortunately, it had been a relatively slow night, so despite the fact that Warrick was off and Nick had been out, the graveyard crew hadn't gotten too bogged down. Nick was able to go back to processing the rest of the evidence in his case. Depending on how things went in the interrogation, there was the very real possibility of wrapping this case up by the end of shift.

The evidence didn't keep his mind occupied enough. Before long, Warrick began to invade his thoughts again, swamping Nick with anger and worry. What in the world could have made Warrick call in sick tonight? Nick knew better than anyone that Warrick didn't let anything get in the way of the job. It was just one of the things Nick always admired and envied about him. Warrick had to be even more pissed off than Nick originally thought if he'd call in sick just to avoid him.

With a mental shake, Nick told himself not to be so self-centered. Warrick's absence didn't necessarily have anything to do with him. If anything, the past week had demonstrated that being with Nick was not Warrick's top priority. And really, why should it be? Just because Nick wanted to help didn't mean Warrick was obligated to let him. Considering his own track record for dealing with issues, who could blame Warrick for thinking he could do better tackling this alone?

So Warrick called in sick. Being best friends--or whatever they were--didn't mean everything Warrick did was Nick's business. It certainly wasn't like he didn't have things of his own to deal with, Nick reminded himself. Maybe he was only worrying so much about Warrick's problems so he wouldn't have to deal with his own.

Nick sighed, Great. Two visits to a shrink and I'm already analyzing everything.

It was almost a relief when Sofia called to say she was back at police headquarters. She sounded a little frazzled--very unusual for her--so Nick assured her he'd get there right away. He dropped off several swabs with Wendy and headed for the station.

Sofia was waiting for him outside an interview room. "Had a call on North Rancho. Nasty. Still haven't ID'd the vic. And then a hold-up off Industrial that I have to get back to." Obviously she was in a hurry, because she walked into the room without giving Nick a chance to explain what else he'd found.

Likely Sofia just wanted to make sure they had enough to keep Sweeting in custody for a few days. It wasn't uncommon when detectives got swamped and apparently Sofia was feeling that way at the moment. It wasn't absolutely necessary for Nick to brief her on what he'd found--it wasn't even policy for the CSIs to be present during interrogations at all. That was just the way they did things in Vegas, having found it to be more effective most of the time.

"Mr. Sweeting," Sofia began after she and Nick were seated. "You know why you're here, don't you?"

"I'm here about Joan."

"What happened to her?"

Sweeting sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. She's safe now."

Sofia was silent. Normally avoidance would make her ask tougher questions, but Sweeting's quiet, sad demeanor suggested it might not work. "Was she a difficult child?"

"Joanie? She was wonderful. After Anne died, she was my reason for living. She was so bright. She loved reading--learning." For the first time since Nick had met him, Sweeting was animated. His eyes were shining with pride. "She loved Bible stories. She loved all stories, but especially old ones. She said she wanted to write them when--" he abruptly stopped with a choked sound, unable to continue.

"Mr. Sweeting," Sofia's voice remained low, but Nick could tell she wasn't about to play softball with the guy. "Our autopsy showed that Joanie starved to death. How did that happen?"

"Her body was starved," Sweeting corrected, composing himself once more. It was the second time he'd emphasized that Joanie's body was separate from her. Nick put that as a possible checkmark for his exorcism theory.

"Yes, and that's what killed her. Ligature marks were found on her wrists and ankles."

"I had no choice," Sweeting said firmly. "The restraints I bought were too big and she kept getting free."

"Why were you restraining your daughter?" Sofia's voice got a bit colder.

"She was hurting herself."

That explained the DNA under Joanie's fingernails.

"Hurting herself?" Sofia asked. "Why?"

"She tried to fight them off," Sweeting said softly. "She tried so hard."

"Who?" Sofia demanded.

Sweeting just closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Nick was more certain of his theory everytime Sweeting spoke. His question was a huge risk, but the interview was stalling big time. "How did you find out Joanie was possessed?" he asked, aware of Sofia staring at him as if he were. He slid the open folder in front of her.

Sweeting stared at him, so Nick was careful to keep his expression calm, but interested. After a moment, the man sagged, almost in relief. "I suspected it just after her birthday. She was saying things that were...then sh--she defiled every bible and prayer book in the house. She started--" he swallowed hard and shook his head. "I took her to doctors, of course, but I could tell after only a few visits that they wouldn't be able to help her. Everywhere I went, they wanted tests before they would help, but there was no time...it was getting worse and worse...the things she was doing..." He was rambling now, but neither Nick nor Sofia tried to stop him. Sofia's eyes were wide with disbelief. "There were three...three of them--an unholy Trinity. She fought so hard and she won, but by then her body was too weak..."

Nick did not expect to feel sympathy for the man, didn't want to, but he did. What he did was horrible, unforgivable, but he either thought he'd been saving her or couldn't face what he'd done and had concocted this to escape it. Either way, it was painfully obvious he loved his daughter. "Why leave the body in the desert? Why not a proper burial?"

"Didn't you see it?" Sweeting demanded, tears in his eyes. "Didn't you see how they'd ravaged her? It had been their battlefield and I wasn't about to attempt to consecrate it. Joanie had already left...and won, she was free...what did that body matter?" His eyes glazed as he stared off in the distance, "She was such a little thing. Such a strong little thing to fight them all off."

A heavy silence descended on the home until Sofia said, "Would you excuse us, Mr. Sweeting?" When she got up and left the room, Nick followed. Closing the door behind them, she leaned against the jamb. "Do you buy any of this?"

"That the girl was possessed? Course not. That he thought she was possessed? Yeah, maybe."

Crossing her arms, Sofia looked in through a small window. Nick followed her gaze. Sweeting was holding his head in his cuffed hands, his shoulders shaking. "Strange. He's remorseful and yet...not. I'll call the DA. We'll have to get him a psych eval, but we'll be able to officially charge and hold him for some degree of homicide. Maybe--" she broke of when her phone rang. She flipped it open, "Curtis. Hi, Catherine, any ID on the vic? Earle Tyndall?"

Nick's stomach dropped at the sound of the name.

"Why?" Sofia sounded confused. "Is that import--oh. Oh."

Oh, god.

Nick barely remembered driving back to the lab. He was constantly hitting Warrick's number on speed dial the entire way, but never got an answer. In the lab, he went straight to Grissom's office only to find the door closed and the blinds drawn, a sure sign that no one was welcome inside at the moment. Sighing, he headed back down the hall, noticing that all the techs were in little knots of two or three--word had already gotten around.

It was a relief to find Sara and Greg in the break room, even though Sara looked thoroughly pissed off. "Have you guys heard anything?" he asked, knowing there was no need to say about what.

"I was with Grissom with Catherine called," Sara said with a frown. "He asked me for the case file and then shut himself in his office."

"Is the ID definite?" Nick continued, feeling the need to have as much information as possible. "The DNA's a match?"

Greg nodded. "Catherine had it rushed over here. She probably didn't want to tell anyone until she was absolutely sure."

"Warrick's not answering his phone," Nick said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Sara and Greg both gaped. "No way," Greg shook his head. "You can't think--"

"Of course not," Nick said as firmly as he knew how. "But if he doesn't know yet...someone's going to have to tell him about this." And while part of him felt obligated to be the one to break the news, another part was glad that duty belonged to someone else.

"Catherine will keep trying until she--" Sara stopped when Ecklie walked by and turned toward Grissom's office. Sara checked her watch. "It's not even five. What's he doing here?"

That it was a bad, bad sign went without saying.

Moments later, Catherine appeared, heading in the same direction. Nick immediately got up and followed her, Sara right on his heels, only to have Catherine disappear into Grissom's office as well. Exchanging glances, they went back to the break room.

As he sat back down, Nick dialed Warrick's number again. Still no answer.

"If he has heard about it," Sara offered. "Maybe he just doesn't want to answer right now."

Or he's just ignoring Nick's number.

"We can't be sure that's what they're talking about. I mean, it is possible that something else is going on," Greg said, then shrugged when Nick and Sara both looked at him. "I didn't say it was likely, just possible."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Greg got up and wandered out into the hallway, just far enough to see Grissom's door.

"Still closed?" Sara asked.

"Yeah," Greg shoved his hands in his pockets and remained standing.

"Well, we probably should get back to work," Nick said.

"Yeah," Sara agreed half-heartedly.

Neither of them moved.

Greg strolled off to take another look, and suddenly came scurrying back like a kid escaping the principal. "They're done," he said, quickly taking a seat.

Ecklie, Grissom and Catherine walked into the break room, but it was Grissom who did the talking. "I'm sure you've all heard by now that Earle Tyndall, the man responsible for a series of rapes was found beaten to death tonight. He was also proven to be Warrick's biological father."

"Does Warrick know?" Nick asked.

"He does," Catherine said. "I managed to reach him just before I got here."

So Warrick was ignoring Nick's calls. Nick tried to shrug it off, telling himself that Warrick had every reason not to want to talk to him, or anybody.

"As of tonight, both cases will be handled by day shift," Grissom said.

"That's my case!" Sara objected. "All that has to be done now is to close it, anyway."

"Yes, and days will be doing that," Grissom reiterated. "As well as handling Tyndall's murder. I know none of you like the decision, but in this case, it's probably for the best."

Nick wasn't sure how to take that. Grissom's disdain for day shift had been apparent ever since Ecklie was in charge years ago.

"Although I'm hands off, I'll be overseeing the cases," Catherine added.

Nick noticed he wasn't the only one to relax slightly when she said that. That explained why Grissom was willing to turn the case over to days at all.

Why the hell did Warrick have to decide to ditch work tonight of all nights? If he'd been at work, there'd be not question about his whereabouts and Tyndall's time of--"What was the TOD?" If the man had been dead more than six hours, then there might not be a problem.

"Coroner said TOD was between midnight and one," Catherine replied.

Fuck. Nick's stomach began to twist uncomfortably. But maybe Warrick hadn't been at home alone at that time. Maybe he'd gone out to run errands. Maybe he'd gone out to a club. That would look bad job-wise, but at least it would be a solid alibi. Normally, Nick wouldn't wish such a thing on anyone, but he hoped that Warrick had suddenly taken sick. Sick enough to have spent some of the night in the ER. Otherwise, it could be difficult to prove his innocence.

It was probably for the best that he had nothing to do with this case, Nick decided, because it would have been difficult to remain focused on the top priority--finding Tyndall's killer. Nick knew his only concern would be to make certain Warrick was in the clear.

"I need everyone except Catherine to keep their distance from this case," Grissom said. "And not just for propriety's sake, all right?"

Nick nodded automatically, since he frankly didn't care who had killed Tyndall. That was another sign that he shouldn't be on the case. A CSI's only concern was supposed to be to find the killer, no matter who the victim was, no matter what the victim might have done and Nick didn't care who had killed Tyndall or why, he only cared about how this case would affect Warrick.

"I know this is not the only case you have," Ecklie finally spoke. It had been a wise move on his part to have Grissom deliver the bad news. "So why don't we all get back to work?"

The rest of the shift passed in a blur for Nick. He processed evidence, worked results and filled out reports, all the while hoping that a last minute call didn't come in. As soon as shift ended, he sped over to Warrick's, even though he still hadn't reached him by phone. He knocked on the door and waited. Just as he was about to knock again, the door opened.

To Nick's surprise, Warrick didn't look much different than usual. "Can I come in?" Nick asked when Warrick didn't say anything.

"If you promise not to try talking," Warrick returned.

"At all?" Nick raised his eyebrows.

Sighing, Warrick stepped aside.

Once inside, Nick wasn't sure how to proceed. Did he treat Warrick the way he would have when they were still just best friends? He went with the basic question-- "How're you doing?"

"Aw hell," Warrick sighed, closing the door and sitting on the couch.

Nick wasn't sure if the meant he should leave or sit down as well, so he stayed where he was.

Warrick looked over at him, "You just gonna stand there?"

Nick sat down, although not as closely as he usually would. "So..." he began.

"So..."

"So we pretty much wrapped up the little Jane Doe--well, Joanie Sweeting case," Nick said. Much of the tension left Warrick's body when he realized Nick wasn't going to bring up the obvious subject. Somewhat encouraged, Nick went on to outline the night's work.

"So is this guy for real?"

"Either he believes what he's saying or he's one of the best cons we've ever had in interrogation. Sofia's going to get a psych eval for him, so maybe they'll be able to find out where his head is at."

"He's already admitted to murder, though."

"Technically, I'm not sure he has. Although he's more or less admitted responsibility for her death. This is one time I'm really glad our job stops where it does."

"Seriously?" Warrick asked. "You're buying what he's selling?"

There was that little frisson of anger again. Sofia had asked him the same thing. Did people really think he was that gullible? That stupid? "No, I don't believe in it, but I do think it's possible that he believes it. I think that he did love his daughter."

"Good," Warrick muttered. "One less suspect you'll be smacking around."

That one came out of nowhere. Nick hadn't expected Warrick to be in the best of moods today, but he didn't show up for this, either. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked. "Just say so."

"No," Warrick sounded reluctant to admit it.

"Then what the hell do you want?"

It was ridiculous that the air would suddenly become charged even though that was not at all what Nick meant.

Nick knew they couldn't go on like this. Every time one of them got too close to a subject the other didn't like, it inevitably turned into an argument which inevitably led to sex. No matter how great the sex was, it didn't make up for the fact that not only did it not settle the argument, but it was also eroding their friendship. One of them had to step up and put a stop to it. If Warrick wasn't going to do it, then it was up to Nick.

Just not today.

Nick's mouth locked onto Warrick's when he lunged forward, meeting Warrick halfway between the distance that separated them. Immediately, he grabbed fistfuls of Warrick's t-shirt.

"Try not to tear this one," Warrick gasped between kisses.

"Then get rid of it," Nick countered, finding the hem and pulling it up.

Warrick tried to pull off Nick's shirt at the same time and they were momentarily tangled. Just a few weeks ago, it would have started them laughing, but now it only prompted frustrated growls. Finally the shirts were off and Warrick stood up, drawing Nick with him. "Bed," he growled in Nick's ear before biting down on the skin just below it.

Nick allowed Warrick to lead him toward the bedroom, trying to unfasten Warrick's belt as they went. It wasn't easy, especially since Nick also wanted to continued exploring Warrick's chest with his lips and tongue as they went.

Grabbing the waistband of Nick's jeans, Warrick half-threw him down on the bed. Nick deftly rolled across and rummaged through the night stand until he found what he was looking for.

"Toss it here," Warrick said, stripping off his jeans.

Nick tossed the lube onto the bed, but put the condom wrapper in his mouth as his took off his own jeans.

Warrick climbed onto the bed, "I'll take that."

Taking the condom from his mouth, Nick held it out of Warrick's reach. "Nah, I'm gonna be needing it." He was glad his voice sounded normal even though he was nervous as hell. He had no idea what suddenly prompted his desire to switch up--it certainly wasn't because he hadn't been enjoying himself before. Maybe part of him just wanted to see how Warrick would react.

Warrick's eyebrows shot up and the green eyes gleamed. "Oh hell, yeah." He grabbed a handful of Nick's hair and pulled him down for a hard kiss. "Bring it on."

Nick got on the bed on his knees, intending to shove Warrick down and get to it, but Warrick braced himself and shoved back. After a few minutes of grappling--interspersed with kisses, licks and bites--they both lost their balance and fell over onto their sides.

"What's the matter?" Nick taunted as he quickly rose to straddle Warrick. "You a little nervous? Not your first time, is it?"

Warrick didn't reply and was quiet for so long that Nick began to wonder. It must have shown in his expression, because Warrick snorted, "Hook, line and sinker."

At one time Nick would have just called him a jerk and started laughing, but not today. Today it just seemed like another shot Warrick was taking at him for being gullible. Instead of replying, Nick moved down Warrick's body, taking almost half of Warrick's leaking cock into his mouth without warning and turning Warrick chuckles into moans and then to gasps when he skimmed his teeth along it with just enough pressure to be worrisome.

"Nick..." Warrick sounded a little uncertain.

His point made, Nick eased off with his teeth and returned to sucking while his sought out the lube with his free hand. He slicked his fingers and insinuated his hand under Warrick's body. After a moment, Warrick bent one leg to make it easier.

Nick was careful and took his time, initially because he knew that although it might not have been Warrick's first time, it had definitely been a while for him, but after a few moments because he was enjoying the way he could play Warrick's body. He kept it up until the groans became pleas which became curses, then he knelt between Warrick's legs and put the condom on his own weeping cock with shaking fingers. He hooked Warrick's bent knee over his elbow and slid in slowly, perhaps more slowly than necessary, but he liked hearing Warrick beg.

"Nicky..." Warrick choked out.

Warrick hadn't called him that for a long time, it seemed, and its effect was immediate. Nick plunged hard into Warrick's body and set a fast pace, wrapping his fingers around Warrick's cock to stroke him in time with his thrusts. In no time at all, he was spilling himself into that silky heat and collapsing on the big, solid body beneath him.

Nick withdrew carefully, relieved that Warrick showed no sign of pain. He disposed of the condom while Warrick cleaned himself off with a corner of the sheet. Nick considered leaving, just like Warrick had the last time, but decided he wasn't going to be the one to start some new game of one-upmanship. Besides, he felt damn good and far too comfortable to move. So he stayed where he was, not touching and not speaking to his bedmate.

He was a bit surprised when Warrick fell asleep first and was just about to follow suit when he remembered his appointment with Dr. Demarest was today. Moving carefully so he didn't wake the sleeping man next to him, Nick got up and got dressed.

It looked like he was going to play the game whether he wanted to or not.

Wasn't a visit to your therapist supposed to make you feel better?

Nick was pondering that question as he slammed his door shut behind him and kicked off his shoes. He'd hoped that his session with Dr. Demarest would have allowed him to vent his anger about everything, and he had vented, but Demarest's reaction hadn't been what he'd expected.

Demarest hadn't been as interested in what had made Nick angry as he had been in why these things had made Nick angry. After many questions, Nick had reluctantly admitted that at one time he would have shrugged off many of the things that now seemed to push his buttons and that anger was becoming his most common reaction to any stressful situation.

The rest of the session had focused on the source of that anger. Nick hadn't liked the direction of the conversation, especially when he recognized many of the things Demarest had said as true.

Grabbing a jug of juice from the fridge, he poured himself a large glass. Even though he wasn't crazy about the implications, it was definitely something he had to think about.

It had been bad enough when people first found out what his father was. Warrick soon learned to put up with the looks, the whispers and the sudden halts in conversation whenever he entered a room. At least no one had wanted to haul him into the police station for interrogation.

Not that he'd been hauled in. Sofia had awakened him with a call asking him to come down to the station for an interview. Not an interrogation, Warrick reminded himself. The call wasn't surprising, considering the circumstances of the case, and Warrick had agreed to be there in a couple of hours.

He arrived to find Sofia waiting for him along with Hal Westbrook. That threw Warrick off a little, because as far as he knew, Catherine was the CSI working the case.

"Conrad decided it would probably be better if someone from days handled this case," Westbrook explained, anticipating Warrick's question.

Warrick nodded but didn't say anything. Like the rest of Grissom's team, he'd always regarded dayshift with a certain level of disdain, which dated back to when Ecklie ran that shift. It wasn't that dayshift CSIs were incompetent--Warrick knew that--it was just that graveyard usually managed to set a higher standard. Everyone knew that Dr. Grissom and his graveyard shift were largely responsible for the lab's number two ranking in the country. That had been the source of much of Ecklie's ill-will toward Grissom, although that situation had changed now that Ecklie was the assistant director of the entire lab.

Warrick knew Westbrook was a good guy and a good CSI, but old habits died hard. Still, there was no reason for anyone else to know he felt that way, so he kept his expression neutral as they walked into interrogation.

"Okay, uh..." Westbrook cleared his throat. "Your involvement with this case is kind of unconventional, so we should go over that again."

"Right." Warrick hated the idea of anyone getting into his business, but better a CSI than someone from the IAB. "I heard about it when Sara asked for my father's name because she got a moderate stringency hit on my DNA in a case she was working."

Westbrook checked his notes. "And did you tell her?"

Warrick knew Westbrook already knew the answers to his questions and was mostly checking that everything matched, so he explained everything, including the initial misunderstanding with Sara and how he actually found out his father was a suspect.

"So you never knew who you father was before this?" Sofia asked.

"No." Warrick was grateful to her for keeping her tone so bland.

"But you gave Sidle Earle Tyndall's name," Westbrook pointed out.

"Yes, as a possibility," Warrick clarified. "I contacted one of my mother's old friends, and that was the only name she could think of. I didn't know for sure until the DNA results came back last night."

"I'm sorry."

Warrick couldn't tell if Westbrook was offering condolences on the death, expressing sympathy at what Tyndall had been or apologizing for the current situation. To be safe, he simply nodded in return.

"You wouldn't happen to have a nice tidy alibi you could give us," Sofia arched an eyebrow.

"Nope. Sorry."

"You called in sick last night," Westbrook stated.

"I did."

"And you live alone."

"I do."

"Okay," Westbrook sighed heavily. "Well, that's all for now, but--"

"Don't leave town?" Warrick suggested.

Westbrook winced, "Look, I know this is--"

"You're doin' your job, man," Warrick said, making sure it came out nice and easy. He knew he was successful when both Westbrook and Sofia relaxed minutely before standing up.

Warrick was extremely relieved that the interview had ended, not only because he hated discussing it, but because sitting was a bit uncomfortable for him right now. It was definitely worth it in his mind, though, because even though he was a little sore, his nerves still thrummed pleasurably whenever he thought about it. Oddly enough, as much as he'd enjoyed it, it only made him even more eager to take Nick again, only this time he would make Nick beg and plead the way Nick had made him. If he could think of a way to do it without having to talk to much first, it would be even better.

Okay, he really needed to stop thinking about that right now. He needed to stop thinking about nearly everything going on his life. Work, he finally thought desperately. Work was something safe to think about.

With that in mind, Warrick headed for the crime lab instead of going home even though it was still several hours before his shift actually began. He could catch up on anything he might have missed, clear the decks for the next shift and hopefully rid himself of the sickening ache that had begun to develop in the pit of his insides.

There were some test results waiting in his inbox, but Warrick knew that the techs would have likely pushed his stuff back when they heard he wouldn't be in. It was fairly common when the techs were busy.

As he walked down the hall with an armful of casefile folders, there were more looks and a couple of wary heys. Warrick ignored the looks and replied to the greetings as closely to his usual manner as possible, not wanting to give people any more reason to whisper. He had just about made it to the empty conference room when he heard someone say his name.

Warrick recognized the voice and reluctantly turned around to face Conrad Ecklie. "I was just going to catch up on some cases."

"Good," Ecklie nodded. "That's good. I'd like to talk to you first, though."

And the hits just keep on coming. "Sure."

"Have a seat," Ecklie said once they were in his office.

Warrick complied.

Ecklie walked around his desk and sat as well. "This situation," he said, steepling his fingers.

Warrick waited, but Ecklie didn't say anything else. He couldn't imagine what Ecklie expected him to say, so he met Ecklie's gaze until the assistant director cleared his throat and looked away.

"This is a delicate situation, as I'm sure you understand. Anytime a relative is a victim or a suspect, precautions have to be taken. Since this time the deceased is a victim and a suspect, we have to be extra careful, and considering your relationship with Mr. Tyndall--"

"Whoa," Warrick stopped him. "There was no relationship. He was my biological father, but I never met the man."

"Ah...yes. Well, considering the unusual circumstances of this case, I believe it would be best if you were confined to the lab for the time being."

Ecklie's words weren't exactly a surprise, but they still managed to feel like a shock to Warrick's system. There was really nothing to say to that, so Warrick didn't bother trying.

Ecklie seemed to be expecting some sort of protest because his tone was placating even though Warrick hadn't spoken. "Understand that this is not anything that will reflect negatively on your record. It's just a precaution until the case is solved."

Warrick decided not to ask what would happen if the case wasn't solved. He really didn't want to know. "I understand that."

"Good. And it goes without saying that you're hands off any evidence from either case."

"Absolutely." Warrick wondered if maybe he was sounding too calm. Ecklie was looking at him oddly. "Is that it?"

"Yes," Ecklie said slowly.

"Okay."

Warrick didn't release the sigh he'd been holding until he was well out of Ecklie's office. Instead of returning to his casefiles, Warrick filed them away again and headed to the locker room. As he walked, he noticed that people weren't just looking at him, they were watching. People were obviously expecting more from him than they were getting. More what, though? More anger? More sadness? More guilt?

He got to the--thankfully empty--locker room and sank down onto a bench. Well, if they were all waiting for some sort of reaction, they were just going to have to keep on waiting. They should all know better, anyway. Warrick always made a point to stay cool and collected at work no matter what. Sure there were times when he had lost it, but those were extreme situations.

Of course, most people might consider this an extreme situation, but Warrick found he wasn't feeling much of anything. If possible, he'd been feeling even less since hearing of Tyndall's death than he had when he'd learned his father was a rapist. Comfortably numb was the phrase that sprang to mind.

Now that he was going to be stuck in the lab all night, Warrick figured he'd have plenty of time catch up on his casework then. Might as well kill those few hours somewhere else.

It seemed like there were only two things that made him feel anything anymore. Pulling out his cell, Warrick hit speed dial for the number than would bring him into contact with one of them.

When he got Nick's voice mail, he couldn't help feeling disappointed and even a bit irritated, and hung up instead of leaving a message. He knew he didn't really have the right to feel either, not when he hadn't been answering any calls from Nick lately. How could he blame Nick for returning the favor?

Standing, he grabbed his jacket from his locker. At least he still had that second option.

Nick checked his watch before he fastened it. He still had plenty of time to go home and grab some dinner before he had to be at work.

"Hey."

Nick looked up from looping his belt. "Hey," he said, recognizing the guy as Andrew somebody. The guy was something of a gym rat, but decent enough. He'd spotted for Nick a few times, and Nick had returned the favor.

"You've been working out more often lately," Andrew observed.

That brought an immediate shiver of concern which Nick shook off with determination. It wasn't like the guy knew his every move--he'd just noticed that Nick had been to the gym more often. Which was true, Nick had been working out more in the past month and especially in the past couple of weeks. Any gym regular probably would have noticed. You've got too many weird issues, man, he told himself. Good thing you're seeing a shrink. To Andrew he said, "Been trying to get back into a routine."

"Cool," Andrew nodded. He stepped closer, not enough to actually invade Nick's space, but...closer. "I was just wondering if you wanted to get a drink or something."

"Oh." Nick had just finished packing up his bag and was checking his cell for messages when Andrew's words registered. Oh. "Thanks, um..." He glanced down and noticed Warrick's number was one of those he'd missed during his workout, and was surprised at the jolt seeing it gave him. "I actually...I have to get going."

Andrew nodded, "Some other time," he said easily. "Here," he handed Nick a card.

"Thanks." Nick took it automatically and put it in his pocket as he picked up his bag. "I'll catch you later."

"Later."

Nick hit Warrick's number on speed dial and listened to it ring as he walked out to his truck. He hung up when he got voice mail and tossed his phone into the passenger seat. It served him right for dropping everything just because Warrick called--like some lovesick teenager. What he really should do was go back inside and take Andrew up on his offer.

With a sigh, Nick started his truck. Who was he trying to kid? He didn't want Andrew. He didn't want anyone else. He hadn't wanted anyone except Warrick Brown for more years than he cared to admit.

Catherine knew when she agreed to oversee the Tyndall case that it would be difficult, but she wasn't willing to allow anyone to do it, not even Grissom. What she hadn't expected was to be this furious only three days into the investigation.

She had worked with two of the three CSIs who were handling the case at one time or another. Hal Westbrook was a bit stuffy, but a solid CSI. Valerie Hammond was extremely talented and liked to crack jokes. Brad Vanallen had worked in Vegas years ago, then moved to Reno and had returned just last year. He struck Catherine as a little too slick, but basically competent.

That was two days ago.

Now, Westbrook was slow, Hammond was a flaky idiot and she wanted nothing more than to scratch the smug look off Vanallen's face.

All they had established so far was that it was an incredibly brutal beating, that Tyndall's was the only blood found at the scene and that his injuries were all made by the same weapon--probably a baseball bat.

The beating was the work of someone with a lot of strength and a lot of rage. Thus far they had no suspects. A check of Tyndall's past revealed plenty of enemies, but none that hated him to such a degree. The families of his victims in Las Vegas had been questioned, but according to Westbrook, all the likeliest candidates had alibis and no judge was going to give them warrants to search the homes of Tyndall's victims.

That left Warrick, who had given them permission to search his apartment and his jeep. Valerie Hammond had conducted the searches just the day before, and despite Vanallen's assertion that "Brown would have gotten rid of anything incriminating," she found a baseball bat. There was no reaction when it was sprayed with luminol, however.

Vanallen's comment of "if anyone would know how to get rid of blood it's a CSI" in a snide tone was what nearly set Catherine off. She managed to keep her composure, though, and told them to keep her updated.

It was Hodges of all people who clued her in later that night when she returned for her usual shift. Catherine always thought she was pretty good at figuring out people and knowing if they were hiding something, but when it came to digging up dirt, she had nothing on David Hodges.

She had gone in to get results on another case, and as Hodges handed them over, he said, "So does Vanallen have Warrick on the ropes yet?"

Catherine decided to give him a minute while she decided where to tear the strip off him. "What?"

Obviously sensing danger, Hodges toned down the smugness a little. "I'm just saying...Vanallen must be just praying he finds a way to pin this on Warrick."

"What? Why?"

The chemist feigned surprise. "I thought you would know about it, since it happened back when they both started here."

Catherine thought back to when Warrick had started, but she hadn't really paid much attention to any rookies then. She had just become a CSI-III herself and her marriage had been starting to hit the skids. One thing she knew for sure, though, "You weren't even working here then."

"I hear things," Hodges replied airily. "Like the fact that they both applied for a spot on the famous Dr. Grissom's team, which Warrick got. Vanallen transferred to Reno, probably thinking he'd be able to move up faster there." He was obviously enjoying having a captive audience. "Instead, he wound up back here five years later with no commendations, no presentations and no published papers to his name while Warrick Brown had plenty of all those things. He must be loving the chance for a little payback."

Catherine stared at him while she digested this information. If it was true, it explained a lot about Vanallen's attitude. "Thanks," she smiled, holding up the printout.

For once that full-of-himself, know-it-all smile didn't bother her. She even vowed to give Hodges a pass the next time his gossiping pissed her off.

The more she thought about it, the more probable it seemed. She didn't think Vanallen would cross the line into anything illegal, but there were plenty of things within the rules he could do to make life very difficult for Warrick.

She wondered if Warrick was aware of Vanallen's enmity. If he was, he certainly had never shown it. By and large, that just wasn't Warrick's way. Anyone who didn't know him would think he also had no problem being stuck in the lab.

Catherine knew better and suspected the rest of the team did, as well. She knew Nick knew, although Nick didn't quite seem to know what to do about it--whether to press Warrick or keep his distance. But for those who didn't know how to look past that cool façade Warrick presented, it would look as though nothing unusual was going on in his life. They certainly wouldn't guess he was a "person of interest" in the murder of a serial rapist.

While Catherine could respect that he didn't want everyone knowing how he felt, she was also worried, moreso now than ever. Warrick wasn't really doing anything he needed to do to look out for himself, probably because that would mean acknowledging there was anything wrong. There wasn't a whole lot she could do to because Warrick simply wouldn't discuss the situation with her--or with anyone else as far as she could tell. Still, Catherine was determined to do what little she could to help him since he wasn't willing to help himself. Right now the best way to do that was to keep a close eye on Brad Vanallen.

Nick hurried into the police station, Sweeting casefile clutched in his hand. He had an appointment with Sofia and the ADA about the Sweeting case at nine-thirty--an appointment that he was twenty minutes late for. He hated being late, but with his job it was often unavoidable, particularly when the team was one member short. Normally Valerie Nichols was fairly understanding about such things and willing to wait, so he was somewhat bewildered when he couldn't find her anywhere. He was relieved when he saw Sofia hurrying toward him.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you," she said.

"I know. I got here as soon as I could. I got called to a scene right at the end of my shift and no one was available to--" Nick stopped and shrugged, not wanting to sound like he was making excuses. "Sorry. Was Nichols very pissed?"

"That's why I was trying to reach you. Sweeting is going to plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter and is going to get the max for that, although he's probably going to spend some of it in the psychiatric facility."

Nick couldn't believe that either side had settled for such a deal.

Sofia noticed his expression. "The ADA didn't want to risk a media circus and when the psych eval couldn't give a definite diagnosis..."

"What were the results of the evaluation?"

"Sweeting doesn't qualify under the M'Naughten rules, but he is suffering from some sort of religious mania. Obviously," she added dryly.

"And Sweeting agreed to the plea?"

"Yeah, otherwise he would have been charged with murder one."

"You really think they would have been able to make murder one stick?" Nick asked.

"I don't know, but I guess Sweeting didn't want to risk it, either. Case closed."

"Case closed," Nick repeated. "Well, at least I'll get home before noon for once. Thanks."

As he drove back to the crime lab to drop off the casefile, Nick tried to remain focused on his upbeat words to Sofia, but it bothered him that the case had been closed in such a manner. He knew it shouldn't, because he'd done his job and once the DA's office made their decision, it was out of his hands.

He couldn't shake it, though. He'd thought for certain that Sweeting would want to tell his--Joanie's--story in court. He'd thought the man's faith and love for his daughter had been real. Had Sweeting just been stringing him along? Was he really just as gullible as everyone seemed to think?

Nick steeled himself against the anger he knew was bound to begin building at any moment. Oddly, it didn't happen. The anger didn't appear when he filed away the case or when he stopped at his locker in preparation for going home. Maybe he was just too damn tired to be angry.

Almost as if knowing graveyard was short-handed, the criminal element of Las Vegas had been out in full force lately. In the past four days, Nick had worked two doubles and a triple, going home for a few hours sleep and a shower if he was lucky and only getting the chance to eat while driving to and from scenes. Nick just wanted to go home and crash--he really didn't have the energy to get riled up.

Walking out to his truck, Nick found himself dialing Warrick's number--it had become a habit as soon as he got a moment free despite the fact that he always got voice mail. Sometimes he'd leave a message and later at work, Warrick would apologize for not getting back to him. Always, Warrick managed to do so when it was impossible for them to really stop and talk.

On fourth ring, Nick debated whether or not to bother leaving a message.

"Hey."

That was so unexpected that Nick floundered for a moment. "Hey...I'm a little surprised I caught you," he admitted.

"Well, you did. What's up?"

Now that Nick had Warrick on the line, he couldn't think of anything to say. "I just--uh...I'm just finishing up and heading home."

"And you called me--why? Because you want me to meet you there?"

Nick swallowed hard and tried to sound casual. "Well, y'know...if you're not busy..."

"Nah, sounds good. I'll see you in a few."

When Nick started his truck, he found he wasn't the least bit tired anymore.

Warrick's nerves were twitching with both anticipation and trepidation as he parked behind Nick's truck. He hadn't been alone with Nick for nearly five days and he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in that gorgeous body again, but he knew that Nick would definitely want to talk about what was going on. There'd be no getting around it this time.

That didn't mean he couldn't try.

He knocked, and walked in when Nick called for him to do so. Nick was in the kitchen and turned when Warrick walked up behind him. Before Nick could say a word, Warrick caught his face in both hands and bent for a deep kiss. Nick stilled for a split-second, then his lips parted and his hands slid up Warrick's back to pull him closer.

This, Warrick decided, was ten times better than what had been happening between them lately. There were no grappling hands, no bites, no shoving or tearing, just a long, slow kiss and tongues lazily jousting and hands tracing mindless patterns. This was why Warrick was never a big fan of talking and usually avoided it when possible. Strangely, Nick was one of the few lovers with whom he'd ever truly enjoyed the conversations beforehand.

He knew he wouldn't enjoy today's conversation, though, and was determined to avoid it if at all possible. Nick seemed equally determined not to be distracted from it and after another moment, he firmly broke off the clinch. It was small consolation to Warrick that Nick was breathing just as hard as he was. Nick's flushed cheeks, bright eyes and swollen lips only made Warrick want to dive back in, uncomfortable subject or no.

"I was going to ask if you were hungry," Nick said with a breathless laugh. "But I guess I already know the answer."

Warrick couldn't help smirking.

"Chicken salad," Nick showed him the bowl. "I still have plenty left over from yesterday."

Warrick felt his stomach growl. "Sure," he said. He knew eating would also mean talking, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd sat down for an actual meal.

"You want a sandwich or a wrap?"

"I'll make my own." Warrick grabbed the bread. He stood as close as possible to Nick while making his sandwich, hoping to distract Nick but only torturing himself in the process.

Nick didn't say anything except to ask what Warrick wanted to drink.

After only a few bites into his sandwich, Warrick couldn't take it anymore. "Let's get this over with."

"Yeah? Well, I really don't know what to say," Nick shrugged. "Rick, you gotta know you're in trouble here, but you haven't done a thing to help yourself."

"Like what?" Damn, this was good chicken salad. What did Nick put in it, anyway?

"I don't know--something. Tell Westbrook what you did when you called it sick--what show you watched that night, what book you read, how much you slept--something. You haven't even flat out told them you had nothing to do with it."

"How do you know I didn't?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Rick, I'm serious, here."

It was somewhat heartening that Nick wouldn't even consider the possibility, but it left Warrick without anything to say.

"Why would you want anyone to suspect you?" Nick asked, then stopped and put down his sandwich. "Do you feel bad because you never met him? Guilty because he's dead? Responsible because you identified him?"

"What's with all the questions, man?"

"I'm just trying to figure out where your head is at, because it's not on your job."

Now those were fighting words. "Hey, you think because I'm in the lab that I'm slacking? It wasn't my idea to--"

"That's not what I meant," Nick interrupted. "I meant that you don't seem worried about protecting it. You know that an arrest, even if they drop the charges later, means your career is over. It's like you aren't doing anything to protect it. It's like you think you should lose your job."

"Jesus, here we go with the psychobabble again." A similar statement had set Nick off last time.

Not this time, Nick seemed irritated, but not actually angry. "The psychobabble was your idea in the first place," he pointed out. "And I took your advice because I trusted you wanted to help me."

The implication was obvious, but Warrick only felt stifled by it. "Enough."

"No, Rick. This is too important to let it go."

The fact that Nick was staying calm only made Warrick angrier. "What do you want to hear? That it's a giant weight off my shoulders? Because it is. I'm glad I don't have to meet him. I never wanted to before Sara's case and I sure as hell didn't want to after. Okay? I liked it a whole helluva lot better when my father was nobody and I can't wait until it gets back to that again. Happy now?"

Nick looked anything but and in fact, seemed saddened. "Warrick, it doesn't just go away when the case does. Trust me."

Suddenly Warrick couldn't breathe. "I didn't show up for this," he dropped his sandwich and headed for the door.

"Yeah, I know," Nick said, following. "You only showed up to fuck me. Thanks."

Nick finally sounded angry, but even more, he sounded hurt and that made Warrick pause.

"Christ, Rick, is it so much to ask to know what the hell is going on with you?"

"Nothing's going on with me."

Nick sighed, looking unhappier than ever. "If you're not going to level, then you might as well leave."

Well, when he put it like that..."Fair enough," Warrick said, and left.

"Sara? Did you forget something?" Nick had to yell to be sure she heard him over the crackling on the line. Reception wasn't so great out by the northwest shore of Lake Las Vegas. "Let me get to the Denali and I'll call you back."

He snapped the phone shut, picked up his kit and headed over the slight rise to where they had parked the Denali and found--nothing. What the hell?

He'd been searching an area a few hundred yards away, but he'd been close enough to hear Sara call out that she was getting a ride back in the squad car. Nick had hollered back that he would be done in about fifteen more minutes. Those extra minutes proved to be very fruitful--during that time, Nick found a bullet that might very well be their victim's through-and-through. That made it worth staying for hours after the coroner had hauled the body away.

His phone chirped again. "Sara? Did you move the Denali?"

"...told you I took it back to...lab...supposed to get a ride back with Akers."

"You were supposed to get a ride back with Akers," Nick protested.

"...had to...soil samples back...lab."

Nick sighed. He could see how the mix-up would have occurred when they were shouting across to each other, but that didn't explain--"Where's Akers?"

"...thought...were with..."

"You're breaking up! What?"

"...coming out...get you...twenty minu--stay put..."

Nick couldn't tell if she meant she'd left twenty minutes ago or would be there in twenty more minutes. Either way, at least someone was on the way out to get him. The static was getting worse. "Okay, catch you later."

Sara might have said goodbye, but Nick couldn't tell for sure. He closed his phone. So he was out in the middle of nowhere again, this time alone. At least it wasn't dark--the sun had been up for over an hour, although the sky was very overcast. That was something Nick was actually grateful for, it wouldn't have been much fun waiting out where there was no shade or shelter from the scorching sun for miles. So better overcast than having the sun beat down on him like--

Was that thunder?

Nick barely had time to check the sky before the heavens opened up and rain started to pour. Oh, hell. Scrambling, Nick quickly packed up his camera in his kit. Within moments, his hair was plastered to his head and his sleeves to his arms. It hadn't soaked through his vest yet, but Nick knew that it was only a matter of time--probably minutes.

Picking up his kit again, he headed for the only thing vaguely resembling shelter, a large boulder. Sorry shelter at best, since the rain was rushing straight down, but at least it was something. He crouched down next to the rock and bowed his head against the rain, which only made it drip down the back of his neck.

Wonderful. The perfect way to cap off a lousy week.

As if what had happened to Warrick wasn't bad enough, now Nick had the aching knowledge that he had made a mess of things with his stupid ultimatum. It was his own damn fault for trying to bluff. For trying to bluff Warrick, of all people. He still didn't know if Warrick had actually seen through the bluff, but he certainly never expected Warrick to call him on it.

The worst part was that he knew Warrick was in trouble and would have given anything to be able to help, but couldn't if he didn't know what was going on. Nick had his suspicions, but hadn't wanted to make a move until he knew for certain, fearing that going in blindly would only make things worse.

Great plan, dumbass.

He'd thought that staying calm and refusing to argue would help the situation, but he should have known it would only make Warrick angrier.

That had been two days ago, and since then, Nick had avoided Warrick whenever possible. It might be cowardly, but Nick just wasn't ready to deal with the fallout of his actions. He managed to remain professional when he had to deal with Warrick at work--Warrick did the same, of course--but he hadn't called Warrick's number since then. What was the point when he knew Warrick wouldn't answer?

His instincts had told him to take a stand, and he had. But his instincts had failed him this time and by pushing too hard, he'd ruined the potential for a relationship and probably their friendship as well.

Nick shifted, his soaked jeans and boots squishing as his did. It was summer, so he wasn't that cold, just chilled and wet enough to feel as miserable on the outside as he did on the inside. He didn't bother to check his watch as he leaned against the boulder, not wanting to know how slowly time was crawling by.

With the rain coming down the way it was, Nick didn't see the vehicle approaching until it was almost right in front of him. To his surprise, it wasn't a Denali or even a squad car, but Warrick's jeep. Nick didn't take the time to wonder or worry about it, he grabbed his kit and made a dash for honest-to-God shelter. Quickly, he put the kit in the back and jumped into the passenger side, barely noting that Warrick had put down a blanket to protect his seat. As soon as he was buckled in, a towel hit him in the face.

"Sorry," Warrick said with a chuckle.

"S'okay," he said as he dried his face and started on his hair. The slight laugh surprised and warmed Nick more than anything else. Maybe, maybe, that stupid ultimatum hadn't completely driven Warrick away. "What are you doing out here?"

"You complainin'?"

"Hell, no," Nick was quick to assure him. "I know how you drive--you probably made in here in half the time anyone else would have." He wanted to keep the conversation as upbeat as possible.

"Sara got called to a scene five seconds after she finished with you. Since I don't work doubles or even overtime right now," Warrick sounded disgruntled. "I said I'd come out and get you."

"Thanks." Nick hated to ask what he was about to ask. He knew that although too many doubles and too much overtime could be a pain, not being allowed to work them was maddening. He didn't want to sound as if he was rubbing in Warrick's predicament. "Do they need me at the scene?"

"Nah. You're supposed to drop off any evidence and then go home because with your luck, you'll probably develop summer pneumonia."

"Grissom said that?"

"Catherine."

"Okay, that makes sense," Nick nodded.

A silence fell over the cab, and Warrick turned up the music. Nick was grateful for the action, otherwise he might have felt compelled to say something that could have ruined the companionable atmosphere.

They drove past the golf club on the west shore of Lake Las Vegas, and just before they got to the Parkway, Warrick turned off and pulled up at a Starbucks. "I'll grab us some coffee."

"I can go in," Nick protested.

"Lookin' like a drowned rat? Stay put, man, I got it."

Nick decided to acquiesce. "I'm gonna put some different music on, okay?"

Warrick paused, his hand on the door handle. "Yeah, I guess you can't do too bad, since it's all my music."

"Funny," Nick said dryly.

"You know where they are."

Alone in the jeep, Nick decided he wasn't going to bring up any of his concerns and ruin Warrick's lighter mood. He was just glad to have some semblance of their banter back. Nick opened the center console where Warrick always kept a few CDs. Normally he didn't mind the hip-hop Warrick was playing, but he wanted something a little mellower right now.

There was a stack of papers on top of the CDs, and Nick moved them with the barest glance, but that glance was enough for the logo from Binion's to catch his eye. With a sinking feeling, Nick read the rest of the slip, which turned out to be a credit marker for two grand. The stack of slips was alarmingly thick and without really thinking about it, Nick began going through them, checking the dates and the amounts automatically.

Some of them showed visits to four different casinos in one day and totaled up to nine thousand dollars, but what really made Nick stop and stare was a marker for the day Earle Tyndall died. The time on it was eleven-thirty--that meant Warrick was probably at the Tangier's at the time of Tyndall's death. Surveillance cameras could put him in the clear. The door opened, making Nick jump.

"Here," Warrick said. "I got you a--" he stopped, his eyes going from the markers to Nick's face before closing.

Suddenly, Nick felt horribly guilty. "Rick, I didn't--I wasn't..."

"I forgot I shoved them in there," Warrick said dully. "Here," he handed Nick a cup of coffee and got in.

"Warrick..."

"Don't." Warrick didn't sound angry, but weary. "Just--just drink your coffee, okay?" He set his cup in the holder and started the engine. Immediately, the music started again. Warrick switched it off with a snarl, as if Lil' Boosie was to blame for the entire situation.

Fifteen minutes passed in silence before Nick ventured to speak. "You have an alibi for--"

"Do you have to stop at the lab?"

"I have a bullet and a couple other things to drop off, yeah."

Warrick grunted in response, then silence fell over them again.

Nick waited a few minutes before giving it another shot. "You have an alibi."

"No, I don't," Warrick said through clenched teeth.

"I kinda figured you were hitting the tables," Nick said frankly. "But I thought it was only since Tyndall was killed. It's been since you found out about him, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," Warrick muttered.

Nick wanted to keep going, but didn't want to make the same mistake as last time. At least Warrick was responding right now. "Rick, it's evidence that could clear you."

Warrick didn't respond to that, and Nick, worried that he'd gone too far again, fell silent. They remained quiet as they turned onto East Tropicana and headed toward the crime lab. It wasn't until they had pulled into the parking lot that Warrick spoke again. "Go bring your stuff in."

Nick hesitated. He definitely didn't want to leave things the way they were. "Well, maybe I..."

"Go on. I'll wait."

"Wait? I've got dry clothes in my locker..."

"Don't bother. You can change once I bring you home."

"My truck is here, I can--" Shut up, stupid! Nick mind railed at him and he quickly switched gears. "You're gonna take me home?"

"That a problem?"

Was he kidding? "Nope, no problem. I'll be right back." Nick got his kit out of the back and hurried inside, thankful for the covered parking. He quickly logged in the evidence, unloaded his weapon and put it his locker, then hung his vest in the locker room to dry before jogging back out to the jeep.

Nick was content to sit quietly as Warrick navigated through the morning traffic. Just the fact that Warrick was taking him home meant that he was at least willing to consider talking about it. Or did Warrick really think that Nick was going to ignore everything he'd just discovered? Part of Nick was happy to do just that, at least for today. He was that glad to be with Warrick again. Besides, at least today he would know where Warrick was, or more importantly, where Warrick wasn't.

Talking to Warrick about his gambling problem was something Nick had never attempted, not even when he'd tried to help Warrick through the occasional stumble. Warrick knew he had a problem, and hearing it again from Nick wasn't necessarily going to help anything. Nick was more concerned with Warrick's refusal to use his alibi, anyway.

Nick knew he could always just go check the surveillance cameras himself if he had to. Of course Warrick didn't want anyone knowing about this particular alibi, but it wasn't like he could be fired for it. Gambling wasn't illegal, and Warrick certainly wouldn't be the first guy to call in sick when he wasn't. It might have been different if Warrick had been gambling while on the clock, but he hadn't been.

The whole idea of going behind Warrick's back--even if it meant helping--didn't sit well with Nick. That would have to be a last resort, only if an arrest was imminent. First, Nick would try to convince Warrick to reveal the alibi himself.

Before any of that, though, Nick wanted to change out of his wet clothes and take a shower.

Warrick parked in the driveway and Nick got out. It took a few minutes for him to fish his keys out of his wet jeans, but finally he was able to let them in.

Once inside, Nick suddenly felt awkward and wasn't entirely sure why. Not so long ago, they would have been in a clinch the moment the door closed behind them. "I'm gonna take a quick shower," he said. "Why don't you grab yourself something to eat?"

Warrick nodded, a bit of a smirk on his face.

Nick grimaced, apparently he still looked like a drowned rat. It went well with the fact that he was thoroughly uncomfortable and chilled by this point. That shower was sounding better all the time. In the bathroom, he quickly stripped and turned on the shower, letting out a sigh as he stepped under the water. He turned toward the spray, content to just let the hot water flow over him.

He felt a draft of cold air seconds before a big, warm body pressed against him from behind. Without a second thought, Nick leaned back against the solid form, smiling as Warrick's arms encircled him. "What are you doing?" he asked, even though he knew.

One of Warrick's hands wandered lower and wrapped around Nick's cock. "I'm grabbing myself something to eat," he murmured against Nick's ear.

Nick laughed, but it came out a groan. Those words, as much as the deft strokes of Warrick's hand, were what brought Nick to full hardness almost immediately.

Warrick released his now-erect cock, and turned Nick around, moving in for a kiss. Nick brought his arms up around Warrick's neck and held on as Warrick began moving down from his jaw to his neck. "So this is the real reason you're here," Nick said, knowing he should be angry, annoyed, something by the knowledge.

Warrick's lips moved up to his ear. "I'm here because I missed you, Nicky," he murmured. "Isn't that enough?"

Nick wondered who he was fooling with his half-hearted protest. Obviously not Warrick, who had begun to move further down to Nick's collarbone and then his chest. He suckled and bit gently each nipple and then continued downward, pausing briefly to nuzzle along Nick's navel and hip bone before licking along the length of Nick's straining erection.

The sensation of Warrick's agile tongue laving the head of his cock and teasing the slit, robbed Nick of words. By the time Warrick finally took him into his mouth, Nick was moaning helplessly and thrusting mindlessly. Warrick's hands on his hips kept him from ending it too soon and Nick knew those hands and the shower wall were the only reason he was still upright.

"Warrick..." Nick knew he was close and gripped a handful of Warrick's hair.

Instead of releasing him, Warrick took even more into his mouth and increased the suction. Nick tried to hold back and prolong the pleasure, but couldn't. Desperately, he pumped himself into Warrick's mouth. Warrick swallowed every drop and continued to suck gently until Nick's tremors finally ceased.

When Warrick released him, Nick's legs gave way and he slid down the shower wall. Warrick leaned forward onto his hands and knees to kissed Nick as he sat on the tiled floor. Still floating, Nick was content to let Warrick do most of the exploring and reveled in the taste of himself on Warrick's tongue.

Warrick reached to turn the water off and stood up. When Nick moved to return the favor, Warrick pulled him to his feet. "Don't worry about it, I'm not done yet."

Nick wouldn't have thought it possible so soon afterward, but his cock twitched with interest. It certainly helped that Warrick grabbed a couple of towels and dried him off as thoroughly as Nick had ever been dried off in his life. How Warrick managed to dry himself off at the same time was a mystery to Nick, but somehow he did.

Deciding enough was enough, Nick reached for Warrick's leaking erection, but Warrick grabbed both his hands and tugged him along to the bedroom. Nick wasn't sure what was going on--Warrick was like a man on a mission. Maybe it was all only to avoid talking, but Nick found it difficult to care when Warrick's hands and mouth roamed over his body, stopping to give extra attention to any area that got a reaction from him.

Almost before Nick realized it was happening, Warrick had urged him face down onto the bed. During the time it took for Nick to adjust his growing erection, Warrick had got the lube out and coated up his fingers, as Nick discovered when he felt them slickly probing between his buttocks. He started to push himself up, but stopped when a hand pressed gently but firmly down on his back.

"Rest up," Warrick advised, his voice full of promise.

Oh, hell. Nick took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around his pillow, using it to muffle his moans while Warrick slid one, then two fingers deep inside. Those fingers found the intense bundle of nerves and alternately prodded, stroked and massaged until Nick found himself whining--whining--for some sort of release.

Even worse was when those fingers withdrew and Nick let out a groan until Warrick flipped him onto his back. Lifting Nick's legs onto his shoulders, Warrick positioned himself and then drove home with a single thrust.

Nick would have the feeling the next day that he'd been embarrassingly loud, but at the moment he didn't know or care what he was shouting. All that mattered was Warrick pounding into him, filling him up, and exploding inside of him.

He was barely aware of Warrick cleaning him up and pulling back the covers on the bed. Two mind-shattering orgasms in such close succession left him feeling as if he'd been drugged. There was only one thing preventing Nick from drifting off into a deep sleep. "Are y'stayin'?"

Warrick kissed him softly before wrapping arms and legs around him. "Take a wild guess."

On to Part 3