Demonology Part 4

The next morning after shift, Nick more or less cornered Warrick and invited himself over by saying he'd bring breakfast from Amigo's. Warrick looked relieved, then wary, but he agreed.

Nick tried to discuss the situation while they ate, but Warrick seemed just as determined to avoid it. He'd thought that Warrick being on "home turf" might make it easier to talk, but it didn't seem to make much difference.

Warrick did seem to be making more of an effort to keep his temper in the face of Nick's prodding, but didn't give up anything else, either. When Nick offered to check the surveillance tape for him, Warrick flat out refused.

Even the possibility of losing his job didn't produce much reaction. That was something that really bothered Nick because he knew how much the job meant to Warrick. Nick still hadn't gotten around to mentioning the gambling, partly because he wasn't sure how to bring it up, but mostly because he thought the threat of arrest was the more immediate problem. And it certainly was, if the conversation he had overheard between Hodges and Mandy about Brad Vanallen was anything to go by.

Almost as soon as they finished eating, Warrick began another campaign of distraction. It was especially difficult for Nick to resist with the memories of the previous day still fresh in his mind. In not time at all, they were in Warrick's bedroom, and not much longer after that, they had collapsed on Warrick's bed, limbs still wrapped around each other.

As he drifted off to sleep, Nick took some consolation in the fact that they were no longer fighting before sex.

"You want to what?" Catherine couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I can't do that."

"C'mon, Cath."

He was hitting her with the puppy dog eyes. He hadn't used those on her since--Catherine couldn't remember the last time he'd used them on her. That alone made them difficult to ignore, but she gave it her best shot. "I can give you an update--"

"That's not going to work."

Those earnest brown eyes were really getting to her. "Well, what is it you want to know?"

"That's just it. I'll probably only know it when I see it."

"Nicky, you know I want to help you, but this is a really touchy thing and I don't want to do anything that could make it worse for Warrick."

Nick nodded his understanding. "It's just that I heard Hodges and Mandy talking about--"

"Vanallen?" Catherine interrupted. Nick looked at her in surprise. "Hodges already told me about him."

"I remember him bad-mouthing Warrick a lot back before he left for Reno."

"I've been keeping an eye on him, but he's pretty much third-string on this case. Westbrook is heading it up the investigation and Hammond is shotgun."

"And they're really working it?"

"They're doing everything they're supposed to," Catherine hedged. When Nick's eyebrows rose dubiously, she continued, "You know as well as I do that although we aren't supposed to care what the victim might have done while alive, it doesn't always work that way. Tyndall brutally raped several women and plenty of people just don't care who killed him."

"I know. I'm one of them."

Catherine blinked in surprise. She'd never heard that sentiment from Nick before--never expected to hear it.

"I only care that Warrick is in the clear. Are there any other suspects?"

Catherine grimaced. "Not so far. Everyone we've investigated has had an alibi--"

"--except Warrick," Nick finished.

"Except Warrick. Nick, you know I'm doing everything I can."

"I know," he assured her, and for a moment Catherine thought the conversation was finished. "Just a quick look, Catherine. Off the record, I swear."

Realization hit. "You know something."

The puppy dog eyes abruptly disappeared when Nick looked away from her.

Catherine stood and walked around her desk, sitting on the edge directly in front of Nick. The closer she was, the easier it was to stare him down. "Nicky, what's going on? If you know something that can help solve the case..."

"No. That is, it won't solve the case, but if I look at the file..."

Catherine couldn't help wondering if Nick would have felt comfortable confiding in her just six months before. Partly because he had never given her a reason to mistrust him and partly because she wanted to further reestablish his trust in her, she picked up the casefile from the corner of her desk. "You have to look at it here."

His face lit up with gratitude. "Absolutely," he agreed, taking it from her.

She sat down behind the desk again as Nick looked through the file, a frown of concentration on his face. She only saw his expression change once, briefly, during his perusal. After several long minutes, he closed it and handed it back.

"Thank you."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I will," he assured her. "Just as soon as I can."

"What would it take?"

"What would it take to what?"

"For you to let Westbrook know you have an alibi."

Warrick heaved an aggravated sigh.

Nick didn't know why Warrick was acting as if it was the hundredth time he'd asked the question. He hadn't mentioned the case at all when they were out at breakfast or once they got back to his place. They had even made out for a little while, not with any of their usual immediate heat, but slowly and luxuriously. When Nick spoke, they were taking a bit of a breather while they caught the sports highlights. Considering how important the subject was, Nick thought he was showing a great deal of patience by not bringing every five minutes.

"Rick, just listen. I asked Catherine to let me take a look at the casefile."

"You what?" Warrick pulled away from him.

"There's some things that dayshift isn't going to know to check out because--well, because they just don't know. And I'm not sure Catherine would know it's something significant, either."

"Like what?"

"Like one of the victims--Aube, I think her name is--lives in your old neighborhood. That would be Tyndall's old neighborhood, too, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah," Warrick agreed reluctantly.

"Well, I went back and checked and found nine unsolved rapes over the past five years that match Tyndall's MO and--"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Warrick surged off the couch. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm trying to save your ass!" Nick said, struggling to stay calm. "Because you sure as hell don't seem interested in trying!" He watched Warrick pace the room. "Just listen, okay? Of the nine unsolveds that matched with Tyndall's MO and when he was known to be in Vegas, six of them were in your old neighborhood."

Warrick stopped pacing. "So that was his main hunting ground."

"Right. Now they haven't gotten around to comparing the DNA in any of the cold cases..."

"And Tyndall was killed in a completely different part of town."

"Right, and the judge wouldn't sign a warrant when--"

"So stop wasting your time," Warrick cut him off. "It's not your case. It's not your business."

"Well, I don't have much choice, do I? What I'd like is for you to let someone know you have an alibi so they can take you off the suspect list."

"You know I can't do that," Warrick glowered at him.

"No, I don't know it. I know you won't do anything about it, but I don't know why."

"Goddamn it, you do know!" Warrick's voice rose again. "You saw the damn slips!"

"Yes, I saw the damn slips!" Nick returned. "I saw the damn slips that could save your ass!" By taking deep breaths and remembering some of Demarest's words, he was able to calm down a bit. "Warrick, you would get a reprimand, if that--they can't fire you for gambling, even if you called in sick to do it, even if you have a problem. But if you get arrested, that's it. Even if the charges are dropped later, you're done. You can't get your job back."

Warrick didn't say anything.

Nick found himself continuing to push. Even Warrick angry and shouting was preferable to stone cold silence. "Or are you so far gone that you're gambling on this, too? Just roll the dice and hope for the best?"

Warrick shot another glare in his direction before continuing to pace without replying. Obviously, he'd caught onto the fact that he was being baited.

"Okay, fine," Nick sighed. "I'll just go to Catherine with the other stuff I found today. Maybe if I talk to some of the victims--"

"You know you can't do that," Warrick stopped again. "You can't go injecting yourself into someone else's investigation--especially not this one. Not without something more than you've got. If you try it, you could get into trouble."

"I could get into trouble?" Nick got off the couch and blocked Warrick's path. "Are you even listening to yourself? Warrick, you could Lose. Your. Job."

"You don't know that will happen."

"I don't care! I'm not willing to take that chance. There's no way I'm going to lose you!"

Warrick's eyes widened, and Nick belatedly realized what he'd said.

"As a colleague," he amended hastily, feeling his face heat up. "I mean, you're too damn good a CSI to risk your career like this." He knew by the gleam in the green eyes that Warrick wasn't even listening anymore. "Rick..." He felt helpless to prevent what he knew was about to happen. Of course, he probably would have been better at preventing it if he wasn't looking forward to it so much.

Oddly, instead of trying to capture his lips, Warrick's head dipped and he nuzzled Nick's throat. "You just go on and keep talking as long as you want, Nicky," he murmured against Nick's skin.

Very funny, Nick thought, but didn't say so out loud. Instead, he gripped a handful of Warrick's hair and lifted his head so their lips could meet.

Warrick's hands were at his waist, but soon slid around and lower, raising Nick's hips slightly and pressing their groins together. Nick moaned into Warrick's mouth, wondering distantly if he would ever get used to the multitude of sensations Warrick could send ricocheting through him.

At least he'd gotten Warrick to talk a little more this time. Maybe at some point he'd figure out enough to be able to help. He just hoped it happened before charges were actually brought.

Warrick jolted awake to the sound of Nick's voice cracking with panic and despair. For a few seconds, he panicked as well, unable to tell where he was or what was going on. Then he registered someone thrashing next to him. Quickly, he sat up, "Nick...Nicky..." he shook Nick's shoulder. "Nicky, wake up..."

Nick gasped, then jumped, his eyes flying open. He sat up almost immediately.

"Hey," Warrick put a hand on the sweat slick back. "Just breathe."

Nick drew his knees up and, resting his arms on them, hung his head.

Warrick shifted closer, gently massaging Nick's shoulder. "What was this one about?"

Running both hands through his hair, Nick took a deep breath. "Just--the same...the box."

Warrick waited for him to go into more detail, but instead, Nick sat up straighter.

"Time is it?" he muttered, looking at the bedside clock. Then he yawned and stretched and swung both legs out of bed.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, just checking the time." Nick reached around until he found his short and pulled them on.

"Why?"

"I've had enough sleep. I'm going to the gym."

"What? Now?" Warrick reached over to turn on the bedside lamp.

"Yeah. If I've had at least five hours sleep when I wake up from a nightmare now, I go to the gym and work it off." Nick got up and started getting dressed. "Makes it easier to shake them. Been going pretty good so far."

"Are you okay, though?" Warrick watched as Nick checked his gym bag. "You look a little...shaky."

"Well, yeah," Nick said with a self-conscious laugh. "I usually am until I start working out." He returned to the bed and bent to give Warrick a quick kiss. "I'll be about an hour, so it if you want to go back to sleep or whatever..."

Warrick nodded, mostly because he wasn't sure what else to do. Moments later, he heard Nick's front door open and close.

What the hell was that?

Did Nick think he had a problem with the nightmares? What would make him think that?

Warrick considered what had just happened. True, Nick had seemed shaken, but that was to be expected. Nick had also been eager to get going, but it didn't seem to be because he was anxious to get away from Warrick. Hell, he'd taken the time to explain where he was going and give Warrick a good-bye kiss.

Besides, Warrick knew Nick well enough to know that he was lousy at coming up with spur-of-the-moment lies--at least with people that knew him well. He'd be even worse at it if he'd just awakened from a nightmare, so if Nick said he'd started working off the nightmares, that's probably exactly what was going on. Strange that Nick hadn't mentioned it, but then when would it have come up?

Warrick couldn't help feeling a little bereft, not necessarily because he was alone in the bed, but because Nick obviously hadn't needed or wanted his help. There had only been a handful of nightmares during the times that they had shared a bed, but Warrick had liked being there for Nick.

Of course, it was a good thing that Nick seemed to have a handle on the nightmares. Apparently the shrink he was seeing was doing some good. They'd never talked about how Nick was doing, mostly because every time Nick mentioned his therapist, Warrick bit his head off.

Still, there had been plenty of opportunities for Nick to talk about what was going on with him--why wouldn't he?

That little voice inside him, the one that was always brutally honest about his gambling and he told him his marriage was a mistake, spoke up again.

Why should he?

Nick quickly agreed when Warrick invited him over after work, but the job ended up changing their plans. A half-hour before his shift ended, he got called to a drowning in Seven Hills.

It didn't take long for it to become obvious the COD was basic stupidity--one too many jell-O shots combined with one too many Jackass-inspired stunts. The only good thing about the tragically ridiculous case was that Nick was able to wrap it up just before noon.

He called Warrick's number as soon as he left the lab and was relieved when Warrick answered on the second ring. At least he knew Warrick hadn't gone to a casino. That had been one of his fears when he got back from the gym and found Warrick gone, even though there was a note saying "catch you at work."

Nick didn't ask Warrick if he'd gone to the casino. He knew the gambling was serious, but it was also something Warrick had gotten himself out from under before, with very little help from Nick. The fallout from a murder charge, on the other hand, there was no getting away from that.

He didn't mention any of his concerns when Warrick answered, he just offered to bring lunch and asked if Warrick had any beer. The answer was a negative, so Nick picked up a six-pack while he waited for the pizzas.

Warrick had definitely skipped breakfast, Nick decided, judging by the way he tore through the first pizza in no time. Nick almost made a comment about the gut, but didn't want to put Warrick in a bad mood when he was getting ready to bring up the alibi again. Besides, the gut wasn't nearly as noticeable lately.

Nick was trying to think of a new way to broach the subject, but Warrick brought it up first. "Heard anything about the case lately?"

Nick blinked in surprise, "Haven't you?"

"Nah," Warrick leaned back on the couch, beer in hand. "No one's going to say anything to me unless I ask, and I haven't asked."

That might explained why Warrick hadn't been more concerned about the possibility of arrest. "You're the only person they've got whose whereabouts aren't accounted for. And Vanallen is lovin' every minute of it."

"Vanallen," Warrick snorted with contempt. "You really think he's got the balls to try anything?"

"The way things stand right now, he doesn't have to do much."

"Mm," Warrick took a swig of beer.

"You can put this whole thing to rest in no time," Nick pointed out. "Why don't you?"

With a deep sigh, Warrick put his free hand over his eyes. "I fucked up, Nicky. Big time."

A little jolt of fear ran through Nick. "What?"

Warrick didn't speak for some time and Nick didn't press him. He was still amazed that Warrick was willing to talk at all and didn't want to throw him off. "What's it been?" Warrick finally said, "A month since I found out about my father?"

"About that," Nick agreed. "Maybe a little more."

"I've blown over thirty G's."

There was no way he heard that right. "Thirty grand?" Nick tried to sound normal, but his voice squeaked a little.

"I fell off the wagon pretty hard," Warrick added unnecessarily.

"You don't have that kind of money," Nick said. He knew it was a stupid thing to say, but he was still trying to wrap his head around the number.

"Y'know...maxed out my cards, borrowed against my paycheck." Warrick's voice dropped, "Hocked a few things."

Nick automatically scanned Warrick's living room. The television was still there, but it was a very old model. Warrick's DVD player and high-end stereo were usually behind the dark glass doors of his entertainment unit, so Nick couldn't tell if they were there or not. He did notice that Warrick's beloved Martin acoustic was missing from its usual corner.

Nick felt as if he'd stepped off the edge of a kiddie pool only to find that it was actually the deep end. "Okay, but--" Somehow he just knew he was going to end up saying the wrong thing before he even said it. "That still wouldn't be enough to fire you. Man, if everyone who had money problems got in trouble at work..." he stopped when Warrick let out another sigh, wishing he could figure out what he was missing.

After a few more minutes of silence, Warrick spoke again. "You know what Grissom told me before he left for his sabbatical?"

"What?"

"He told me I was the rock of the team."

"He's called you that before." Nick recalled how envious he'd been when he first found out Grissom referred to Warrick as that.

"Right. So now I'm supposed to walk in and tell him that his rock has sunk so far so fast that I can't even pay my damn rent."

Nick immediately latched onto the only thing that he could do something about. "Look, Rick, if you--"

"Don't," Warrick cut him off.

"Don't? You don't even know what--"

"You were gonna offer to help me with my rent," Warrick turned to him with a slight smile.

Well, hell. He gave Warrick a sheepish smile of his own. "Sorry."

"Nah, man."

"Okay, look, it seems to me that the arrest is the biggest problem--" Nick stopped again, because he knew things probably seemed very different to Warrick. "Let's work on the arrest first, because it's the most important--" That wasn't necessarily true, either. "The arrest is the worst thing that--" He decided to level, "Can we start with the arrest? It's the only problem I know how to do anything about."

Warrick chuckled and slung an arm around Nick's neck, pulling him over and planting a kiss on top of his head. "And you absolutely have to help, doncha, Nicky?"

Nick didn't know what to make of that. Was he supposed to believe that if their situations were reversed, that Warrick wouldn't be doing the exact same thing? "Rick, seriously, it could be your job. Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"I guess I just can't see it," Warrick replied, which was about as close an admission of denial as Nick had ever heard from him. "They don't have any evidence to put me at the scene."

"They have motive--that is, they think they have probable motive--and lack of an alibi. Sometimes that's enough for an arrest. Vanallen may not have the stones to try any risky, but you can be damn sure he'll be pushing for those charges."

"But Westbrook and Hammond won't. I don't have a beef with either of them. And I should have some sort of cushion, time wise. Catherine would definitely let me know an arrest was coming. Depending on who the detective working the case is--"

"Sofia," Nick said.

"Then she'd probably give me a head's up, too. That's when I can pull out the alibi."

When he said it the day before, Nick had been trying to provoke Warrick, but now it appeared he may have been right. "So you're just going to cross your fingers and hope for the best?"

Warrick fell silent, and stayed quiet for so long that Nick began to worry he'd gone too far. "I know," Warrick said heavily. "I know I'm not--" he shook his head, unable or unwilling to finish.

Nick wondered if that was it--if that was all Warrick was going to say about the matter. He'd already decided he wouldn't press if it was. Warrick had talked about it more today than he had since it happened. Even though he didn't seem happy or relieved to be getting it off his chest, at least he was talking about it. Nick couldn't help being curious as to what brought about this change of heart.

"I haven't done it since you found those slips," Warrick said.

Nick had no idea if that warranted praise or not.

"I'll have to get out my book again and start at the beginning. I should have taken it out when this whole mess with Tyndall went down--hell, I never should have put it away."

"When did you put it away?"

"When Tina and I moved in together. The day after the wedding."

"What about during the divorce?"

"Nope. I mean, I thought about it...I had the urge, but no. This time...Jesus, I barely even remember how I got to the table. But I won five Gs in the first hour, so hell."

Something about that just didn't sit right with Nick. "What if you'd lost?"

"What?" Warrick frowned.

"If you'd lost five Gs in the first hour."

Warrick didn't answer immediately, instead taking another sip of his beer. "Then I'd have tried to chase it back," he said reluctantly. "You're right. It's an excuse, and a piss-poor one, at that."

Nick had been half-leaning against Warrick since the unexpected buss on the head, and he shifted slightly, then settled so he was more comfortable. When saw a smile tug at Warrick's lips and felt Warrick's arm curl around him, Nick decided to keep going while Warrick was in a good mood. "Did you go to Gamblers Anonymous when you quit before?"

"Shit," Warrick let out a sigh. "I thought we were done."

"Oh." Damn. He knew he'd end up going too far. "Sorry."

"I went to a few," Warrick said. "But mostly I just got the book and worked it on my own."

"And Grissom helped." Strange that it hurt to say that, when it had been his own decision not to mention gambling to Warrick after Holly Gribbs died. At the time, he hadn't wanted to damage their developing friendship. But this time, more than six years later, it wasn't something he could ignore or avoid.

"Yeah, he did. Mostly just by talking--well, not actually talking," a note of wry humor entered Warrick's voice. "I'd talk. Most of the time Gris would just let me keep talking until I'd talked myself around to what I knew I was supposed to do in the first place."

Nick nodded, he knew what that was like. He used to hate being on the receiving end of that look of Grissom's. It inevitably made him feel stupid, like he wasn't getting to the right conclusion quickly enough, or he should have been able to reach it without bothering his supervisor. Oddly enough, Demarest used a similar tactic, yet it never made him feel as though he should have known the answer all along. "Warrick, I want to help, but I'm not equipped to be helpful--not the way Grissom was."

"Are you kidding?" Warrick laughed. "It's not like he was a counselor. He was just there as a friend. You've got that down. And then some," he added, grinning when Nick snorted. "Of course, it's different with you than with Grissom."

"I sure as hell hope so."

"Smartass," Warrick jostled him slightly. "I mean, mostly I would go to Grissom with a problem, usually only when I was at the end of my rope. Doesn't work that way with you, does it? If you think there's a problem, you're right there after it."

"You didn't seem too thrilled by that before."

"I wasn't. But you kept at it."

"Even when you were being an asshole," Nick couldn't resist adding.

Warrick bobbed his head in acknowledgment. "And you call me on any bullshit I try to dish out."

"Another thing that pisses you off."

"Yeah, well, it pissed you off when I finally called you on all that I'm fine crap you were throwing out."

"Yeah, it did," Nick admitted.

"But you don't anymore," Warrick said, almost to himself.

"Don't what?"

"Fly off the handle. Never knew what was going to set you off, but it doesn't happen anymore. You're going to have to tell me how you did that."

"Every time I mention therapy you get in my face."

"Yeah, well, now I'm askin'."

"I don't know," Nick said, looking to lighten the mood. "If I give away all my secrets..."

"C'mon, Nicky," Warrick said, his voice turning teasing as well. "Give me a break here. I spill my guts and get nothing for it?"

"That's what you're askin' for?" Nick sat up straighter. "That's just sad, Rick. You must be losing your touch."

"Oh, really?" Warrick's smile turned wicked. "All right, smart boy, what do you think I should ask for?"

Instead of answering, Nick moved so he was straddling Warrick's lap and grinned.

"Aw, Nicky," Warrick purred, sliding his hands over Nick's thighs. "Do I really gotta ask for that? Do either of us?"

Nick felt his grin widen, and he bent to kiss Warrick. Almost immediately, one of Warrick's hands slid around to cup his ass while the other slipped under his shirt.

As he mapped the interior of Warrick's mouth, Nick let his fingers trail down Warrick's face and neck to the buttons of his shirt. Then he broke off the kiss to press lighter kisses on Warrick's cheeks, forehead, eyes and nose before following his fingers downward. He paused to lick and suck at one nipple and then the other while he hands continued down to unfasten Warrick's double-punched belt.

As he moved off the couch so he could kneel between Warrick's legs, Warrick held onto his shirt and Nick ended up wriggling out of it on his way down.

Before he under Warrick's jeans, Nick snuck a quick glance up. The sight of Warrick, his head thrown back, his lips parted, his breathing shallow, made Nick even harder. As if sensing his gaze, Warrick lifted his head and looked down, green eyes alight with desire. Nick held that gaze as his finished undoing Warrick's jeans and pushed them and the boxers aside to free Warrick's hard, leaking cock.

When Warrick's eyes slid shut and his head fell back again, Nick bent and licked drops of precum away before running his tongue along the entire length. He took Warrick into his mouth slowly, using his tongue generously until he was more than half way up, and then began to work his way back down. He was just getting into a faster rhythm when he felt Warrick's hand in his hair, tugging his head away.

"Bedroom. Now." There was a hint of desperation in Warrick's growl.

Nick got to his feet, more than happy to comply. He unfastened his jeans--which were becoming painfully tight--as he walked to the bedroom. Before he could shed them, he felt hands at the waistband, doing the job for him.

Losing his balance, Nick fell onto the bed. "I'll finish with them," he laughed breathlessly. "You've got your own clothes to get rid of."

Once rid of his jeans, Nick rolled onto his stomach and reached for the night stand, only to have a very naked Warrick come down on top of him. Nick fumbled for the drawer and managed to find the lube while Warrick nuzzled his neck and nipped at his ear.

"Gimme," Warrick murmured, and Nick tossed his over his shoulder. Warrick rolled off him, so Nick got back on his hands and knees to find the condom. "That's right..." Warrick's voice seemed to slide over Nick's skin, followed by Warrick's hand smoothing up the back of Nick's thigh, over his ass and along his spine.

"Hey, I need to get--whoa..." The sensation of Warrick's stubbled jaw rasping along his hips, followed by the moist heat of Warrick's lips robbed Nick of his voice. He felt slick fingers nudging between his buttocks and scrambled to find the condom before--oh, God.

Warrick's finger had slid inside and almost immediately zeroed in on that tiny gland. Nick pushed back hard against him, condoms--and everything else--forgotten. Warrick added a second finger and then a third and Nick pushed back even harder, at the same time trying to arch into the hand running up and down his back.

Nick was vaguely aware of Warrick leaning over and across him, but he was more concerned with what those fingers were doing to his inside that sent sparks and shivers through his every nerve. When the fingers withdrew, Nick wasn't capable of more than a whimper of protest, and Warrick whispered reassurances as he put on the condom he'd retrieved at some point. Then Nick felt something larger and much more substantial nudging at his entrance, and before Warrick could grab onto his hips to steady him, Nick pushed back again, taking nearly half of Warrick inside him.

Warrick got it. He held onto Nick's hip with one hand and grasped Nick's shoulder with the other, setting a hard, fast pace from the very start.

Nick ignored his own cock, knowing as soon as he touched himself it would be all over. Instead he followed Warrick's rhythm, until there was nothing, no gambling, no charges, no job, no bed... nothing but the feel of Warrick's skin against his, of Warrick's cock inside him.

Finally, Nick couldn't stand it any longer and grasped his cock. As he'd expected, it only took a few strokes to take him over the edge and as his entire body tightened and jerked, he felt Warrick thrust even harder and cry out his name.

Nick collapsed onto the bed, barely noticing when Warrick eased free and rolled off of him. He roused enough to clean himself off and slip under the covers, then threw one arm across Warrick's chest and drifted off into a satisfied sleep.

"So tell me how you finally stopped getting so mad all the time."

Nick laughed but didn't lift his head from where it was resting on Warrick's check. "Are you still thinking about that?"

It had been two days since he had told Nick everything and Warrick still got a little queasy at the memory. It had been even more difficult that he'd expected, but he was glad he'd done it, if for no other reason than to no longer have it hanging over them. Now he could actually enjoy being with Nick instead of constantly being on guard for when and how Nick might try to bring the subject up.

He hadn't gambled during these past two days, which brought his current total to four. These last two had been easier than the first two, probably because he'd been spending every free moment in Nick's company. At the moment, they were lying in Nick's bed after some great wake-up sex and still had hours before they had to start getting ready for work.

"Yeah, I'm still wondering about it. For a while there it seemed like every day, and there was no telling what would set you off. Now, I can tell when something gets to you, but you don't blow up...you're more like--"

"I was before?" Nick finished.

At one time that would have been an angry question, and while there was a slight edge to Nick's voice, there was no real heat to it. "Well, yeah." Warrick didn't say that if there was some sort of trick Nick was implementing--breathing, thought processes, whatever--he wanted to know about it. It was bound to come in handy, the way things had been going lately. Hell, maybe there was a way to apply it to the tables. "It's a big change, man."

"You won't like it," Nick warned.

"Tell me anyway."

"It's from my shrink. From therapy."

Okay, now the guy was just playing. This time when he ran his hand up Nick's back, Warrick stopped at the neck and shook it slightly. "Nicky..."

Nick let out a soft laugh, "Okay." He moved so that instead of lying half-on Warrick, he was next to him and propped his chin on Warrick's shoulder. "Well, it was just a matter of knowing what was making me so mad."

"That must have taken a while. There were so many things that could set you off."

"No, that's kinda the point--it all came from the same place. According to Dr. Demarest, most anger does--fear."

"What?"

"Fear," Nick repeated.

"Fear."

"Toldja you wouldn't like it. I sure as hell didn't."

He was right, that didn't sit well with Warrick. Fear was not something he could apply to his own situation. He had no reason to be motivated by fear--no traumatic experience hanging over him the way Nick did. "So how does that stop you from getting mad?"

"It didn't at first," Nick admitted. "It only made me angrier, but once I started working on...y'know, the fear--my fears."

"Like what?" Warrick asked, and felt Nick turn and bury his face in the pillow.

After a minute, he said, "I don't--most of them sound dumb when I say them out loud. That's something else Demarest has me working on."

Instead of asking anything else about that, Warrick turned to another subject he'd been wondering about, even though he knew he had no right to question Nick about it. "So...what else--I mean, are there other things you talk to him about?" More silence. "Nick?"

"You mean have I told him about us?"

Oh, man, he was really losing his touch if Nick could read him that well in a darkened room. "Or that, yeah."

"What exactly would I tell him?"

Warrick should have known he'd regret asking.

"It's okay, Rick. He knows I prefer men. He knows a friend from work convinced me to start seeing a shrink and he knows that now that friend and I are...involved."

Nick sounded a little uncertain himself, so Warrick quickly reassured him. "Hey, it's fine by me. You tell him names--whatever you want to."

"Thanks," Nick said with dry amusement.

Almost as if to make up for being so nosy, Warrick began running his fingers through Nick's hair, something his knew Nick loved.

Sure enough, after a moment, Nick moved his head back onto Warrick's chest to make it easier to do. "Rick?"

"Hmm?"

"Alibi?"

Of course. Nick had spilled a little bit of his guts, so now Warrick had to spill more of his. "Right. Alibi. It's kind of a weird thing. Normally, admitting to Grissom I've done something wrong like calling in sick to gamble would be one of the steps in recovery. Y'know, accepting responsibility, the consequences of my actions, but in this case, doing that would be a benefit to me. It kind of defeats the purpose, know what I mean?"

Nick lifted his head, "Am I supposed to buy that?"

Well, it had been worth a shot. "You don't?"

"Call you on your bullshit, remember?"

"Okay, okay. I don't want to tell Gris if I don't have to, okay?" Warrick admitted, trying not to be too irritated that Nick had seen right through him again. "And I'm starting to think maybe I'm out of the woods on an arrest. They would have pressed charges by now."

"How do you figure that?"

"I dunno. Just a feeling."

"Feeling like it would be easier to just forget the whole damn thing?" Nick asked.

The guy was getting a little too good at this "no bullshit" thing. "You're not going to give up on this, are you?"

"I can't," Nick said firmly. "Not while I know your job is still on the line."

There were a few things Warrick wanted to say to that, but all of them sounded sappy.

"Do you want out of the job, Rick? Because if you do, then take a leave or resign, but if you have to resign because of charges, you'll never be able to--"

"I don't want out of the job," Warrick assured him, and felt Nick sigh with relief.

"About your rent..."

Oh, hell. "What about it?"

"Will you at least let me lend you enough to cover it? Just for the next month."

He did not want to have this discussion. "Nicky..."

"Hey, whose gonna get stuck helping you move again? And with my luck it'll probably be in the middle of another heat wave."

Warrick couldn't help chuckling. Trust it to Nick to find a way to make it easier for him to accept. "Okay, but just one month. I'm going to see about a loan next week. Things'll be tight for a while, but it'll be good for me. Plus, I'll probably be able to pick up extra shifts."

"Okay, then."

"Speaking of work, we'd better hit the shower soon," Warrick sat up.

"We've got at least two hours before we have to start getting ready," Nick protested, looking disappointed to be losing his pillow.

"Yeah," Warrick got out of bed, then pulled Nick along with him. "But I plan on taking a pretty long shower."

No one liked being a third wheel, and Catherine was no exception. She hated the feeling. What's more, she wasn't exactly used to it. She'd always been able to garner her fair share--some might say more than her fair share--of attention in any social situation. She certainly wasn't used to it at work. Whether as Grissom's right hand, swing shift supervisor or graveyard co-supervisor, she had always been in the thick of things.

Of course, she'd felt left out after Keppler's death, but that had been different. That was more a matter of being shunned than overlooked, and anyway, to a certain extent she'd probably deserved it. But rarely did she feel left out because the other people in her presence were so concerned with each other that they practically forgot she was there.

Certainly she'd never felt that way around Warrick and Nick--her "two favorite guys," her team. One or the other was always teasing or flirting with her--Nick with that 500-megawatt smile and boyish charm, or Warrick with sultry heat and deadly green eyes.

Right now, though, Catherine felt as though she could waltz out of the layout room and the case they were working on and neither of them would notice or care. She didn't know how long this had been going on between them, but she guessed it wasn't more than a few months. She was certain she would have noticed this before.

Even stranger, Catherine found she wasn't terribly bothered by being the third wheel. How could she be when watching the two of them interact was so damn adorable? To anyone listening, it would just sound like two friends, two colleagues, working the evidence together. It might even look that way to the casual observer, but not to Catherine. She noticed how often they invaded each other's personal space, how often they reached for the same piece of evidence, how a faint blush would hit Nick's cheeks or an extra gleam would appear in Warrick's eye whenever it happened. She saw that whenever green eyes met brown, there was so much intensity there that the air between them fairly crackled.

Also surprising to Catherine was that she barely felt the slightest twinge over "losing" Warrick to Nick. Probably because now that she looked back at the constant teasing, the competition, Warrick's agony during Nick's abduction, she could see that Warrick had never really been hers to lose. Obviously, he'd really never been Tina's either.

Catherine had wondered from time to time over the years just how interested in women Nick really was. Despite the fact that if he wanted to, Nick could have a string of women at his fingertips, Catherine had never known him to have a long term relationship or even very many dates. It didn't take much to make her believe he preferred being with men.

Warrick, on the other hand, was walking sex, just oozing sensuality from every pore. Catherine could imagine him getting with anyone as long as they were hot enough to meet his--admittedly high--standards. He'd always remained uncatchable, however. Even when he was married, he had seemed uninvolved, but uninvolved was not the vibe she got when she watched him with Nick.

She could definitely see the two of them together. In fact, it was a shame Nick and Warrick were both too professional to even consider getting into it in the locker room or staff shower, because she really wouldn't mind seeing them together.

She wasn't normally much of a voyeur, but she wasn't dead, either.

"Where's the canary, Cat?"

Catherine looked up at the sound of Warrick's voice. Both men were staring at her quizzically and Catherine realized she was, indeed, grinning like the proverbial bird-catching feline. "Sorry." Suddenly, she pictured their expressions if they knew what she'd been thinking and started laughing, which only increased their confusion. "Sorry," she said again, clearing her throat. "I just got... distracted for a moment." Another giggle escaped and Catherine had to make a determined effort to bring herself under control. She took a deep breath and shook her hair back, before bending over the table again. "So where was all the evidence in the suspect's office found?"

Nick and Warrick exchanged another glance and Catherine had to bite her lip.

Whoever thought that the idea of them both off the market would be more distracting than the idea of either of them on the market?

It wasn't the threat of charges that finally made Warrick decide to tell Grissom about his alibi. It wasn't the fact that Nick brought it up nearly every day. It wasn't even to comply with the steps in recovery.

It was the idea of being stuck in the lab any longer, let alone indefinitely.

While there was a chance of Ecklie confining him to the lab as punishment when he found out, at least it would end at some point. The way Tyndall's case was going, there was no telling how long Ecklie would want him to stay out of the field.

At least when he went to Grissom, he'd be able to say that he was back on track. He hadn't placed a bet in over a week and had his finances under control. He tracked Nick down in the locker room to let him know.

"Hey," Nick smiled when Warrick entered. "I was just going to go looking for you. I've got a scene to work, so it's overtime for me."

"Okay," Warrick nodded. "I'm gonna be talking to Grissom, anyway. Y'know."

The dark eyes widened. "Now?"

"Yeah, I figured--"

"Don't."

"Don't?"

"Don't."

Wasn't this the same guy that had been after him to tell someone for the past nine days? "What the hell..?"

"I know, I know. Just hold off for one more day, okay?"

Warrick didn't know what was going on, but it was fine by him. It wasn't like he wanted to tell Grissom, so if Nick asked him not to, that was as good an excuse as any. It also gave him a little more time to prepare, because it had been a spur of the moment decision, reached after he'd been subject to another argument between Archie, Henry and Mandy over SG-1, SGA and Farscape. "Okay," he agreed.

"Good. I gotta go." Nick leaned in, then caught himself at the last minute. Warrick grinned, as the blush hit Nick's cheeks. "I'll catch you later," he murmured, and left.

He'd been called to a burglary on North 30^th Street. Actually, he'd heard about the burglary on North 30^th Street and volunteered--normally such a case would be given to the low man on dayshift's totem pole. North 30^th just happened to be in Warrick's old neighborhood, which also made it Tyndall's old neighborhood. The scene was a block away from one of Tyndall's known victims, and a couple of streets over from two of the unsolveds Nick had checked into. Nick knew dayshift hadn't investigated the area much because Tyndall had been killed across town, but Nick's instinct kept pointing him back there.

Nick was also beginning to suspect that, despite Catherine's overseeing of the case, it simply wasn't a high priority any longer. Tyndall was a known criminal--one of the worst--and he had no family pressing for results. Vanallen was probably the only one who really wanted results, but only if they pointed toward Warrick. Westbrook and Hammond might have thought they were doing Warrick a favor by not looking too closely.

If Nick was going to be thorough about the burglary he was investigating, it wouldn't hurt to scout the surrounding area as well.

Nick was glad to see Officer Mitchell was on the scene with him. Mitch was more easy-going than most uniforms when it came to CSIs. He watched over them without being intrusive and had much more patience. He also, Nick knew from experience, was willing to go along when a CSI had an unusual idea or lead.

The burglary itself was sloppy, which meant it would be especially easy or especially difficult to solve. As he worked his way through the scene, Nick changed his mind about the job being sloppy. It was messy, but the more Nick looked around, the more it seemed the mess was deliberate. That meant the burglar might very well have been looking for something specific.

Nick's first thought would have been drugs, but the 29-year-old who rented the house was an up-and-comer at the Mirage and didn't really seem the type that would keep a large stash in his home. What's more, the guy probably wouldn't have called the police if the burglary had something to do with drugs.

So what didn't fit? The guy's jewelry, DVD player, laptop and iPod had all been stolen and all of those items were relatively easy to transport and hock. The computer tower of the guy's PC was also missing. Not so simple to unhook and haul and not really worth the trouble, money-wise. Maybe the tower had been the burglar's real target and the rest had just been gravy.

Nick shared his theory with Mitch, who amazed him by saying, "So they might have just dumped the other stuff."

"Maybe," Nick agreed. "I was thinking about checking a few places."

"Ready when you are."

Nick gathered up the evidence he'd collected in the house and locked it in the Denali before hitting the streets.

It took ninety minutes and several dumpster dives to prove the theory, but eventually Nick found the DVD player and some of the jewelry. By that point he'd also decided he would come back later to check the alleys in the opposite direction. He had no right to make Mitch tag along when it wouldn't really be part of an official investigation.

"Maybe one more street and we'll call it a day," Nick said as he bagged the jewelry he'd found. "If the burglar was interested in the CPU, he'd probably want the laptop, too."

They walked to the next alley, and Nick spent fifteen minutes in that dumpster only to come up empty-handed.

"You might not find the iPod, either," Mitch offered. "Depending on the files, the burglar might have wanted it, too."

"You buckin' to be a CSI, Mitch?" Nick teased.

"No way," Mitch laughed. "I'll leave the dumpster diving to you guys."

"Thanks," Nick chuckled, climbing out. His maglite slipped from his grasp and fell with a clatter. "Dammit." He crouched down to grab it from where it had rolled half-under the dumpster. "C'mere, you..." he muttered. A long, oddly-colored object further back caught his eye. "Whoa. We got something else here." He turned on the maglite, which thankfully still worked, and scanned the area under the dumpster. "Let's see what we've got," he said, pulling out a piece of wooden about a yard long and streaked with black. "What do you figure?" he looked up at Mitch. "Handle of something? An axe maybe?"

"Pick axe, maybe," Mitch nodded.

Nick hefted it slightly. It was similar in weight to a baseball bat. He concentrated on getting out his phenol kit, not wanting to get ahead of himself.

"You think that has something to do with the burglary?" Mitch asked.

Nick never thought he'd be so glad to see something test positive for blood. "I think it's got something to do with something." He stood and held out the handle so Mitch could see all the blood.

"There was no blood at the scene," Mitch pointed out.

"No, not something on this case," Nick replied absently, searching his kit for the largest evidence bag he could find. Usually he had at least one folded--aha!

"So now you've got another case?" Even Mitch's patience could wear thin.

"We'll see." Nick bagged that handle. "I'd better get back to the lab and get all this stuff logged in." He didn't want any questions about the handle's chain of custody--just in case.

Mitch drove away once Nick was safely in his Denali, but before Nick left, he called Catherine and asked her to meet him at the lab.

It was a strange feeling, to say the least, to be in a relationship with someone where there was no real wondering involved. Even if Nick had been angry at him for one thing or another, Warrick wouldn't have worried about his motives. It was a trust he'd become accustomed to in their friendship, a trust he almost took for granted. He'd never before felt this level of trust in a relationship though. It wasn't just a strange feeling, it was heady, intoxicating in many ways.

When Nick walked in, Warrick found he no longer cared about Nick's reasons for wanting him to wait a day, any more than he cared about the delicious aroma wafting up from the bag Nick was carrying. Instead of speaking, he put his hands on Nick's hips, pulling the Texan in close. Nick looked momentarily startled, but then smiled and wrapped his free arm around Warrick's neck.

It was several minutes before they parted.

"That's one helluva a hello," Nick laughed. "You must be anxious for some barbecued chicken."

"Not really," Warrick nuzzled along Nick's jaw.

"Then what?" Nick's voice turned playful. "You figure you're gonna get me all wound up and then interrogate me about why I asked you to hold off talking to Grissom?"

"Nah," Warrick murmured into Nick's neck. "Can't I just be glad to see you?"

"I guess," Nick said, but pulled back slightly to study Warrick's face.

Warrick kept quiet, knowing if he tried to explain himself he'd end up sounding like the worst kind of sappy greeting card.

Nick's smile faded at Warrick's continued silence. "Are you okay?" One corner of his mouth was tucked down with worry, "Rick, did you go...did you hit the tables?"

Any anger Warrick might have felt at the question was erased by Nick's obvious concern. "No, I didn't hit the tables--or the sports' book."

"Sorry," the brown eyes were earnest. "I'm sorry, Rick, I had no right to--"

"Yeah, you do," Warrick assured him with another kiss. "You have every right." He took the bag from Nick's grasp, "C'mon, let's eat."

Warrick knew Nick was waiting for the other shoe to drop the entire time that they were eating and that Nick probably became even more confused when instead of bringing up Grissom, Warrick asked about the case he'd worked that morning.

It was Nick who finally brought up the subject, by saying, "I'm sorry I asked you to wait this morning. It's not up to me."

"Why did you?"

"I thought...well, the burglary was in your old neighborhood, near three of the victims."

Oh, no. "Nicky...you were investigating one of dayshift's cases on overtime? Talk about risking your career on a longshot."

Nick's sigh sounded a bit impatient. "It's not a risk to my career. At most, it'll get dayshift a little ticked off. And anyway, I was still working the burglary when I found it."

Warrick tried to ignore the little shot of hope that went through him when Nick said I found it. "So you were planning to go looking on your own."

"The point is I didn't have to," Nick said, although Warrick didn't see that as the point at all. "I was still investigating the burglary when I came across it. The odds of it being anything are--"

"Never tell me the odds, Nicky."

Nick looked disconcerted until Warrick grinned at him. "You ass."

"What did you find?" Warrick asked, his curiosity truly engaged now.

"An axe handle. Or pickaxe. Under a dumpster. There was a lot of blood on it. I called Cath--"

"You called Catherine in?"

"Yeah, I figured I'd better let her know, just in case." Nick leaned forward briefly to put his empty plate on the coffee table. "We tested the blood and it's human, so she sent it to DNA and said she'd talk to Westbrook."

"Nick..."

"Even if it's got nothing to do with Tyndall's case, that bat was definitely used for something bad. Anyway, I asked you to wait because...well, I guess I really didn't have a reason--"

A chuckle escaped Warrick. This was exactly why he hadn't thought twice about agreeing to Nick's request. He'd known that whatever Nick's reasons had been, they were nothing that would ever hurt him and would probably benefit him.

"I know it was kind of a dumb idea," Nick muttered.

"Naw, baby," Warrick assured him. "That's not why I laughed."

"Okay," Nick gave him another quizzical look.

Warrick knew there was no point in trying to explain. "C'mere," he leaned back on his couch and pulled Nick forward so the smaller man was half-lying on top of him.

"Y'know, I don't think I ever noticed before," Nick said, staring at him intently.

"Noticed what?" Was Nick going to try some romantic line about his eyes? Warrick decided he wouldn't mind if he did.

"Sometimes, you're just plain weird."

He probably deserved that for laughing and not telling Nick why. "Smart ass," Warrick grinned before he pulled Nick's head down for a kiss.

Nick responded wholeheartedly, just as he always did. No matter how angry Nick was; no matter what they had just finished saying to each other; no matter whether Warrick had packed on a few pounds or was looking his best, Nick was always eager to be with him. That response was something Warrick had begun to count on, something he didn't think he could ever give up. It was something else about Nick that Warrick wanted to never take for granted.

He hummed happily into Nick's mouth as he slid his hands under Nick's shirt to trace patterns on the smooth, warm skin. Suddenly, Nick broke off the kiss and, snickering, buried his face in Warrick's neck.

That wasn't exactly encouraging. "What the hell, Nicky?"

"Sorry," Nick chuckled. Warrick could feel it against his skin. "But you sound like you're purring. Like some big ol' cat."

Warrick couldn't help smiling. He ran short, well-kept nails along Nick's sides, making Nick jump. "Just be happy I can't actually scratch you. Besides, you're the one who shreds clothes, remember?" His smiled turned to a grin when he felt Nick laugh harder. "Good thing that wasn't my lucky shirt."

Nick lifted his head. "I beg to differ," he said in mock indignation.

"You're a regular comedian today, aren't you?" Warrick let his fingers rest lightly at Nick's ribs. "Whatcha gonna do with this, funny boy?" he asked and began wiggling his fingertips against the bared skin.

"Rick!" Nick squawked, laughing even while he tried to push Warrick's hands away. "Come on, man, quit it!"

Warrick kept at it, "Look at that, you really are a funny guy."

Nick tried to push himself up, but was nearly helpless with laughter. Warrick moved with him as he squirmed and wriggled until their positions were reversed. "Rick!" Nick said again, although he barely had the breath to get the name out.

Finally, Warrick let up and let his hands slid underneath Nick's body, holding him close.

"Y'know," Nick said, still panting. "If you wanted to be on top, you could have just asked."

"Still funny..." Warrick mused, moving toward the ribs again.

"Okay, okay!" Nick laughed, grabbing onto Warrick's wrists.

"Okay," Warrick kissed him.

Nick released his wrists and wrapped both arms around his neck. It didn't take long for the kiss to become heated. They parted only long enough to shed their clothing, and Nick grabbed a condom from the pocket of his jeans before tossing them aside.

"Always prepared, like any good Boy Scout," Warrick teased.

"So I don't feel like moving anywhere else. Sue me," Nick pulled him down for another hard kiss. "It's lubed. Should be enough."

"Just in case it's not..." Warrick reached between the sofa cushion and brought out a bottle of lube.

"Aw, Rick, I always knew you had a secret hankerin' to be a Scout."

The only response to that was more tickling, over Nick's ribs and sides and stomach until Nick was weak with laughter. Then while the tremors from that laughter still shook the Texan, Warrick prepared him, sliding one, then two fingers inside and stroking until tremors of a different sort were shaking Nick's body. Quickly, Warrick put on the condom and when Nick wrapped both legs around his hips, easily slid home.

Neither of them lasted very long, and almost before he knew it, Warrick's climax was upon him. He emptied himself into Nick's tight, welcoming heat and moments later felt a similar warmth against his stomach as Nick found his own release.

Warrick lay on top of Nick while he caught his breath, then carefully eased himself free. Nick mumbled an inarticulate protest, holding on tighter with his arms and legs. "I'm just cleaning up, baby," Warrick murmured, and Nick relaxed his grip.

The couch wasn't the best fit for both of them, but if Nick didn't want to move, then Warrick wasn't going anywhere, either. He shifted them slightly so he wasn't lying completely on the smaller man and settled in so Nick could have his post-coital doze.

As he studied the handsome features, relaxed and content at the moment, Warrick wondered how in the world he'd ever managed to convince himself that Tina--that anyone other than Nick--was the person he belonged with.

The person he belonged to.

Nick knew something was wrong when he met up with two officers on his way into the lab and instead of returning his greeting, they gave him a hard look and then ignored him. Once inside, his confusion increased when he ran in Lee Travis, who sneered at him, "Nice work, Stokes."

Oh, hell. What happened? He'd gone home a couple of hours before shift started so he could run a few errands before he showered and changed for work. Now he went in search of Warrick to see if he knew what was going on.

Warrick was nowhere to be found, however, and he found out from Greg that Warrick had come in a little earlier than usual and was now out on a scene with Grissom. It was the first Nick heard that Warrick was back in the field, but before he could ask about it, Catherine beckoned to him from her office doorway.

Although there were several reasons Warrick could have been sent back into the field, Nick knew there was something he was missing. Quickly, he walked into Catherine's office and closed the door behind him.

"So you've heard?" Catherine asked.

"Not really. I just know something's up."

Catherine's smile was more of a grimace as she sat on the edge of her desk. "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Nick decided he wanted to be sitting down for this. "You tell me," he said as he sank into a chair.

"The blood on the axe handle you found was Earle Tyndall's. It also had prints on it belonging to Wayne Mosley. When police brought him in, he admitted to the murder, so Warrick's in the clear."

Nick jubilation was tempered by the knowledge that there was still--"Bad news?"

"Wayne Mosley is a cop."

Oh, fuck.

Catherine continued, obviously she hadn't expected much of a response. "One with a good rep, too. He took early retirement ten years ago after being shot saving a fellow officer. He says Tyndall raped his daughter."

Nick began to feel slightly ill.

"He lives on Valley Street, not far from where you found the handle. When his daughter told him what had happened, instead of reporting it, Mosley tracked Tyndall down to where we found him."

"He knew Tyndall."

"Not very well. Just by sight from what I understand. Angela was just getting home from work when it happened--she recognized Tyndall."

That certainly explained the reaction from the uniforms. Nick knew he'd probably be getting that sort of treatment for a while.

"Look, Nicky, you know I think you did the right thing. You did do the right thing. You didn't even step outside the bounds of your investigation. You were working a burglary and discovered something that appeared to have been used in the commission of a crime, so you turned it over to a supervisor. You did everything you were supposed to do."

"But..." Nick knew there was a but in there.

"But you know as well as I do that not everyone is going to see it that way."

Wasn't that the truth? "All they'll see is that I put a cop away."

"For a murder a lot of people think we shouldn't have bothered investigating at all."

"Well, it'll be rough," Nick agreed with a sigh. "But it's not the first time we've butted heads with the cops."

"It's the first time we've put one of them in jail."

"So things will be touchy for a while," Nick said, mentally gearing himself up. "I get it."

"So far, it's a slow night, so I don't have an assignment for you. If something comes up later tonight, or in the next couple of nights, I'll be accompanying you to the scene."

Nick frowned. This after she'd just finished saying he hadn't done anything wrong?

Catherine read his expression correctly. "It's got nothing to do with your job. I just want to make sure no one--look, if I send you out with Warrick and a cop mouths off, then we'll probably have an incident. It's only for a few days, until the worst of it is over."

Nick knew that if he really argued about, she would probably back down. He could also point out that she could assign him to work with Greg or Sara, who weren't as likely as Warrick to give back attitude--well, maybe Sara. He did neither, recognizing that Catherine wanted to look out for him herself. Even if he wasn't crazy about the semi-hovering, he wasn't going to argue with her for caring enough to do it. Besides, if anyone could keep the uniforms off his back, it was Catherine. So he simply said, "Thanks, Cath."

"Thanks for letting me," she replied, surprising him. "I'll let you know if a scene comes up. I think Mandy might have got something on the prints from you burglary."

"Great," Nick got up and headed for the print lab.

He didn't mind being in the lab for part of the shift. It wasn't like he was looking forward to the cold shoulder and snide remarks he'd be receiving from most of the uniforms and probably a few of the detectives. The lab techs didn't concern themselves much with the workings of that branch of the LVPD, so all he really got from then were curious questions and teasing about doing dayshift's job.

The fingerprints from the burglary came back to Corrie Wilson, a blackjack dealer at the Mirage. When Nick went to talk to her at work, he got a lot more than a confession. She told him that the victim, Adam Crane--or as she called him, "that creepy piece of shit,"--could have his computer and laptop back now that she'd erased the files he'd made of the two of them together without her knowledge, but that she was keeping the iPod, because he'd broken hers and if he tried to fire her, she'd go over his head to the labor board and then to his mother. Nick knew he was in way over his head, so he found Adam Crane in his office and passed the message along. Adam quickly backtracked and asked that the charges be dropped.

That was one less case for him to work on. He went back to the lab to fill out the necessary paperwork only to be met by Catherine who told him they had suspicious circs in Summerlin.

The detective on the case was Vartann, and he had a poker face that rivaled Warrick's, so whatever he thought, he didn't treat Nick any differently that usual. The uniforms on the scene limited themselves to cold stares and Nick knew it was probably only due to Catherine's presence that there was no verbal abuse. It wasn't so much in deference to her gender as it was the knowledge that she wouldn't hesitate to report them after a toe-curling verbal assault of her own.

Julie Fernandez, their victim, had no outward signs of injury, but a woman in her early thirties didn't normally pass away in her sleep, especially when she had no pre-existing condition. The latter information came from Julie's distraught sister, who had found the body and called it in. Anything else would have to wait until the autopsy.

The room showed nothing out of the ordinary and after a few hours, they were back at the lab. Two hours after that, they got word from Dr. Robbins that their "victim" had actually died of natural causes--an undiagnosed brain aneurism.

By the time shift ended, Nick had closed two cases and yet didn't feel like he'd really accomplished anything. He went home without getting the chance to talk to Warrick, who was back out in the field on a second case--probably making up for lost time.

Although he felt a bit down as he made himself some breakfast, it was nothing compared to the strangling frustration he'd become accustomed to carrying home after work. He didn't know if it had more to do with his relationship with Warrick--because now he was pretty sure it was a relationship--or his therapy. He knew it was a combination of both, but he didn't know to what ratio. Nick decided it didn't really matter, it was just a relief not to have that tense gnawing in his chest and not to have to worry that it could erupt into choking, uncontrollable anger at the slightest provocation.

He still wasn't crazy about talking to Demarest, hated it a lot of the time, but there was no denying it was helping. Nick knew it would probably be even more helpful if he wasn't so grudging about discussing some things, but he was content with the way things were going. And he was more than content with the way things were going with Warrick. He finally felt as though he was on stable footing again and hoped the day's events hadn't changed that.

Almost as if on cue, Nick heard a familiar vehicle in his driveway. He stopped chopping vegetables and wiped his hands before heading to the door and arriving just in time to open it in response to Warrick's knock.

Before Nick could say a word, he found himself pulled against a hard body while Warrick's tongue inspected every part of his mouth. Yesterday, Nick thought that Warrick's enthusiastic greeting had been unusual, but now he was beginning to think it might be the norm.

It wouldn't be too hard to get used to.

Even once they broke off the kiss, Warrick's arms stayed around him, holding him as close as possible. "Go get changed, baby, I'm taking you to Le Matin."

Nick blinked in surprise. Le Matin was the only gourmet breakfast restaurant in Vegas. When he finally got a look at Warrick, Nick realized he must have changed before coming over. In a moss-colored silk t-shirt and crisp black pants, he looked--"Damn, you look good."

"Thanks," Warrick grinned. "C'mon, I'm taking you out for breakfast."

"To Le Matin?" The place wasn't really his style. He'd never figured it for Warrick's, either.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Why? I can't believe you have to ask. You cleared me, Nicky."

Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing, either. Did Warrick actually think he expected a reward for what he'd done? Didn't the guy have a clue? He tried to think of a way to get that point across without sounding like a romance novel, but couldn't, so instead he said, "So I save your ass and for that I get overpriced Belgian waffles?"

Warrick pulled back with a frown. "You want to go somewhere else?"

"No, I don't want to go somewhere else. I don't want to go anywhere. You don't have to do anything like that."

After staring at him quizzically for several minutes, a smile tugged at Warrick's lips. "Then I got all dressed up for nothing?"

Nick couldn't resist running his hands over the soft fabric, "Aw, darlin'," he drawled. "I thought you got all dressed up for me."

Warrick stepped back, preening slightly, "You like that, huh?"

Such blatant conceit shouldn't have appealed to Nick, but it did. "Yeah, but I think I'd like it off even more."

"So why don't I think of another way to make it up to you?"

Nick sought out the hem of Warrick's shirt, "Now that's something I can get into."

Warrick's hands were already on his ass, and he gave it a quick squeeze. "I'm gonna be the one getting into it."

Nick started to laugh and was cut off by another deep kiss. Warrick hadn't been kidding about doing something to make it up to him, Nick quickly realized. He did everything and refused to let Nick do anything in return. It got to the point that Nick wondered if this was more about making it up to him or being in control.

By the time they got to the bedroom, Nick no longer cared what Warrick's motives were. Warrick had already gotten him off once with a blowjob that left his entire body weak and shuddering, then half-dragged, half-carried him to the bedroom to continue the onslaught.

Later on, Nick would wish he could remember half of the things Warrick did, but he was completely lost in sensation. There was nothing else in the world except desperate gasps, burning green eyes, straining muscle and Warrick filling him, pushing him to the edge and then sending him sailing over.

Nick had no memory of Warrick withdrawing or cleaning them up, and the next time he opened his eyes, he had the feeling he'd been out for quite a while. Warrick was propped up on one elbow, looking down at him with a smug expression. "Better than Belgian waffles?"

"Did I..?" Had he passed out? He'd never passed out after sex before. "Damn."

Warrick laid back and pulled Nick close again. Nick went along, his limbs still not fully cooperating. It was a simple matter, though, to settle into his favorite position, with his head on Warrick's chest. After a moment, he felt Warrick let out a huge sigh.

"Wow. Was it that much of a chore?"

Warrick's fingers skimmed his ribs, almost in warning, then Nick felt them in his hair. "Just having a hard time believing this mess with Tyndall is finished."

Nick didn't want to ruin their contentment, but he couldn't help himself. "Is it?"

Silence descended and stayed until Nick began to worry. Then, to his relief, Warrick said, "I'm going to tell Gris about the gambling. Now it'll just be a straight-out step in recovery."

"That ought to be fun."

"Is that really what you want to know about, Nicky?"

Part of Nick wanted to completely change the subject, but another part of him really wanted to know. "The other thing..."

"The other thing," Warrick repeated.

"Rick, it sent you back to the tables, it put you thirty grand in the hole. You can't tell me this whole thing with your father isn't affecting you."

"Okay, first of all, that's not the way it works. I went back to the tables because that's the fucked up way I decided to deal with it, and I'm thirty grand in the whole because I have a gambling problem. None of it is because of him."

That was more than Nick expected to hear. He wondered if Warrick found it easier to talk because they weren't facing each other or if he was just the aftereffect of incredible sex.

"That's not what you really wanted to know, either, is it?" Warrick asked. "I know it's tough to believe, but I'm glad...Jesus, not that I'm glad he's dead, but I'm glad I won't ever have to meet up with him. I never wanted to. I guess...I guess I figured if I met him, there was a bigger chance I'd turn out like him."

Now that Nick couldn't just let go. "Rick..."

"I know, I know. I know it doesn't make sense."

Nick knew from experience that just saying so wouldn't change the way Warrick was feeling, but he still had to say it. "That's not going to happen. I think any signs would have manifested themselves by now."

"I know that, too. It'll just take a little while to sink in."

That had been surprisingly simple.

Nick moved up so he was no longer curled onto Warrick's chest, instead stretching out beside him. He nuzzled Warrick's cheek briefly before letting his head fall to the pillow. They lay in contented silence.

"Hey," Warrick said.

"Mm?" Nick's eyes had begun to drift shut.

"What do you say, maybe after a year or so--once I'm all caught up...we find ourselves a place? Y'know, get old and cranky together."

Nick felt a grin spread across his face. "You're getting soft in your old age, Rick." Then, unable to resist, he patted Warrick's stomach, although it had gotten a bit smaller. "In more ways than one."

"Is that a yes?" Warrick sounded mildly irritated.

"Of course. I'll get you back in shape in no time."

"Like hell. I've had enough of people trying to put me on a diet."

"Nevermind diet. I was thinking along the lines of a lot more exercise."

Fin.