Heaven & Hell Part 2

Rarely was Warrick so glad to be maxed out on overtime. Although he'd been anxious to get home the previous morning, it was nothing compared to this. Usually he was known only for losing his cool to anger, but for the entire shift he'd been hard-pressed to keep from making a fool of himself, and the last hour especially had seemed endless.

Greg kept shooting him strange looks during that last hour, but didn't comment, perhaps recalling Warrick's surly mood the week before. When they got delayed in traffic and Warrick muttered a few choice curses under his breath, Greg looked ready to jump out the door. Warrick glanced over, and seeing the younger man's wary gaze, couldn't help laughing. Greg relaxed visibly.

He felt like a teenager ready for his first date, Warrick decided ruefully, only with less apprehension.

When they arrived at the lab, Greg offered to bring in the evidence, allowing Warrick to take off. Warrick paused only long enough to thank him, before jumping into his Wrangler and heading for West Charleston. He didn't miss Greg's curious look, though, and knew the former tech would soon be trying to find out what exactly was going on.

Nick's truck was parked in the driveway, and that was enough to make Warrick's pulse speed up as he hurried into the house. "Hey," he called, shrugging out of his jacket.

"Hey," Nick emerged from the kitchen.

"C'mere," Warrick said. "I want to talk to you."

Nick's brows rose dubiously, but he stepped forward with a tiny smile.

Warrick met him more than halfway, pulling him close and kissing him hungrily. Nick mmmm'd happily and gave himself up to the kiss.

Easing off slightly, Warrick trailed his lips along Nick's cheek and up to his temple. "That was one hell of a long shift."

"What shift?" Nick laughed softly.

Warrick chuckled as well before moving to Nick's ear and nibbling gently on the lobe. Then he nuzzled just behind it, reveling in the little sounds of pleasure Nick made as much as the sensation of Nick's hands stroking and kneading at his back and sides. The usual tension of the day seemed to melt away like ice in the desert sun. For Nick as well, Warrick realized, feeling the smaller man relax against him.

As their lips met again, Warrick slid both hands down to the small of Nick's back. They couldn't get any closer, but Warrick still made the attempt, pressing Nick more firmly against him. Nick settled easily and began exploring Warrick's neck industriously, seeming particularly interested in the hollow of his throat. He licked and sucked at the spot, making Warrick groan with pleasure.

Warrick tugged Nick's t-shirt from his jeans, eager for warm skin under his fingertips. Nick shivered against him, a sensation Warrick enjoyed as much as any other. He slid the t-shirt higher and Nick stilled for a split-second before raising his arms so the shirt could be pulled over his head and tossed aside.

Skimming his hands along Nick's ribs, Warrick also bent his head to press kisses along his collarbone. Nick shivered again, grabbing handfuls of Warrick's shirt.

"Yeah," Warrick husked, quickly ripping the shirt up and off. "There we go."

Nick's breathing was hitched as he pressed his face into the crook of Warrick's neck briefly before lifting his head for more kisses. Warrick was only too happy to oblige, running one hand up and down Nick's spine and reaching for his belt with the other.

Suddenly, Nick's hands were on his arms, pushing them away. "Whoa," he gasped, stepping back unsteadily. "Not--sorry...just--I just--"

"Okay..." Warrick felt a bit off-balance, still fuzzy with desire. He looked at Nick, standing with his shoulders were hunched guiltily. "Too fast." It wasn't a question.

"I'm...it's just..."

"Come here, Nicky," Warrick coaxed, holding out his hand.

Nick took it immediately, stepping back into the circle of Warrick's arms and returning the embrace. "It's been...when I..." he sighed, and dropped his forehead to Warrick's shoulder.

"It's been awhile?" Warrick supplied.

"Yeah."

"Since just after you came out?"

"Um...no. I didn't actually hook up with anyone."

Warrick knew he had no right, but was still happy to hear it. "So when was the last time you were with a guy?"

Another soft exhalation. "My first year in Vegas, I went with a guy for a few months."

"Since then it's only been women?"

"Yeah," Nick voice was muffled.

Warrick could sense his embarrassment, but also had the feeling this was something important. "When was the last time you were with anyone, then?"

"Um...a woman that I used to work with came for a visit and we'd gone out a few times back in Dallas, so..."

"When was this?" Warrick asked, not remembering if Nick had mentioned any such woman.

There was a long pause, and then so quietly Warrick barely caught it, Nick admitted, "A couple of months before...before...."

"Yeah. Not quite a year ago then." That seemed like a hell of a long time to Warrick, but he knew their situations were very different.

Nick was silent and burrowed slightly closer.

"Nicky?"

"I was a couple of months before...before that whole thing with Crane," Nick's voice was very quiet.

"Crane," Warrick repeated blankly. "Nigel Crane? That's almost..."

Nick froze and then began pulling away.

"That's...four years?"

"I know," Nick muttered, high color on his cheeks. "I know it's weird."

Having never gone more than a few months without someone since college, Warrick struggled with the concept. "With anyone?" He realized his mistake the moment he said it, because Nick broke away completely.

"Maybe this whole thing is a bad idea, Rick," Nick backed up a few steps. "I have a lot of...issues, and I'm not even sure where they--"

Warrick couldn't stand that Nick looked ashamed of himself--as if he'd done something wrong. Then he thought about four years of spending nights--days--all alone and his heart ached. His libido cooled considerably and what stood out was how terribly lonely Nick must have been for so long. That was just wrong. Especially for Nick. A single, long stride brought him close enough to pull Nick into a tight embrace. "It's okay."

"It's not," Nick insisted. "I know you think it's--"

"It was just a bit unexpected," Warrick assured him, raining kisses on the soft hair. "That's all."

"Right," Nick's disbelief was evident.

"Hey, I've got no problem slowing things down."

"That's not it," Nick disentangled himself again. "I had no idea I was going to stop until I did. I'm not even sure why I backed off."

"Because we were going too fast," Warrick said simply. "Look, I think we might be making this a bigger deal than it actually is."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Warrick insisted, desperately wishing he hadn't reacted when Nick first told him. Nick sounded so uncertain, but so hopeful that Warrick wanted to banish any doubts from his mind. "So we go nice and slow. Think I care as long as it's with you?"

"It's been four years," Nick sighed, moving in close to rest his forehead against Warrick's collarbone. "Dammit, the last thing I want to do is stop."

Laughing quietly, Warrick tilted Nick's head back. "C'mon, Nicky. You know that going slow and stopping are two totally different things." He captured Nick's lips again, this time in a soft, leisurely kiss.

Nick began exploring Warrick's bare skin again, tentatively at first, but as the kiss deepened with more confidence. Slowly, their kisses and touches became heated once more. Warrick tried to remain detached enough to be aware of the slightest negative reaction, but it was a losing battle. Despite a momentary hesitation here and there, Nick seemed fine with the situation. More than fine, Warrick decided, giving another encouraging rub to the bulge in the Texan's jeans.

Stumbling back toward the sofa and pulling Warrick down onto it with him, Nick took advantage of this new position to further explore Warrick's chest with his mouth, latching briefly onto one nipple and then the other while his hands stroked at Warrick's ribs and stomach and thighs.

Cautiously this time, Warrick reached for Nick's belt again. Nick shuddered, but when Warrick would have pulled away, Nick caught hold of his wrist. He straightened slightly, making it easier for their lips to meet in another deep kiss. "Okay," Nick finally murmured, releasing his wrist. "It's okay."

Warrick fumbled with Nick's belt and fly, and Nick returned the favor, although his hands were shaking slightly so he had to use both. Warrick's other arm was around Nick's shoulders, his free hand cradling Nick's head while he kept his lips pressed to Nick's temple. "Like this?" he whispered, pushing denim and cotton aside enough to free Nick's erection.

"Wait...wait..." Nick hissed, after a quick, desperate arch of his hips. He fumbled briefly before freeing Warrick as well.

Whoa. Warrick had not expected sparks to ricochet crazily through his entire body just because Nick grasped his cock. Hell, he certainly wasn't the first person, or even the first man to do so. And, Jesus, this was their first time together and Nick didn't even know just how he liked it but it was Nick and the touch was so gentle but firm and giving and sweet, just like Nick just like... "Just like that, Nicky..."

It suddenly occurred to him that he should be reciprocating, and he gave Nick a few careful strokes. After four years without another person's touch, that was all it took and with a sharp cry, Nick began pumping himself into Warrick's hand. His fingers tightened convulsively, but not painfully around Warrick's cock, and that was enough to carry Warrick along with him.

Feeling utterly boneless, aware of little except the warm puffs of breath on his neck, Warrick decided they would definitely have to take things slow. If a mere hand job made him feel like this, anything else was going to kill him.

He really had to stop grinning like a maniac.

He could handle having Catherine and Sara notice at the crime scene and tease him unmercifully about his "new guy." He could even take Hodges' drawling sarcasm about his unnecessarily good mood. But he was heading down to the morgue and a big goofy smile would just be creepy.

Dr. Robbins was nowhere in sight, but Nick easily found David Phillips tapping away at the computer. "Hey, Super Dave. You got a minute?"

After a few more keystrokes, David turned to him. "Sure. What do you need?"

"I know you've only done the prelim on my John Doe, but I need another look at those ridges in his arm. How close were the scars?"

"Scars? There were some in the crease of his elbow." David got up from the desk and walked over to the cooler wall.

"Yeah, that might be--" When he looked down at the body on the metal slab, alarm bells went off, and not only because it was the wrong body. "This is..." he cleared his throat, because his voice was suddenly hoarse. "This isn't my John Doe."

"Oh, sorry," David apologized, checking the door. He started to push the drawer shut, but Nick stopped him.

"Wait." Staring at the still form, Nick recognized the face, even though it was older and thinner. He felt his heart sink and settle in the pit of his stomach. "What's his story?"

After giving Nick a brief, curious look, David checked the file. "Um...John Doe 06-108. Died approximately April 10, brought in April 12. No matches in AFIS, CODIS, or NCIC."

"His name is Alexei," Nick said quietly. "At least, that's the name he gave me."

David's eyes widened. "You know him?"

"I met him once, a couple of years ago. I'm not 100% positive, but--well, yeah. I guess I am. What's the COD?"

"Injuries to--" David looked back down at the file and cleared his throat nervously. "He bled out--massive blood loss."

Nick gave him a sharp look, but decided not to press it. Although shy and nervous, David could be surprisingly stubborn when it came to protecting the privacy of victims in his care--almost as if to make up for the invasion of autopsies. "Which CSI?"

"Hal Westbrook. Oh," David frowned. "That must be why he's still here."

"Westbrook never got around to signing the release," Nick nodded. Hal Westbrook, one of the day shift CSIs, had suffered a sudden heart attack only days ago and was now away indefinitely. "Who has the case been reassigned to?"

"It doesn't say that it was."

"Dead kid no one is looking for," Nick studied Alexei and felt sadness overwhelm him. "Not a high priority." He released a pent-up breath and nodded to the man across from him. "Thanks, Super Dave."

"Wait," David said when Nick turned to leave. "What about your John Doe?"

"Right," Nick hesitated, but only for a moment. "I'll be back later about it." He pushed open the large swinging door, and rushed down the hall, nearly slamming into Catherine as he barreled around a corner.

"Whoa."

"Sorry."

"Does this mean you matched what's in our vic's arm?"

Nick winced, "Ah...no. Something else came up."

"Are you okay?" Catherine frowned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Not quite." He mustered up a smile, "I'll get back on it soon, okay?"

"I can check it, now that I'm here." She studied him with concern, "I'll catch up to you later?"

"Yeah," Nick agreed quickly. "I'm still on the case, Cath. I just have to check on another one first."

Catherine's tight expression relaxed. "Found a lead on a different case?"

"Sort of."

"Go for it," she waved him on. "I'll talk to you later."

Nick got all the way to Grissom's office before he remembered that his supervisor was lecturing at a conference in Chicago for four days and there were still two days left. That meant he'd have to talk to Ecklie about it, except that Ecklie wasn't in tonight and Nick had no idea when he would be.

Since becoming the Assistant Lab Director, Ecklie rotated his hours so that he worked a different shift each week, assuring that no shift got more of his attention. Whatever else Nick thought about Ecklie, there was no denying that the man had stepped up to the plate and was infinitely better than his predecessor. A quick check of the schedule revealed Ecklie was on day shift this week, which meant Nick could probably catch him before leaving.

Realizing he was letting himself get far to wound up about a case that wasn't even his--yet--Nick headed to the break room for something to drink while he got his head on straight. He decided that caffeine was the last thing he needed and ignored the coffee pot, grabbing a juice from the fridge instead. He took a look sip and leaned against the counter, trying to organize his thoughts.

Alexei hadn't been in the country legally. It had been only a suspicion before, but a certainty now. Even if by some chance he had been an exchange student at one time, he definitely wasn't at the time of his death and probably hadn't been when Nick encountered him in the desert, either. Nick didn't allow himself to speculate on the nature of Alexei injuries, but he knew they must have been nasty considering the way David had avoided mentioning them.

Right now, though, Nick knew he had to calm down and get back to his current case. Alexei, sadly, wouldn't be going anywhere. Nick decided he'd be better off focusing on the metal beads they'd found in the victim's pockets, whether or not they were responsible for the ridges in his arms and why the hell they were there.

Reaching into the pocket of his lab coat, Nick pulled out a small bag containing samples of the metal beads he'd brought along for comparison. He knew there was an extreme body modification practice that involved inserting similar implants under the skin--usually for those who felt that tattoos and body piercings had become too mainstream. Nick had never quite understood the appeal of some of the more unusual piercing, and had no idea where metal implanting was done.

What was especially strange in this case was that the victim had no other form of body art or piercing. Strange that he would begin with the most extreme procedure. Maybe he'd take some photos to "Ink, Inc." It was one of the better places in Vegas, and Nick knew the owner reasonably well--they used the same gym. He was pretty sure than Dane Mossor found him a constant source of amusement, but the man was always willing to answer his questions, even the ones that probably seemed stupid to someone with a bald, tattooed head and dozens of piercings. Nick considered bringing Catherine along--she'd probably get a huge kick out of Dane.

Dropping his now-empty bottle into the recycling bin, Nick headed back to his case with renewed interest. He was looking down at the metal beads again, so he collided with Warrick in the doorway and stumbled back a step. "Sorry," Nick said automatically, and immediately felt a smile tugging at his lips again.

"I'm not," Warrick grinned. "How's your case going?"

"Pretty good. You?"

"It's going." His voice dropped, becoming low and intimate, "Still no overtime, though, right?"

They were standing far enough apart to avoid notice, but that voice was almost like a caress. "Right. But I have to talk to Ecklie when he gets in."

"Something wrong?"

Nick decided this wasn't the time to tell Warrick about recognizing Alexei. "Not really."

"Okay. Don't be long." He edged past Nick in the doorway, pressing closer than strictly necessary for longer than strictly necessary.

"I won't," Nick promised, then moved away before they forgot where they were or someone noticed them. Even though he'd given up gambling, Warrick was still awfully fond of taking chances. Nick wasn't about to complain about that, however, considering what had resulted from the last chance Warrick had taken.

As he returned to the evidence lab, Nick found himself fighting back another goofy grin.

By the end of shift, he and Catherine had managed to identify their John Doe as Aaron Wilke, a WLVU student originally from Twin Falls, Idaho. He seemed one of the least likeliest people to be interested in metal body implants. They still didn't have a COD--that would probably be waiting for them the next night. Sofia had the unpleasant job of informing his parents and attempting to get a bit more background from them. All Nick had left to do was speak to Ecklie and then he'd be able to go home.

Where Warrick would be waiting.

Okay, he really had to stop with the smiling.

The only thing stranger than grinning on the way to the morgue, was grinning on the way to see Ecklie.

Ecklie's door was open, so Nick just knocked on the jamb.

The Assistant Director glanced up only long enough to identify the visitor before focusing back on whatever he was writing. "I hope you aren't here to request more overtime."

"No," Nick leaned against the door frame slightly. "I came to see if you'd reassigned all of Hal Westbrook's cases."

"Most of them," Ecklie replied without raising his head. "Don't have enough to do?"

"I just thought I might pick up one of them," Nick shrugged, even though Ecklie wasn't looking at him.

"There's five cases left. Take your pick."

"The John Doe," Nick said promptly.

Ecklie stopped writing and looked at him.

"John Doe 06-108," he clarified.

"That's more specific than I expected," Ecklie set down his pen.

"I'd like to see what I can do with it," Nick said honestly.

With a shrug, Ecklie swivelled his chair to go through the small pile of folders on the shelf behind him and pulled one out. He flipped through it and his expression turned sour. "You don't think there would be a conflict of interest?"

Nick was thrown by the question. Had Dave reported to Ecklie that he mentioned Alexei by name? That didn't sound like him. However, Dave might have said something to Catherine when she went in after Nick left, and Catherine would almost certainly remember the case. But no, Catherine definitely would have said something to him about it herself. That was hardly the point, anyway.

"If there is a conflict of interest, it's likely peripheral," Nick said firmly. That Ecklie would bring this up was something of sore point. "We've allowed CSIs to work more personal cases, and I believe I've proven that I can hand such cases without bias." There.

After studying him a few more seconds, Ecklie nodded to concede that point, albeit reluctantly. "Okay. I'll think this over. If it's in your slot when you show up for your next shift, then the case is yours. If it's not, then I don't want to hear about it again. Deal?"

Nick frowned. He was tempted to argue, but he knew that pissing Ecklie off was a good way to guarantee that he wouldn't get the case at all, and that his life would be difficult for the next few weeks. Instead, he nodded his agreement and left.

It wasn't as difficult to do as it might have been at one time. He was eager to get home, and he couldn't remember when he'd last felt that way. For the past year, before Warrick moved in, he had usually dreaded going home, and even before that, it was just something he did, not something he anticipated. Normally the only time he would look forward to it was after he'd been working doubles or triples, and that was more about ending his exhaustion than anything else.

As he drove out of the parking lot under the morning sun, sleep was the last thing on his mind.

Nick knew that for a lot of people, what happened between he and Warrick would barely count as anything, but he had gone four years without anyone else's touch--to him it meant everything.

And dammit, he was grinning again.

Warrick had never learned to cook. Even though they'd been strict with him in all other aspects, food had been the one area where his Gran and Aunt Bertha had allowed themselves to spoil him. Once he'd moved out, they still made sure he left after each visit loaded down with homemade meals that he only had to microwave. It might have had something to do with the too-scrawny kid he'd once been.

After they were both gone, Warrick had gotten by on frozen meals and sandwiches when he wasn't eating out or dating someone who was happy to cook for him. He knew he could probably follow a recipe if he ever had to--hell, he was a scientist, but he was certainly never going to have a knack for it.

Nick, on the other hand, was actually fairly competent in the kitchen. He'd laughingly told Warrick once that before he left for college, his mother and each of his sisters had taken him aside and taught him how to properly prepare one full meal so he wouldn't starve. Considering each meal contained several dishes, Nick had ended up with a decent repertoire. And, of course, the guy could barbecue like nobody's business.

None of that solved Warrick's problem, which was that he wanted to have something ready for breakfast when Nick got home.

Nick's favorite breakfast place was about twenty minutes out of the way, but Warrick put the pedal down and managed to get there, get breakfast and get home before Nick arrived. In fact, he made it with time to spare and when Nick pulled up, all Warrick had to do was put breakfast on the coffee table.

When Nick walked in, he noticed the spread immediately. "What's this?"

"Breakfast," Warrick replied with a kiss.

"I know that," Nick's laugh was a little breathless. "But--hey, is that Taco Rancheros? From The Egg?"

"Yep," Warrick nuzzled Nick's ear.

Nick tilted his head to give him better access. "Spoiling me already?" he asked with a sigh.

"Of course," Warrick moved back to those tempting lips. "Besides, I figured after a meeting with Ecklie, you could use a break."

"It wasn't that bad," Nick chuckled. He tucked his head briefly in the crook of Warrick's neck and emerged again after a few soft kisses. "But this is great, because I didn't get the chance to grab a bite at work."

In response to his words, Warrick nipped lightly at Nick's lips. "Then let's eat. I don't want to take advantage of you on an empty stomach."

"I thought I took advantage of you that first time."

"I know you do, baby," Warrick grinned, releasing him after one more kiss.

Nick laughed as he took off his jacket, then joined Warrick on the sofa.

"What did you have to talk to Ecklie about, anyway?" Warrick asked.

"Picking up one of Westbrook's cases," Nick replied, digging into his breakfast at once.

"What? You don't have enough to do?"

"Hunh. You sound just like Ecklie."

"You're not funny," Warrick shot him a dark look.

Nick chuckled around a mouthful of food.

"Come on, why the extra case?"

"It's a John Doe I want to look at," Nick replied, some of his good humor disappearing.

"You think it has something to do with the John Doe you and Cath are working?"

"No. And that's not a John Doe anymore, anyway." Nick went on to explain the progress they had made on the case.

As they worked their way through breakfast, conversation remained focused on work. Even though Nick didn't bring it up again, Warrick couldn't shake the feeling there was more to the John Doe case he'd requested. He waited until they had finished eating, though. "What's the deal with the other John Doe? Westbrook's?"

"Well, I don't have the background on the case. Ecklie didn't give me a definite answer."

That was odd. "How did you find out about it?"

Nick hesitated. "I saw the body when I was down in the morgue on another case."

"How old?"

"About sixteen."

There you had it. It wouldn't be the first time a CSI had felt a connection with a victim--it happened often, especially with kids. As Warrick reached over to put his empty plate on the coffee table, he glanced at Nick, who now seemed to be lost in thought. There was an expression of sadness on his face that made Warrick wonder what else about this kid had made Nick want the case so bad.

Nick sat forward a set his empty plate down as well, then remained in that position. After a moment, his shoulders lifted in a deep, silent sigh.

"Hey."

Nick looked over at him, then leaned back with an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

A gentle tug was all it took to encourage Nick to lean against him instead. "What is it about this case?"

"I'll explain it if I get the case, okay?"

Warrick wasn't crazy about that idea, but it was a fair deal. "Okay. Now how am I gonna keep your mind off it until it's time for work?"

With a smile that banished more of the shadows from his eyes, Nick pressed closer. "Need any ideas?"

"Nope. Think I got it covered." Warrick cupped Nick's cheek and traced the parted lips with his thumb before capturing them.

Nick shifted his weight once more, leaning back and pulling Warrick along to lie on top of him. Warrick followed, but kept himself levered off the smaller man. He didn't relax and settle until Nick wrapped both arms around him.

There was no telling whether the blissful haze lasted five minutes or a half-hour, and Warrick didn't much care. He was too busy exploring Nick's skin with his lips and Nick's mouth with his tongue while Nick did the same. He felt rather than heard Nick mumble his name.

"Hmmm?" It came out as a purr directly in Nick's ear. Warrick spent quite a bit of time around those ears, particularly the spot where the line of Nick's jaw almost reached his earlobe. Nuzzling that sensitive patch of skin always produced interesting results. "What, Nicky?" he asked, and applied his tongue to that spot, making Nick arch and gasp against him.

"Mmmm--maybe we could move to the bedroom."

"Okay," Warrick agreed, but made no attempt to move.

Nick didn't seem to be in that much of a hurry, because they exchanged several more long kisses before he prompted "Warrick?" again.

With some regret but more anticipation, Warrick got up off the sofa, then pulled Nick to his feet as well. When Nick turned to walk toward his bedroom, Warrick couldn't resist sliding his arms around him from behind and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. Nick leaned back, tilting his head to share another deep kiss, then continued walking without breaking the circle of Warrick's arms. Warrick allowed himself to be led along, and once in Nick's bedroom, he rested his chin on the shorter man's shoulder and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Nick caught his hands just before the last two buttons. "What about you?"

If that made his new lover more comfortable, Warrick was happy to oblige. He stepped back and stripped off his shirt, acutely aware of Nick's eyes on him. Nick had finished taking off his own shirt but seemed more interested in watching that removing any more clothing.

Warrick didn't have a problem with that, either, and was very deliberate in his movements as he shed the rest of his clothes. It wasn't quite a show, but it was close.

Once Warrick was naked, Nick closed the distance between them and before Warrick could draw him into an embrace, dropped smoothly to his knees. There was no mistaking his intention and Warrick felt another jolt of lust surge through him, although this one was tempered by concern. "Nicky..."

Just the sensation of Nick's breath on his erection was enough to make Warrick groan. After a few exploratory licks, Nick took the head into his mouth and Warrick had to lock his knees so they wouldn't buckle beneath him. Nick gotten halfway up his shaft barely a half dozen times before a sudden thrust from Warrick caught them both off guard.

Warrick fought the urge to grab Nick by the hair and pump himself into that warm, moist heat. Instead, he lifted Nick back up and pulled him close to ravage that talented mouth. He could taste himself on Nick's lips and tongue, prompting a low growl from his throat.

Nick's hands ran down the length of his spine and back up again, and Warrick copied the action, but stopped when he encountered denim. He broke of the kiss with an effort, "Am I the only one at this party?"

With a smile, Nick stepped back, but Warrick stopped him putting a hand on either side of his waist, allowing him to move back only enough to unfasten his belt and jeans. Then Warrick knelt, tugging Nick's jeans and shorts down and holding them so Nick could step out. He kissed his way back up from Nick's knee, sliding his hands along the back of the muscular legs and alternating kisses from one leg to the other until he reached Nick's erect cock. He licked along the shaft, only occasionally taking the head in his mouth, until he felt Nick's legs trembling. When he got to his feet, he was met with a desperate kiss from Nick.

The full skin-to-skin contact brought them both close to losing control. Together they stumbled to the bed and toppled onto it. Warrick quickly rolled onto Nick, who began arching frantically against him. He shifted so their cocks slid against one another while Nick tangled their legs together. Pressing down heavily, Warrick tried to counteract Nick's wild bucking. "Slow down, Nicky. There's no rush," his voice was hoarse, surprising him.

"Easy for you to say," Nick panted. "You haven't--oh, god!" He threw his head back as Warrick bore down harder.

Warrick meant to hold out a bit longer, but the needy noises come from Nick's throat made that impossible. Instead, he matched Nick's pace, covering Nick's mouth and swallowing his moans. Feeling the warm wetness of Nick's release spread between them, Warrick jerked convulsively against the near-limp body beneath him before collapsing on the smaller man.

Eventually, Warrick became aware of Nick stroking his sweat-slick back and summoned the energy to roll off him. He mustered a little more to find something to clean off with, then shifted along with Nick so the sheets could be pulled back. Before joining Nick under the covers, Warrick studied the handsome features, which were more relaxed than they'd been in some time.

Nick opened his eyes. "What?" he smiled with bemusement.

Shaking his head, Warrick leaned over to give him a soft kiss before sliding under the sheet. "You okay?" he asked, sliding his fingers through the soft hair.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Just checking." He pulled Nick close and smiled as the smaller man snuggled in comfortably.

Nick fell asleep quickly, but it was not a quiet sleep. Warrick awoke several times to Nick's troubled voice, although actual words were impossible to understand. With soothing words and gentle touches, he usually managed to quiet Nick without forcing him to return to consciousness and could only hope that this method somehow helped Nick deal with the remaining darkness that haunted his dreams.

The case file was waiting for him when he got to work.

Nick opened it and began reading it on the spot, ignoring the jostling of his colleagues as they picked up messages and mail. He looked over the coroner's report first and saw why David hadn't wanted to list injuries. Alexei had been sexually brutalized for a long time before his death, and the last assault had been so savage that he died of the blood loss.

With a sick feeling in his stomach, Nick flipped through the rest of the file to see what progress had been made. Okay, so Vartann is working the case. I can--oh. Oh. That John Doe.

The conflict of interest Ecklie mentioned was the discovery of Sylvia Mullins' business card on the body. Nick knew that if Ecklie found out he'd met Alexei--even though it was only once--he'd be taken off the case immediately. True, it was a bizarre, somewhat disturbing, coincidence, but as far as Nick could tell Mullins' card in Alexei's pocket meant very little. At least, there was nothing significant noted in the file. He'd have to talk to Vartann, and perhaps take another look at Mullins' client list himself.

"Stokes."

Nick looked up, smiling slightly at Greg, "Sanders."

"You running late?"

"Shit," Nick muttered when he checked his watch. "Sorry. Did Cath hand out assignments already?"

"Yup. Sara asked me to track you down. We've got a multiple in Henderson."

"Okay. I'll meet you guys at the truck in a minute."

"All right," Greg disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared.

Although Nick wanted to dive right into Alexei's case, he closed the file and made the effort to clear his mind in preparation for a fresh crime scene.

The multiple turned out to be a murder-suicide and a relatively simple scene. All three deaths were in the same room and the note describing a pact seemed authentic. Five hours was almost unheard of to process the scene of three bloody deaths, but Nick got back to the lab in plenty of time to wrap up more of the Aaron Wilke case. That was the case of an exceptionally bright kid who did something exceptionally stupid in an effort to impress a girl. The metal beads had become infection, and Wilke had actually died of blood poisoning. Hardly surprising, considering it had been a do-it-yourself job.

That, and tying up some loose ends on several other cases, took the rest of his shift. His mind was so wrapped up in cases most of the time and so wrapped up in Warrick the rest of the time, that he completely forgot he had the next shift off until an offhand comment from Catherine reminded him. He didn't want to wait that long before discussing Alexei's case with Vartann, so after a quick call, he arranged to stop by the station on his way home. Warrick had mentioned going to the gym after work, so Nick figured it would be good timing.

It was an unspoken agreement between them that they would keep going to their individual gyms and keep their separate workout schedules. They already worked and lived together, and both recognized that doing some things apart was for the best. Even more, Nick knew that having to see Warrick working out without being able to react would be torture and was fairly certain it was the same for Warrick.

He hoped so, anyway.

He pulled up to the police station and his heart sank a little when he saw Metcalfe and Michaels talking out front. That meant he had to walk past them, and if he said anything to Metcalfe, had to say something to Michaels as well. Nick always tried to avoid speaking to DA Michaels whenever possible, because no matter what he told himself, interacting with Michaels always brought back painful memories. He got out of the truck slowly, relieved to see the conversation seemed to be ending. He waited a few minutes more, hearing Metcalfe say--"I don't know how you managed to get two weeks vacation at once, you lucky SOB, but have fun in Hawaii."

Two weeks without having to worry about running into Michaels at a scene. Hearing that made Nick's day, and he gave Metcalfe a cheery "hey" when he passed.

As Nick walked down the hallway, about half the cops he passed nodded or greeted him. The other half mostly ignored him, although there was the occasional mutter. No one ever actually hassled him--no one wanted to risk the wrath of Captain Brass--but it was strange to have some to the guys he used to play softball with suddenly act as though he didn't exist. For the most part, Nick kept his head down and went about his business as always. He tried not to let it get to him, but it was still a relief to reach the detectives' bullpen and Vartann's desk.

"Hey," Vartann greeted him. "You want to go over this here or..?"

"Is there an empty interview room?"

"Should be." Vartann stood and led the way to one of the smaller interrogation rooms that often doubled as an office when a detective wanted somewhere more quiet to work. Sitting at the table, Vartann shook his head. "Why the hell would you take this case?"

"I didn't know it was this case until after I read the file." Seeing Vartann frown, Nick explained, "I saw the kid down in the morgue and recognized him."

"Fuck."

Nick raised his eyebrows in question.

"You know this kid?"

"I've only met him once. It was...what? Two years ago? I don't even--the only name he gave me was Alexei and I can't be sure it was his real one."

"Sounds Russian."

"He was."

"Russian?" Vartann began scribbling notes. "Where the hell did you meet him?"

"Do you remember a mass grave case? Also about two years ago. Way out past the Borax mine, by the Dead Mountains."

"Yeah," Vartann nodded slowly. "Okay--it was some sixty-year-old case, wasn't it?"

"Right. Well, I was out there after the case was closed and this kid came walking out of the desert. I talked to him for a while and gave him a bottle of water for the walk back."

Vartann's frown deepened, "Didn't you...run into some trouble out there?"

"Yeah," Nick smiled wryly. "Supposedly for trespassing on that Sampson guy's land."

"Sampson?" Vartann froze. "Barrett Sampson?"

"Yeah. There was a lot of stuff around him, but nothing that really stuck. Why?"

"Barrett Sampson was in Mullins' appointment book."

It took a moment for that to actually register. "What?"

"He was a client of Mullins'," Vartann clarified. "He couldn't have killed the kid, though. He was out of the country. I've talked to his assistant, and he's supposed to have Sampson contact me. In the meantime, I'll try to find out if any of those Cayman Island accounts point to Sampson."

"That's right. She did a lot of interesting banking out there, didn't she?" That brought to mind something else about Barrett Sampson, and Nick felt himself growing more uneasy with every passing minute. "When, uh, when Jim and Catherine investigated Sampson, the only thing they could find on him was a business deal with this guy named...Krause? Or Prause. Something like that. Ties to human trafficking."

Vartann studied Nick in silence. "This is--seriously, Stokes, do you think you should be on this one?"

Nick gritted his teeth. He was getting tired of people constantly doubting his judgement. It wasn't like he was the first CSI to ever work a case that was even remotely personal. Comparatively speaking, it might not even be that personal. "Do you have a problem working with me on this?"

"No," Vartann said firmly. "Not a problem, exactly. But--"

"Good."

The detective sighed. "So what happened with the case?"

"The Feds took it over."

"Right. Right, I remember that." Vartann took a deep breath, "Look, Stokes...Nick. This kid, Sampson, Mullins, an assault on you, your kidnaping--really, should you be anywhere near this?"

Nick fought the urge to shift uncomfortably. When stated so bluntly, it did sound bad, and he wasn't sure where to draw the line between caution and paranoia. He didn't see why everyone had to know that, however. "Then where does Walter Gordon fit into this? He's the one behind my kidnaping and he already gave his reason--revenge on CSI. It was a case of wrong place, wrong time."

"Mullins?" Vartann prodded.

"There's no way of ever knowing how she became involved," Nick said, leaning back. "But from what I can make out, the ransom was her idea. Gordon never had any intention of collecting it. That's why Mullins took Kelly's inheritance."

"And the Gordon woman killed her."

"Yeah," Nick cleared his throat and tried to banish the image of Kelly Gordon convulsing violently. "Whatever problems Kelly had, I don't see why she would lie when she knew she was dying." Vartann stared at him, and although it wasn't easy, Nick held his gaze stubbornly. "From looking over Mullins' records, though, I have no trouble believing she worked for all sorts of..." he shrugged rather than finishing.

"Crooks and kooks need their taxes done, too, is that it?" Vartann still looked dubious. He tossed his pen down. "Too many links. This kid was seen wandering the desert on Sampson's land, Mullins worked for Sampson, Mullins' card was found on the kid, who is Russian--oh, and by the way, is connected to a guy involved in human trafficking. And Walter Gordon..." he sighed and looked down at the file. "Was not."

"Look, there are just as many possible broken links as there are links," Nick said, for the first time having some difficulty remaining objective. "Sampson's connection to human trafficking might just be unfortunate--Jim said it wasn't incriminating. The same could apply to Mullins' being tied to both Sampson and Gordon. And really, there's no sign that Gordon has the slightest thing to do with this, so I'm not sure why his name keeps popping up--" His voice was rising, and he had to make an effort to return it to normal. Okay. Okay, man, admit it. This is going to get to you. "Look, right now, the only definite links to me personally are tenuous at best. The business card--which everyone gives out--of a woman who was an accomplice to my kidnaping on the body of a kid I met once for less than ten minutes." Nick sighed, it sounded bad no matter how it was phrased. "I'm off tomorrow night, so let's leave it until after that. If you talk to Sampson and he makes you suspicious, then that's one link too many and I'll take myself off the case again, all right?"

"Good deal," Vartann nodded, then his expression became even stonier than usual. "Either way, I'm going to make sure this gets taken care of, don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Nick lied.

"That's the tenth gust of air you've let out."

"Sorry."

"S'okay. Just sounds like you've got something on your mind."

"Yeah. I guess."

Nick didn't say anything more, which disappointed Warrick, but didn't surprise him. Nick had seemed distracted ever since Warrick returned from the gym and had arrived to find that Nick had made coffee but hadn't bothered cooking anything to eat. That wasn't a problem, though, since they had two days worth of takeout to finish off. Nick had held up his end of the conversation during the meal, but his mind had obviously been elsewhere.

They moved to the sofa, where Nick paid much more attention to the kissing than he had to the talking. Even so, from time to time, Nick would just lay still with his head on Warrick's chest, his silence broken only by those deep sighs.

"Anything I might be able to help with?"

"No. Not really," Nick lifted his head for a moment to give Warrick a soft kiss. "I appreciate you asking, though."

Warrick ran his fingers through Nick's hair, uncertain how to proceed. He didn't want to push too much--Nick wasn't prone to brooding usually, but if anyone had reason to, he did. For all that he seemed to have put the worst of it behind him, there was still a lot to deal with. Hell, even their three-day-old relationship was a lot to deal with, considering Nick's prior monk-like lifestyle.

"It's the case," Nick said, startling Warrick out of his own reverie.

Right. The case he'd asked for. Of course. "Ecklie wouldn't hand it to you?"

"He did, but...I'm probably going to turn around and recuse myself from it."

An alarm bell went off--tiny, but unavoidable. "Why?"

Nick tensed, hesitating briefly before answering. "I recognized the victim. I thought I could maintain my objectivity in spite of that, but--"

"Who is it?" Warrick asked, because that was the last thing he expected to hear.

"Alexei."

"Alexei?"

Another deep breath, but this one sounded more as if Nick was bracing himself for something. "Do you remember when I went bird watching out by the Dead Mountains? Near the site of that mass grave? This was a couple of years ago, so you probably don't--"

"Some guys worked you over for supposedly trespassing," Warrick felt a fresh burst of fury at the memory.

"Yeah, the second time. But the first time?"

"Okay...you met some kid from--aw, hell, Nicky. That's your vic?"

"Yeah." Almost too quiet.

With some difficulty--it was two years ago, and never his case--Warrick drew on what he remembered about it. The FBI had taken the case away because it had involved--"Human trafficking. You'd said the kid was Russian. You think that--were there signs that he'd been..?"

"Yes," Nick's voice was heavy with sorrow. "So severely he died from his injuries."

"Jesus." Warrick didn't know what else to say. He didn't want Nick on the case at all--the guy would undoubtedly tear himself up over it. He couldn't say so too forcefully, though, because if sounded like an order, Nick was likely to turn stubborn and change his mind. "Do you think the Feds might end up taking this case if they get wind of it?"

"Oh, damn," Nick rubbed his eyes tiredly. "They probably will. I'll have to warn Vartann about that. I already mentioned the FBI had been involved, but not the way they shut us out."

"Wouldn't all that make it directly related to your assault? You'd have to recuse yourself from that."

There was a long silence, and Warrick began to worry until Nick finally spoke. "There's no proof it's tied to that, but..." he was quiet for several more minutes, then shook his head slowly. "Yeah. I'll tell Ecklie tomorrow night. He'll probably be relieved."

He's not the only one. "Why tomorrow night?"

"I'm off tonight."

"Right," Warrick nodded.

Nick lifted his head to meet Warrick's eyes, and several times it seemed as though he was about to say something. Instead, he shook his head once more and settled against Warrick.

Knowing that it had to be bothering him, Warrick didn't mention the decision again and instead softly ran his fingers through the dark hair until he felt Nick relaxing. He was far too comfortable to consider moving, and before too long he began to doze off. "Well, some of us have to work tonight," he said, rousing himself. "I've gotta get some sleep."

"Me, too," Nick said, sounding drowsy as he sat up. He leaned in for a kiss, "Bed?"

"The same bed?" Warrick smiled. "You sure that's going to get us any sleep?"

"Not right away, maybe," Nick returned. "Can't you stay up a while longer?"

Warrick knew it was an innocent remark, but the effect of Nick's words on his system was definitely not. He received proof it wasn't a deliberate double entendre when Nick realized what he'd said and muffled his laughter in Warrick's shoulder. "I think I can manage," Warrick said dryly. "But if you're offering your help..."

There was a faint flush on Nick's cheeks, but he was grinning. "Your place or mine?"

Glad to have successfully distracted Nick away from an upsetting case, at least for a little while, Warrick stole another kiss. "You've got the bigger bed," he said, referring to the California King Nick had bought years before in a fit of indulgence. Warrick loved that bed already, and not only because of whom he shared it with.

Nick stood and tugged Warrick to his feet as well. They got pleasantly lost in another long kiss then kept stealing more as they made their way to Nick's bedroom. Once inside, Nick took the lead, but so softly--almost courteously--that Warrick felt asserting himself would be rude.

"Maybe we could get your shirt off."

"Why don't you let me help you with those jeans?"

"Would you like to lie down?"

Warrick happily submitted to every gentle request, encouraged by Nick's hands and lips. Nick was so eager to please, so obviously happy to be with him, that Warrick felt humbled. Had any other lover treated him that way, he would have been flattered and a little smug, but Nick was someone he'd wanted yet thought unattainable for so long that he was still awed this was even happening. That he was naked, stretched out on Nick Stokes' bed with the owner straddling his hips and smiling down at him was the realization of a long-held fantasy.

"This okay?" Nick asked.

"Pretty damn close to perfect."

Nick's smile wavered almost imperceptibly, "Close to perfect?"

"Little overdressed, aren't you?"

The smile widened and Nick began unbuttoning his shirt, only stopping when Warrick reached up to do it for him. Then he leaned over for a deep kiss, making it easy for Warrick to push the shirt off his shoulders. Then Nick climbed off only long enough to quickly shed the rest of his clothes before returning.

"That's more like it." Warrick slid his hands over as much skin as he could reach. He noticed Nick was almost fully erect and reached to help the situation along, but Nick stopped him.

"Rick..." he whispered, stroking Warrick's chest. "Let me take care of you, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, Nick ran his tongue over his lower lip. It was something he did often enough, a nervous habit, but this time it was a deliberate communication, and it made Warrick's entire body take notice. It also meant that from now on that little nervous habit was going to drive him crazier than it ever had. "Yesterday was the first time in a long time," Nick said. "But I think I can get the hang of it again."

"Just like riding a bike, Nicky."

"Oh. That is different than I remember," Nick sounded serious, but his eyes were twinkling.

"Smart ass," Warrick laughed, drawing him down for another kiss.

Then Nick began making his way down the Warrick's body, leaving a heated trail of kisses in his wake. He spent extra time on areas that Warrick reacted to--his nipples, his navel...Jesus, especially his navel. Warrick thought he could have come from that alone, if he had been able to get any friction. He couldn't, because Nick had moved down until he was sitting on Warrick's knees, bent over so that his chest lightly brushed Warrick's straining erection while he thrust his tongue in and around Warrick's sensitive navel.

Warrick had always scoffed at the phrase "enthusiasm counts for a lot," but he quickly revised that opinion when Nick moved lower. If Nick was a bit hesitant at first, there was no doubt he loved what he was doing. He licked every bit of skin several times over, letting out breathless little moans as though he was the one being pleasured. Between the sound and sensation, Warrick knew he wasn't going to last much longer. Nick finally took him into his mouth, sucking gently at first and then more firmly as he began moving his lips up and down the length.

Although he held back as long as he could, when Nick moaned again, around him, it was all over. Through the bright explosions of bliss, Warrick was vaguely aware of Nick swallowing some before finishing with his hand, but by that point he was past caring how. He was only concerned with what and who.

When he could think straight again and opening his eyes, he found Nick lying next to him, watching him with a pleased smile. Nick didn't ask--there was no need, they both knew it had been fantastic. Nick leaned in for another kiss, and Warrick felt the man's still-hard erection against him. "What about you?" he murmured against Nick's lips.

"Don't worry about it," Nick whispered. "I'll take care of it myself."

No way in hell that was happening. "Not a chance, baby," Warrick said, pushing Nick onto his back. "It's my turn now."

Nick's breathing sped up almost immediately, so Warrick decided not to waste any time. He took Nick in his hand, coating his fingers with precum and nuzzling one hipbone before wrapping his lips around Nick's cock. Nick seemed to be saying something, but when Warrick listened for a moment, he realized that there were very few actual words being articulated. With an inward smile--his mouth was otherwise occupied--he began to work one hand under Nick's body.

Using the other to hold Nick off, Warrick kept the touch of his lips and tongue on Nick cock light while he probed between the firm cheeks with eager fingers and stroked the puckered opening. Nick made a choked sound and started trembling. Encouraged, Warrick slowly thrust one finger inside, all the while sucking more of Nick's length into his mouth. One touch to that sensitive gland was all it took. Nick came with a sharp cry and Warrick gladly swallowed every drop.

Warrick rested his head on Nick's stomach and listened to his lover's breathing return to normal. Then he heard--and felt--Nick chuckle softly. He wasn't sure what to think of that.

"No wonder people think we're competitive," Nick's voice was still breathless. "Show off."

That made Warrick laugh as well, and he shifted position so he could give Nick a long, lazy kiss. "Nothing wrong with some healthy competition," he said.

Nick let out another contented sigh as Warrick wrapped arms and legs around him, and they were both asleep within minutes.

Nick didn't normally run his errands after dark, but decided to make an exception tonight. They'd awakened and had dinner, then there was a long, leisurely make out session on the sofa, followed by quick, intense hand session in the shower. In spite of--or maybe because of--all that, Warrick had still been kissing and groping him a mere half-hour before shift was scheduled to start.

As much as Nick wanted to take Warrick up on his offer to break in his bed, he also didn't want them to get in the habit of cutting things so close they'd wind up late for work. That's when he told Warrick he needed to get his errands done before midnight. Some dorky, Boy Scout part of him never failed to be amused by the notion of shopping the dead of night. He was a bit surprised when Warrick, concern in his green eyes, apologized for applying too much pressure. Wanting to assure him, Nick gave him another kiss, and they ended up wasting several more minutes before Nick finally steeled himself and went out to his truck.

His cell phone trilled and he glanced at the display, smiling and looking out at Warrick as he answered. "Go to work, Rick," he laughed. "I'll be waiting when you get home."

"Don't say that," Warrick groaned. "It'll only make the night seem longer." He started walking to his jeep, "I'll call you later."

"Okay. Now get a move on."

"Bossy," Warrick chuckled, then hung up.

Nick gave Warrick a wave, and watched him drive away, then decided that since his was already in his truck he might as well head to Walgreens to pick up a few things he needed. There was something he had been considering ever since the first time he and Warrick shared a bed and he'd finally settled it in his mind just a few hours ago. So, in addition to soap, vitamins and light bulbs, he also bought condoms and then had a hell of a time figuring out what kind of lube to buy--he didn't remember there being such a variety the last time he needed any. He felt a little silly buying them, not because of the actual purchase but because likely Warrick already had some. Hell, he probably had some somewhere.

Back at home, he put everything away and started up his laptop. He flipped through his data CDs, found the one he wanted and settled himself at the table. As the CD loaded, he opened a bottle of Snapple Kiwi Teawi--ridiculous name, but good iced tea--and got to work.

Maybe he had to give up Alexei's case again, but if it was at all possible, he was going to hand it back along with some new information. He hoped that going through the pictures he'd taken near Sampson's land would refresh his memory or perhaps remind him of something important. The photos from the second day popped up first, and Nick checked them all to see if perhaps he'd gotten a picture of one of the vehicles. He didn't--all the shots were tightly focused on the kestrel and kangaroo rat locked in battle.

In spite of the situation, Nick couldn't help smiling a little--not only at the shots, but at the memory of rambling about it all to Warrick and likely coming across as a total geek. Warrick had actually listened very patiently, considering how upset he'd been about the assault. Nick leaned back in his chair, recalling how freaked out and embarrassed he was to have Warrick in his bedroom--it seemed completely ridiculous now. I won't say how long I've wanted you and you won't say how long you've wanted me...

Had Warrick wanted him back then? Nick didn't know--wasn't sure he wanted to know. He'd hate to think they had wasted an entire two years when they could have been together. Doesn't matter, Nick told himself firmly. They were together now and that was the important thing. Still...

Shaking his head, Nick forced himself back to the task he'd set and began clicking through his first set of pictures. He couldn't remember much about the pictures he'd taken of Alexei--he'd deleted them when he'd uploaded the pictures and had barely paid any attention at the time. He kept clicking dejectedly, and was in the process of concluding that nothing was going to spark a memory, so it actually took a few minutes for him to register what he'd just seen. Hardly daring to believe it, he slowly flipped back a couple of shots, then stopped and stared.

It was Alexei.

It was the first random shot he'd taken, different from the others of Alexei because he hadn't bothered setting it up much. After that first one, the youth had taken off his cap and fixed--

"His cap," Nick said out loud.

The red baseball cap.

The cap he'd taken by mistake.

Would he still have it? After two years?

Only one way to find out.

Nick began rooting through every closet, his trunk, his dresser, anywhere that old knapsack might be, all the while muttering "baseball cap" under his breath without even realizing it. Had he used that knapsack again after his encounter with the four men? He couldn't remember. Had he brought it with him to Texas? He might have. Shit, had he left it in Texas? No, he couldn't have brought it, or if he had, surely he would have noticed the ball cap. Of course he hadn't exactly been firing on all cylinders at the time.

Wait a minute.

He'd had it on the seat of his truck. Had he put it back in the knapsack? That he couldn't remember, but then he hadn't remembered more or less swiping it from Alexei.

"Dammit." No way it would still be in his truck--he'd cleaned it out too many times since then.

He only had the hall closet left to go through, and he did it without much enthusiasm--until he found the old knapsack. Hadn't he turned it over to CSIs after the assault? No, he remembered, just the contents. Holding his breath, he looked inside and saw a splash of red.

"Yes!" Now Nick wanted nothing more than to get out his maglite and go over cap for possible trace, but he didn't dare. It was already a dodgy chain of evidence and he didn't want to make it any worse. Instead, he grabbed a bag and a pair of tweezers from his kit, extracted the cap and sealed the evidence. He examined the cap through the clear plastic and smiled grimly when he saw several blond hairs.

Between that and the photo, Vartann would have somewhere to start. There was only so far Alexei could have walked that day, and Nick had a general direction. If not Sampson, then there had to be someone in a certain radius who would have known this kid.

Back at his computer, Nick printed the picture of Alexei along with a page of notes of everything he could recall about the meeting. He put everything in a large envelope and left it on his table where he wouldn't forget it, no matter how much Warrick distracted him.

Nick considered that for a moment.

No, better to just put it in his truck right now.

For the past three mornings, Warrick had done almost exactly the same thing: went home, talked about work over breakfast--today it was some sort of Texas omelet Nick had whipped up--and then sat on the sofa to relax. He had no complaints about any of it, but it was strange for him when in a relationship, especially a new one.

If the relationship was with a woman, he'd be taking her out to dinner or dancing or a show; with a man, they'd be going to dinner and then a club. In both cases, they would usually only return home for a very specific reason. It hadn't even occurred to him until that moment that he'd made no attempt at any wining and dining in this case.

True, this was a very different situation--they were already living together, but Nick certainly deserved to be treated as well as anyone else he'd ever dated. Hell, he deserved better.

Was that the reason Nick seemed a bit off this morning? When Warrick asked, Nick assured him that he was okay with giving up Alexei's case. It wasn't the same sort of distraction as before, anyway. Nick undoubtedly had something on his mind, but whatever it was seemed to be making him nervous rather than moody.

"Hey," he finally said, nudging Nick gently. "You feel like doing something?"

Nick gave him a bemused smile, "Sure, what?"

"No," Warrick shook his head, Nick seemed to think he was asking for a favor. "I mean, doing something. Going out."

Nick stilled briefly, "What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. Just name it."

"Oh. I...I thought people usually went out to get to know each other."

Hunh. Warrick had never quite looked at it that way, but it was a pretty good point. He just didn't know how to reply to it.

"If there's something you want to do, then sure," Nick continued. "But going out just to go out? That's not really..."

Warrick found himself nodding along. "Fair enough."

"Sometimes I feel like going out for the hell of it, but usually...I'm probably pretty boring compared to you, Rick."

"That's not what I'd call it," Warrick snorted.

"I know you go out a lot, so whenever you--"

"Nope." He pulled Nick in close and gave him a kiss. "This is something I'll be happy to get used to."

"But we're still going to Pearl's next Saturday, right? The Storyville Five?"

The Storyville Five were a Dixieland quintet they'd made plans to see before ever getting together. Although Nick liked most of the jazz and soul Warrick listened to, Dixieland was undoubtedly his favorite. "Yeah," Warrick smiled. "Yeah, that's definitely still on."

"Good."

Warrick ran the back of his fingers along Nick's cheek. "I just want to make sure I do this right, Nicky."

Nick pulled away, looking confused, "Why would you be worried about that? Warrick, don't you have any idea how...how much you've...?" he couldn't finish.

He didn't have to. "And I want it to stay that way."

Nick stared at him for several minutes, and just as Warrick was about to get lost in the depths of those dark eyes, surged forward, kissing him hard. Warrick held on, letting the momentum bear him back, and pulling Nick along on top of him. Feeling Nick's lips on his neck, he arched his head back to give better access and wondered briefly if Nick would leave any marks. He decided not to mention it, on the off chance Nick would get self-conscious and possibly stop--he definitely didn't want Nick to stop.

As he slid his hands under the old, thin t-shirt Nick was wearing, he suddenly remembered their conversation from the evening before. "Hey," he said, his voice already husky with pleasure. "We're supposed to break in my bed, aren't we?"

Much to his dismay, Nick froze almost immediately, "Oh."

"Hey," Warrick held on tighter. "Hey, I was kidding, Nicky."

"It's okay," Nick said, freed him from the embrace and stood up. "I just--"

"Nick," Warrick quickly got to his feet as well. "It doesn't matter where--"

Nick stopped him with a kiss. "It's okay, Rick. You go ahead and I'll be right there." With another kiss, Nick went off to his bedroom.

Feeling slightly off-balance, Warrick went into his own bedroom and took off his shirt. When Nick walked it, he slipped one arm around the trim waist and pulled the shorter man close. Nick murmured appreciatively as Warrick nuzzled his ears and jaw, then untangled himself and took Warrick's hand, pressing something into it.

Warrick looked down at the tube and wrapper, blinking to be sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. He raised his eyes to look at Nick, who was watching him carefully, his lower lip in his teeth. "Nicky..." Warrick finally managed. "Nicky, you don't have to..."

"I want to. Well," Nick gave him a crooked smile. "I want you to."

"Are you sure?"

"Warrick." That was all, but there was a tone of longing and a wealth of meaning behind it.

Warrick tossed both items in the general direction of the bed and took Nick's face in both hands, trying to put everything he couldn't say into that kiss. He groaned when he felt Nick wrap both arms around his neck, giving himself up completely. Already his jeans felt painfully tight and Warrick forced himself to calm down--he wanted to take the time to make sure Nick was absolutely ready for him.

Slowly, carefully, he undressed Nick, much as Nick had done to him the day before. He stroked and kissed each patch of skin as it was revealed until Nick was trembling from head to toe and his legs gave way. Warrick quickly shed the rest of his clothing, then knelt by the bed. He lavished attention on Nick's weeping erection, taking long slow sucks and licking up and down the length, not stopping until Nick choked out a warning.

Mindful that it had been a long time for Nick, Warrick guided him onto his hands and knees. "This okay, baby?" he asked, smoothing a hand along Nick's spine. Catlike, Nick arched into his touch, and Warrick took that as a yes. He found the lube and coated his fingers, pressing several kisses to Nick's lower back while he let it warm on his fingers.

Running a finger between the firm cheeks, Warrick began petting the tight opening. He kept it up even once Nick's arms were shaking too much to hold himself up and he folded them, resting his head on his forearms. His first finger slipped inside as easily as last time, so Warrick added a second, establishing a rhythm--nudging Nick's prostate on the way in and scissoring on the way out, and keeping up a steady stream of murmured encouragement all the while. Despite Nick's pleas and demands that he was ready, Warrick added a third finger and continued.

"Warrick..." It was almost a sob, and Nick pushed himself up on his arms once more. "For God's sake..."

Satisfied that Nick was ready, Warrick knelt behind him, quickly opening and rolling on the condom then adding more lube to make absolutely certain. He positioned himself, then took a deep steadying breath--for a split second he wasn't sure he could do this. It was something he wanted so badly that it actually scared him. "Nicky..." He couldn't explain, and Nick was past listening in any case.

"Warrick, please..."

As slowly as he could, Warrick eased himself into the tight passage, holding tightly to Nick's hips. Nick let out a low, breathless moan of pure pleasure as Warrick sank in to the hilt. "Perfect," Warrick whispered, and started to move. It was his third stroke that Warrick knew he'd found the exact angle--that's when Nick pushed back against him hard.

Warrick began moving harder and faster, sliding one hand up Nick's back to grip his shoulder and pumping Nick's cock with the other. Nick had long since reached the incoherent stage, and Warrick could only make out his name or the occasional word. He wanted so badly to wait until Nick had come, but like a juggernaut his climax was suddenly upon him and along with the explosions behind his eyes he felt an explosion of warmth against his hand and that was even more perfect and so were Nick's cries of pleasure and oh jesus it was almost as if he was coming a second time this was lasting so long and nothing had ever ever ever been this perfect.

Eventually, Warrick became aware of the prone body beneath him, and noted that even their collapse onto the bed had failed to dislodge him. It only made him more reluctant to move, but eventually he withdrew, somewhat surprised to hear Nick's small sound of protest. He discarded the condom, while Nick roused himself enough to clean off with a corner of a sheet. Rather than move and climb under the covers, Warrick grabbed the folded duvet from the foot of the bed and settled it over both of them.

Nick hadn't said a word, hadn't even opened his eyes, but Warrick didn't care. All that mattered was the way Nick nestled as closely as possible, that he was going to fall asleep with Nick's lips pressed against the pulse in his neck and the sensation of Nick's soft breath against his skin.

Nick arrived at work five minutes after Warrick--taking their own vehicles was another silent understanding between them. He had just closed his locker door when Catherine peered around the corner. "Oh, good, you're here. Looks like a busy night."

"Right behind you," Nick said, waiting until Catherine turned before following her out. He still moved a bit gingerly and if anyone noticed, it would be Catherine, and she would probably tease him unmercifully about it.

Warrick had been worried when Nick woke up rather sore, so Nick had done his best to assure him that it wasn't that bad, that it was only because it had been a while and that it had been worth it, in any case. As it turned out, he might have done too good of a job with the assurances, because Warrick had been looking immensely pleased with himself ever since.

Nick would have been annoyed with him, but that was impossible when he felt so damn good. Unfortunately, that pleasant ache was also going to make it more difficult than ever to keep his mind off Warrick at work.

As he entered the break room where the rest of the graveyard shift was already assembled, Nick hoped that he looked the same as he did any other night. So far he'd managed to keep the goofy grin off his face, but he didn't dare look at Warrick, because he knew if he did, he would definitely give something away.

No one seemed to notice anything unusual. Grissom glanced up only long enough to make sure everyone was present, then began handing out assignments. "Okay. Catherine, you said you would take the jumper at the Sphere. Sara, break-in at a pharmacy in Spring Valley. Another B&E in Summerlin, Nick, in the same area as the two you processed a week ago. Warrick, trick roll at the Monaco. Greg, you're with me--we've got three legs and an arm found in a dumpster. They're still searching for the rest of the bodies."

Everyone took their slips and headed for the door, although Greg looked a little disappointed not to be in on the trick roll. It was going to be one of those nights when several "lesser" crimes kept everyone busy, and Nick was satisfied with the case he'd pulled. If it was similar to the other two, then he had another chance to catch the person responsible.

As the group headed for the doors, Warrick fell back until they were in step together, and managed to bump and brush against him several times without being too obvious about it, Then, as they walked outside and separated to go to their Denalis, Warrick simply said, "Later," the same way he did every night.

Opening the door to "his" Denali, Nick wondered if he could pull off something similar, but knew it wasn't likely when Catherine grinned at him across the hood of her vehicle. "Enjoy your day off, Nicky?" The grin became teasing when he looked at her in surprise. "What was his name again? Mark, right?"

Nick ducked his head before he could catch himself, making Catherine laugh as she got into her truck. Unable to help smiling, he waited until she had pulled away before doing so himself, turning west out of the parking lot. He double-checked the address--10039 Covington Cross Drive. That was one street over from the two previous burglaries, so Nick made himself remember everything he could about them.

He parked in front of a xeriscaped, Better Homes and Gardens candidate that was marred only by the black and white sitting in the driveway. There was a uniform waiting just outside the door, and Nick nodded to him as he approached. "Paul and Meg Bergin. Family is away," Carreiro told him. "Alarm went off a few hours ago. Detective Vega called, he was on his way but got caught up in a convenience store hold up."

"Caught up? What, was he in the store when it happened?"

"Yep," Carreiro grinned. "Punk nearly pissed himself."

Nick started laughing as he walked inside, but stopped as soon as he saw the living room. This was definitely not the same burglar as the other two Summerlin homes. Those were professional jobs. This was a disaster. He surveyed the living room as he readied his camera. They would have to wait for the owners to return to be certain, but nothing even seemed to be missing.

After snapping pictures of the plasma TV on the wall and the state-of-the-art home theater system, Nick lowered his camera and took another look around. There was always the possibility that whoever it was had been looking for something specific, but Nick was ready to put money on kids breaking in just for kicks. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be kids from the area. Although most of the furniture was overturned, the high-end electronics hadn't been touched. A peek into the dining room revealed the same thing in there. Better to save the speculations until he had gone over the entire house.

That was probably going to take hours.

He wasn't thrilled about having to spend most of the night processing a scene that would probably go nowhere, but that wasn't his call. At least, if this case went the way he thought it would, he'd get to watch Vega scare the snot out of a couple of bored, over privileged kids and hopefully set them back on the straight and narrow.

Two hours later, Nick was ready to scare the snot out of whoever was responsible, himself. He was only halfway through printing the living room, with no end in sight and he had five more rooms to dust. Carreiro had stopped in to chat now and then, but mostly kept by the front door, probably bored out of his mind. Nick debated taking a break and calling Warrick, but decided against it. That would be a very bad habit to get into.

As he crouched on the floor--he stifled a smile at the twinge such movement brought--he heard Carreiro talking to someone. Good. Vega was here. It would make the time go faster if he had someone to discuss the case with, even though Vega wouldn't be too thrilled to have drawn such a shit case. That, and Nick wanted to hear what had happened during his hold up. He heard a startled curse, then the sound of someone stumbling.

"Careful," he called, standing again. "Whoever pulled this was really sloppy."

"I don't appreciate that."

Nick spun at the sound of the cold voice. He stared, at first only registering the gun pointed at him. A gun with a silencer on it. "What the hell is this?" he demanded, still not believing what he was seeing. Who was holding a gun on him. "What did you do to Carreiro?"

"What do you think? Come on, you know the drill. Hands behind your head."

Nick obeyed the command, disbelief and comprehension warring in his mind. It all made sense, but this couldn't be happening. Those two conflicting facts ricocheted back and forth in his mind. His surroundings faded away, and all that seemed to exist was the man holding the revolver. "You shot a cop?" he asked, his voice suddenly, inexplicably hoarse. "Jesus, are you out of your mind? You'd better just get the hell out of here."

"No can do."

At the touch of a hand on his belt buckle, Nick had to steel himself from reacting--any sudden movement would probably get him shot, even though he was obviously wanted alive. He felt the belt being pulled free of the loops and then heard his sidearm and phone drop to the floor. The gun barely wavered during the proceedings--Nick knew because he hadn't looked away from it. "Look, I don't know why you think you have to do this, but--"

"I just do. No loose ends. Hands up, take those gloves off."

His mind frantically working through options, Nick did as he was told.

"Hands behind your back."

The gun was no longer in sight, but that didn't calm Nick's racing heart. Not when he felt the sensation of plastic restraints being fastened around his wrists. It was a sensation that immediately brought him back to the interior of an SUV, struggling for leverage while waiting for a glimpse of his captor. This time though...Nick looked over his shoulder.

"Face forward. Keys."

"Keys?" Nick repeated blankly.

"To your vehicle."

"In...my right front pocket," Nick replied, still unable to take in the surreal situation. This couldn't possibly be happening again. He couldn't let this happen again. He couldn't go through this again. "You must know you don't have a chance. You shot a cop."

"Let's go for a little walk."

Cuffed in plastic restraints as though he were the criminal, Nick was marched out through the front door. He barely had time for a glimpse of Carreiro lying on the floor, but it was enough for him to make out a pool of blood. Frantically, he scanned the area, but people of Covington Cross Drive paid well for their privacy and the driveway was very secluded.

He was manhandled into the passenger side of his Denali, sitting painfully on his cuffed hands. The gun remained trained on him while the window was rolled down and the door was shut. Confused by such actions, Nick almost missed the large piece of white cotton that suddenly appeared in his captor's free hand. The aroma that wafted from it brought back more hideous memories, and Nick felt dizzy and nauseous even before the ether-soaked cloth covered his face.

"Don't--" was all he had time for before his nose and mouth were covered and his head was pressed against the back seat and held firmly.

Nick kicked, tried to turn his head, but with his hands behind him could only writhe helplessly. He tried to hold his breath, but the ether was burning his nostrils and crowding his mind with more memories and in spite of himself, he let out a desperate, choked sob.

Then his world went dark.

Barrett Sampson settled himself behind his hand-carved oak desk and nodded to his assistant to bring in his visitor. "As soon as you've shown him in, you can head back to the other house."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Sampson."

While he waited, Sampson studied the imitation Anatolian rug in front of his desk--he was never one to throw money away--and assured himself it was properly placed. Satisfied, he opened the line to his security room. "Be sure to alert me when Mr. Vrederveld has left the premises, Mr. Abbey."

"Yes, sir."

Although Hugh Vrederveld was an excellent assistant and was just intimidated enough to keep his mouth shut about some of his employer's illicit business activities, there was no sense in tempting fate. It was one thing for Vrederveld to arrange for him to "be" in Austria rather than his new house outside of Mount Charleston, but it was another to have him tangle with the LVPD head on. And while Vrederveld could effectively hold off the police when he thought it was all monetary, Sampson was certain he would crack when confronted with the kidnaping or murder of one of their own.

Still, Vredereld was good enough at what he did do that Sampson wasn't prepared to lose him if he didn't have to. The beautiful estate about an hour west of Vegas had been acquired within a week of Sampson requesting it, and although he didn't appreciate having to give up his very useful ranch once again, the spanish-styled manor was a satisfactory replacement. At least he was still close enough to keep a personal eye on the proceedings. He had resigned himself to the fact that he might have to give up on the Dead Mountains property for good--it was something he'd have Vrederveld begin looking into.

A knock sounded at the door, and after a swift glance to a darkened corner of the room, Sampson said, "Enter." He waited until the man had stopped directly in front of his desk. "Well?"

"Uh...well...well, I lucked out and the detective got hung up. Had to shoot the uniform, though. And there was no way to sneak up on the CSI, so he knows who--"

"Do I look like I'm interested in your problems?" Sampson frowned.

A nervous clearing of the throat. "I knocked him out with the ether and brought him to the meeting place. I turned him over to Clayton and Lon after they gave me their names as said they were headed to Amargosa Valley--just like you said they'd say."

"And?" Sampson demanded. Surely the man wasn't waiting for a pat on the back?

"Oh." Another throat clearing. "I brought Nick's vehicle back to lab and took his truck. Parked it at the Tangiers parking lots and came here."

Sampson's phone trilled. "Yes?"

"Mr. Vredereld is gone, sir."

"Thank you, Martin."

"Look, they're going to be all over this. I need to get moving--you said to name my price."

"So I did," Sampson agreed, making a quick motion with his hand. "I didn't say you'd get it." He watched as Lars Wietzel, his most trusted employee, stepped from the shadows and put a bullet through his visitor's head before he'd even had a chance to turn around. "Excellent work, Lars. As always."

"Thank you, Mr. Sampson." Wietzel flicked a strand of white-blond hair from his eyes before efficiently rolling the body up in the rug and the plastic sheet underneath. He hoisted it onto his shoulder and strolled out of the room.

Sampson leaned back in his chair and lit a Cuban. What a shame that Officer Michaels hadn't paid more attention. "No loose ends," Sampson said, and smiled around his cigar.

Greg drew a deep lungful of--relatively--clean air when Grissom was finally satisfied that the dumpster had been thoroughly processed and allowed him to climb out. He jumped to the ground and was just about to describe his ordeal in great detail when he noticed the serious expressions on the faces of his supervisor and Sofia Curtis, who was on her phone. "What's going on?" he asked Grissom in a low voice.

"I'm not sure yet," Grissom replied, his eyes on Sofia. "But I believe we may have another crime scene."

Sofia hung up, and turned to the officers standing anxiously by their cars. She motioned for one to stay and waved the rest off--they all got in their black and whites and sped away at once. "Officer down," she said, turning back to the CSIs. "I have to go."

"We'll need someone to secure this scene," Grissom said. "But we can get right over there."

"I'm leaving Officer Cooper. You should--"

Grissom's cell rang and he checked the display. "Four four four. Code Red."

"Okay," without another word, Sofia headed for her car and sped away.

"I'll drive," Greg offered, heading for the Denali. When Grissom didn't respond, he turned back and noticed how strange the entomologist looked. "Grissom?"

"Call Nick," Grissom said, still staring at the display.

"What?"

"Call Nick," Grissom's voice was like steel. "Now."

Greg flipped open his phone and hit the speed dial for Nick's number, wondering what had set Grissom off--the man's expression was stark, his eyes fairly burning. "Do you want me to tell him to meet us there?" he asked while he waited for Nick to answer.

"The scene is in Summerlin--10039 Covington Cross Drive."

"Oh," Greg nodded--Nick's phone was still ringing. "Nick's already in Summerlin on--" and suddenly he couldn't breathe. No.

"Is he answering?"

Greg had no idea where his voice went, but speech was impossible--he could only shake his head.

Grissom's face had turned to stone. "Get in the truck. I'll drive."

Fuzzy. Everything was fuzzy. He was dreaming about waking up in a van with his hands bound.

Strange. He'd never relived that in his dreams before.

Voices. There had been no voices when he woke up in the van. So he had to be dreaming.

Reassured, he went back to sleep.

Normally, Jim would have handed a pharmacy break-in to someone else, but the sheer volume of drugs stolen and the professionalism of the job meant it required his attention. So he was at the biggest Rite-Aid in Vegas with Sara when he got the call.

He hated having to break the news to her when she was so obviously enjoying herself dusting for dozens of prints. He hated having to break the news at all. Sick at heart himself, he walked to the back of the store. She was humming a little tune as she worked. "Sara?"

"Hmmm?" The tune stopped.

"I need to talk to you."

She must have heard something in his voice, because she emerged from the rows of shelves immediately.

"We've got an officer down."

"Oh..." Her voice was low, concerned. "You have to get to the scene, then. Do they need me there?"

"Sara..." He tried again, and her dark eyes widened at the raspiness in his voice. "It was Nick's scene." Sara went so pale so rapidly that Jim reached out involuntarily to grab her arm. "Sara?" Normally, he would never worry about such a thing, but at the moment he thought she might faint.

"What..." Sara was white to the lips. "Is Nick the one who was hurt?"

"No. It's Carreiro. Nick...isn't there."

A small, sharp breath that wasn't quite a sob jerked through her body. Then she exhaled slowly, blinking rapidly all the while. Jim could practically see her unsheathing that slender but unbreakable blade of strength he'd always admired in her. "We'd better get over there right away," she said.

"So you worked for this guy before?"

"Yeah. And if I'd been smart and stuck with him, I never would have ended up in the can."

Stay awake this time, he told himself. You aren't dreaming this. Oh, god help me, I'm not dreaming this.

"What kind of boss is he? How much does he let slide?"

"Fuck. Don't go in thinking like that, man. This guy will take good care of you, but if he draws a line, don't fuckin' cross it or he'll gut you like a fish."

The voice faded out as the movement of the van lulled him back into unconsciousness.

"What?" Catherine glared at the man in front of her.

Metcalfe shifted uncomfortably, feeling singed by those fierce blue eyes. "There's an officer down. It was Stokes' scene, but he's not there."

The image of Nick's smile sprang unbidden to her mind's eye. He'd been so happy in the past few weeks, after a year of struggling so hard and dealing with so much and finally putting it behind him.

"When did he leave for the scene?" Metcalfe asked cautiously.

"At the start of shift," she looked at her watch. "Hours ago. Do you know whether he arrived?"

"Haven't heard that, just that he's not there. Neither is his vehicle."

Catherine clutched at that desperately. Please, please, let him have a flat tire or engine trouble. Let him have decided to ditch work to see Mark. Let him have ditched work to go pick up some random guy. Let him have quit the job. Let him be getting laid or drunk--hell, let him be getting high, just please don't let him have been at that scene. Despite her silent prayer, she knew that Nick wouldn't possibly have done any of those things. She began packing up her kit when her phone trilled. "Willows."

"Catherine."

"Gil. There's an officer down--"

"I'm on the scene now. They've taken Officer Carreiro to the hospital, but it doesn't look good." Grissom drew a deep breath, "Catherine--"

She knew then. Knew by the sound of his voice, but she couldn't let herself believe it. "No, Gil. No."

"His kit is here. His gun, his phone, his belt. And a pair of latex gloves have been discarded."

He's been through too much for this to be happening again.

"Catherine?"

"I'm on my way."

They were still moving.

How far were they going to go, anyway? Where were they taking him?

The windows showed darkness, so it had probably been less than four hours since Michaels pulled a gun on him. Either that or a full twenty-four.

"Yes! How many fuckin' times do I gotta say it? This guy always has his shit together, okay. He found a shithole motel out in the middle of nowhere. The old fart who runs the place was so fucking thrilled to have a customer that he ain't askin' questions."

"How long do we gotta say out there, anyway?"

"The fuck do I know? Don't worry about it. He always pays good. Hell, he's got someone bringing us food every day and even satellite TV."

"Yeah? What about--? What?"

"He's moving."

Keep still. Keep still. Keep still. If they think you're awake, they'll--

"Yeah, yeah. I don't know why the fuck we gotta mess with this shit. Helluva lot easier to fill him with a shot of something."

Oh, God. Please, not that.

A sharp scent reached his nostrils, then darkness descended again.

The rolled trick was taken to the hospital despite his very vocal protests. Whatever the hooker had given him had done more than knock him out, and after the man had fallen down for a third time, Caveliere got the EMTs to cart him away.

Warrick continued processing the room, even though he didn't have much hope of identifying which working girl was responsible for this particular trick roll. Caveliere was off in the corner scribbling some notes before going to the hospital with more questions. When Warrick's phone trilled, he took it from his belt immediately, hoping it was Nick, but knowing it was probably Grissom with a new scene for him. "Brown."

"Warrick?"

"Greg," Warrick recognized his voice, but was a bit surprised to hear it. "What's up?"

"Warrick..." Greg couldn't seem to get much past that.

"What's wrong?"

"There's a...problem at Nick's crime scene."

Without a second thought, Warrick began packing up his kit. "What happened?" he asked, then his attention was drawn by Caveliere's voice.

"Fuck!" The detective was also on his cell. "Where?"

Warrick looked at him, and Caveliere held his gaze while listening to his caller.

"Warrick?" That was Greg again.

"Officer down," Caveliere said, and swore again.

"There's an officer down," Warrick told Greg. He stood up, abandoning his kit.

"Yeah, at Nick's scene," Greg's voice was shaky. "He was shot."

"Where's Nick?" Warrick demanded, not liking the way Caveliere was staring at him. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah," Caveliere was saying, "I'm here with him now."

Warrick didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Warrick, Nick--" Greg broke off with a slight choke. "Nick isn't here. His things are here, but--"

His legs gave out--he nearly missed the bed and wound up on the floor.

"Warrick?" Greg said again.

"Address," Warrick demanded.

"Uh...10039 Covington Cross Drive."

"Okay," Warrick said, and hung up.

"I'll get him there," Caveliere promised before hanging up his phone as well. "Warrick..."

His voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. "Who was the officer?"

"Neil Carreiro."

"Transferred in last year." Odd that he would remember that, of all things.

"Yeah. From Oregon."

"He gonna make it?" It was what to say, even though at the moment he didn't care about the answer.

"Doesn't look good."

"Shame." This was getting easier. Everything seemed to be going numb. He could handle that.

"They said Nick's vehicle is gone. He might have gotten away."

That got through, and it filled Warrick with fury. He practically bolted off the bed and got right in Caveliere's face. "What the hell are you saying? You think Nick would just ditch a wounded cop?"

Caveliere had a temper, so Warrick was surprised that the detective didn't respond except to say--"No. He wouldn't. Look, maybe--maybe I'll give you a lift out there, okay?"

He was numb again. Good. He liked that better. "Nah. I'll meet you there."

They weren't moving anymore. Someone really needed to tell that to his stomach.

Nick didn't know if it was the ether or his situation, but his nausea was so intense that it required all his focus. Knowing any quick movement would trigger it futher, he kept as still as possible until he slowly became more aware of his surroundings. Not that he had much choice in the matter--at some point, his captors had bound his ankles as well.

Lying half on his side, Nick could make out voices again, but it was some time before any of the words made sense to his still-cloudy mind.

"...wondering how long we would be here..." Okay, that was the guy who had been doing all the questioning in the van.

"...least four or five days..." A new voice. The boss, probably. "...most important thing...people will be taking note..."

"Who?"

"--ing an example of him?" That was the former employee. Nick shuddered, he knew being made an example of was never good news.

"...more of a demonstration...last time...recommended a lunatic...don't appreciate what it's done to my credibility."

Last time? Michaels had done this, Nick suddenly remembered. It couldn't possibly be a coincidence, but Gordon, Mullins and Kelly were all dead. Who else was there?

"And after the demonstration?"

"That depends on many different things, but I expect it will be no problem for you to guard him as long as necessary, will it?"

"No problem at all, Mr. Sampson."

Sampson! Barrett Sampson. It has to be. Nick was certain the man was somehow responsible for Alexei's death, he just didn't know how it all fit together.

"He should be waking up soon, and then we can all have a nice chat."

He didn't know how it all fit together, and was terrified he was about to find out.

On to Part 3