Lost & Found Part 4

Nick debated several times between preparing a big breakfast or a simple one. A big breakfast would be the nicest, but if Warrick was really full after, he might just feel like crashing. Even as he turned the possibilities over, Nick hated himself for it. It was almost as though he were fretting.

There was always the third option of just pouncing on Warrick as soon as he walked through the door. Nick was fairly sure Warrick wouldn't mind that and it would have the added bonus of showing that he truly wanted what he was asking for.

Because he did.

If he felt a little queasy whenever he thought about it, if his stomach clenched uncomfortably one moment and fluttered with anticipation the next, that was only to be expected. There was a myriad of reasons for him to be nervous, and not all of them had to do with the assault.

For one thing, the last time he'd actually remembered sleeping with a man, he'd still been in college. Anyone would be nervous after so many years, and even if his time frame was still a little messed up, it did seem like years.

He was worried what could happen if he had a flashback right in the middle of things, but hoped the fact that he was aware of the possibility would somehow prevent it. Then there was the concern that Warrick would have a problem sleeping with him, knowing what had happened. As much as Nick tried to tell himself that Warrick still wanted him in spite of knowing, that Warrick had shown he still wanted Nick, the fear still lurked in the back of his mind that Warrick would now see him as fundamentally different.

Instead, Nick tried to concentrate on the reasons he wanted this to happen. There was really only one, but it was powerful enough to override most of his fears. It had been good with Craig, despite all the problems they'd had, but Nick knew it would be infinitely better with Warrick--hell, it already was.

He had to stop thinking about it so much, though, or he was going to end up making a complete fool of himself. A smile tugged at his lips as he decided that, at least, was more or less a moot point. Warrick was usually pretty good at leaving him unable to think, anyway.

Everything they'd need was already in his bedroom. Nick didn't really care where they were, but he did have the vague notion that he would be less nervous in his own bed.

Glancing at the time, Nick's smile turned rueful, all he internal debate meant that having a big breakfast ready wasn't an option anymore. Barring overtime or a last-minute double, Warrick would be home before too long. Nick put on some coffee, though, and trying to ignore that nasty little voice in the back of his mind that insisted on calling him "the little woman" whenever he tried to do something nice for Warrick. No doubt it was some weird, leftover fear from college, only making itself known when he was already stressed out about other things.

Nick settled himself on the couch and turned on the television in an attempt to distract himself. It managed to silence the nasty little voice, but not much else. It was all Nick could do to stay seated when he heard Warrick's jeep pull up and wait until Warrick had shrugged out of his jacket before standing.

"Hey," he said, walking into Warrick's arms to give him a welcoming kiss. "How was work?"

"Messy," Warrick sighed with another kiss. He frowned briefly, looking puzzled, "And a little weird in the lab."

"Same old, same old, then."

Warrick grinned and pulled him closer. "Pretty much."

They moved away from the door, exchanging lazy kisses as they went. They'd quickly established the knack for being able to move easily through the house without breaking their embrace. "You hungry?" Nick brushing his lips against the roughness of Warrick's chin.

"For what?" Warrick's voice was teasing.

Nick's nerves got the better of him and he pressed a kiss to the hollow of Warrick's throat, then kept his eyes fastened on the spot when he said, "Me?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"Do you know what I'm asking?" Nick met the gleaming green eyes.

Warrick's smile faded a little, and Nick had to force himself to hold Warrick's gaze, able to see the moment Warrick realized what he meant. "Nicky..." Warrick ran a thumb along his cheek. "Nicky, are you..."

"So help me, you ask if I'm sure and I'm gonna have to hurt ya."

"Okay," Warrick smiled again, more softly. "But you've got to tell me if--"

"Rick, I promise if I start getting really uncomfortable, I tell you." And if their definitions of really uncomfortable were completely different, so be it. Nick was certain, had been all along, the most important factor was that once they'd started, they didn't stop merely because of his uneasiness.

Warrick nodded slowly, "You know there's no reason you have to--"

"--except that I want to," Nick finished for him. "Isn't that a good reason?"

"Damn good reason," Warrick bent his head, and Nick eagerly met him halfway.

There was nothing even remotely like discomfort at first, just the deep kisses and soft touches Nick had grown used to but never got tired of. They had begun moving again, slowly making their way in the general direction of the bedrooms.

"Where Nicky?" Warrick asked, his warm, wet breath tickling Nick's ear and making him shiver.

"My room," Nick said, then with no thought whatsoever added. "We were in your room the other time."

"Yeah, we were," Warrick grinned, as pleased as always whenever Nick remembered something about them. Then he covered Nick's mouth again, exploring the interior even as his hands explored underneath Nick's shirt.

As they moved into the semi-darkness of his bedroom, Nick's shivers became less about pleasure. He pulled back before Warrick could notice, his movement causing Warrick's hands to slide down to his hips, keeping him from going any further. Already his trepidation was subsiding again, so Nick used the opportunity to pull his shirt off before reaching for the hem of Warrick's.

Warrick gave him a long, careful look before raising his arms so Nick could strip off his shirt as well, then wrapped his arms around Nick in an all-encompassing embrace. Marveling that Warrick knew just what he needed without either of them saying a word, Nick pressed his face to Warrick's chest and waited for the shadows around the edges of his thoughts to subside.

"Nicky," Warrick whispered.

Worried that Warrick might decide to call things off, Nick reached for the fastenings of Warrick's jeans, but when Warrick did the same, it suddenly wasn't right. Something that should have been familiar...wasn't. As slowly as he could, not wanting Warrick to think he was freaking, Nick extracted himself from the embrace. "I'll do it," he said, unbuttoning and unzipping them himself.

"Okay," Warrick agreed, although there was a hint of reluctance in his voice. He stepped back to strip his own pants off.

Nick sat on the bed, holding out his arms to Warrick, drawing Warrick down to lie on top of him. He concentrated on running his hands over whatever part of Warrick's skin he could reach while Warrick murmured encouragement in his ear, drowning out any nasty whispers that wanted to make themselves known.

He was just beginning to relax again when Warrick asked, "In the nightstand?"

"Yeah," Nick said, and quickly anticipation morphed into trepidation again.

Warrick made no move to get anything from the nightstand, though, and continued his unhurried exploration of Nick's body with his lips, tongue and fingers. As Warrick began moving down his body, Nick found he also had to deal with embarrassment, because he wasn't nearly as hard as he would normally be by this point. Warrick didn't comment, instead he used his tongue to rectify the situation.

The sound of the nightstand drawer opening made Nick tense again, but then Warrick's mouth engulfed more than half his length and Nick forgot he even had a nightstand. Slowly, as though he had all the time in the world, Warrick gradually moved and shifted until he was kneeling between Nick's legs, never once taking his lips from Nick's now-leaking erection.

Nick lost himself to the sensation of soft touches to the inside of his thighs, his balls being played with by gentle fingers, but mostly that wet heat enveloping his cock. When he felt a slick finger work its way under him and between his cheeks, Nick forced himself to remain relaxed. Warrick was still taking his time, petting the puckered opening before slowly pushing his finger inside.

A breath Nick didn't even know he'd been holding suddenly escaped and instead of tensing, he instinctively spread his legs and bent one slightly, a silent request for more. Warrick obliged, adding a second finger and pushing them deep enough to nudge the tiny gland. Adding a third finger briefly, Warrick whispered, "This okay, baby?"

"Yes," Nick gasped, drawing both legs up.

There was the sound of a wrapper being opened, and moments later, Warrick's hands returned to his thighs, stroking and kneading gently. Then Nick felt Warrick's cock nudging against him for entrance to his body and suddenly he couldn't draw any air into his lungs.

Panting, Nick closed his eyes, but that changed uneasiness into fear, and he forced them open again, staring at Warrick, who did have his eyes closed.

Don't tense up, Nick told himself desperately. Look. It's Warrick. It's Warrick and you want this.

But Warrick had stilled, and when he opened his eyes, Nick closed his again, knowing Warrick would call things off if he saw the turmoil there. But the darkness made it easier for that shadows of bad memories return to the edges of his consciousness, and Nick felt tears fell his eyes when he realized they might have to stop after all.

"Nicky..."

That voice.

"Baby, it's okay."

Nothing bad ever happened to him when he heard that voice.

Nick tightened his legs around Warrick's hips, drawing him closer, urging him deeper. He opened his eyes to find Warrick's face over him, studying him so intently, it sent a cascade of the good shivers through him. "Warrick..." he said, wrapping his arms around the larger man. "Yes."

Fierce green eyes locked on his, and then Warrick began to move. For another brief moment something

bad

snaked through his mind, but then Warrick said his name again and slid across his prostate. After that Nick just held on tight with his arms and legs and lost himself to the pleasure of what Warrick was doing to him. Warrick chanted his name with each thrust and although Nick knew he also managed to gasp out several things, he had no idea what they were.

His cock--now trapped between their bodies--had all the friction it needed, and before long Nick was crying out as he came. Like a tornado gathering everything in its path, Nick's release swept up his terror, his apprehension and his worries along with his pleasure, leaving him unable to fight the tremors that shook him from head to toe

He was vaguely aware of Warrick cleaning them off, unable to decide whether he felt good or not. When he was drawn into Warrick's arms, he managed to return the embrace, still shaking slightly. He felt Warrick's lips against his cheek, heard Warrick's voice hoarse with emotion. "Nicky, I swear I'm never gonna get over how brave you are."

Nick didn't have the energy to reply, but Warrick seemed to understand and just held him tight until gradually his trembling lessened and drowsiness washed over him.

"Go to sleep, baby," Warrick whispered.

So Nick did, drifting off to the sensation of soft kisses being rained down on his face.

Nick walked into Sorensky's Bakery and smiled at Catherine when he saw her seated that "their" table. He went to the counter to get some coffee and a piece of apple crumble before joining her. "Hey."

"Hey," Catherine smiled in return. "How you doing?"

Nick had long since gotten frustrated with that question, but when he complained about it to Catherine, she pointed out it was more of a habit that anything else, and she wasn't about to stop worrying about him in any case. Nick realized that he was actually being touchy about a question he often greeted people with and Catherine's "would you rather I didn't give a shit?" pretty much put the matter to rest. He'd also learned--or maybe remembered--that he was better off answering her honestly because she always knew if he was fronting. Fortunately, today it was simple enough to answer positively and truthfully. "Good. Pretty low-key session--just a lot of little memories lately. You?"

"Getting by. Things have finally calmed down after the Atwater debacle."

The young woman who worked behind the counter came by to refill their coffee cups, even though technically she wasn't a waitress and neither of their cups needed much filling. Nick returned her smile politely as she replaced the single sip he'd taken and when she left he saw Catherine watching with amusement.

"Don't get her hopes up, Nicky."

Nick's jaw dropped. "I wasn't--I was just--"

"I know," Catherine nodded in understanding. "She asked me about you last week. Haven't you noticed she flirts like crazy whenever you come in?"

"Uh..." Nick willed himself not to turn red. "I'm usually still thinking about everything that happened in the session when I come in--" He stopped when Catherine gave an unladylike snort.

"Like you'd notice in any case. I told her you were unavailable."

"Unavailable."

"Well, you are," Catherine smirked, then after a beat added. "To her, anyway."

Nick felt a smile tug at his lips. He knew that Catherine had to know about he and Warrick by now, and she knew he knew, but neither of them ever quite addressed it directly. Instead they would always mention it with some ambiguity, getting as close as possible without saying anything outright. It had become a game between them.

"So you keeping busy?" Catherine asked, picking up the conversation again.

"Don't ask me that," Nick made a face. "I'm starting to go nuts."

"Too much time, not enough to do," Catherine sympathized.

"Dr. Jeffries gave me a clean bill of health a while ago, so at least I've been able to kill a couple of extra hours at the gym each week, but Dr. Werne says it's gonna be at least a couple more months before I can go back to work--at least."

"Nick, you've been through--"

Nick didn't need to hear it another time. "Cath. I know."

"I guess you're getting pretty sick of hearing certain things."

"Sorry. I've got too much time to spend thinking about stuff. Too much time on my hands, period."

"Hmph," Catherine's lips curved teasingly. "Too bad you don't have someone--I mean, thing--to keep those hands busy."

Nick simultaneously fought to keep his smile from escaping and his face from turning red, but his good mood returned at once.

Catherine stuck to the subject of work after that, for which Nick was grateful. If he couldn't actually be at work, at least he could hear about the cases and keep his mind in shape.

Lindsey came in after dance practice, starving as always. To tide her over on the ride home, as always, Nick bought her one of the lemon croissants she claimed to be addicted to.

As they walked out to their vehicles, Catherine gave his arm a squeeze. "Take it easy, Nicky. And stop worrying about your job."

Her phrasing struck him as a bit odd, but not enough to occupy his thoughts as he drove home, stopping to pick up supper for he and Warrick along the way.

Passing time when Warrick was around was never a problem. There were even occasions when time passed so quickly that Warrick had to scramble to make it to work on time. It was getting close to a week since their first--second--time together, and Nick hoped it wouldn't be too much longer before their next. He had been surprised at how sore he was the next day, considering how careful Warrick had been, but chalked it up to the tension that he hadn't been able to shake. It had faded after a couple of days, anyway. The next time, he was certain, that trepidation would no longer be present. Already whenever he thought about it, anticipation outweighed every other emotion.

He and Warrick came up with plenty of other ways to satisfy each other until then.

In the meantime, Nick had another night to kill. He had no errands to run, and the house was already far beyond his usual neatness. It was painfully neat, since cleaning had become another way to pass the hours.

He looked over his bookshelves, even though he had long since made his way through the majority of his forensics collection. There were two shelves dedicated to books about birds which had surprised-yet-not-surprised him when he first noticed it months before. Not surprising because he'd had a fascination with birds since childhood, but surprising to see how much he'd nourished the interest since leaving Texas. He hadn't looked at any of them since his return to Vegas.

Idly, he opened the door to the cabinet section directly underneath, even though he knew that--among other things--his binoculars and sketchpad were inside. He picked up the sketchpad and almost immediately was enveloped by a sense of foreboding.

Don't.

Don't touch. Don't look. Don't dwell. Just don't.

Nick grabbed the binoculars as well and went to his bedroom closet, cursing himself for a coward the entire time. What he should be doing was following that feeling until it led him to a memory. He wanted to finally deal with whatever it was that terrified him so much it made him feel physically ill. Technically, he already knew what it was--had known all along. So why the hell couldn't he just man up and face it?

Even as he was berating himself, Nick was rooting through the closet for somewhere to tuck the items away. He was shifting a legal-sized box when he noticed "horses" scrawled on it in black marker. Although he liked horses well enough, he'd never been involved enough to have a box full of related items in Vegas. Intrigued, he opened a flap to look inside.

There were only papers on top, and Nick pulled out a handful for a better look. He broke into a smile when he recognized plans and measurements for a buggy and stagecoach as well as patterns for tack and a wagon harness.

During various sessions with Dr. Werne, he had remembered much of his stay in Texas after his burial, even his visit to Brett's home in Houston. Now he remembered discussing Alec's Breyer horse collection and his own contributions to it.

Eagerly, he followed that memory instead. It was one of those "commonplace" memories--his term for them--that he continued to recover every few days. Memories that he rarely would have referred to had his situation be normal and that only popped up in the face of their very specific triggers.

He'd started making the models while he was still working in Dallas, initially because seven-year-old Alec had mentioned the lack of vehicles and tack that suited the 1:9 scale and Nick took a notion to see what could be done about it. It had been nothing more than a fancy to see if his could actually make something so small. Alec and Susannah's son, Kyle, had been so thrilled with the results that Nick had continued to make them as gifts for years after, only stopping after the article in the Vegas Department newsletter referred to him "making and inventing toys." He'd reasoned that his nephews, in their late teens by that time, wouldn't have been too interested any longer, anyway.

Now he wasn't so sure about that. Alec could have very well been hinting around for him to continue the tradition during the conversation. There was certainly no denying the very blatant hint in regards to Michaela's brand new collection.

Nick knew he would have to phone Sammie to find out for certain, but in the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to check on his supplies to see what he had. He carried the box out to his dining table, dark memories forgotten as he began sorting through the contents. Balsa wood, paints, pieces of leather and metal, a variety of small tools and the two second-hand Breyer horses he used to try things out were the basics and covered most of the table. There were also pictures of old horse-drawn vehicles and a multitude of little items Nick had bought or picked up thinking they might come in handy at some point.

Settling himself at the table, Nick set aside the now-empty box and began inspecting everything more closely, any thoughts of boredom completely gone.

Warrick used to tell Nick at least two or three times a week that he didn't have to make breakfast every day. Nick always countered by saying he needed stuff to do to keep from getting bored.

There was no denying he enjoyed returning to a home-cooked meal after a rough shift and Nick seemed to be enjoying himself, even trying out things he'd never cooked before, so Warrick had stopped mentioning it.

That's why it was something of a surprise to walk in and not smell anything cooking. Even the scent of brewing coffee was absent, especially strange because breakfast or no breakfast, coffee was a given.

What he found instead was Nick hunched over the table and had all sorts of...stuff--Warrick really couldn't think of any other word for it--spread over it. The only object Warrick recognized with any certainty were two toy horses. "Hey," he said as he approached the table, since Nick obviously hadn't heard him come in.

Nick looked up with a slight frown. "What are you doing here?"

Warrick wasn't sure how to reply to that question, but caught on when Nick looked at his watch, his jaw dropping. Whatever he was doing, he'd obviously been at it for a while. Speaking of which--"What are you doing?"

Almost immediately, Nick began rubbing at the back of his neck, always a sure sign of embarrassment.

Warrick knew he was going to enjoy this, whatever it was. There was already a bit of extra color in Nick's face, and Nick seemed to be having trouble coming up with an explanation. Warrick picked up one of the horses to examine it more closely, "What's with the toy horses?"

"They aren't toys, they're models," Nick said, then colored even more.

Warrick nodded his understanding, trying to keep his smile under wraps.

"I came across these in my closet. Two of my nephews collect these Breyer horses, yeah?" he held up the other one. "And they always used to complain that it was tough to find enough tack and saddles, and wagons and carriages and whatnot were even harder to come by. So years back I started making them--usually for Christmas, but sometimes for birthdays. Well, when I was visiting Brett last summer, Alec--that's one, Kyle's the other one--showed me where he kept all the things I'd made for him. He was talking about it and saying how Sammie's daughter, Michaela--she was eight then--had just got her first model horse and would probably go crazy for a wagon or something. Anyway, I remembered that tonight when I saw the box, then I decided to take a look to see what sort of supplies I had on hand. And while I was lookin' through everything, I figured maybe I'd better try working with the stuff a little bit. It's been a while since I worked with any of it and I thought I might be a little rusty. So, y'know, I've been working on a...prototype..." Nick finally ran out of steam, red to his ears by now.

Warrick had long since lost the battle with his smile and was grinning so hard his jaw ached. "So how long you been at it?"

Nick looked at his watch again, "Um..."

"Or don't you want to say?"

"I'd rather not say," Nick muttered.

Impossibly, Warrick found his grin widening. He leaned over and gave Nick a lingering kiss. "Tell you what, cowboy. I'm gonna grab us some breakfast, and then I think you ought to take a break."

Nick had never dreamed that Warrick would get such a kick out of his building model carriages, but his lover seemed endlessly amused by it. Warrick didn't show a lot of interest in the models themselves, just in Nick's enthusiasm for making them.

He told Nick to leave everything out on the dining table and even set up his own freestanding adjustable lamp so Nick had better light to work by. Warrick did an enormous amount of teasing about it, but Nick found he didn't mind it very much. That was likely because countering the jokes were things like the lamp, or finding stores where Nick could get supplies or the suggestion of a magnifying lens like they used at the lab--Nick half-expected to see Warrick come home with one.

Or today, when Warrick to got home to find Nick had pulled another all-nighter on the two-wheeled buggy he'd started for Michaela.

Warrick had brought home breakfast again, and while they were eating, asked if Nick's back was sore. Confused at first, Nick finally realized he'd been rolling his shoulders in an effort to work out some of the cricks that came from being hunched over the table all night. With a shrug, he'd admitted as much to Warrick.

That's how he wound up on his bed, on his stomach in just his shorts with a similarly dressed--or undressed--Warrick Brown straddling his hips and kneading every last bit of tension out of his back.

Life just didn't get any better.

"I should be doing this for you," Nick said, although it was a half-hearted statement at best. "You're the one who went to work."

"Yeah, but I'm just dusting for prints and collecting DNA. You've been building a chuckwagon."

After two days of it, Nick knew he should have been at least a little tired of such remarks but the only thing that really bothered him was--"It's not a chuckwagon, it's a buggy."

"Sorry."

It sounded like Warrick was smiling even as he apologized, so Nick turned his head to check and sure enough, Warrick was grinning down at him. "What is it with you?"

"Sorry," Warrick said again, leaning over to kiss the corner of Nick's mouth. "Am I being a jerk?"

What do you say when the guy asking you that is turning your muscles into mush? "Nah. I just don't see what the big deal is with this."

"I don't know," Warrick admitted, nuzzling into Nick's neck. "But you should see yourself when you talk about it. You're so damn cute."

"Warrick!" Nick complained--or tried to. It was difficult to sound annoyed when Warrick's beard was tickling his neck. Even tougher when Warrick was tracing the contours of his ear with a very agile tongue. "Is that supposed to relax me?"

"If it does, then I'm doing something wrong." Warrick's hands stopped kneading and began stroking Nick's sides.

He'd suspected all along when this was going to go--known where he wanted it to go, so Nick decided there was no point in waiting any longer. He stretched out one arm, but couldn't quite reach the drawer handle of the night stand.

"Whatcha lookin' for, Nicky?" Warrick purred.

"What do you think?"

Warrick ran his hand along the length of Nick's arm, then stretched a little further and opened the drawer. Reaching inside, he found the lube and fumbled a bit for a condom before dropping both on the bed. "That?"

"I think it'll come in handy."

"Probably."

Nick was glad Warrick didn't go into to the "are you sure?" spiel, but then, he was being pretty clear about what he wanted.

Warrick shifted so he was sitting further down on Nick's legs and began pressing kisses along his spine. He got to the small of Nick's back and he licked a little trail downward, then blew across the damp skin.

Nick couldn't help moving restlessly, partly from the sensation, but also to accommodate his growing erection. When Warrick hooked his fingers into the waistband of his shorts, Nick lifted his hips to make it easier to remove them, his breath hitching when he felt Warrick's lips at the top of his cleft. "Rick..." he warned, panting, "Rick, you do...that and I won't be able to...to hold back...oh, jeez!" In response Warrick chuckled against his skin, and Nick squirmed desperately, "Warr-rriiick..." His voice was nearly a whine.

"Okay, baby." With one last kiss to each cheek, Warrick moved up again, stretching out alongside Nick. Stroking Nick's back with one hand, he managed to located the lube with the other.

Nick began to turn onto his side, but Warrick pressed down slightly on his back, then bent so their lips could meet without Nick having to change position.

"That what you were looking for?" Warrick asked when the kiss ended.

"Uh-huh," was all Nick could manage as he sought Warrick's mouth again.

Warrick's hand was gone from his back, but Nick was too busy mapping the interior of Warrick's mouth with his tongue to notice. Nick didn't concern himself with that hand again until he felt slick fingers between his buttocks and then the only response he could manage was to moan into Warrick's mouth. Propping himself up on one elbow, Warrick worked two, then three fingers into Nick, all the while pressing kisses to whatever part of Nick's body he could reach.

Groaning, Nick raised his hips again to readjust himself, nearly dislodging Warrick's fingers in the process. He couldn't keep from giving his cock several strokes as he pushed harder against Warrick's hand.

"Gettin' a little carried away, Nicky?"

With another groan, Nick released his cock and fell flat onto the mattress again. "I...can't wait much--oh, god...much more..."

"Okay, baby, no more teasing."

Nick felt Warrick's fingers slide out, then felt the bed shift when Warrick removed his shorts. Grinding involuntarily against the bed, Nick drew in deep breaths and tried to hold still--he didn't want things over too soon. "Rick..." he moaned, pleading.

There was the sound of a wrapper tearing, and after a minute or two, Warrick's body covered his like a wonderfully warm, wonderfully heavy blanket. Warrick reached down to position himself, then entered Nick in a single, slow thrust, burying himself to the hilt and letting out a growl of pleasure that Nick echoed. "Nicky?" he murmured, pressing kisses against Nick's neck.

"Yes...god, Rick..."

Warrick began moving, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back as though they had all the time in the world. The slow pace was driving Nick crazy and he tried to raise himself onto his knees in an attempt to speed things up. Finally, it seemed, Warrick got the message and began moving faster. "Like that?" he rasped in Nick's ear.

"Like that..." Nick panted, eagerly following Warrick's rhythm. "Like that...oh, god, Rick...like that..." His words came out in perfect time to Warrick's thrusts. He could feel Warrick's breath his neck and Warrick's teeth skimming his shoulder, nipping lightly.

It was the lightest of bites. The teeth didn't come close to breaking the skin. Not this time. But they had before, and they would again. He couldn't react, though. Wouldn't react. Wouldn't let on they were hurting him.

Wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

Warrick didn't really notice when Nick suddenly went quiet beneath him, but would never forget what happened next.

The first time Nick bucked wildly, Warrick thought he was just stepping things up a bit, but then Nick let out a hideous scream that froze his blood. "Nick--" he tried to pull out carefully, but didn't get the chance.

"No! Get off me!" Nick half-rose, roughly dislodging Warrick and letting out a pained cry. "Get off me!"

Warrick scrambled to turn on the bedside lamp. Nick had his back pressed against the headboard, his eyes darting wildly as he tried to take in his surroundings. "Nick," Warrick said again, trying to get through to him verbally because he didn't know what would happen if he tried to touch the terrified man. "Nicky!"

Finally, the dark eyes focused and Warrick could see when Nick registered where he was.

"Nicky..." Warrick kept his voice low.

Nick shook his head violently. "Oh, no no nonono..." His eyes were squeezed shut. "I just...I just...oh, god!" He bolted off the bed, but stumbled, falling to his knees. Instead of trying to stand up again, he lunged across the room for the waste basket and threw up.

Warrick forced himself to move slowly instead of rushing for Nick the way he wanted to. "Nick, it's me," he said, crouching beside him and laying a careful hand on Nick's back. Nick didn't react, and Warrick doubted he'd even noticed anyone next to him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Nick pushed the can away, hanging his head.

"Nick," Warrick whispered again, because for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I have to..." The tremors in Nick's body were getting worse--his teeth began chattering. "I...I need to clean up...wash off..." Then he had to brace himself on the can as he retched several more times.

"What can I do, Nicky?"

"Nothing," Nick sounded distant. He got to his feet, but looked a bit shaky, so Warrick quickly stood as well. "Just let me...I have to..." He raised one hand as though to hold Warrick off and he walked unsteadily out of the bedroom and to the bathroom.

Warrick was at a complete loss. He had no doubt what Nick's flashback was about, but for all his questioning of Dr. Kane about it, still had no real idea how he should proceed. It didn't seem like a good idea to leave Nick alone right now, but on the other hand, he didn't want to risk Nick feeling crowded or even worse--trapped.

Then Warrick recalled that although the shower panel had been repaired, the bathroom door had not. If he heard something wrong or thought Nick was in there too long, it would be easy to go to him.

Still a little stunned by the sudden, disastrous end to their lovemaking, Warrick decided to clean up and give Nick some time before checking on him. He doubted Nick would want to come out and see such blatant evidence of his breakdown, so after pulling on his jeans and a tee, Warrick got a large trash bag and put the entire waste basket inside. Damned if he was going to let Nick clean it out, and damned if he was going to do it himself. After a quick search, he found the condom on the bed and tossed it in as well before tying the top of the bag and taking the whole thing straight outside.

When Warrick walked back into the house, Nick was just leaving the bathroom, clutching his robe tightly around himself. "Finished?" he asked, a bit surprised to see Nick out so soon.

Nick met his eyes for a split-second before looking away. "I couldn't...I couldn't--it's where...it's when they..."

Warrick stepped closer, hand outstretched, but still unsure how much contact he should initiate. Had it been any other flashback, he wouldn't have hesitated to pull Nick into his arms, but he didn't want to risk anything that would make Nick uneasy.

"They--they..." Nick had his arms crossed, almost hugging himself. "It had been a w-week and I--I stank..." he cringed slightly at that. "So when Sampson...oh, god..." Nick's eyes widened and his arms tightened, as though he was literally trying to hold himself together. "Barrett Sampson..."

When Nick's knees buckled slightly, Warrick caught him without thinking about it.

Nick leaned heavily against him. "Barrett Sampson," he repeated, sounding like he was forcing himself to say the name. "He--he told them to give me a bath, so after he left, th-they--"

Suddenly Nick stiffened and Warrick loosened his grip slightly.

Immediately, Nick broke from the embrace coming up against the wall with a soft thump and huddling against it. "They messed up...when they tried t-to take my clothes--off...my arms and legs were both untied at the same time...I made a run for it..." Nick fell silent, and when he spoke again, he voice was little more than a choke, "I wasn't even close. It was the only shot I had, but my legs had been tied s-so long...they wouldn't work properly..."

Warrick didn't know whether it would be worse if Nick had almost made it or that he didn't really have a chance. The idea of Nick making a valiant attempt even though he knew it was useless brought a sharp pain to Warrick's chest.

"They t-tied me back up...used a knife to--to cut off my clothes...then they put--put me in the shower and I knew...I knew..." Nick curled in on himself, sliding down the wall.

Catching him around the waist before he'd gone very far, Warrick half-led, half-carried him to the couch.

Nick grabbed onto Warrick's arms and held on as if to ground himself. "That's the first time they...that they..." his voice trailed off into nothing. He twitched slightly, then let out several gasps, shaking his head slowly all the while.

Warrick got a glimpse of the dark eyes before Nick closed them and noticed they'd gone blank with terror once again. Another memory, or a flashback, or whatever anyone wanted to call it--Warrick could hardly stand that Nick had to endure it alone. Again. The only thing he could think to do was to say Nick's name over and over, hoping that it got through somehow.

It was impossible to tell the exact minute Nick returned to the present, but eventually he began speaking again. "That wasn't the first time...the shower wasn't the first time, it was just the first time they--before th-that...on the third or fourth day, I don't know..." Nick hunched his shoulders and drew his legs up, as though trying to make himself as small as possible. "Th-they held m-my mouth...open and--" he choked up, unable to continue.

Beyond caring whether it was the right thing or not, Warrick wrapped his arms around Nick's shaking body and pulled him as close as possible. Rage consumed him, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted Rauscher and Moutry still alive so he could devise and slow, excruciating deaths for both of them. He spared a moment to think of Sampson and hoped the son of a bitch was somewhere lying in his own shit and starving to death.

Moments later, he realized his fury was blinding him to how tightly he was clutching Nick. He was relieved to find that rather than being upset or unnerved, Nick was actually pressing in close although he was barely making a sound other than his hitched breathing and chattering teeth. Immediately, Warrick grabbed the blanket Nick kept at the end of the couch and wrapped it around him.

"They s-said I--I should be used to it...DA h-had told them that I was...I was..."

Warrick added Michaels to the list of people he wanted revived and tortured. He was at a loss what to do for Nick--simply holding him didn't seem to be helping. If anything, Nick's shaking was increasing by increments. "Nicky, did Dr. Werne give you anything you could take?"

"L-Lorazepam."

"Where is it?"

"My w-w-wallet." Between his chattering teeth and tear-clogged throat, Nick's words were difficult to make out.

Warrick suspected one of the reasons Nick was keeping his answers short was to avoid having sobs overwhelm him. "Your pills are in your wallet?"

"Scrip. Never filled it."

Should he really be surprised by that? "Ah, hell, Nicky."

"S-Sorry," Nick huddled further under the blanket.

"No, baby. Don't apologize. It's okay. It's okay." Tentatively, he began stroking Nick's hair. "I just want to find a way to help you."

"Talk." Nick said without hesitation.

"Talk? What about?"

"Doesn't m-matter."

Although he didn't know what to make of the request, Warrick cast around for a subject. He blanked for a moment, discovering it wasn't as easy as it seemed to begin a one-sided conversation. After a brief hesitation, he started talking about work, even as he mind rushed ahead for another subject to use once he'd exhausted this one.

If it was what Nick wanted, he would talk until his voice gave out.

It was late afternoon before Nick agreed to get his prescription filled. Although he had dutifully taken all the antibiotics his doctor had prescribed and had used painkillers when necessary, Warrick suspected just the name Lorazepam scared him a little--maybe more than a little. Nick seemed to think he ought to be able to just grit his teeth and get through it.

Warrick had to spend most of the day trying to talk him into it, and it wasn't until he threatened to call one of their co-workers to pick it up for him that Nick relented. Even if it was "for his own good," Warrick didn't like having to use such tactics with Nick. It felt too much like bullying and right now the idea of forcing Nick to do anything against his will--no matter the reason--made Warrick sick. So when Nick finally agreed to fill the prescription, Warrick didn't push him to take any.

There was one area that Warrick flat out refused to compromise on, and that was work. He wasn't going in no matter now often Nick insisted he'd be fine alone. Warrick left messages for both Grissom and Catherine saying only he wouldn't be in that night--they could make of it whatever they liked.

If Nick felt like he needed time alone, Warrick told him, then Warrick would give him time alone, but under no circumstance was he going to leave him for eight or ten hours.

Other than those brief disagreements, Nick barely spoke for the rest of the day and didn't mention his memories again. He made another attempt to take a shower, and after giving him forty minutes, Warrick went into the bathroom and found Nick on the shower floor, hugging his knees to his chest. It looked as though he'd had another flashback, but Warrick couldn't get him to say one way or the other.

Warrick helped the shivering man out of the shower, dried him off and tucked him into bed. That it had been a flashback was confirmed when Nick said in a hoarse, broken voice, "I'll take one now."

Warrick quickly got him the pills and a bottle of water. He didn't begrudge Nick the medication, but it frightened him that after resisting for so long, it had gotten so bad that Nick was willing to take the hated Lorazepam after all. Even worse, he knew Nick probably saw it as a failure.

Between the medication and sheer emotional exhaustion, it didn't take long for Nick to drop off. After some internal debate, Warrick stretched out next to him to catch some shut eye as well. He left some space between them instead of tucking Nick in as close as possible, not wanting to crowd him, but wanting to be nearby in case Nick needed reassurance.

He considered going to his own room, but knew he'd be too worried about Nick to get any sleep. It took him a long time to fall asleep as it was, since he was continually turning over questions in his mind about what might happen now.

Finally, Warrick managed to doze for a few hours, and when he awoke, Nick was still dead to the world. He was curled up, facing away from Warrick, but his back was pressed against Warrick's side. Warrick merely noted these things in passing. None of them were as important as the peaceful expression on Nick's face. Whatever Nick felt about the medications, Warrick was glad to see the troubled man get at least a few hours' respite.

A glance at his watch told him shift started in half an hour, and Warrick decided to call in and give a better explanation than just his message. He chose to call Catherine rather than Grissom, since she knew about them and wouldn't ask quite as many questions. When she answered rather than her voice mail, Warrick didn't know whether he was relieved or not.

"Did you get my message?" he asked once greetings had been exchanged.

"Yeah. Is it you, or is Nick--?"

"Nick," Warrick said and was surprised when his throat closed abruptly. He had to clear it several times before he could continue. "He, uh...it's--umm..." He let out a frustrated sigh.

"He remembered," Catherine supplied quietly.

"Yeah," Warrick sighed again. "Not all of it--I don't think. I don't really know how much. He's had two--maybe three flashbacks since this morning."

"I was worried it might be something like that. How is he now?"

"Sleeping. Finally."

"Good."

"Cath, I can't leave him."

"I don't expect you to. Look, I've been preparing for this," she said, surprising him. "I can give you the next three days off, and after that we'll have to see about other arrangements."

Warrick felt at least part of the weight slide from his shoulders. "Thank you."

"Can I stop by after? Or maybe I should say--when could I stop by?"

"I...don't know when he's going to want to see anyone."

"Just leave me a message whenever he is ready for visitors."

"Okay." Something else occurred to him, "He was supposed to meet up with Greg today, could you tell him?"

"I will. And Sara?"

"Yeah," Warrick's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "He's going to hate the idea of any of you knowing about this, but--"

"I know. Will you call? Let us know how you guys are doing?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, don't worry about work, I'll make sure it's covered."

Warrick thanked her again, although words seemed woefully inadequate considering all she was doing, considering the way he was practically abandoning his job. Extenuating circumstances or not, he was damn lucky he hadn't already been called on the carpet about his work performance. So far he'd been able to catch up easily enough and none of his cases had suffered, but eventually they would. The full-speed-or-dead-stop attitude he'd taken toward his job couldn't last forever, either Ecklie would have enough and demand a halt, or worse, he'd mess up on a case and lose his job entirely.

He didn't want that. His work was important to him and what he did was important. He didn't want to lose it. When he'd considered quitting before, he'd been half out of his mind at the possibility of losing Nick. If it came down to a choice between work and Nick, Warrick knew what his choice would ultimately be, but he didn't think it ever would--he hoped to God it never would.

Right now he just had to concentrate on getting Nick through the next few days. Maybe, if Nick would allow it, he could talk to Dr. Werne about the best way to help through it all.

Nick never expected the recovery of memories to turn his present into a blur.

It could have been the Lorazepam dulling his thoughts. Maybe he ought to look up some of the side effects. But later. Whenever. He didn't feel like doing much of anything. Didn't even feel like protesting any of Warrick's suggestions.

So he ate the food Warrick put in front of him without noticing what it was and he let Warrick drive him to his session with Dr. Werne without bothering to point out he'd always driven himself. He told Dr. Werne about the flashbacks--at least he assumed he did, the entire session was also a blur.

It wasn't until Warrick mentioned that Greg was supposed to stop by that everything suddenly came into focus--into painfully sharp focus. Greg couldn't come over. If Greg came over he would know. He might even see Nick having a flashback. He would know all about it if he came over, therefore--"Greg can't come over here."

"I know," Warrick assured him. "Catherine is going to ask him not to."

"She can't," Nick protested stupidly. "How could she?"

"She offered," Warrick said, then added, "Nicky, when I called to say I wasn't going in to work last night, she knew why."

Of course. Somehow he kept overlooking that. "Everybody knows about this," Nick tried to sound nonchalant about it, and knew it was for his own benefit rather than Warrick's. "Right. Everyone knows what happened to me. Everyone knew about it all along." He shrugged as though that could make it all not matter. If it didn't matter, then maybe his stomach would stop turning itself inside out.

"Cath asked if it would be okay for her to stop by and see you."

"None of this is okay. I don't want to see anyone. It's not okay."

"I'll tell her," Warrick assured him.

Nick doubted he was getting the point, though. "I don't want anyone to--if I see anyone, they'll ask...even if they don't ask, they'll look." They'll watch. Why did everyone always have to watch him, anyway? Nigel Crane watched him while he slept. His friends all watched him while he slowly suffocated. Those men...those men watched him all the time. Watched each other with him. Were paid to watch him. "No. Just...just no."

"That's fine, Nick. I'll let everyone know."

"Everyone already knows."

"That you don't want to see anyone right now," Warrick clarified.

Nick knew he wasn't making much sense. He would have liked to blame it on the drug, but he'd only taken one and that had been more than twelve hours ago. "I'm gonna go to sleep," he said simply, but what he meant was that he was going to escape. At least for a little while. Sleep was still an escape and even though Nick doubted that would last very long, he was going to take advantage of it while he could.

"Do you want something to eat first? Maybe you should eat."

Hey, Clayton, I think I heard his stomach growling.

Hungry, pretty boy?

"I'm not hungry," Nick insisted, the words coming out in a gasp.

"Okay," Warrick nodded, then shifted uncertainly. "Do you...should I go with you? Or I could come and check on you later--and if you want to be alone, just say so."

That almost seemed like too many options to process, especially with the memories of the "force feedings" still hovering. "Don't you have to go to work?"

"I have tonight and tomorrow off, too," Warrick said, then paused as though he expected Nick to object.

Nick didn't have the wherewithal.

"So? It's your call, Nicky."

That didn't seem right. "Where do you want to sleep?"

Warrick hesitated, "Close to you."

Such honesty came as a bit of a surprise, and Nick felt a couple of the knots inside him loosen. "Sounds good to me." And it did. Almost. "But maybe not...not right--" Strange how difficult it was to say.

"I've got a couple of things to take care of first," Warrick said.

Several more knots untangled themselves. "Okay." He started, then stopped, then started again and finally managed to move forward enough to give Warrick a brief kiss. His heart was pounding, but not in the way he'd grown used to around Warrick.

If Warrick found anything unusual about it, he didn't let on. He only smiled and gave Nick's hand a quick squeeze. "I'll be there in a little while."

Heartened by Warrick's easy understanding and the fact that he was able to skip the Lorazepam this time around, Nick got changed for bed. True, he didn't slide nude beneath the covers as he had been doing, or even just slip on a pair of boxers, but sleep pants and an old t-shirt weren't that unusual for someone to wear.

So that was okay.

He was dealing.

He fell asleep easily, barely aware of Warrick joining him.

Sometime later, he felt Warrick's hand travel along the length of his body, sending pleasant shivers through him. Warrick's lips were on his ears and neck and although he couldn't make out Warrick's words, he knew they were warm and teasing.

Warrick prepared him carefully until Nick was relaxed and ready, then entered him with a single, vicious thrust.

Nick let out a gasp. Not Warrick. Rauscher. It was Rauscher, destroying the temporary escape he had found. Instead of Warrick's velvety voice, Nick was bombarded with obscenities and insults, violating his mind as well as his body. Nick managed to choke back his cry of pain, then suddenly, miraculously, Rauscher stopped.

Nick kept as still as possible, hoping that if he did, Rauscher would leave him alone. As he buried his face in the sheets, Nick was suddenly struck by a sense of wrongness. It wasn't a scratchy bedspread under his cheek, but a soft pillow--one that still smelled slightly of lemon laundry detergent. Slowly he became aware of other scents, and the lack of certain smells. No stink of sweat, smoke and semen, but the faintly exotic scent of the cologne Warrick favored and a spicy musk that was just...Warrick.

That finally gave Nick the nerve to move, and he turned his head, able to make out Warrick next to him despite the dim light. He blinked back tears of relief at the realization that this was real. The dream had been part of the nightmare. Relief also that Warrick hadn't awakened. Warrick didn't need to babysit him through every bad dream--and there were bound to be plenty more.

He had broken out into a cold sweat, leaving his clothes damp and his skin clammy, so even though he dreaded doing it, Nick got out of bed and headed for the shower, stopping only to grab some clean clothes.

Once he was under the hot spray, Nick found that as long as he didn't close his eyes for too long, none of the bad memories were able to intrude. That was definitely worth a little soap in his eyes. Now he could do what he'd wanted since the first flashback--give every inch of his skin a thorough scrubbing.

Twenty minutes later, in clean dry pajamas, Nick felt worlds better and even an odd sense of accomplishment that he'd managed to get through it himself.

Warrick was awake when he climbed back into bed. "You okay?"

"Yep." Without even thinking about it, Nick cuddled in as close as possible to Warrick.

After freezing for a split-second, Warrick wrapped his arm around Nick in a loose embrace.

It was wrong. He'd been wrong. "No, I can't," Nick gasped and Warrick released him at once. "Sorry." Dammit. He'd been doing just fine. "I thought I was okay with it, but--" Nick squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's okay, Nicky," Warrick assured him.

It's not. It's not, it's not. It's not okay.

He felt Warrick's hand against his cheek. "I can go if you want." His voice was impossible gently.

"No," Nick gasped desperately. "I'm sorry."

"You got nothin' to be sorry for." Warrick shifted slightly, keeping a small distance between them. "How 'bout like this?" he asked, and Nick felt a hand begin stroking his hair. "Could you go to sleep like this?"

The touch was soothing, and Nick felt himself beginning to relax. "Yes," he whispered, searching for Warrick other hand to hold onto while he slipped into sleep again.

"Hey," Sara smiled when Greg joined her at the table in the break room. "Did you happen to see Warrick anywhere?"

"Nope," Greg peeked into the brown bag containing his lunch curiously, which he figured had to be a habit left over from school. He knew what was in the bag. He'd packed the damn thing himself. "Why?"

"I told him I'd grab lunch for him."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing," Sara admitted.

Greg shook his head as he unwrapped his sandwich. He seriously doubted that Warrick would be joining them for lunch.

Warrick had returned to work several days before, after three days off, and was once again in his not-talking mode. Officially, Warrick had been off on sick leave, although his fellow graveyard CSIs knew the real reason and the rest of the night shift in the lab suspected. Anyone else would probably assume he had been sick, because he returned to work with a drawn face and shadowed eyes, his normally fluid movement gone.

Greg and Sara both knew about the flashback, Catherine had told them when she passed on the request that they not visit Nick until they were told it was okay. That wasn't good enough for Sara, especially when it came to someone she cared about. She didn't try to talk to Nick, but in her mind, Warrick was fair game and could be bombarded with questions if the chance presented itself.

That wasn't likely to happen as far as Greg could see. Warrick had been avoiding them, and Catherine seemed to be in his corner, giving him solo assignment or teaming up with him herself.

Hence Sara's frustration and last-ditch attempt.

"He's not going to eat lunch with us if he can help it."

Sara gave him a questioning frown, tucking a few stray sprouts into her mouth.

"He knows we'll ask about Nick. No way does he want to talk about it."

"I really want to know how Nick's doing, though," Sara put down her veggie wrap. "I just wish I could see him."

"I know," Greg agreed. "But he doesn't want to see anyone right now."

"Are you sure? We didn't hear that from him."

Greg blinked, wondering if Sara realized how she sounded. "He's not being held prisoner. He knows how to get ahold of any of us if he wants to."

Sara pursed her lips in that faintly self-deprecating look she got whenever she missed the mark. "I know. I didn't mean--I'm just worried. Maybe I could--I just want to help," she finished with a sigh.

That was something Greg could sympathize with. "I know, but it's not going to do any good to hassle Warrick. What happened to Nick is really rough on him."

"It's rough on all of us," Sara countered.

"Yeah, but it's worse for Warrick, okay?"

Sara frowned for a moment, then nodded. "I know how close they are."

I don't think you do, Greg almost said.

"You hang out with both of them quite a bit," Sara pointed out. "Maybe you could mention it to Warrick."

When had he suddenly become the goto guy to discuss touchy issues with Warrick Brown? That was not someone Greg wanted to be. He'd been pushing his luck lately as it was. Of course, a flat out 'no' would only make Sara suspicious. "I'll see if I get the chance," he said.

Nothing on the dining room table had been moved since the day before. Or the day before that. Or the day before that.

During the first couple of days after the flashback, Nick had worked on the model buggy a little, but his attempts had been half-hearted at best, and he soon abandoned it all together. Warrick didn't mention putting anything away, hoping that if it was left out Nick would eventually start again.

It had been nearly two weeks since Nick remembered the motel room, but unlike that first day, he no longer wanted to talk about it. Warrick could only hope he was at least talking to Dr. Werne, and didn't press the subject.

After his first visit to Dr. Werne, Nick was shaky but Warrick could still sense some optimism in him--that this had been a hard blow, but Nick could still see his way back. Although he hadn't wanted to see anyone, Nick had still mentioned seeing them eventually, but that only lasted for a few days as well. He ate very little, slept a great deal, and once he was able to stay in the shower without a flashback, he began taking several a day. The most Warrick had counted was six.

Upon getting out of the shower, Nick would dress in layers of clothing--it reminded Warrick of the time shortly after Kelly Gordon's death when Nick favored long sleeves and thick fabrics. Like so many other things, though, that slowly changed until his layers of clothing became a robe over pajamas much of the time.

Concerned as he was, Warrick had fully intended to apply for a leave, but when he mentioned it, Nick was so upset, so indignant, that Warrick didn't know what to do. Finally, he broke down and called Anna Werne. After she established that he was asking for advice and not details about sessions, she was happy to help, telling Warrick it was probably better to acquiesce to Nick's wishes unless he felt Nick might be a danger to himself. She also advised him to tell Nick about the call to avoid any issues of mistrust. Warrick didn't much care for either suggestion, but couldn't ignore their validity.

Nick was angry enough when Warrick told him about the call that Warrick hated to think what his reaction would have been had he found out from anyone else. He was somewhat placated when he heard that Warrick was returning to work after all, saying that it was about time people realized he didn't need a babysitter. Warrick still didn't like the idea, but couldn't honestly claim he feared Nick would do something to hurt himself.

He'd been watching for signs, after all.

And although it was something Warrick hated admitting even to himself, some days it was a relief to go to work. Some days work was the only place he felt that he could relax. When he was with Nick, Warrick tried to remain as alert as possible to Nick's needs, knowing that Nick would never mention anything one way or the other.

Nick seemed to think it was a sign of weakness to either seek comfort or speak up when he was uncomfortable. Instead, he would try to endure until things got to be too much for him, so Warrick kept an eye out for those signs, too. Usually, Nick would huddle into himself when he craved physical comfort, while a sudden stillness meant Warrick needed to let go of him.

Motionlessness was also something Warrick had to deal with himself, often waking up sore from holding himself stiff while he slept. This was because an arm or leg flung over Nick in his sleep could prompt nightmares. Warrick had suggested returning to his own bed, and although Nick had agreed, he'd looked so devastated that Warrick had immediately backtracked. Instead, he learned not to move in his sleep.

Once he got the knack for that, more often than not he'd wake up to find Nick nestled close. After the first time that happened, Warrick abandoned all thought of sleeping anywhere except next to Nick.

At the moment, Nick was asleep without Warrick next to him. There were only so many hours Warrick could sleep in a day, whereas the ideal eight was just a starting point for Nick these days. During those extra hours, Warrick sometimes ran errands or went to the gym, but more often than not, he read or worked on the sofa, one ear always tuned to catch the slightest sound of distress from Nick's bedroom.

When Nick's landline rang, Warrick ignored it. He always thought of it as Nick's phone because he never really used the number himself. Usually, he gave out his cell number and for that matter, so did Nick. Calls on the landline went straight to the machine and that's what Warrick let happen now.

"Nick?" Jillian's voice came over the speaker. "Honey, it's Mom. Please pick up if you're there. Honey, your father is sorry about that message he left the other day. He was just upset. No one in the family has heard from you in weeks."

Warrick frowned at the phone. He'd been Nick's sole source of contact between their friends for the past two weeks, but he never dreamed Nick hadn't been in touch with his family the whole time.

"Nick, please. I'm sorry if you don't think we're handling this business with Warrick very well, but--"

Warrick didn't want to hear anymore. He knew Nick didn't feel that way, knew Nick was willing to give his parents a lot of time to adjust to the idea, especially since many of his siblings had already accepted it. Quickly he got off the sofa, unable to let Jillian worry herself like this anymore. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone. "Mrs. Stokes?" She had told him long ago to call her Jillian, but he wasn't sure that still applied.

"Warrick?" Jillian's voice went from coaxing to wary. "Is Nick there?"

"He's sleeping right now."

A pause, and then with the slightest edge, "Could you wake him? This is important. Everyone here is concerned."

"I don't think he'll come to the phone. He hasn't wanted to talk to anyone for nearly two weeks now."

"What?"

"He won't return calls from any of his friends here--I usually do that. I thought he would have left a message with you or something, but...he doesn't want to talk to anyone."

"Except you." A definite edge there.

"Mrs. Stokes--"

"Warrick, please, I have nothing against you personally, and I know--"

"Mrs. Stokes, he remembered the motel," Warrick spoke over her. "I think by now he's probably remembered most of it. He's...trying to deal with it."

"Oh, God..." It was barely more than a whisper. "I had no idea. I thought...my God..."

"He hasn't wanted to see anyone since he remembered, but I thought he would have left some sort of word with you..."

"He did, I suppose," Jillian sighed. "Just over...yes, it was nearly two weeks ago, he left a message at the house to say he wouldn't be in contact for a few days. But then a week passed and another..."

Warrick felt a rueful smile tug at his lips. "Knowing Nick, he probably figured he'd have dealt with it and put it behind him in a few days."

"But he hasn't."

"He sees Dr. Werne three times a week," Warrick said, not sure how much information he should be giving her. On one hand, this was Nick's mother and Warrick knew she had to be worried sick, but on the other, Nick should be the one talking about this. "He probably talks to her about it, but he's not ready to discuss it with anyone else."

"Well, could you get him to call us?"

"I'll tell him you called," Warrick promised. "And let him know how worried you are."

"When can I expect him to call back?" Jillian asked.

"Whenever he's ready, I guess."

"I'd like to talk to him today."

Warrick wasn't sure what to think of that. "I have no idea when he'll phone you."

"Couldn't you just--"

"Make him?" Warrick finished, certain that's what Jillian was about to say. Her sudden silence confirmed it. The decision to tread carefully around Nick's parents vanished under a surge of anger. "You think that's the way it works between Nick and me?"

"No," Jillian said hastily. "It's just--"

"I don't make Nick do anything."

"Warrick, I didn't mean--"

Just a suddenly as it descended, Warrick anger disappeared again, leaving guilt in its wake. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "I know you're worried. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Jillian's tone was subdued.

Warrick hung up and wiped a hand down his face. Was there any way that could have been more uncomfortable?

It felt like the first good news he'd had in months, even though he knew logically that wasn't true. When he got the letter for the release of information to be included in Dr. Werne's assessment, Nick signed it and sent it back to the Lab Director immediately. During his next appointment with Dr. Werne, it was the first thing he brought up and even her reminder that his return wouldn't be immediate failed to put him off. He would have happily talked about the prospect of going back to work for the entire session if she had allowed it.

She didn't, of course.

Eventually, as always, she began steering him toward more significant issues.

Nick mentioned a recent argument between he and Warrick and was surprised and relieved when she wanted to delve further into that. It was much easier to talk about that than his memories. The argument had been fairly straightforward in his mind, and he answered her questions without hesitation.

What had they argued about? The fact that Nick hadn't called his family since remembering the motel. And yeah, he was still a little ticked at Warrick about it.

Why? Because Warrick was making too much out of it.

How? Well, it had been just over two weeks since he'd last talked to them. A lot of people went for a lot longer without talking to their parents or family, so this wasn't that big of a deal.

Had he called his parents since his argument with Warrick? No.

Why not?

Really, he should have known she'd find a way to bring up the very subject he hated the most. She always did.

Nick knew whenever they got anywhere near the subject of that, he turned into a very difficult patient. He didn't mean to be. He wanted to work through everything and put it behind him so he could get on with his life. The problem came when Dr. Werne wanted to discuss how he felt about the rape--rapes. Just getting him to admit to that and stop treating the eight days as a single occurrence had taken several sessions, and although Dr. Werne thought such an admission was a major step for him, it didn't help him in discussing the feelings his days of captivity evoked.

Nauseous was still his standard answer, and in Nick's mind, still the most appropriate one. There were so many thoughts that wound through him at such times, so many emotions that fought against one another even as they fed off each other that it did often leave him physically ill.

Nick knew he had to sort through that tangled mess. It was too dark, too dense to deal with in its entirety. Yet at the moment, it was almost preferable to the individual emotions, each of which were intensely painful in their own way.

The thing he discussed most often and always seemed to come back to was something Nick didn't even have a name for. The thing that made him cringe every time he thought about it was that so many people knew so much about what had happened to him. Dr. Werne assured him that it was a symptom of the problem as a whole, but thus far Nick hadn't been able to get past the mere idea of it.

He knew a lot of it had to do with privacy issues that went back to Nigel Crane and possible even before.

Dr. Werne had managed to get him to talk about his anger, his fears, even his shame, separating those individual emotions from that twisted mess for a time.

For a time.

Inevitably, though, they were woven back into the hideous snarl, tied together--as always--by a single notion that Nick never discussed with Dr. Werne. Never even turned over in his own mind except at night when Warrick was at work and he had exhausted every other means of occupying his time.

After he had tried and failed to work up the energy or the interest to get off his ass and do something--anything. After he had tried unsuccessfully to convince himself that tomorrow he would pick up the phone and talk to someone other than Warrick. After he'd spent hours trying to sort though the rest of the tangle. Then he would return to that single notion that he just couldn't bring himself to share with anyone.

For one thing, Dr. Werne would probably tell him he was being ridiculous--not in those words, of course, but in a reassuring clinical way that amounted to the same thing. For another, it felt too much like self-pity for him to ever voice.

As much as he hated thinking about it, though, he couldn't shake the question of whether his bad luck was simply bad luck or something inherent within him that somehow brought out the predator in people.

That baby sitter, Dierdre something--to this day he didn't know her last name. Nigel Crane--instinct then and now told him the man's interest had been much further down on Maslow's hierarchy than Grissom claimed. Rauscher and Moutry--for them he had been a free-for-all. Even Craig, to a certain extent, had thought he could do what he liked and Nick would just take it.

Was he too friendly? Did he try too hard to be nice?

Or maybe it was something he didn't even know he was giving off, something that signaled easy prey to those looking.

Nick knew that tendency toward self-blame was something the majority of rape victims suffered from. He knew that. He just never thought he'd have to apply all those things he'd learned and studied in the course of his profession to himself. What's more, knowing it was self-blame did absolutely nothing to help stop him from feeling it.

It wasn't as though he deliberately went around trying to attract attention, physical or otherwise. He wasn't much of a flirt or any sort of a tease, really.

Except when he was walking around in a towel trying to make Warrick want him.

Oh god.

"Nick?" Dr. Werne's voice brought him back to her office. "You've been quiet for a little while. Is it another memory?"

"Not really." What the hell kind of person was he to still deliberately provoke something like that after...yep. There was the nausea, right on cue.

"Anything you'd like to share?"

"Not really," he said again. He looked at his watch. Their session was pretty much done, anyway. "Just some stuff...maybe once I've thought it out a little more."

A smile twitched, warming Dr. Werne's normally serene expression. "You do know that you don't have to prepare your thoughts in the form of a report before presenting them to me. Even if they're jumbled and don't make much sense, I can usually figure out what's going on. I'm trained for that."

Nick couldn't help smiling in return. It was a fairly common complaint from her, and had almost become something of a joke. "I'm trying. I don't think I'll ever get used to just spilling my guts. I'm not trained for that."

"Touché. Okay, our time is up for today. Maybe you'll be ready to tackle that next time."

"Maybe," Nick said, but knew he sounded doubtful.

"I'll see you Friday then," Dr. Werne said, rising and walking Nick to her office door. "By the way, how's the Lorazepam working for you?"

"Fine," Nick assured her.

"Hm. Well, we'll talk about that Friday."

Nick nodded and left the office. She was good at her job, no doubt about it, and sometimes that was a real pain.

He drove home and walked into the house to find Warrick on the phone. Warrick was facing away from him, so Nick couldn't see his expression, but it sounded like a pretty heated conversation. Nick took off his jacket and boots as quietly as possible, not sure whether he should alert Warrick to his presence.

"I told him that. Several times. Anything else is up to him."

Nick frowned. Did it make him paranoid if he assumed Warrick was talking about him?

"Your Honor, he's a grown man and it's not up to me to--well, you're not mine, so stop trying to tell me what to do!" Warrick jerked the phone away from his ear and punched the off button.

Nick's jaw dropped. "Did you just hang up on my father?" he said, impressed even though he knew he should be worried.

Warrick spun around, "When did you come in?"

"Barely five minutes ago."

"Oh," Warrick sighed. "Yeah, it was your dad. Sorry."

"What happened?"

"He's ticked at me because he figured I hadn't passed on your mother's message. When I told him I had, he just got angrier."

"Hell," Nick felt about two feet tall. "I'm sorry, Rick."

"No biggie," Warrick shrugged, but his expression was tight.

"He had no right. You shouldn't have to put up with that." Before he had time to actually think about what he was doing and chicken out, Nick took the phone from Warrick and punched in the code to return the last call. "What're you doin', Cisco?" he demanded when his father answered.

"Nick?"

Nick. Not Pancho. That meant this probably wasn't going to go well. Nick was tempted to hang up then and there, but he couldn't let this pass. Warrick had already been picking up his slack when it came to their friends, Nick wasn't about to make him put up with his family as well. "Yeah, it's me. What are you hassling Warrick about?"

"Your mother spoke to him the other day. He said he'd tell you she'd called."

"He did. He told me when I woke up."

"You didn't call back," Cisco pointed out.

"I know that."

There was a slight pause and Nick knew that wasn't the reply his father had anticipated--probably had expected something a little more apologetic. "Well, now that I've got you on the phone, let me go get your mother."

"No, don't. I only called to tell you not to talk to Warrick like that, okay? He's not one of your staff."

"Excuse me?"

That tone from his father still managed to intimidate, but Nick refused to let himself back down. "If you're mad at me for not calling, don't take it out on him."

"Why haven't you called? Are you angry about something?"

"I am now," Nick snapped. "I haven't talked to anyone for the past few weeks, okay? I still don't want to."

"We aren't anyone, Nick."

Guilt overwhelmed him. "I know, but--I'll phone when I'm ready, okay?"

"Ready for what? I'll tell your mother I talked to you and that she can call tomorrow."

Nick felt helplessness beginning to overwhelm him and made a determined effort to push it back. He didn't know how to explain everything to his father, wasn't sure if the man would find it an acceptable reason in any case. Obviously, drastic measures were needed to get his point across. "Don't. Tell her I'll phone when I'm ready."

"Nicholas--"

"Don't make me change my phone numbers."

Dead silence.

His knees felt like water. "I'm dealing with a lot of things, Dad. I'll call you guys when I'm ready."

Still nothing.

"Okay?"

"All right. I'll tell her."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye, Pancho."

Nick set the phone in its nest and leaned heavily on the counter.

"My hero," Warrick said, laying a hand on his back.

A shaky laugh escaped him. "I don't think a hero is supposed to be this wobbly."

"You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, I did." Figuring his legs would hold him now, Nick pushed away from the counter and turned to face Warrick. "I know you been covering for me with everyone--"

"Nick," Warrick rubbed his arms soothingly.

"I know I should call people, but all I can do is wonder if they're gonna be thinking about...what happened when I talk to them and--look, I know other people have been assaulted and just go on with their lives while I've been--"

"Hey," Warrick gave him a gentle shake. "Hey, what you've survived...Nicky, there's no measuring that against anything else."

It was another thing that Nick knew--logically--but still couldn't bring himself to accept. He didn't want to be that different from everyone else. He just wanted to be finished with it and go back to his life, even though he knew that wasn't possible, either. Wouldn't ever be possible. His head fell forward as it finally began to sink in that this was not going to change. No matter how hard he worked at it, he was never going to get back to where he was before walking into that crime scene, before going on that trash run.

Warrick tugged on his arms and Nick gladly moved into his embrace. "C'mon," he murmured against Nick's temple. "Let's go chill on the couch for a while, then we can order in for dinner."

That was undoubtedly the best thing Nick had heard all day.

On to Part 5