Ancient Vendetta

"Nick?"

Sara Sidle looked up from the coffee table she was dusting in time to see her supervisor brace an arm behind Nick to keep him from toppling over. Quickly, she straightened and gripped Nick's arm to help steady him.

"Sorry," Nick apologized with a slight laugh. "Tripped."

Grissom slanted a look of disbelief at Nick's back before meeting Sara's eyes. "Call Greg to give you a hand here," he told her. "I'm taking Nick to the hospital."

"What?" Nick turned a little too quickly and wavered a bit before catching himself. "Grissom..."

"I've let this slide long enough, Nick. Probably too long."

Sara caught herself nodding in agreement, but stopped before Nick looked her way again. After six weeks of recovery time, Nick had returned to work his old self, much to everyone's relief. When he started to look run down after only a week back, his co-workers assumed he was adjusting and gave him some leeway. Too much leeway, judging by the shadows under and in Nick's eyes.

"I don't need a hospital," Nick said, drawing himself up to his usual posture. "I'm just a bit tired. I'm just--" he looked at Sara for a little help.

Sara looked down at the print brush, twirling it slightly. "Your hands were shaking when you were printing the door," she said quietly. She hated to do it, knowing how she would feel in his place. The idea of being away from the job as long as he had and then being ordered off again made her a little queasy.

Nick wasn't even feeling well enough for a retort, apparently, because all Sara heard was a disappointed sigh.

"Come on, Nick," Grissom said, his tone firm.

"I'm not going to the hospital," Nick insisted. "What are they going to do? Tell me to get some rest. There's nothing wrong with me."

"All right then," Grissom conceded, ushering Nick toward the door. "You're going home to get some rest." He glanced over at Sara, "You've got this one."

Sara nodded, taking out her cell. Before she dialed she caught Nick's eye, "Eight hours straight would do you wonders, Nick."

"Look who's talking," Nick said, his teasing tone indicating he wasn't angry with her for mentioning the tremors.

As she watched them climb in the Denali, Sara couldn't help thinking that even eighteen hours wouldn't put a dent in Nick's weariness.

"Sara said you took Nick home from the scene."

Gil Grissom turned to find Catherine hurrying to catch up with him. "Figured I'd better before he collapsed," he replied.

"Conrad wants to talk to us. About Nick."

That brought him up short. He stared at Catherine, who looked about as happy as he felt with the situation. "It'll have to be later. I'm headed back to the crime scene."

"Gil," Catherine's tone indicated there was no getting around this.

The entomologist sighed in resignation. He had been hoping against hope that Nick would find his feet again before things got bad enough for the Assistant Director to notice, but it was not to be. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute. I just have to stop in at my office." And think of a way to keep Nick's job from being jeopardized.

"Okay," Catherine nodded and turned to go back the way she came.

In the chaotic order that was his office, Gil firmly pushed his concern for Nick's well-being to the back of his mind and locked the door on it. Although he and Conrad Ecklie had established a tentative truce since Nick's ordeal and the subsequent reunion of the graveyard shift, Gil had no intention of showing anything that might be interpreted as weakness if Nick's job was on the line. His usual bland expression was firmly in place as he walked to Ecklie's office.

"Come in, Gil," Ecklie said in response to Gil's courtesy knock.

No sense aggravating the man as was his usual wont, Gil had decided. He walked in and took the chair next to Catherine.

"I take it Catherine told you what this is in regards to."

"Nick," Gil said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the slight edge out of his voice.

"Yes. Nick." Ecklie leaned back in his chair, which Gil knew was a sign he was gearing up to deliver something unpleasant. "Unfortunately, Nick hasn't been doing very well since his return."

"Nick has been through--"

"I'm aware what he went through," Ecklie sounded annoyed. "That doesn't change the fact that he's actually deteriorated since he came back to work. Where is he now?"

Gil gritted his teeth, but there was no getting around facts. "I brought him home."

Ecklie didn't speak, but looked pointedly at the clock then back at Gil.

"He's a fine criminalist," Gil said, even though he knew it would have little actual effect on the situation.

"Not at the moment."

That brought Catherine into it. "Nick hasn't made a wrong move since he got back. None of his case reviews have shown even the slightest--"

Gil could see her gearing up into a full-blown tirade in Nick's defense. Apparently, so could Ecklie, because he held up his hands in a calming gesture. Gil didn't bother telling him that rarely worked on Catherine.

"If he continues the way he's going," Ecklie said, raising his voice until Catherine subsided. "Then it's only a matter of time before something happens that could cost him his job or damage the lab's reputation." Gil opened his mouth to protest, but Ecklie kept right on going, "Nick didn't take advantage of any of the offered counseling. I'm now making at least three sessions mandatory. He is also off work pending a complete physical exam. He'll be on sick leave until both doctors give him a clean bill of health."

It was perfectly fair, and even helpful to Nick. Gil was forced to acknowledge that, even though the petty side of him--the side that enjoyed baiting the likes of Conrad Ecklie--hated to do so. There was one small problem though, and naturally Catherine brought it up first.

"Nick has a problem with...therapists. I'm not sure he'll agree."

"It will take a good deal of convincing," Gil added.

Ecklie's lips tightened in aggravation, but his tone was surprisingly wry when he spoke. "Then I'll be the one to discuss it with him. If I tell him that his job depends on complying with these requirements, he'll believe me."

Warrick Brown glanced around the locker room, his eyes searching for Nick. Instead, he saw Catherine sitting on the bench in front of her locker, looking miserable. For a moment he was tempted to turn around and leave. Ever since his marriage and her return to graveyard, things had been uneasy between them. She was still a friend though, and he wouldn't be a very good one unless he at least offered a friendly ear. "Hey."

She looked up and gave him a wan smile, "Hey."

"You okay?"

Rather than replying, Catherine merely sighed and shook her head. "What are you up to?"

"Just looking for Nick before I head out again."

Another sigh. "He's at home. Gil took him home a couple of hours into his shift."

That did not sound good. "What? What happened?"

"Sounds like he nearly collapsed--passed out--at the scene. Ecklie put him on leave until he gets the okay from an MD and a shrink."

"Ah, Christ," Warrick dropped down onto the bench next to her. "I knew it. I knew things weren't going good with him. The doctor is one thing, but I don't think the whole shrink idea is going to go over well."

"But it might be the best thing for him. As much as we try helping him, it's just not working."

"I know," Warrick agreed reluctantly. "I mean, he started out okay when he first came back. Then--" he shook his head. "I tried to talk to him when I first thought something was off, but he just--"

"Told you he was fine," Catherine finished, sounding as though she'd had the same experience.

"Or he'd laugh it off. Dammit, I knew I shouldn't have let up."

"You have a lot on your plate right now, Warrick," Catherine pointed out. "Of course you've got other things on your mind."

Warrick looked at her carefully, but could find no trace of censure in either her expression or tone. He didn't reply, though, hoping that if he kept quiet, she would let the subject drop. How the hell could he explain that he'd been trying to think about anything but Nick since his marriage? Whenever he did think about Nick, he always started questioning the reasons he'd gotten married in the first place.

Catherine's voice was a welcome distraction as his thoughts almost started down that path yet again. "He's off for a few days at least. Hopefully he'll be able to get enough rest that the doctor won't pull him indefinitely."

After his boss dropped him off, Nick Stokes wandered around his house as though it was the first time he'd set foot in it. It was an odd feeling of familiar unfamiliarity, as though everything had shifted just barely enough to be noticeable. He shook off the uncomfortable sensation and sat down on his couch, flipping through the channels without actually registering what was on, but wanting some sort of distraction.

It was a relief to be away from everyone and drop the facade for a while, because Nick was tired, although he hadn't realized it was to the point of dizziness. Initially, he was working out more often in the hopes of tiring himself out enough so he could get at least six hours straight, but that idea was obviously backfiring on him. He was going to have to get used to functioning at a slightly slower pace than he had maintained before, it was as simple as that. Eventually he'd hit his stride again and get himself back on track. In the meantime, it was probably best that he stayed up at least a couple more hours rather than going to sleep in what was technically the middle of his work day--that would completely mess him up.

After flipping back and forth between sports scores and American Chopper without really paying attention to either, Nick wandered into his kitchen with the vague notion that he should probably eat something. He eyed the contents of his refrigerator with disinterest, considering then abandoning the idea of making a sandwich. He glanced at the canned protein shakes, but the thought of having one made him feel nauseous. In the end he grabbed a bottle of water, promising himself that the next time he woke up he'd at the very least have one of those shakes, although he knew it would be better for him to eat an actual meal again.

Another hour of staring blankly at the television was all it took for him to say "the hell with it" and crawl into his bed. Once he was settled comfortably and had closed his tired, gritty eyes, the waves of sleepiness that had been trying to overtake him on the sofa subsided. He knew that his friends assumed his lack of sleep was probably caused by nightmares about being trapped underground, but he was almost positive that wasn't it. He remembered the nightmares in the hospital and during his first week back at home, but he hadn't dreamed anything of the sort for weeks. In fact, if he had dreamed at all since returning to work, none of the dreams had made enough of an impression for him to recall them.

On the other hand, he had to be dreaming about something, and something fairly serious, at that. More often than not he would wake up with sore muscles, as though he'd been sparring with someone in his sleep. Initially, he assumed the cause was his extra round of workouts, but now he wasn't quite so sure.

Taking deep, slow breaths, Nick gradually felt the waves of sleep beginning to return and he was just turning the corner when he was jolted back to full awareness. With no idea what had caused it, he tried to settle himself down enough to begin the breathing steps that were intended to relax him. Now, though, the room had taken on a feeling of oppression, and Nick wasn't sure he wanted to sleep in it. He considered trying to sleep on the couch, but quickly discarded the notion. Sleeping in the living home would require moving, and he was in the grip of the strange, childish concept that he would be safe so long as he stayed on the bed and under the covers.

You really need to get some sleep, Stokes. You're acting like you're back in the second fucking grade and scared of monsters under the bed. He'd learned long ago that the real monsters could easily hide in plain sight.

There's nothing under your bed.

There's no one in the room. There's no one in your house except you.

You've got one of the best damn alarm systems there is and yes, dumbass, you turned it on the minute you walked in. You always have, for the past four years.

No one is watching you, okay? No one can see you.

There's no camera in your ceiling. No spotlight at your feet.

You're alone in your house and perfectly safe.

By keeping that last thought firmly fixed in his mind, Nick eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

Conrad Ecklie closed the door to his office and returned to his desk, sitting down to face the two men he'd asked to join him. Stokes, he noticed, looked a bit better after several days off, but not as well rested as Conrad had expected. Grissom, of course, was expressionless except for the habitual annoyance he displayed at being in the Assistant Director's presence at all.

"I received the recommendations from Drs. Rauli and Kane yesterday," Conrad began.

Nick took a deep breath and braced himself slightly.

"I suppose it goes without saying that you won't be back in the field until Rauli give the okay."

Instead of replying, Nick merely nodded in resignation, biting his lower lip. Grissom's frown began to darken slightly.

"Actually, Dr. Rauli recommended that you be off work pending another exam in a month," Conrad continued, and watched as Nick's jaw tightened. "Frankly, we can't spare you unless it's absolutely necessary. If you can't be in the field, then we could use your expertise in the lab."

Grissom was obviously at a loss, Conrad knew he probably had half-a-dozen arguments he was ready to use if necessary. As for Nick, his relief was almost palpable.

"You'll be in trace most of the time--hair and fiber analysis, of course. You'll be working with Hodges the majority of the time. I hope none of this is a problem for you, because this is nonnegotiable."

"No. No problem at all," Nick said quickly. Then he hesitated, glancing briefly at Grissom before turning back to Conrad. "Dr. Kane approved my return to work?"

Well, that's interesting. Apparently, Grissom thought so as well, because he gave Nick a sharp, questioning look. "He had no objections," Conrad said, and couldn't resist--"Why?"

Nick swallowed hard. "No reason."

It had been a long shot at best. "You're not on tonight. You'll start in the lab tomorrow at your usual time." Conrad closed Nick's folder as a means of demonstrating dismissal.

After several moments of silence, Nick simply said, "Thank you."

Conrad nodded in acknowledgment, then set Nick's folder aside and picked up another to get his point across.

Both CSIs stood, but while Nick left Conrad's office, Grissom continued to stare at him.

"Gil." Conrad said simply, curious to see where this was going.

Grissom, no longer expressionless, looked faintly irritated and perplexed. As though he'd come up against a case that simply wasn't working. "Conrad," he finally said, and left.

Conrad couldn't resist a smirk once his office door closed behind Grissom. If the entomologist was confused, things would be cleared up once he got his copy of Dr. Kane's recommendation for Nick--the one that suggested that if it was at all possible, Nick Stokes needed to remain on the job. Being taken off would merely play into the man's worst fears at the moment and set him back. Dr. Rauli had wanted Nick on leave, but readily agreed to lab work after Kane's assessment.

Although he knew no one would ever believe it, Conrad still carried some guilt for nearly putting an innocent man behind bars merely to spite Gil Grissom. That was not the sort of person he'd ever intended to be and to a certain extent, he felt he owed Nick for making him a pawn.

Becoming the Assistant Lab Director was a goal he'd been working toward for years and his position brought him enough satisfaction to make up for the headaches--which turned out to be ten times more numerous than he'd expected. Most of all, though, it gave him the chance to show Grissom once and for all which one of them knew what he was doing. If he had to split the graveyard shift to do it, then so be it.

All he'd gotten for his trouble was that single shocked look when he first announced it. After that, Grissom went back to acting the same as he always had--protective of his team and ready with a taunt at Conrad's expense. There was little sign that the split had affected him until after they'd finally rescued Nick Stokes from that would-be grave. The quiet, pained admission was not exactly the triumph Conrad had been looking for.

Telling Grissom he was reuniting the graveyard team had gotten a far greater reaction and Conrad had been amused to watched confusion, suspicion and elation all flash over his former rival's face before Grissom managed to force out a "thank you."

Keeping Grissom off balance was proving just as entertaining and far less difficult that trying to quash him.

Warrick finally managed to catch up with Nick in the crime lab's parking lot. "Hey."

"Hey," Nick smiled, pausing on the way to his truck so Warrick could fall into step next to him.

"So what's the verdict?"

"Better than I expected. I'm in the lab until the doctor okays me for the field."

That explained Nick's cheerfulness--he had obviously been expecting to be benched indefinitely. It's certainly what Warrick had been expecting, and although he had several conciliatory phrases prepared, he really didn't know what to say to this situation. "So you're going to be a tech."

Don't even go there, Nick's expression clearly said, but amusement lurked in the dark eyes.

They'd reached Nick's truck and Warrick knew he couldn't put off mentioning what was really on his mind any longer. "Nicky...you don't look very well-rested for someone who just had more than a week off."

Nick didn't reply, but let out a frustrated sigh as he yanked his door open.

"Maybe you shouldn't be on your own," Warrick suggested, hardly believing what he was about to ask. He knew what a mistake it was. "Tina's a nurse--we've got an extra bed. Maybe you'd do better if you came and stayed with us for a while."

"That's..." Nick just stared for the longest time, then shook his head. "Come on, Rick. I can take care of myself. I'm just a little run down right now."

Warrick felt a shot of irritation, "You don't get pulled from the field because you're a little run down, bro."

Hurt, fear, then anger flickered across Nick's features, gone too quickly to really register before Nick smiled again, although this one was rather forced. "You've been married barely a month, Rick. You expect me to move in with a couple of newlyweds?" He shook his head again, and tsked slightly, "What're you thinkin', boss?"

No way in hell was Warrick about to answer that question.

Nick's smile softened, a little more genuine. "I appreciate it, Rick. But I should be able to handle things on my own. I need to handle things on my own."

Warrick nodded reluctantly, because although he couldn't put his finger on it, something wasn't quite right. "Okay, but if you need any kind of help, Nick..."

"You'll be the first to know," Nick clapped him on the shoulder before climbing into his truck.

Fighting the urge to either pull Nick back out of the truck or jump in the passenger seat, Warrick stepped back from the vehicle and returned Nick's wave. He didn't have a cop's instincts for danger--Holly Gribbs, Catherine and Nick had all proven that at different times--and he'd never wished for them more than at this moment. Maybe with those instincts, he'd know whether this sense of wrongness meant something serious or it was just another example of feelings that had been intensifying since he first saw Nick in that glass coffin.

Nick awoke in a blind panic, struggling like a madman against whatever held him trapped. It was a solid ten minutes before he realized that it was only the sheets from his bed, wrapped around him so tightly that his arms were pinned and his legs were so tangled he could barely move them at all.

He forced himself to leave the lights off for the time being, knowing that light would banish any residuals from his nightmares. And he had to be having nightmares. There was no other explanation for this.

Okay. Quick, Pancho, what was the dream about? Think, man. You're never going to get over this until you remember what the dreams are about.

Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, Nick dredged up several memories, checking whether they were at all related.

Is it the box, Pancho?

No.

Maybe the gun. This time you were pointing the gun at your head--that was new.

Not that, either.

What about good old Nigel?

Something slithered along the edge of his consciousness. Nick tried to grab on.

No. No, not Nigel. Not Walter Gordon, either--you never even saw the man.

He closed his eyes, even though some little-used, primitive intuition warned him not to.

Because someone...someone?

All he had was the vaguest impression of a shape. He couldn't even be certain it represented a person.

Ants.

Now that was a possibility.

Too big for an ant. Maybe a swarm.

Fuck.

Now he'd gone and freaked himself out.

His heart still pounding, Nick freed his arms from the blankets and scrubbed at his face and hair. Untangling his legs seemed too much trouble at the moment, with the way every muscle in his body was aching. What the hell was that about? He'd cut down on his workouts as much as he could without turning into sludge, but his muscles still ached. In fact, they hurt far more now than when he first went to bed.

That's weird. Maybe the mattress?

Yeah, wouldn't that be great? Nightmares, sore muscles and exhaustion all because I've got the wrong kind of mattress.

Nick knew that wasn't it, though. And he knew that the moment for recalling the dream was long past, so he turned on his bedside lamp with relief. He'd never been able to sleep well in a lit room--he had to get blackout blinds as soon as he'd started on graveyard--but now it seemed like something he would have to get used to.

Archie Johnson looked up from his conversation with Bobby as Jacqui and David--after three years, Archie still had trouble thinking of him as that instead of Hodges--walked into the break room. Surprisingly, they seemed to be having a civil, snark-free conversation. He hadn't known David Hodges was capable of those.

"We're going to have a new tech in the lab," Jacqui announced, ignoring David's disgruntled look at being beaten to the punch.

"Who?" Archie asked, wondering if the new DNA tech had bailed already.

"Nick."

"Stokes?" Bobby frowned.

"No, Nick the Greek," David scowled.

"He died in the sixties," Bobby countered, completely unperturbed by the sarcasm.

"Anyway, Nick'll be working in trace," Jacqui continued.

"He can't be very happy about that," Archie said, earning himself a death glare from David. It would have been pretty funny if he'd meant the comment that way. "Remember when he had to retake his firearms test? He doesn't like being confined to the lab."

"Well, this is probably a case of 'the lab or not at all,'" Jacqui sat down at the table. "Have you seen him lately?"

"Yeah," Bobby nodded soberly. "He's been draggin' hard. Some day it looks like he shouldn't even be walking around."

"You can hardly blame him after...everything," Archie said. Mentally, he was scouring his A/V lab, trying to recall every last file or copy related to the Walter Gordon case. If Nick was going to be in the lab all the time, Archie wanted to be damn sure there was no chance of him accidently stumbling across any of the recordings.

Part of Archie wanted to just purge all the files and mangle the tape until it was unsalvageable, even if it brought the wrath of Grissom down on his head. It couldn't be much worse that the actual situation.

"...new Star Trek movie," David was saying.

Archie came back to the break room with a jolt. "You heard something about a new Star Trek movie?" he asked, then blinked when everyone erupted into laughter.

"Told you that would get his attention," David smirked.

"You were zonin', little man," Bobby grinned.

"Sorry. What?"

"I said Grissom was looking for you," Jacqui said. "Just before we came here."

Archie felt his stomach bottom out. "Yeah," he stood up. "I'd better go." Find somewhere to hide.

"You gonna mind sharin' the trace lab, Dave?"

"It's David," David corrected, just as he did at least once a shift. Bobby just shrugged it off. "And no, Nick is actually one of the less annoying people I have to deal with around here."

Archie smiled slightly at the exchange as he left the break room. He knew--as did Bobby and Jacqui--that was Hodges' way of saying he actually liked Nick. His smile faded as he peeked around the corner and through the doorway before heading to his lab, and he wondered what his chances were of avoiding Grissom for the rest of his shift.

He knew he couldn't run forever, but he wanted to have something else--anything else--before Grissom asked about the tape again. Because Archie had filtered, enhanced and refined that passage until he thought his ears would bleed, and no matter what he did, no matter what sort of tests he ran, the results were the same.

The second voice always fell outside any and all frequencies at which the human voice could possibly exist.

"So I thought having Nick working in the lab was supposed to be better for him," Sara commented as she ran her maglite over the backseat's upholstery one more time.

Warrick was looking for trace in the front of the car they were processing. "It is," he replied, then felt compelled to add. "Supposed to be better for him."

"It doesn't seem to be helping much. How often does he go to counseling, do you know?"

"He was only required to see Kane three times," Warrick replied, hoping Sara would catch on that he didn't really want to discuss the situation.

"Just a few fibers and some gravel back here," Sara noted. "Do you mean Nick hasn't seen anyone about this? Hasn't talked to anyone about it?"

"Sara..." Warrick put the tiniest warning in his voice. "Have you ever heard Nick talk about shrinks? He doesn't like the idea of seeing one."

"Who does?" Sara peeked over the seat back.

Warrick sighed and shot her a hard look.

"Really, no one goes to a shrink because they want to. Well, some probably do, but that would be their disorder, technically. Although--"

"Sara," Warrick let every bit of his exasperation show.

She finally got the hint and fell silent. Finishing with the back, she labeled what she found before crouching by the open passenger's door and beginning there. "I'm getting scared for him," she said quietly, not looking up from her task.

Warrick did stop what he was doing as he considered her words. "He's...it'll take a long time, Sara."

"Has he talked to you about it?"

"Not really. He doesn't like talking about it at all."

Sara made a small sound of irritation. "Someone needs to make him talk about it."

His temper rising, Warrick turned off his maglite and stood up. "Sara, if you're so damn sure what's best for him, then you go take care of it."

"You think I haven't tried?" Sara stood as well and glared at Warrick over the roof of the car. "I have, but he starts to get upset and angry, and that's not going to help him. I'm not close enough to him to push the issue. Greg tried, too, but Nick just gives him the brush off."

"You tried to force him to talk about this?"

"Someone has to!" She walked around the car, the better to get in his face, apparently. "He won't listen to me or Greg, but he might listen to you or Grissom. Maybe Catherine, too, but none of you have done anything!"

"Sara..." Warrick held up his hand for her to stop.

"I thought he was supposed to be one of your best friends. What happened? You get married and suddenly you don't give a damn about him anymore?"

"Hey!" Furious, Warrick took a step toward her, but she didn't even flinch. "Just...don't. Okay?"

"No, it's not okay! He...haven't you seen him? He never smiles anymore. He does every bit of work he's supposed to, but never seems to be happy with it. He used to love what he did, and now...he's so tired." Sara pressed her lips together tightly and Warrick was alarmed to see tears fill her eyes. "I miss him. He's right there in front of us, but I miss him. Don't you?"

Warrick closed his eyes and turned away, wishing he could unhear her words.

"I need some air," Sara said with an angry sniffle.

When he heard the garage door slam behind her, Warrick released the breath he'd been holding and leaned heavily against the Lexus. There were some unpleasant truths in Sara's words that hit close to home. He hadn't been on Nick's case as much as he normally would be in this situation, and it was because of his marriage. Everything after that though, she probably had wrong.

Yes, he missed Nick. And yes, he had seen how utterly exhausted Nick seemed to be. After they spoke when Nick was first assigned to the lab, Warrick had kept his conversations about work or only the most trivial subjects. Even after nearly two weeks, Warrick still hated that ridiculous--desperate, his mind whispered--offer he'd made and he had avoided Nick ever since.

Some friend.

He knew Nick was heading for trouble if things didn't change soon. Everyone knew it. Yet he couldn't be bothered to help because it was embarrassing and maybe a little painful for him to be around Nick when that kind of intensity was involved.

Marrying Tina was a mistake. He knew that. He knew it the second he proposed. But it was his mistake. Inevitably, Tina was going to be hurt by it and Warrick regretted that, because he did care about her. He knew now, though, that the deepest part of his heart had belonged to a dark-eyed, big-hearted Texan for a long time. A big-hearted Texan that was suffering alone at the moment because Warrick wasn't stepping up to the plate the way he ought to.

Well, there'd be no more of that.

Warrick still felt a twinge of guilt whenever he thought about how eagerly Nick had agreed to grab some breakfast when their shift ended. It was something they hadn't done since before Nick's abduction.

They spent most of the meal with Warrick filling Nick in on all his cases and Nick telling Warrick about life among the techs. It was only when they were down to just their cups of coffee--recently freshened by the waitress--that Warrick was ready to broach the subject of Nick's well-being, or lack thereof. He wasn't sure how to bring it up, though.

Nick took care of that for him. "So. Your treat, huh?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

"Yeah, y'did," Nick agreed. "You remember the last time you treated me to breakfast?"

This was...weird. "No. Do you?"

"Sure. It was after that Hawkins case--where I got into it with Caveliere?"

"Oh. Right." Warrick got the feeling that normally Nick would be giving him a teasing smile about now. There was a trace of a smile on Nick's face, but it was almost as though he didn't have the energy for anything more.

"Right. So?"

"So..?" Warrick repeated slowly.

"Come on, Warrick," Nick's smile was a little wider now. "The only time you treat is when you figure I have to talk or be talked to about something."

Warrick blinked in astonishment. "No way."

"Oh, yeah."

"You think you got all my tells figured out, Nicky?" Warrick smirked.

"Some of them."

"And I suppose you even think you know what I want to talk to you about."

"I could take a wild guess," Nick said, sobering. The teasing grin--or what passed for it--had brightened his face a bit, and now that it was gone, the hollows in Nick's cheeks and circles under his eyes were more prominent than ever.

"Look, Nick--"

"I know," Nick spoke quietly. "I know people are worried. I know there's a problem, and I'm working on it."

"Okay. You just seem so tired all the time, Nicky."

"I am," Nick rubbed his eyes. "So tired."

"What is it?" Warrick asked, trying not to sound to demanding. "Memories? Nightmares?"

"Nightmares," Nick's voice dropped even lower. "Bad ones."

"About..? About being in..?" Warrick tried one last time, "About what happened?"

"That's just it. I don't know what they're about. I just wake up and--well, I get...they freak me out," Nick said reluctantly.

Warrick knew excessive understatement when he heard it.

"I don't...I've been trying to remember what they're about. I plan to go see Dr. Kane again, but not if I don't have something to work with."

Warrick was so relieved to hear Nick was considering seeing someone again at all that he didn't push for Nick to talk to Kane about things besides the nightmares. "What do you remember?"

"Well, I know it's nothing like the ones I was having at first. Those I remember--hell, it would be a picnic if I had one of those again."

Having witnessed a few of Nick's early nightmares, Warrick felt queasy at the thought of anything worse. "My god, Nick. That bad?"

"I can't move when I wake up. It's just--I feel like--" Nick wrapped his hands tightly around his coffee mug. "It's like there's someone there, and..." He stopped again and closed his eyes.

"What?" Warrick asked softly.

"Like I'm being watched," Nick whispered, making his friend wince. "But I know--I mean, I had issues about that before this, so it could just be...sometimes I wake up though, and I feel like I've been fighting someone, and no matter what I try..."

"How much sleep do you get?"

"Two, maybe three hours a day." Nick rubbed his forehead, "But it's getting to be less and less all the time."

Warrick felt himself going beyond worried and well into scared. "Nick--"

"I hate it," Nick voice cracked, he paused to steady it before continuing. "Nearly two weeks in the lab and nothing's getting any better. If I keep going this way I'm either going to screw up and lose my job or have to resign and--" He stopped when Warrick's phone trilled.

Irrationally pissed off at the device, Warrick yanked it out of his pocket, shut it off and tossed it on the table without bothering to check the caller ID.

"Rick," Nick protested. "You don't even know who it was."

"Doesn't matter," Warrick said, focusing his attention on his friend. "Listen, what we need to do--Nick." He stopped again when Nick picked up his cell.

"It was Tina," Nick frowned, showing Warrick the display.

"Okay, it was Tina," Warrick acknowledged, taking the phone and putting it back down. "I'll call her back when we're done. Look, you've got to do something about this--this is really serious. Did your doctor give you anything to help you sleep?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded. "It doesn't really help much, though."

"Get something stronger from him," Warrick ordered. "And I still think it would be better for you not to stay alone."

Nick's jaw tightened, "I don't need a babysitter. Besides, someone being there isn't really going to stop the nightmares." Almost on reflex, he glanced at Warrick's cell again.

Irritated, Warrick put it back in his pocket.

"What I need is to figure out what the nightmares are about. That's how they went away before. When I know what they're about, Dr. Kane can help me with whatever is causing them." Nick shifted uncomfortably. "I...you've already done so much--" he cleared his throat. "I'm remembering more about the dreams all the time. It shouldn't be much longer until I get this figured out." He pushed his coffee mug away, "I should get going. And you need to let Tina know where you are."

Watching Nick try for another grin when he was too exhausted to summon it was enough to make Warrick's heart ache. "Okay, Nick. But I want you to promise me--promise--that from now on you'll call me whenever you have one of these nightmares."

"I can't do that," Nick insisted. "Jeez, Rick, I'm not going to be pestering you guys all day."

And now he'd just moved past scared and into oh, fuck. "All day? All day, Nicky? How many of these to do you have, for Chrissake?"

"No. I mean, it's not--" Nick closed his eyes briefly. "I promise I'll phone you if I have one of the really bad ones, okay?"

No, that is not okay! Warrick wanted to shout, but Nick seemed close to the edge and Warrick worried about alienating him if he insisted on too much. Nick was holding on to his self-reliance for dear life, and Warrick wasn't going to be the one to tear it away from him unless it became absolutely necessary. "Okay, Nicky."

It took two weeks, but eventually Archie decided that he was just going to have to tell Grissom about the tape. So when the graveyard supervisor walked into the A/V lab near the end of a particularly quiet shift, Archie didn't try to find an excuse to avoid him.

"Have you made any progress with the tape?" Grissom asked without preamble.

"Not exactly," Archie replied, unable to help wincing.

"Well, what exactly?"

"Okay, the first voice--the one you identified as Walter Gordon--"

"I don't care about Walter Gordon's voice," Grissom snapped.

Archie blinked at this display of animosity. "Um...okay. Well, there was nothing too unusual about it, anyway. Just some damage to work around. As for the second voice, there's only the single word. That's a really small sample."

"Too small for you to tell anything from it?" Grissom's voice was even again. "Even if it's male or female?"

"Male or female is a moot point, really."

Even in the dim lighting of the lab, Archie could make out Grissom's perplexed expression. "I'm not following."

After searching for a better way to put it, but coming up blank, Archie just settled for blurting out--"It's not human. The second voice."

After a few beats of silence, "I beg your pardon?"

Archie took a deep breath. "The second voice falls outside the frequency parameters for human speech."

"We can hear it," Grissom pointed out.

"We can hear plenty of sound we aren't capable of making," Archie countered.

"Damage?"

"Damage seems to be what made it sound like a person in the first place. It was only after I cleaned it up and removed all the interference that the voice dropped to the inhuman frequency."

Grissom frowned, "And this couldn't be because of the modifications you made."

"Doubtful," Archie said, wondering if Grissom really thought he was a novice who wouldn't account for that. "I adjusted accordingly. I matched the end of Gordon's sentence to his undamaged speech and made the same modifications to the second voice. Here," he handed Grissom the headphones.

Although it didn't look like he really wanted to, Grissom slipped them on.

Archie played the cut and knew the exact moment it got to the voice, because Grissom's eyes widened. It had to be quite a shock, to hear that medium-tenored "Perfect" change to a low, guttural whisper, with only the cadence remaining the same.

"Again," Grissom said, and Archie obliged. Then Grissom took off the headphone and just stared.

"I still have the unaltered original," Archie explained. "I made copies and modified those. I've cleaned it up every single way I know how--multiple times, starting with a direct copy each time. The results are always the same."

"I don't doubt your expertise, Archie," Grissom assured him, but his expression was distant. "Technically, though, couldn't someone make a recording and alter it so that it became something humans weren't capable of?"

"Yes," Archie nodded.

"And if that we recorded by another device, would it possible create the result you had here?"

"Possible," Archie admitted reluctantly. "But that would be an awful lot of trouble for a single word. One that sounds like it wasn't meant to be recorded at all."

"But it is possible?"

"Yes."

"Can you test for that?"

"I could run some diagnostics to see if it's a recording of a recording, yes."

"Do that," Grissom nodded, seeming relieved to have come up with an explanation. "And let me know what sort of results you get."

"Okay," Archie nodded. Once Grissom left, he retrieved the original cassette from his briefcase where he kept it to be sure no one stumbled across it accidently. As he prepared to make more copies, he decided that this time he would digitize the message on the other side, as well.

If you held a gun to David Hodges' head, then there was a slight chance that he might admit that he didn't absolutely abhor sharing the trace lab with Nick Stokes.

Most people wouldn't even have got that much.

It was close to four weeks and while David did not find the time interminable, he knew Nick was beginning to. Nick didn't complain, of course, but it was obvious to anyone who knew him that he longed to be back in the field with his fellow CSIs. It was equally obvious that he had no business in the field, because it was taking all his energy just to keep up with hair and fiber analysis.

David was actually very worried about Nick, but it would take more than a gun to make him admit that. It would take something truly appalling. Say a new John Tesh album.

Nick's usual sunny disposition was no longer present, but he was still more charming on his worst day than David Hodges was on his best. That would certainly explain why CSIs--and occasionally some detectives--tended to stop and visit whenever they dropped off trace or picked up results.

The increased traffic was a pain in the ass, but David was able to tolerate it reasonably well most of the time. Even when, like right now, Sanders spent ten minutes rambling in an attempt to perk Nick up a little. If he got even a slight smile out of the Texan, it could be considered a success. Greg wasn't having too much luck today, though. David could see, even if the rookie CSI couldn't, that Nick was actually becoming uncomfortable with the attempted banter.

Eventually though, Greg caught on and got down to business. "So did you get anywhere with the samples from the Morton case?"

"Morton..." Nick flipped through the bagged samples in his in-basket. "You brought them in..?"

"At the end of yesterday's shift. Three different fibers, although one could have been animal hair," Greg peeked in the basket as well.

Hodges turned from the mass-spec, wondering when he should jump in.

"I said it was no biggie, so maybe you stuck it in your no-rush pile," Greg added helpfully

"I don't have a no-rush pile," Nick said, and his frown of confusion had changed to one of worry.

Yeah, now would be a good time. "The baby CSI still needs his results fed to him like pablum?" David asked in his snarkiest tone. "Or he just can't be bothered to check the outbox first like everyone is supposed to?"

Greg glared at David, but other than that ignored him as he looked through the basket near the end of the counter. "Oh," he picked up a folder and took out the samples and printout. "Cotton-lycra blend, unprocessed wool and--Afghan hound?" He looked up at Nick with a grin, "Seriously?"

Nick didn't even try to return the smile, instead he looked down at the samples he'd been working on when Greg came in.

Greg's smile faded a bit, but he was obviously determined to include Nick. "I think witnesses mentioned a dog at the scene."

"Maybe," David took on the tone one would use with an exceptionally slow child. "You could check what sort of dog it is. Wouldn't that be clever?"

Greg amped up his death glare so that David actually did feel a little singed. The rookie still refused to bite back though. "I'm gonna recommend you for a commendation, Nick. You deserve one for working with that."

"Kids," David said dryly when Greg had stalked out.

Nick just stared at him, pale and miserable.

It wasn't easy, but David bent back over his scope as though nothing unusual had happened.

"David," Nick's voice held a tinge of sadness.

"Hmmm?" David didn't lift his head.

"How long have you been covering my mistakes?"

David snorted, "Yeah, because I can really be bothered to do something like that."

"I remember now. I attached those results to some trace Catherine had brought me from a missing persons at the start of shift."

"I noticed."

"And you fixed it. Catherine picked up her results an hour ago."

"You're welcome."

Nick sighed, sounding so weary that David had to fight not to wince. "How often have you had to fix my mistakes?"

David stared at diatoms as though his life depended on it. "Not often," he said, happy he sounded so offhand about it.

When there was only silence from Nick, David congratulated himself for finding the right thing to say to end the conversation.

"Then this isn't the first time," Nick's voice shook slightly

Fuck. Goddamn tricky CSIs. He finally looked up and found Nick was even paler. He wouldn't have though that was possible. "Nick--"

"A lot?" Nick's voice lowered to a near-whisper.

David shrugged, "Just a few little snafues here and there."

"Little snafues wouldn't have got me in trouble. Why didn't you let them slide?"

Where the hell are those damn CSIs when you really need them? David looked through the glass window, hoping one of Nick's teammates would come by and provide a much-needed distraction.

"I really appreciate it, David, but you shouldn't have to do this."

David tried to think of something encouraging and non-snarky to say, but it wasn't really his strong point, and he just ended up shrugging again.

"Ecklie's still here, isn't he? He has that Hawkins case he was going to go over with Grissom."

"Nick, don't--"

"Thanks for looking out for me, but this can't keep happening. It's one thing if I get in trouble for my screw-ups, but what if you did?"

David was at a loss for words. He never knew it was possible for someone to sound so horribly downhearted and not actually be in tears.

Nick looked at his in-basket on the counter, "Sorry for having to dump all this stuff back on you."

Christ, don't let him pile that on himself, too. "I'll manage," David assured him.

Instead of replying, Nick merely nodded before leaving the trace lab, shoulders slumped and head bowed.

David looked back down at the microscope, and all it took was a split-second for him to decide he really needed a break. He left the lab to get a cup of coffee. Someone in the building had to have a bottle of something he could add to it. Scotch, vodka, Drano--anything would do.

Conrad was surprised and dismayed to see Nick waiting for him outside his office, especially considering the CSI was ashen and trembling slightly. "Nick."

"Could I talk to you for a minute?" Nick's voice shook a bit as well.

"Of course," Conrad opened the door. "Come in and sit down." Before you fall down. He followed Nick inside and sat down behind his desk. "What did you want to discuss?"

"How do I--? I mean, if--" Nick stopped and drew a deep breath. "What do I do when I'm unable to work here any longer?" His voice almost broke on the last few words, and Conrad could see the effort is was for him to keep it steady.

"You...just discovered this now? In the middle of your shift?"

"Yes."

That made Conrad pause. "What happened?"

"I made a mistake that could've--probably would have--turned out fairly serious."

"But you caught it," Conrad said, unable to stop the little jolt of fear that went through him. Jesus, this lab doesn't need anything else right now.

"No. Not me."

"Someone else caught it, and told you about it."

Nick hesitated, obviously torn. "Someone caught it, and didn't say anything."

Since there was no harm done, Conrad decided he could be generous. "Well, it has been known to happen--"

"And it's not the first time."

Ah. "People have been covering for you?"

Nick's eyes widened as though something had just occurred to him. "Not just--" He halted abruptly, and gave Conrad a wary look, "I don't want anyone getting into trouble."

Well, if you don't say who, there's not much I can do. Half the damn lab would cover for you if they thought you needed it. But that doesn't explain why--oh. "You just found out about it now."

Apparently Nick didn't trust his voice, because he only nodded.

There was no telling how long it could have gone on if Nick's conscience hadn't prompted him to say something. "Well, any major mistakes seem to have been caught thus far, so there's no reason for anyone to be in trouble, is there?"

Nick nodded again. "But I can't--" He had to stop again and clear his throat, "I'm a liability."

Conrad expertly ignored the part of him that reacted to the pain in the Texan's voice. That wasn't his job--they had people far more qualified than him to take care of that. But still . . . "You'd only be a liability if you'd kept silent about it."

If Nick was surprised to hear Conrad say something remotely supportive, he was also too tired to acknowledge it. "So what do I do?" he asked, his expression reminding Conrad of someone condemned. "A leave of absence? I mean...I don't have to resign, do I?"

Good God, the man truly wasn't thinking straight. "What are you talking about? You go back on medical leave. You're still under Dr. Rauli's care, aren't you?"

"Yes, I just saw him again a couple of days ago," Nick seemed to relax slightly. "He gave me something stronger to help me sleep, but..."

"Have him call me," Conrad said. "Or I can phone him myself for the paperwork. I'm sure he'll give us any reports we need for medical leave. What about Dr. Kane?"

Nick hesitated, "I've been meaning to make an--"

There was only a brief, sharp knock at the door before Grissom opened it and walked in. Conrad wasn't surprised to see him--word could travel amazingly fast in the lab--but noticed Nick looked dismayed by the intrusion.

"Are you all right?" Grissom asked Nick immediately.

Absolutely. He just dropped by to shoot the breeze with me.

"I'm fine."

Oh, for-- Conrad barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes. "Nick is planning to take some more time off."

"Why didn't you come and talk to me?"

Annoyed at being ignored, Conrad couldn't help but bring out the bureaucracy. "I am the Assistant Director. If Nick needs more time for recovery, then I'm the one who will arrange it with personnel."

Grissom shot him a sharp look, and Conrad was briefly impressed by the way the entomologist could make him feel like an intruder in his own office. Then Grissom turned back to the man slumped in the chair, "Nicky, what happened?"

Nick's eyes traveled the room, looking everywhere but at Grissom.

"Nick?"

When Nick met his eyes briefly, Conrad knew that he wasn't going to tell his supervisor what happened. Apparently it was one thing to admit to That Asshole Ecklie that he was worried about compromising the lab, but it was another thing to admit it to The Great Gil Grissom. Fine. There was nothing formal to be done about the admission, anyway. "I'll start the paperwork for another three months of leave," he said. "If Dr. Rauli believes you need more time, we can arrange for that as well. You'll need to stop in at Personnel to fill out the forms in a day or two."

After another glance at Grissom whose expression had darkened again, Nick stood gave Conrad a brief nod. "Will do. Thank you."

"That's my job," Conrad replied, struck by the feeling Nick was thanking him for not mentioning anything to Grissom rather than any help with paperwork.

"I'll give you a lift home," Grissom offered.

Nick shifted uncomfortably, "I have my truck here."

"Someone can get it back to you tomorrow. I don't think you should be driving."

Nick looked at Conrad again, almost as though he hoped Conrad would jump in.

Conrad had no intention of doing any such thing. Unlike the situation that brought Nick to his office, this had nothing to do with the lab and therefore was not Conrad's responsibility. What's more, he happened to agree with Grissom on this point.

Would wonders never cease?

Looking resigned--or maybe that was just exhaustion, it was difficult to tell anymore--Nick allowed Grissom to usher him out of Conrad's office.

It only took about twenty minutes for the new pills Dr. Rauli had prescribed to take effect. Nick was grateful, because he was already sick of dwelling on work and the problems that seemed insurmountable at the moment.

He awoke with no idea of how long he'd been asleep, but had the feeling it had been a good chunk of time. Relieved that the new medication seemed to be working, Nick decided more sleep would feel even better. When he tried to turn onto his side, though, he was barely able to move.

Must have been dreaming again.

Nick shifted to untangle himself from his bed sheets, but discovered that for once they were not wrapped tightly around him. When he tried to sit up, something kept him down on the mattress with pressure on his shoulders. He felt a flutter of fear in his stomach, but quickly dismissed it.

Oh. I'm still dreaming.

He reached for his lamp--he never did adjust to sleeping with the lights on--but his wrist was pinned to the mattress before he'd done more than lift it.

Weird dream. Better remember this one.

Experimenting, he tried to move his legs, but pressure on his ankles and thighs prevented it. The flutter had gathered enough strength to twist his stomach uncomfortably, but Nick forced himself to think clearly.

Okay. This dream has to be related to that damn box. Can't move.

'Course, I could move a little bit in the box.

What's...what the hell is that?

Nick concentrated on the sound whispering through his bedroom and surrounding him.

Breathing?

Christ, dumbass! That's you! Panicking like you were in the box. Stop it, already.

Holding his breath should have done the trick, but didn't. He could still hear it.

It's a dream.

Then he felt a light touch across his stomach from under the sheet.

Fuck. Fuck! There's goddamn bugs in my bed!

Nick struggled to kick the sheets off, to scratch at his skin, to do something, but he simply couldn't move. After several minutes of panicked struggling, he managed to rein his fear in a bit.

It's a dream, remember? And now that you know it's a dream you should be able to control it. So the bugs...going away.

And much to Nick's relief, the horrible tickling sensation subsided.

See? No bugs. No--

In place of the feathery touch came one that was harder with far more substance and pressure to it than any bug.

That's not a hand. That's not a hand. There's no reason for this. That was years and years and years ago. Dammit, get off me!

Nick tried to arch away from the touch but only succeeded in twitching slightly.

And as the...thing

It's too big for a hand. It's too big for her hand. So it's not. It's not.

on his stomach began drifting lower, another pressed down on his chest. Exploring in a way that was far too knowing.

Wake up! Dammit, wake up!

And then there were pinches and

It's not that! For God's sake, Pancho, wake up!

scratches and

Not there. Oh, please, don't...don't!

Nick let out a strangled cry and threw himself frantically against the force that held him.

He crashed to the floor hard enough to jolt the breath out of his lungs. Still half-crazed with terror, still in the grip of

those hands

the dream, he scrambled for his night stand on his hands and knees.

He tried to turn on the light, but only succeed in knocking the lamp over.

Lights! It'll come back if you don't--

Then his shaking hands scrabbled across the familiar shape of his cell phone. Without even thinking about it he hit speed dial.

"Hello?" came a drowsy voice--his lifeline.

A sob of sheer relief escaped him. He was awake. They were both awake. "War-rick?"

"Nick?" Warrick suddenly sounded a bit panicked himself. "What? What is it?"

"It's bad..." was all Nick could manage. "It's bad, Rick. It's bad."

"Jesus. Okay. I'll be there in five minutes."

Five minutes.

Nothing could happen in five minutes.

Anything could happen in five minutes.

As he sped through traffic, Warrick kept up a string of reassurances over the phone, for his sake as well as Nick's. Nick never answered him, but the rapid, unsteady breathing let Warrick know he was still on the line.

"Did you unlock the door, Nick?" Warrick asked when he turned onto West Charleston. "And shut off your system so I can get in? Nick?"

"It's open," Nick finally whispered. "I went and...and turned the alarm off..."

"Good," Warrick pulled in behind Nick's truck. "I'm here."

He didn't disconnect the call until he was actually inside. Nick's shaking voice brought back memories of that horrible night at the nursery.

"Nick?" Warrick saw that Nick's bedroom door was closed, and headed straight for it, but a glance toward the kitchen made him halt in his tracks.

Nick was on the floor with against his pantry door with his knees drawn up to his chest. He was clutching his cell phone so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Nicky..." Warrick whispered, frightened by the sight of him like this.

At the sound of his voice, Nick twitched and raised his head fearfully. When he saw Warrick he blinked several times, glanced at the phone, and then closed it.

"Come on, Nicky," Warrick grasped him by the arms and helped him up. Even with just that small action, Warrick could tell that Nick had lost a significant amount of weight.

Once on his feet, Nick took a deep breath and shook his head. He stared at Warrick, then abruptly ducked his head, forcing a smile. "God," he let out a shaky, embarrassed laugh. "Jeez, Rick, I'm sorry." He ran both hands through his hair. "I guess I...sorry, man. I overreacted."

"Nick," Warrick gaped. "You think you're gonna play this off like it's no big deal? Are you kidding me?"

Nick looked away and then edged around Warrick. He dropped his phone on the counter as he made his way to the living room.

Warrick was right on his heels, concerned with Nick's blank expression. When Nick huddled deeper into his robe and pulled the belt tighter, Warrick knew he couldn't allow Nick to put him off. "What happened?" he asked, not too demanding, but determined. "I know it was a nightmare. Do you remember this one?"

The only response he got was a shudder.

"Come on," Warrick reached out and squeezed Nick's shoulder. Instinct told him to embrace his friend, but Warrick doubted that was a good idea. Instead, he steered Nick toward the sofa and sat down next to him. "Talk to me, man. Do you remember any of it?"

"Yeah," Nick murmured.

Warrick waited, but Nick didn't seem inclined to say anything else. "Is it about when you were...y'know, in the--in the box."

"Wish it was," Nick replied. He took a deep breath, "Part of it...well, I thought it was about that. I thought it was bugs--" He shivered again, "But it wasn't."

"What was it? On the phone you sounded--"

"Yeah," Nick forced another shaky smile. "I'm sorry. I just--uh..."

"I'm not saying it because I mind. I said I'd have your back on this, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Nick murmured, dropping his head again. "I couldn't move." He continued, and Warrick had to strain to hear him. "Hardly at all, anyway. I thought--I thought I was awake."

Warrick waited, and Nick caught onto his expectant silence.

"I know. It doesn't sound like anything when I say it. Just that I couldn't move. And that something--I keep wanting to say someone was holding me down. I could hear breathing and it wasn't mine."

"I can see where that would freak you out," Warrick said, although the dream didn't sound like much. Then again, Warrick had a nightmare or two in his life that would have cracked people up when put into words. He had the feeling there was more to it though, but he didn't want to ask "Is that all?" in case it made Nick think he wasn't taking the dream seriously. And he was. Anything that did this to Nick was something Warrick was going to take very seriously. "Do you think that will be enough for Kane to help you get rid of it?"

Nick winced slightly. "I don't...know."

"You think there's more to it that you don't remember?"

"I don't know." Nick stood abruptly and began pacing the length of his living room. "It isn't as big a deal right now, anyway," he said, speaking to himself as much as Warrick. "It doesn't really matter how much sleep I get. I'm off work until--until this goes away. It's got to go away eventually. At some point, I'll just get so tired that--"

"Nick," Warrick stood as well, hoping to put a stop to his friend's rambling.

Nick did stop and stared at Warrick, then the lost look disappeared and his eyes narrowed. "Did you hear about it? That I'm off again?"

"Yeah," Warrick nodded, not sure if he should be happy or concerned with the change in subject. "You were already gone by the time I found out. I was going to phone you later today."

"Did you ever...y'know?"

Warrick blinked. "Uh..."

"Cover for me--since I've been back?"

Whoa. That was news. "Cover for you? No. Who the hell was--?"

"Never mind," Nick sighed. "I'm just wondering how many people had."

Now Warrick had a half-dozen more questions. "What makes you think..? Did someone tell you..?"

"No." Nick waved the conversation away and let his pacing carry him into the kitchen. "Want some coffee?"

"I want some answers," Warrick frowned, following again. He noticed there was no coffee made, anyway.

"So do I," Nick leaned heavily against the refrigerator. "But I don't know what the hell is going on anymore."

"Nick, this is still probably related to what happened. Even if the dream isn't specifically about it. When a person has--"

"Don't say post-traumatic stress," Nick snapped. "God, if there's one phrase I never want to hear again..."

"Okay," Warrick nodded. He knew he'd be thoroughly sick of it by this point as well. "Okay."

"Sorry," Nick sighed, and began wandering back toward the sofa. "I go crying to you about this and when you show up I bite your head off."

"Don't worry about it." Warrick wondered if he should bother sitting down as well or if Nick would be up and wandering around again in a moment. As far as he could see, Nick was just too tired to deal with the dream at all and until Nick dealt with it properly, these nightmares would continue. It was a horrible catch-22 situation and Warrick could tell that his friend just didn't know what to do with himself, the same way he could tell that Nick was leaving out parts of the nightmare. "How much sleep did you manage to get before this happened?"

Nick looked at the clock and--to Warrick's surprise--brightened a little. "Nearly three hours. That's more at one time than I've had for a while."

That's good? Warrick managed not to blurt out what he was thinking, and wanted to be careful of the way he phrased anything. Exhaustion was making Nick touchy and Warrick didn't want to get into anything that would make him pull away. "You gonna try and get some more sleep?" he asked, hoping he sounded casual about it. "Because I can stay while you do."

"You don't have to do that." Nick rubbed his eyes. "I'm not going back to bed for a while, anyway." He glanced at the bedroom door and several more shudders went through him.

Warrick decided not to push any further right away and instead addressed something else that was bothering him--in a roundabout way, of course. "I didn't grab anything to eat before I crashed after shift. You got anything for breakfast or should I call somewhere and order?"

Nick frowned at him, obviously torn between suspicion and hospitality. Hospitality--at least a vague form of it--won out. "Take-out menus are under the phone."

Half-an-hour later, Warrick was dishing La Esquina's special baked chili from its takeout container onto a plate along with nacho chips and a chicken wrap. El chile coció al horno con quesos--or whatever they called it--was one of Nick's favorite things to eat, but he rarely indulged because it was loaded with all the fats and carbs and calories he tried to avoid. Right now, Warrick thought Nick could do with a few extra pounds. Nick's eyes widened at the site of the loaded plate Warrick handed him, but he didn't object.

While they flipped back and forth between Animal Precinct and a replay of the previous nights' Cowboys game, Nick managed to put away nearly three-quarters of his chili, although he barely touched the wrap. Warrick didn't comment, because things seemed comfortable at the moment. They watched the game in companionable silence with the occasional familiar banter.

Without even appearing to be conscious of it, Nick stretched out on his sofa and dozed off before the fourth quarter. Warrick remained in the armchair and finished watching the game, then found something relatively entertaining on the Discovery Channel that kept him occupied until NBA Hardwood Classic came on.

Warrick gladly counted an hour, then ninety minutes, then two hours of uninterrupted sleep for Nick. It wasn't until he received an irate phone call from Tina that he remembered he was supposed to have met her and her parents for lunch about halfway through the second hour of Nick's nap.

"What?" All traces of Jim Brass' usual wry, world-weary demeanor had disappeared, leaving Gil glad he'd closed the door to the man's office.

"There's another voice on the tape that was recovered at the site of Nick's...rescue." Months since it happened, and he still hated even thinking the word burial.

"When?"

"About five weeks ago." Gil had decided to tell Jim because he knew that if it was for Nick, Jim wouldn't think twice about bending the rules if it was necessary and as a supervisor, he couldn't very well ask one of his team to do anything like that. "Archie Johnson is the only other person aware of this. He's been working on the tape." And he hadn't exactly asked Archie to bend any rules, just to keep quiet, so that was acceptable--more or less.

Gil knew he was doing an awful lot of rationalizing for a man who thought he was in the right, but he decided that was something to be dealt with later.

"I'm not following," Brass gave him a narrow look. "What's there to work on?"

"There's another voice on the tape. Besides Walter Gordon's." Gil realized the moment he said it that things were about to get unpleasant.

"Another voice. Besides Gordon's? Not Nicky's?"

"No."

"Gil." Brass' voice was soft, one he often used when interrogating suspects. "Why is this the first I've heard about it?"

"I felt that Nick had enough to deal with at the moment without this as well." At the back of Gil's mind, something poked him and said he was avoiding the question just like a suspect.

"I didn't ask you why you didn't tell Nick, which you definitely should, by the way. I'm asking why you didn't tell me." Brass stood and put both hands on his desk. "If Walter Gordon had a partner, then there could still be a threat to any CSI out there. What the hell are you thinking?"

That's an excellent question, Gil sighed as the impact of Brass' words really hit him. "All the CSIs have been taking extra precautions since Nick's abduction," he said, knowing he was trying to reassure himself more than anyone else. "And we haven't determined conclusively that it's of any importance."

Brass' eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "So you're telling me you've had the Johnson kid working five weeks on nothing? That you came to me about something not important?"

Part of Gil longed for the good old days when he could still put one over on Jim Brass--they were long gone, though. "I have no way of knowing if it's important or not. The tape is damaged so that there's a limit to what Archie can do. I don't want everyone paranoid unnecessarily and god knows Nicky doesn't need that right now. I've been trying to look into Gordon's past to see if there's anyone who might have been a partner in crime, but so far, I've come up blank. I don't want to panic the team until I have something solid." He met Jim's eyes and his somewhat sheepish expression vanished, "Jim, give me your word you won't say anything to Nick yet."

"Ah, hell," Jim sighed as he sat back down.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, okay," Jim said grudgingly. "Until there's something more solid on this I won't mention it, but for the record--"

"I'm well aware of your opinion," Gil acknowledged.

"What about the daughter?" Jim asked.

"There's no way of being 100% certain, but I doubt the voice is hers."

"I mean, have you talked to her?"

"Oh. No." Gil rubbed his chin, "I suppose that's next on the list."

"Let me take care of it," Jim offered.

"Kelly Gordon?"

"We've met," Jim's wryness had returned full force.

"Mom...Cisco ...I know this is a lousy way to say good-bye--"

Archie abruptly stopped the recording. Hearing Nick's voice break when he spoke to his parents was more painful than he'd ever imagined. He knew that Nick had meant for his words to be heard, but these were different circumstance and Archie almost felt as though he were tempting fate by listening to a living man's last words. Even telling himself that this was part of an investigation didn't make him any more comfortable with what he was doing.

Archie started the digitized speech from the beginning again and filtered out Nick's voice while the CSI was still identifying himself. As soon as Nick's voice was less audible, Archie began picking up other sounds. The sound of the plexiglass cracking gave him chills, and he was happy to filter that out as well. That left a series of sounds that were to low to be readily identified. The noises were there for the entire length of Nick's speech. There was a strange spike in Nick's levels suddenly, and Archie reluctantly checked that. He amped Nick's track, then immediately stopped the whole thing again and pulled off the earphones.

Looking around covertly to make sure he was alone, Archie dropped his head into his hands.

Nick.

Screaming.

That had to be when the ants began attacking.

The sound wasn't going to leave his head anytime soon.

Taking a deep breath, Archie put the headphones back on, reminding himself that once he figured out what the hell was going on with this tape, he would never have to listen to the damn thing again.

Okay. Nick's track--off. Plexiglass breaking--off. That leaves...

Archie shook his head. What the hell was it? He amped it up, frowning in concentration. Not static. Breathing? Breathing? Not Nick's breathing, either.

Not this again.

A little further on, the noise took on a cadence, and Archie just knew what it was going to be. Once again it was too low to register without some help, so Archie reluctantly adjusted the track's bass and treble to sharpen its sound. Then, steeling himself, he played the track from the beginning again.

It was bad from the beginning, because that sound wasn't harsh breathing, it was panting. And not the panicked panting he'd heard from Nick, either. This had something to it that was almost... anticipatory.

After that, the speech was almost a relief. Only almost though, because it was that same guttural voice. It wasn't speaking English this time, either. Wasn't speaking any language Archie had ever come across, but it was definitely a language--one very heavy on vowel sounds.

Eyeh-eye?

Eja deweebuh chi-a...

How was he going to identify it without letting Grissom know he'd blatantly ignored orders?

As long as he concentrated on Grissom's possible anger, it was easier to ignore the tone of the voice, which made the message loud and clear, no matter the language. It was greedy and gloating and distinctly predatory.

The spike that indicated Nick beginning to scream caught Archie's eye briefly, and in the next few seconds, he had ripped the headphones from his head and thrown them across the desk, for once unmindful of the expensive equipment that was usually his pride and joy.

He shut down the program without bothering to save the individual tracks and pushed himself away from the desk. He was not listening to that again. No fucking way.

Archie did not hear Nick begin screaming, he'd kept the volume on that track low, but he did hear that...that...thing's response to the desperate man's cries.

That goddamn thing was laughing.

Jim Brass knew Gil Grissom well enough not to take it personally when, after telling Gil all about his visit to Kelly Gordon, the entomologist's only response was-- "I'll go see her myself."

Well, not too personally, anyway.

That was why he found himself driving along US-93 toward the Southern Nevada Women's Correctional Facility for the second time that week.

"What exactly did she say about Nick's visit?" Gil asked, making Jim smile ruefully. Although Gil hadn't shown any reaction when he heard that Nick had been to visit the Gordon woman, his curiosity had obviously been poking at him ever since.

"Just that he'd been there," Jim replied. "There wouldn't be much to tell. Look at her visitor's log. Nicky was only there for a grand total of eight minutes."

Gil opened the folder Jim had handed him before they'd set out, frowning all the while. "Nick drove thirty--sixty miles to talk to someone for eight minutes? And only a week after he got out of the hospital. It makes no sense."

Jim could hear a note of disapproval in his colleague's voice. "Are you pissed because he went or are you pissed because he went without checking with you?"

Gil's lips tightened and he looked back at the folder without speaking, which gave Jim his answer.

Point scored, he went on, "I don't know what you expect to get out of her. She wouldn't give me a damn thing."

"But you said you thought she was hiding something." Gil shot him an innocent look, "I trust your gut instincts."

Jim let that slide with no more than an amused snort. Truth to tell, he was rather curious to see how Gil would get on with the cold-hearted bitch. Normally, Gil would be just as cold and clinical in return, but with Nicky being involved, there was no telling what his reaction would be.

"You didn't mention the tape?" Gil asked as Jim turned at the prison gates.

"You asked me not to."

"Right."

If the warden thought there was anything strange about all the interest Captain Brass was taking in Kelly Gordon, he didn't show it as he led both men into an empty interrogation room. Shortly after they were settled, Kelly Gordon was led in, shackled. The guard seated her, then took up a post outside the door. Kelly Gordon showed no surprise at seeing Brass again, either, her narrow, pinched face was as stony as ever.

Jim doubted that Gil would have any more luck than he'd had, even though the graveyard supervisor had surprised him on occasion. Kelly Gordon, though, wasn't going to lift a finger to help another human being unless she liked the payoff, and Jim didn't buy that two years in prison had done it to her. He'd seen people go through much more for much longer without turning as stone-cold as this woman, and he could only suppose she'd gotten it from her father.

"Ms. Gordon," Gil said as he sat down across from her. "I'm Gil Grissom from the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

Gil's cordiality didn't seem to have any effect on her. "And what do you want?" she asked in that same hard voice Jim always heard from her.

"I'd like to ask you some questions about your father."

"He's dead."

As Jim watched, Gil's expression became glacially calm. "I'm aware of that. I was there," his replied in a voice cold enough to match hers.

Not so much as a blink, Jim noted. Gil, even you aren't going to crack this one. But he stayed out of it, knowing he was likely to tick her off even further.

"Did your father have any associates? Close friends?"

"No."

Imagine that. And with that charming Gordon personality.

"He came to visit you during the week before Nick Stokes' abduction," Gil's expression tightened as he spoke. "Did he mention anyone else being in on it with him?"

"No. And I already told him that," she glared at Jim. "Why do you want to know all this?"

"Because," Gil glanced at Jim, and Jim knew he was about to play the trump card. "We have a recording your father left to taunt Nick, and there was another voice on it."

She didn't seem to react to this news either, but Jim thought she became a bit paler.

"The tape more or less proves that your father wasn't working alone, and may even suggest that this wasn't entirely his idea. On the tape, it almost sounds as though he wants confirmation from someone else."

"Look," Kelly's voice shook for a split-second. "If my father was working with someone I don't--I didn't want to hear about it."

Gil tilted his head, encouraging her to continue.

"I mean, I didn't hear about it. I don't know anything about it."

"If you're worried about retribution from this person," Jim stepped in. "We can arrange special conditions for you here."

"Your special conditions don't mean shit."

"I could play a copy of it, if you like--"

"No!" Kelly jumped out of her chair, shackles jangling. "No. I don't need to hear it."

"Ms. Gordon--" Gil stood as well. "If you know something about this--"

Kelly pounded on the door with her hands. "We're done!"

Jim could sense fear pouring off her, something he never would have expected.

The guard opened the door and grabbed on of Kelly's arms when she tried to go past him. "Everything okay in here?"

"We're done," Kelly said, shooting a look over her shoulder.

The guard looked at Jim questioningly and he in turn, glanced at Gil.

With a sigh, Gil put one of his business cards on the table. "If you change your mind, Ms. Gordon, you can call me at any time."

"Now what?" Jim asked as they walked back to his Taurus.

"I guess we go back to where it started," Gil replied in his usual cryptic manner.

He knew what people would say. They would tell him he'd spent one hour too many in front of the Sci-Fi channel.

In fact, the list of people Archie was willing to tell about this was a very short one. Fortunately, the first name on it belonged to a man Archie knew would keep quiet if asked and who, even if he thought Archie was nuts, wouldn't be jibing him about it forever.

So after most other techs had already taken their breaks, Archie made his way down to Ballistics. "Hey, Bobby," he said as he walked in. "You take a break yet?"

"I'm due for one," Bobby said. He hadn't lifted his head from the comparison scope, but that didn't bother Archie. "I've just got to confirm a couple more matches."

"Could I talk to you about something? Privately?"

That did make Bobby look up, and he nodded when he saw Archie's somber expression. "Sure. Soon as I get done here--I'll only be another few minutes, then I'll meet you...out back?"

"Thanks," Archie nodded. He stopped in the break room only long enough to grab a soda, then headed for the crime lab's rear exit. A slab of concrete decorated only with a wooden bench, a trash can and a sand-filled ashtray was the lab's concession to smoking employees. There were, oddly enough, very few of them on the graveyard shift, and the little area was one people used when they wanted to be positive no one else would hear their conversation. The light was perpetually burned out, but nowhere in the city was ever completely dark.

"Hey," Bobby joined him on the bench, coffee in hand.

"Hey." Archie reflexively checked his pocket again. Yeah, the player was still there, just in case Bobby had to hear to believe.

"So what's up?"

Archie sighed heavily, suddenly unsure how to begin.

"Whoa. That doesn't sound good."

"This doesn't go anywhere."

"You got it," Bobby nodded.

Archie was immediately reassured, he always believed it when Bobby told him something, and the ballistics expert hadn't let him down yet. "You...aren't hard-core science, right? I mean, you don't automatically discount something just because it hasn't been scientifically explained. You said once your mom was a ghost hunter or something?"

Bobby laughed, but definitely looked intrigued. "She was a paranormal investigator--not just ghosts. And yeah, there's plenty of stuff out there science doesn't cover."

"So if I tell you something that sounds a little...out there," Archie stopped, wondering if he was going about this properly. "This is about Nick."

Curiosity was immediately replaced by concern. "Nick? Okay."

Archie took another deep breath. Here goes. "Walter Gordon put a recorder in the box with a message on it to mess with Nick. At one point Nick recorded something of his own on the other side. The cassette survived the blast and Grissom brought it to me to analyze. He also told me it had to stay between us."

Bobby nodded encouragingly.

"Walter Gordon's side was slightly damaged, but there's a voice at the end saying 'Perfect,' and it's not Gordon's."

"An accomplice?" Bobby whispered, even though they were alone.

"I don't know. This is where it gets weird. The voice isn't human. It exists at a frequency we can't achieve."

"What did Grissom say when you told him that?"

"That it was due to the damage." Archie shook his head, "And although that could account for the change in frequency, it isn't likely. So even though Grissom told me specifically not to, I listened to Nick's recording--it was undamaged. I filtered out Nick's voice, because--well..." he shifted uncomfortably. "Anyway, once Nick's voice was gone, I began picking up other stuff. Again, too low a frequency for human speech, but the echoing pattern suggests that whatever it is was in the box with him."

"All the tests?" Bobby asked.

"All the tests. Multiple times. Not human. And not English in the second case."

"And you...you think that's what's causing Nick's problems?"

Archie blinked. He hadn't been thinking about the voice in relation to Nick's current condition. He'd always assumed--"That's post-traumatic stress." Maybe. "Isn't it?"

"Is there any way I can hear it? I don't want to hear Nick, just--"

Archie pulled the player out of his pocket and handed Bobby the ear buds. Once Bobby nodded, he pushed play.

Bobby asked to hear it twice more before taking the buds out. "You've already checked that that's not some reversed language."

"Of course," Archie replied with a slight smile.

"It's definitely a language, though," Bobby mused. He took several sips of coffee before saying anything else.

Archie could tell he was considering the implications very seriously and so forced himself to be patient.

"You haven't told Grissom yet?"

"No. I'm not looking forward to getting my head ripped off."

"Impossible frequency?"

"Impossible."

"Well, I've got an idea," Bobby said slowly. "But you're not going to like it."

"At this point, I'll take anything I can get."

Warrick punched in the code to turn off Nick's alarm when he received no response to his knock. Nick had given it to him along with a key and didn't bother protesting when Warrick said he'd check in a couple of time a day. Warrick insisted on it after several days went by without Nick calling after nightmares Warrick knew he'd had. That Nick barely protested this arrangement was just another sign of how tired--and scared--he really was.

Nick was due in personnel to sign more insurance forms--a couple of times a week someone from Personnel worked a night shift, and Nick wanted to go during his usual shift to visit even though he'd barely been away more than a week. Warrick suspected that the crime lab somehow made Nick feel normal--maybe safe. When Warrick suggested they go out and grab some dinner first, Nick liked the idea so much that he didn't argue when Warrick said he'd pick him up and drive him to the lab. Especially surprising considering Nick knew it was a rare night off for Warrick.

Warrick walked into Nick's place, looking around curiously. The bedroom door was shut, and Warrick took that as a sign that Nick was finally managing to get some decent sleep. Since sleep was much more important for Nick than insurance forms or even dinner, Warrick considered leaving a note and going home. Then he remembered how pissed Tina was when she heard he was hanging with Nick on the first night off they'd had together in weeks.

Maybe he'd just stay and watch some TV until Nick woke up.

But he knew he really should go back and try to patch things up at least a little with Tina.

A loud crash and a strangled scream from the bedroom took the decision out of his hands.

He rushed into the bedroom, but couldn't see Nick until a frightened sound drew his attention to the far side of the bed. Hurrying around it, he found Nick crouched by the night stand, his back pressed against the wall. Judging by the tangled sheets half-off the bed, Nick had fallen out while trying to fight off another nightmare. For all Warrick knew, he was still fighting it--there was no way to tell if Nick was even awake. "Nick?" he knelt beside the terrified man. "Nicky?" Carefully, Warrick reached out and laid his hand on a bare shoulder.

Nick jerked and stared blankly at him. "W-Warrick..?"

"Yeah."

With a small, choked sound Nick collapsed against him and Warrick immediately wrapped his arms around the trembling body. He knew that trying to get Nick to speak at this point was probably useless, so for the time being, he just held on.

It was a solid twenty minutes before Nick stopped shaking, and during that time he'd barely made a sound--almost as though he was afraid to. Warrick got the distinct impression that Nick was trying to hide within the circle of his arms and tightened his hold. In response, Nick tried to burrow even closer.

"Nick?" Warrick prompted quietly.

"Oh god..." Nick's voice was barely audible.

"Talk about it, Nicky," Warrick urged. "Tell me what you remember."

"I can't."

"Yeah, you can," Warrick encouraged. "Was it the same as last time?"

Nick broke free from the embrace and struggled to stand. "I've gotta...I need to get out of here." Warrick helped him to his feet, and Nick blindly pushed past him. "Out," he muttered, making his way to the door. He paused in the doorway while his eyes adjusted to the brighter light.

"Nick," Warrick stood behind him, trying to act as though Nick's behavior wasn't freaking him out a little. "Nick, man, talk to me. Out--where are you going?"

"Just...out of that room..." Nick hugged himself as he stood in the middle of his living room, looking around as though dazed.

"Nick, come on," Warrick turned the smaller man to face him. "Was it the same as last time? You couldn't move?"

Nick shuddered, "I thought I was awake--it always starts like that. As though I've just woken up in my room. And I--I could hear something in the room and I thought if I was quiet...but then something...something was holding me down and I couldn't make a sound if I'd wanted to and I couldn't move, but I could feel..." Nick dropped his head and moved slightly closer to Warrick, seeking security.

His bare skin was cool and clammy to the touch, but that didn't stop a tiny sliver of want to from darting through Warrick's body. Disgusted with himself, Warrick put his hands on Nick's shoulders and edged him away, "Robe?"

Nick glanced warily at the bedroom, "Behind the door."

Warrick retrieved the thick robe and helped Nick into it. "Coffee?" he asked, and at Nick's nod, walked to the kitchen. He couldn't help noticing that Nick stayed barely a step away from him at all times. Things were obviously getting worse, in spite of Nick's insistence that he'd get past it eventually. He got the coffee maker going, and while it brewed, he turned back to Nick. "Hey, Nicky, have you ever considered a physical cause?"

"What?" Nick frowned.

"Something neurological or a sleep disorder."

"Oh." Nick sat at the counter with a tired sigh. "I had a bunch of those when I was in the hospital. EEG, MRI, PET--all those letters. The doctors did all sorts of tests when they heard how you guys got me out. They all came back okay."

"What about Dr. Kane? Have you seen him again?"

"I have an appointment next week," Nick kept his head bowed. "Or is that this week?" He frowned, "Did I write it down?"

Warrick looked at Nick's calendar. "It's on Thursday."

"This week," Nick muttered.

"You slept okay on the couch the other day," Warrick pointed out. "Why don't you just start crashing there?"

"For how long?" Nick asked with a sudden scowl. "Forever?"

Long enough for you to get enough rest so you can think straight. "Just until you catch up on your sleep, bro."

"Beds are for sleeping in. There's no reason why, if I'm gonna sleep, I shouldn't be able to sleep in my bed. That's just--stupid."

Seeing Nick's jaw beginning to jut stubbornly, Warrick decided to ease off the subject. He realized he only had a small window after a nightmare before Nick would shore up his flagging defenses again and continue on resolutely. That attitude had gotten Nick through a lot, even through his ordeal underground, but Warrick was starting to wonder he'd finally found something he couldn't just "get past."

Nick let out another sigh. "Sorry. Look, I'm lousy company. Don't worry about dinner. I'll just go to the crime lab in a while and get those papers signed."

Warrick barely stifled a derisive snort. Yeah, like you're driving anywhere. "Picture that. I'll take you to the lab and we can pick up something to eat on the way back. Then, if you aren't going to crash on your couch, I will."

The dark eyes widened in surprise. "You can't stay here. Tina--"

"Yeah, well," Warrick shrugged. "We're...uh...we could probably do with some time apart..."

Nick looked troubled. "If you need a place to stay, then...well, of course. But shouldn't you--I mean, you just got married..."

Let him think he's helping me out. Why the hell didn't I think of that before? On the other hand, he didn't want Nick worrying about his marriage. "Maybe just let things cool off. I'll go back tomorrow and see about straightening things out." And then think of another excuse to stick around and make sure you get some more sleep.

That seemed to ease Nick's mind a little. "I'll get ready to go in a minute."

To Warrick, it looked as if Nick found just the thought of showering and changing exhausting. "No rush, we've got more than an hour before anyone expects us." He couldn't help but notice that Nick perked up a little at the idea of going to the lab. Looks like neither of us are too happy in our own houses right now.

He said no, of course, but that wasn't enough to stop Bobby, who continued to cajole for ten minutes and still didn't look ready to give up. Archie, the other hand, didn't look too thrilled to even be having the conversation in the first place. What the hell did they want to talk to his sister for, anyway? He just knew this was some sort of trick.

"You're going to have to tell him," Bobby sounded resigned.

"Like hell," Archie said immediately.

Okay, now he was curious. "Tell me what?"

Archie sighed. "Make sure no one comes in," he told Bobby.

So while the firearms expert kept an eye out for eavesdroppers, Archie proceeded to tell him just why they wanted to talk to his sister.

David Hodges then proceeded to tell Archie just how far off the deep end he'd obviously gone.

"Look, I'm serious, okay?" Archie glared at him. "I'm not asking you to believe me, I'm just asking you to put me in touch with your sister and then keep your mouth shut, although I realize that last part is damn near impossible."

Well, well, if it was enough to make the mild-manner A/V tech start biting... "What is Grissom going to say about this?"

"I haven't told him," Archie shifted uncomfortably. "He specifically told me not to listen to that side. Look, I've done everything I know how to do to figure this out. I think it's time to...step off the beaten path. Bobby told me your sister was psychic."

"Laurel is not psychic," David said through gritted teeth. "She just happens to have a sensitivity to...changes in her atmosphere." He knew it sounded lame, but he was still rattled by the request.

"Thought you told Jacqui she blew the Rhine test out of the water," Bobby said, keeping his gaze on the hallway.

"I said that to point out how invalid the Rhine test could be," David gritted out.

"We've heard about a Laurel Hodges whose held the police in Cincinnati," Bobby continued.

"Flukes are possi--"

"Two or three times."

"People around here need to mind their own business," David snapped, knowing that was a bit rich coming from him.

"So do you have a problem with your sister's abilities or just your sister in general?" Archie asked.

"Excuse me," David glared at the younger tech.

Suddenly, Bobby let out a very loud cough. "Guy-in-question," he said rapidly.

David barely had time to register his meaning before Nick and Warrick walked into the trace lab. "Party in here?" Warrick joked.

"Satellites drawn to the pull of my genius," David said dryly, making Warrick groan and Archie roll his eyes.

"How you doin', Nick?" Bobby asked, although the question wasn't necessary.

"Okay," Nick said, and everyone let him get away with the blatant lie. "I just finished with some of the paperwork. Hopefully, I'll be back...be back before I need another batch." He slumped slightly against the door frame for balance.

David met Warrick's eyes briefly, and knew that the CSI was trying not to let his pity show. This man with the circles under his eyes that were dark enough to be bruises, the hollows in his cheeks, the drooping posture and the fuzzy way of speaking--this man was about as far removed from the handsome, athletic, alert and cheery Nick Stokes as a person could get. More than pity, David felt a wave of real fear for Nick wash over him and it was difficult to act as he always had. He did manage to get a few comments in, though--wouldn't do to have Nick noticing anything different.

After about fifteen minutes, Warrick said they ought to be going, and no one missed how watchful he was being of Nick. Once they were gone, the smiles immediately slid from Bobby's and Archie's faces and they exchanged horrified looks before turning to David.

David nodded slowly. "I'll call Laurel tomorrow afternoon."

On to Part 2 (chapters 7 - 12)