Title: A Season in Hell
By: sillygirl8406
Pairing: GilNick
Rating: NC-17
Warning: hints at non-con
Note: Hey, it's been rumored through the CSI mill and other sites that Grissom has Asperger's Syndrome. I don't know if it had any baring or not, but after I looked it up, it made a lot of sense and explained Grissom almost to the letter so I decided to use it in my story, as I did many things that were talked about or rumored but never explained. Hey, in my story it all works.
Summary: "Ecstasy, nightmare, sleep in a nest of flames."-"A Season in Hell", Arthur Rimbaud.

***

Gil knew he was falling, just how hard he'd hit the bottom was the problem.

It always amazed him, yet he knew that it also scared him to know that he had the power to burying his emotions in such depths that it would take hours to dig them up again. Yet, it took just mere seconds to throw them into the abyss. He wasn't even angry with himself. He felt absolutely nothing, yet he knew he should be scared to death. He just couldn't get his body or mind to understand that.

The car headlights reflected off the water as he stared across the lake. The view was amazing. Lake Mead was one of the few places in Vegas that he could go to that felt almost like California. He could close his eyes and for a brief moment just listening to the wind blow across the water he actually thought he was back in L.A.

He didn't remember how he ended up there, laying back against the windshield of his car at seven in the evening. But he had a great view of the sun going down. The moon could be seen through the trees on the other side of the lake.

A sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes against the fading sunlight.


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On his way home he thought about the last time he'd slept for more than one or two hours a day, some days went without him getting any sleep. It had to be going on three weeks. His dreams were filled with many vivid images. At first, the images were of Nick, that damn clock, Walter, and the warehouse. It had been over two years now and he was still haunted by those images. He couldn't imagine what Nick dreamt of. Sometime later the images changed to Heather, her daughter, and the man she was whipping while he was strapped to her car. After those images, he didn't want to sleep again.

From the outside, his house looked unoccupied and empty, and when he pulled into his driveway, that was exactly how he felt. The engine idled softly as he stayed sitting and staring up at the empty house.

The break was coming. He just wasn't expecting it to hit him this hard, and not while he was sitting in his car. He'd been losing control for some time now. He closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't want to cry. He hadn't cried in years, not since his father, and he hoped to keep it that way.

Helpless that was what Walter said wasn't it? That he was helpless, powerless. He found Nick, and he stopped Heather...could he stop himself? He put the car in reverse and backed up and drove away.


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The changing of the street lights were the only indication to him that he was actually moving as he drove aimlessly through the city. Everything around him seemed unreal; they didn't mean much to him anymore. The people were fake, the hotels, casinos, the city, hell, even the lab started to feel that way. There was nothing that seemed real any more. It was all swallowed into the abyss.

The darkness of the garage had brought him out of his thoughts, he was parked. The routine route to the short line for the roller coaster went by without him noticing. Minutes later he stumbled away from the ride, slightly dizzy and actually a little nauseated.


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By the time he made it back to his townhouse he felt exhausted. He stopped in the middle of his living room and looked around. It was cold and empty. Yeah, cluttered with books, articles, and journals, but it was lacking. The house was one huge office, not a home...not his home. Damn, why did he miss California so much? Why now?

He didn't know why he felt trapped, stuck in a situation he both loathe and loved. He couldn't figure out why he felt so at home but at the same time like he was a stranger in his own house.

Maybe it was time to leave. The team didn't need him anymore. L.A. was less then a days drive. He could give Ecklie his two weeks notice along with his resignation and then just...disappear.

The kitchen was cluttered with take out, dishes, and articles. He discarded a new article with the old ones on the counter while waiting for coffee to get done. He found a clean mug in the cabinet and was filling it half with coffee half with scotch when his cell ranged. It was Jim; he turned off the ringer as he muttered under his breath. He took two of his migraine pills with his coffee and then went into the living room. Sitting down on the sofa he grabbed a remote and flipped on the stereo to wash out further thoughts of leaving. That was ridiculous to think about anyway. He wasn't going to leave, not yet.

Cellos filled the room along with a smoothing piano. He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep as the exhaustion finally caught up with him.

What seemed like seconds after he closed his eyes, he suddenly couldn't breathe. A hand tightened around his throat choking him. He tried to heave out a breath but it caught somewhere within his dry, tight throat and he couldn't get it out. Fingernails clawed at the hand, trying to get it to release his throat. He kicked uncontrollably toward the unknown, unseen assaulter. Glass shattered in his ears and his eyes flew open.

Breathing deeply he leaned over, head between his legs, and gasped for air and stared at the floor. Once he got his vision to focus he realized what the shattering glass was. He had kicked his brand new glass coffee table. Tiny shreds of glass along with journals and various other papers covered the floor in front of him.

His jaw clenched as he went to stand to go and get a broom to clean up the glass. As he pushed down off the arm of the sofa pain shot through his arm causing him to pull his arm up toward his chest. The hand he had clawed at in his dream was his own. Blood dripped down from the scratch marks, some deep, and dropped to the floor with the glass shreds.

There was no more control. All the roller coasters, reading, or bugs couldn't get it back. His world was tipping, uncontrollably and unrelenting. A burning ache began in his chest and his head spun. Leaning back down on the sofa he tried to cough out the lump in his throat but in return he only got painful sobs.

The clock sounded from up the stairs. It was time for work but for the first time in his life he didn't care.

***

It wasn't until Gil arrived at work that night that his chest stopped aching. He made a mental note to call his doctor as he entered the break room.

The room was busy, his team getting coffee and talking about cases. Greg sat Gils' mug down in front of him and smiled at everyone as he left the room. Gil cocked an eyebrow at the mug then looked at the retreating form of the young CSI. Greg was back in the lab again because the last DNA tech left because she was on maternity leave, and Greg was the best.

"So, what was it that kept you?" Catherine said from somewhere off to the side of him.

Gil paid her no mind as he got straight to business. "Okay. Catherine you have a 419, male DB off I-15."

"Great. I get road kill." Catherine grabbed the slip and headed out.

"Warrick, suicide."

"There's nothing like a person taking their own life to begin the week," Warrick replied as he took the slip, "We up for breakfast after work, Nick?"

"You bet."

Warrick nodded and headed out the door.

Gil looked at the remaining slip then at Nick, then around for Sara. "Where's Sara?"

"Court...remember?" A small smile spread over Nicks' face.

"Oh, well, you have a 419, just came in from Brass. He'll meet you at the scene." Gil handed Nick the slip and picked up his coffee cup and was retreating back to his office.

"You're not on a case," Nick called down the hall to him.

Gil paused and turned to face him. "No. I have tons of paperwork on my desk. If this continues, I'm going to drop it all on Ecklies' desk and tell him to do it himself."

Nick cracked a smile. "Think that'll work?"

Gil shrugged. "No, but it'll still be fun to do." He went to his office, sipping his coffee and thinking about the piles of paperwork that he wouldn't even make a dent in, and the way Nick was laughing down the hall.


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Gil was staring at the mountain of papers on his desk when Brass called him. Nicks' case had bugs, lots and lots of bugs, they needed him, blah, blah, blah, and don't forget to bring a pair of swimming trunks. What the hell did Brass mean by that?

The Denali pulled up behind the Tahoe. With kit in tow he found Brass and Nick leaning against Brass' car drinking coffee. Brass turned and caught Gil coming toward them. Gil nodded to the detective. Brass smiled and turned back to Nick and said something. Nick laughed and downed the rest of his coffee.

"I'm not interrupting you two am I?"

Nick smiled. "We're just waiting around for you. Super Dave can't move the body until you collect the bug evidence."

Gil surveyed the area, confused. "Where's the body?"

"What, you can't smell the spiders?"

Nick smirked at the remark from Brass and watched Grissom lift a brow, apparently not amused; he started off into the woods. "This way."

They walked for a few minutes until they came upon a clearing. Gil stopped and surveyed the area then looked at Nick. "He's in the lake?"

"Well, kind of. The water is just over three feet high and he's on some logs; half way in and half way out. Bloated yet not, just" he shrugged, "half-and-half."

"But with no sweetener," came Brass's canny remark.

Gil looked back at Brass then followed Nick to the body. Nick was right; it was like looking at two different dead bodies, but it was one guy. Sun fried his left side and water bloated his right side. Water spiders came up every so often to crawl over the body then return to the water while flies and beetles stayed on the exposed side, laying larva and eating what they could.

Gil sighed and started to move back out of the water to retrieve his kit. This was going to take a lot of specimen jars.


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When they finally got back to the lab four hours later, Gil headed for the lab room with his box of evidence. As he rounded the corner he nearly ran into Sara.

"Whoa. Easy, Griss," she went to grab the box out of his hands, but he stopped her.

Gil studied her suspiciously before asking, "Are you working a case?"

"I just got in..." Sara crossed her arms and shook her head at him, "You don't remember do you? I had court and-"

"Good. Go see Doc Robbins about our vic." Gil walked around her and headed for the lab room.

Nick walked by them on his way to drop off the DNA and trace evidence. Sara stood staring head then shook her head again before leaving. Gil hurried to the lab room and dropped off the jars and left to find some of Greg's coffee. This was going to take a while.



Hours later, judging by the kink in his neck, Nick walked into the room with a cup of coffee in one hand and results from Greg in the other. "Sorry it took so long. Greg's swamped with DNA..." Nick stopped when he saw Grissom staring off into space. He shook Grissom's shoulder. Gil wiped his head around and stared at Nick wide-eyed. Gil's face wrinkled in confusion then slowly returned to the expressionless face Nick recognized. "We're lucky."

Gil went back to documenting his bug progression like nothing just happened. "I don't believe in luck."

"You don't?"

"No. So, why do you think we are so lucky?"

Nick smiled and leaned against the table next to Grissom. "Because we don't have to rely on fingerprints to ID our vic. If we did, we wouldn't know who this guy was for another week." He sat his cup down next to the microscope on the table.

Gil was still focusing on the bugs, but he could feel Nicks' eyes on him. "That isn't luck." He said as he continued to chart his bugs.

"Then what is it?" Nick said while crossing his arms.

"Efficiency. So, who's the victim?" Gil said, never taking his eyes off the bug chart, and hand off the notepad next to him.

"Oh," Nick looked at the sheet again. "Anthony Ramirez."

Gil looked up at Nick and smiled. "Good, now..." he trialed off trying to think of their next course of action, it would help if he could remember what case they had.

Just then Sara walked in. "He was beaten to death. Kept after post mortem, don't know why. Two broken ankles, fractured right shoulder, broken ribs, he was never hit in the face. Internal bleeding led to his death. Oh, and he's been dead for a month."

Nick spoke up. "Yeah, thanks Sara. Griss, I'm in middle of processing the victim's clothes now. I'll keep you posted."

Gil nodded his thanks. "Good job, Nick, Sara.

"Thanks." Sara said with one of her famous smiles.

Nick cleared his throat. "Brass should be calling us soon to go check out Ramirez's house."

Gil picked up his empty coffee cup. "When he gets here come get me. I'll be in my office."

"Sure thing," Nick left to check up on his evidence.

Gil watched Nick walk down the hall as he went in search of Greg, the coffeepot was empty. He found Greg with Catherine as they were going over DNA results. "Hey Cath, how's the case going?"

Catherine was waiting, leaning against the table, for the DNA results. "It's not. Whoever did this left no evidence, the body was cleaned, no tire marks. All I got is that the highway is definitely the secondary scene. Hopefully we'll be able to ID the victim."

"So, what's up? Do you need me to do anything?" Greg asked with a smile.

Gil finally looked at Greg, "Yes actually."

Greg's eyes beamed. "I knew one day you'll see me as a skillful CSI and not just some eye candy." Greg teasingly said while shifting his eyebrows.

Gil huffed out a laugh. "The coffeepot is empty and I can't find your stash of Blue Hawaiian."

Greg's smile dropped. "Oh. I'll get right on it. I moved it because someone kept getting into it and using more then he was supposed to."

Gil smiled a little, knowing too well that that someone was Nick. "Just make sure there's a full pot when I get back from searching a vic's house."

"Will do. Hey, Nick said you got tons of bugs at the crime scene. I could help you..."

"Greg, I'm finished with the bugs, Doc Robbins determined time of death and the bugs confirmed. Maybe next time, I'm going to my office now." Gil turned and headed for the door.

"Well, if you need someone to double...check..." Greg quickly stopped talking when he caught the look of Grissom's face, "or maybe not." Greg looked back at Catherine who was also staring at him. "What? I'm still a CSI, even though I'm stuck in the lab again. Not my fault Nichole is on pregnancy leave...although...."

"Hey Greg?"

"Yeah?" Greg said as he turned back to Grissom.

"If you want to keep that job as a CSI, I suggest you get on the coffee...now." Gil almost laughed at the way Greg nearly ran out of the DNA lab.

Shaking the image of Greg Sanders helping him chart pupa casings out of his head, Gil went to his office. He sat down at his desk and stared at the papers in front of him and sighed, he really needed to catch up on the paperwork. It had been weeks since he had really done anything with them. Maybe he could recruit Catherine to help him out.

A yawn surfaced out of nowhere and he involuntary closed his eyes. Breathing deeply out, he tried to relieve the tension that had built up throughout the night. Before he realized it, he was asleep.

Burning, intense burning filled his lungs, he couldn't breathe. The air was too thick. Too thick, too hot, burning...and something else, something he loathed. It was a voice filled with almost acid like taunting, laughing, and loving words, all at the same time.

His eyes flew open as he began coughing out air. Leaning over he tried to breathe but he couldn't. Forcing his legs to move, he stood, but before he made it to the door his head begun to spin. He stumbled and fell against his shelf causing some jars to fall and shatter on the floor. The hallway blurred violently as he exited his office and blindly went toward the direction of the locker room.

He fell through the locker room door and went straight to the stalls. Once the lock clicked he felt his stomach lurch. After several minutes of leaning over the seat waiting and dry heaving he was satisfied that he wasn't going to get sick. Stepping out of the stall he ran into Nick.

"Grissom, you okay?" Nick gestured to the stall.

"Yeah, just...lost my balance, it made me feel nauseous."

"Are you sure you're fine? I heard glass breaking in your office."

Gil side-stepped Nick and went to the sink and started to wash out his mouth. He finished up, wiped his face, and shrugged. "I lost my balance."

Nick continued to stare him. Then he glanced down at his hands. Gil noticed and looked down, he froze as he noticed the bandage and hope Nick wouldn't say anything.

Nicks' face wrinkled in confusion. "Grissom...?"

Just then Brass walked into the locker room and looked at him. "Why does your office look like Sara finally taken a bat to it?"

Gil's curious eyes left the puzzled face of Nick and looked over at Brass. "I lost my balance and you saw the result." He was still afraid Nick might say something, and he knew then that Jim would get in on it.

"Balance?"

"Yeah, now I'm fine." Gil emphasized the words to not only Jim but Nick as well.

Brass glanced at Nick who shrugged. "Okay then. I called Marty to clean up the glass but the paperwork all over the floor is your problem."

Gil followed Brass out the locker room; Nick was right behind them. Brass stared to inform Nick and Gil about the victim and his family. "Vic lives with his wife, no children...Gil?"

Gil had stopped at his office door. Brass slowly walked up to him and tapped his shoulder. He stiffened at the sudden touch and turned to face Brass, confusion evident on his face. "I...I'll just grab my jacket."

"We'll be waiting in the parking lot." Brass said turning back to Nick and walked with him to the parking lot.

Gil surveyed his office and noticed that half of the papers that were on his desk were now on the floor, glass was shattered over his floor from the broken specimen jars, good thing they were all empty. When did this happen? He side stepped Marty, the janitor, and walked to retrieve his jacket.

"Hey Grissom. You and your woman have a spat or what," was the sarcastic remark from the skinny janitor.

Gil quickly put on his jacket and went to the door, "When you get done could you lock up?"

"Sure thing. And I'll even pick up the papers for you. I know how busy you guys are."

"Thanks."


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The search of the victim's house revealed nothing. Brass went to check out friends and relatives but nothing probative had shown up. The body was washed clean with bleach and the no trace was found on the clothes.

Gil's eyes were fixated on the file but that wasn't where his mind was. Half the specimen jars were gone from his shelf, apparently he had broken them. His arm was wrapped in a bandaged, but he didn't remember how it happened. It was like his thoughts were slipping away, and that scared him more than anything.

He released a deep breath and threw the file down on top of the growing pile on his desk. Quickly getting up he locked his office door and fell onto his sofa in his office. Hopefully he'd get some sleep; the memory loss was pulling at him making him paranoid about not getting any more sleep.

His hopes quickly died as he heard a pounding knock on his door then Ecklie's voice. "Gil...we need to talk."

"Damn it," Gil muttered as he got up and unlocked his office. Ecklie was practically on top of him as soon as the door opened. "Yes, Conrad?" He snapped.

Ecklie smirked his usually greeting and got right to the point. "It's been brought to my attention that you've been having problems."

Gil quirked an eyebrow and stared at the other man. "What problems? The fact that the trace equipment is on the frizz so it's taking twice as long to process?" It was true, plus he wanted Conrad to take a hint and proposition for the money to get damn thing fixed.

"The fact that you haven't been up to par lately, Gil." Ecklie had to walk after Gil as he stalked off toward the sofa and sat down.

"Up to par? If you haven't noticed, we've been backlogged for months now and most of the older equipment is falling apart making everything around here slower and our hours longer."

"You worked triple shifts before and never had this much trouble. Look Gil, I've heard reports that you're not completely focused, missing some evidence, staying out of the field when you can, and breaking this in your office." As Ecklie talked he looked around the office, then returned his focus back to Gil. "I don't want to have to order you temp leave just to get you to take a vacation, Gil. "If you need a break take one, but don't keep working and putting this lab at jeopardy because you don't know how to go home and actually sleep, okay?" He spat the words out like he was ordering a child to bed who was grounded.

Gil stopped from saying his smartass comment and watched Ecklie leave and down the hall to his office. He wasn't really sure if the Assistant Director truly would give him temp leave or him not. And where did he get the information that he wasn't focused on the job and missing evidence?

His head landed on the arm rest of the sofa as he leaned back and kicked off his loafers. The ceiling called his attention and he gave it just that. Lights moved through the blinds on the windows, some going off, others going on. Then a blur of nothing for what seemed like seconds.

The phone startled him and he quickly got up and answered his phone. The clock read back that it was midnight. Jim was on the line asking where he was. The crime scene wouldn't last forever.

As he hung up the phone one thought went through his mind, maybe Conrad was right.

***

The door bounced off the side wall as Gil stormed through the front door and slammed it. His keys skidded over the dining room table top and landed on the floor. He didn't bother to pick them up. Besides the fact that he was completely drained, and not understanding why he couldn't sleep lately, he had helped Catherine on a case.

It ended up being her unsolved from two days ago. There was another male victim on the side of I-15. Two days ago, Kurt Mitchell had been beaten and starved to death then dumped along the highway. Today it was Thomas Lauer. After reviewing both cases he'd realized that Anthony Ramirez had the same type of injuries, he was now considered to be the first "experimental" victim. But worse, they were officially dealing with a serial.

When it came to any case he couldn't stand not being able to solve it, but the tension got higher with a serial, it was guaranteed they'd do it again. But, just like before, there was nothing to go by. No evidence, physical or otherwise, and there were no leads. The only evidence they had were that the highway was the secondary scene and the men were kept for a day alive, a day dead, before they were dumped. He figured the day after the victim's deaths were to clean them up thoroughly.

The sun was just coming through the living room window as he walked to the kitchen and started the water for coffee. He let out a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "They never had a chance," he said as he opened his eyes and stared at the running water.

Without warning he stuck his head under the cold water and let it run over his head and down his face. Turning his head from side-to-side under the freezing water he focused on the cold numbness spreading through him, it felt exhilarating. In times like these he didn't want to feel anything.

He stepped back catching his breath and grabbed the coffee pot to fill it with water. He turned on the coffee maker and stumbled up the stairs and down the hallway all the while stripping down to his boxers, letting his clothes stay where they fell. He didn't bother to get a towel to dry himself as he collapsed into bed.


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Sleep didn't settle over him, instead he tossed around for over two hours before he finally found a comfortable spot only to hear a knock at the door. At first, he didn't think he heard anything. Then, he heard it again. He grumbled and slowly got out of bed and made his way to the front door.

Throwing open his door to yell at however it was he was taken back to see Nick standing in front of him. Nick stared wide-eyed then lowered his head away from him. He suddenly felt the morning air on his body and looked down and seen that he wasn't wearing anything but boxers. He quickly moved behind the door. "Get in here, Nick."

Nick was still blushing crimson as hurried into the townhouse. "I'm sorry Griss. I should have called first."

Gil closed the door and turned to Nick, confused. "Can I help you with something?"

Nick turned around and walked through the living room. He sat down on the sofa and stared at the floor. "I can't sleep."

Gil sighed. "That makes two of us. I'm getting some coffee." He pointed toward the kitchen as he passed Nick on the sofa.

"Can I have a cup too," Nick hurriedly asked.

"Sure." He reached into his cabinet and grabbed two coffee cups. "How do take yours?"

"You don't remember?" Nick's voice was amazed and confused.

Gil looked over at the man on his sofa. His face twisted in confusion. "Should I?"

Nick shrugged then shook his head. "I'm sorry, I guess... I take mine with sugar, just sugar. Grissom?"

"Yeah?"

Nick was looking in front of him at the bare tile floor. "Where's your coffee table?"

The empty space in front of Nick was supposed to be occupied with his new glass coffee table. What did happen to his table? "Oh, that?" He paused. "It broke. I haven't bought a new one yet."

"Oh...okay. Is that what happened with your arm?"

Gil came back in the room and handed Nick a cup. "So, why can't you sleep?" He quickly changed the subject and sat down across the room from Nick in the recliner chair.

Nick's smile faltered. He took a long pull from the cup. "I...there was a burglary in my building a week ago. I kept thinking that if it was that easy to get into that apartment, what about mine?" He took another long drink from the cup, "It's coming up on the two year anniversary since I was taken. I keep thinking if I go to sleep I won't wake up...someone can break in and...you know," Nick looked over at Gil who was taking sips from his cup and completely indifferent. "I know it sounds silly but--"

"It's not silly, Nick. It'll take time." Gil went back to sipping his coffee.

"Yeah, I know, but...I need to get some sleep." Nick's words sounded desperate as he stared back at him.

Gil's hands fell in frustration along with his cup to his lap, and stared back at Nick. Was he asking to stay here...with him? Why couldn't he go to Warrick's, or Greg's? "Do, um, do you want to sleep here?"

"I felt safe and secure when I slept here last time. It was the best sleep I had in months."

Gil stared at Nick in complete confusion. When did Nick sleep here? Nick kept talking without realizing the confusion that was evident on Gil's face. Nick stayed here before? He had to focus to hear what else the younger man was saying.

"I mean, your actions were weird, but I," Nick smiled, "I really would like to sleep here, but if you're uncomfortable, hey man, it's no big deal."

"Nick." Gil pulled cup up to his lips and took a sip. "I don't mind." He really did, but Nick was hard to refuse, especially when he had that puppy dog look.

Nick smiled and sighed in relief. "Thanks Griss."

Gil couldn't help but smile too.

***

Hours later, Gil was still awake. He was sitting in a chair on the back patio, sipping his fourth cup of coffee, a cigarette forgotten in his right hand. He was deep in thought trying to remember when Nick stayed there. Nick said his actions were weird. Was it normal weird for him or something different? Many people thought he was weird. Hell, he'd been called freak too many times in his life he'd stopped counting. There had to be a logical explanation as to why he couldn't remember...right?

It was logical it was from his lack of sleep, his sudden bout of insomnia. It had almost been a month since he last had a decent days' sleep. There had been a lot of things that he did that he couldn't remember lately. Catherine had nearly chewed him out over something he couldn't remember doing. He needed sleep. So much sleep. He took a long drag from the cigarette and stared at it while it withered down to the butt.

1975 was the year Pink Floyd released Wish You Were Here, the movies: Jaws, The Godfather Part II, and The Return Of The Pink Panther all debuted in theaters; the Cincinnati Reds beat the Red Sox 4 games to 3 for the World Series; the FBI was still trying to deport John Lennon; and in LA, Paul McCartney and his wife, Linda, were stopped for a routine traffic violation and Linda got arrested for possession of marijuana. A few miles away at the UCLA campus during the NCAA championship game between UCLA and Kentucky, a 19 year old version of himself, freshmen in college wearing bellbottoms with a Led Zeppelin concert t-shirt and an El Camino parked out in front of the apartment building of his first girlfriend, Michelle, he picked up his first cigarette and started smoking while watching the game with a group of other science geeks.

He didn't want it to become a habit, but life happened. His first ex Michelle happened which upped it to a pack a week, then his second ex Julie came and went, that took it to three packs a week. His third ex he didn't even want to think about, but he would leave and go drink and smoke just to get out of the house. By then he was buying a cartoon every month.

When he took the job with Las Vegas, he forced himself to cut back to a pack a day, then it turned into half a pack whenever he drank. Soon it became two, now it was down to one, and that was whenever stress got the best of him.

He takes one last drag off the cigarette while half talking/singing the song lyric that kept spinning around in his head since he started thinking about his life of smoking, "We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year," he flicked his cigarette butt into his yard, "Wish you were here."

The sound of his alarm going off caused him to look toward the sliding door; it was time for work again. A frustrated sigh escaped with a groan from deep within him. His head banged against the side of the townhouse. Another day came and went without him getting any sleep. Fuck!



He slid the sliding door closed and hurried up the stairs to his bedroom. Dizziness swiped over him as he stepped into the hallway. The hallway tilted to his right and he went with it, slamming into the wall as he tried to get his balance back. Nausea swept over him as his eyes blurred into darkness.

He hurried down the short hall, stumbled into his room and toward the left where the bathroom was and leaned over the toilet dry heaving. After several minutes, when he was sure that he wasn't going to throw up, he leaned back against the opposite wall as he got his breath back.

The alarm was still going off on his bedside table.


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Twenty minutes later, he was standing facing the mirror in his bathroom as he considered going into work or not. There were bags under his eyes, his beard wasn't being trimmed and kept neat, his hair was a little longer, curling around his ears, his face was a little paler than normal and whenever he moved quickly dizziness overwhelmed him to the point he had to sit to regain his equilibrium back.

As he took his time trimming his beard for the first time in weeks, he decided to go into work. Boredom would inflict itself on him at home. He cleaned up the bathroom after he was done then went to get dressed. A door closed from downstairs. Dressing quickly he pulled clothes out of his closet.

He didn't give a second thought to the looseness of his slacks and the black button up dress shirt that once fit him perfect was a little loose as well. Sliding the belt through the last loop he finished buckling it and slid his loafers on. His Louisville Slugger was located in the back of his closet along with his baseball glove that he used for the Annual Softball game between Graveyard and Day shift. His sweaty hand grabbed the bat before he left the room.

The steps didn't creak as he slowly descended them. The water was running in the bathroom off the hallway to the guest bedroom. His room used to be that one, until he found that the upstairs room was bigger and quitter. The light was visible through the door to the bathroom and the guest room door was open. What the hell?

He sucked in a deep breath and barged into the bathroom with the bat raised.

"Holy shit!" Nick jumped back from the sink and fell into the tub.

He quickly lowered the bat and leaned against the wall. "Jesus, Nick, you scared me."

"Scared you? You're the one with the bat." Nick stumbled up out of the tub and spat out the toothpaste still in his mouth. "What's the matter with you?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head. He forgot about Nick staying there. Once he got his heart rate down he went to leave the bathroom. "You should get a shower before work. Extra towels are in the closet."


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The coffee barely finished brewing when Nick poured it into a thermos to take with him. He reached over and grabbed a bagel to eat on the way. "Are you going to eat?"

"Already did." Gil said as he riffled through his cabinets. He found his migraine pills in, of all places, the drawer with his hand towels. Downing two with his coffee he turned off the lights and grabbed his keys, cell phone, and beeper. He double checked the door lock then closed it behind him.

Gil waved at Nick as he got in his truck and drove off. After making sure he had his kit in the back he started up the engine and followed Nick to work.


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That following morning, after he finished up half of the pile of paperwork, Gil was reprimanded by Ecklie with the threat to seriously put him on leave and he ignored it again. He knew he needed to sleep, it was the act itself that failed, not him trying to.

Gil stared at the bed in front of him. It looked comfortable and warm, but it didn't feel that way. He couldn't sleep in it. After turning off his bedroom light he padded into the living room with a pillow and blanket. Throwing them down on the small sofa he went into the kitchen and swallowed two migraine pills with tab water. While he did so he let the cold water pour onto his head.

Again he didn't dry off as he collapsed onto the sofa. Before he could get to sleep again his phone ranged. He groaned into his pillow and grabbed his cell off the table and checked the screen for the name.

"Nick..."

"Hey, that's my name." Nick said and laughed. "Did I wake you?" He said after a moment.

"No. What can I do for you?" Gil grumbled into the phone.

"Can, can I come over again?"

Gil could hear Nick hesitate over the phone, "To sleep?"

"Yeah, if it's okay? I can't sleep at my place anymore. It's too...quiet."

"It's quiet here too Nick." Gil firmly stated to the younger man.

"Damn it, Gil. Do I have to beg you?"

Gil sat up at the harshness of those words. He sighed into the phone. "Okay, you can come over."

"Thanks Griss, I'm pulling up to your place now."

Gil barely had time to get up and get to the door before Nick was knocking on it. He let the younger man in and noticed Nick was carrying a bag with him. "Moving in?" He deadpanned with a slight smile. His smile wavered at the look on Nick's face.

"Well," Nick shrugged, "That was going to be my next question. It'd only be temporary. I'm looking for another apartment, someplace with better security and lights, lots of lights...Do you mind," Nick asked as he walked toward the guest room. He glanced down and noticed the sofa set up as a bed.

Gil watched Nick standing looking at the sofa; he was still shocked at what was going on. Nick turned back to him. He finally shook his head. "No. That's what a guest room is for."

Nick smiled and continued on the guestroom. Gil watched Nick for a moment then went into the kitchen and started on breakfast. Tension started to pound waves through his head and his whole body, so he grabbed his pills off the top of the refrigerator. Not giving the voice in his head a second thought about he was overdoing it on his migraine medicine, he took two more before the pan heated up to make scrambled eggs. He was working on the bacon when Nick came back into the room.

"Hmmm, smells good," Nick said as he took a seat on a bar stool.

"I guarantee it'd taste good too." Gil turned to Nick and half smiled. "Nick?"

"Hum?" Nick looked up at him.

"What's going on?"

"What? I thought we were about to have breakfast?"

Gil huffed out a laugh at the innocence of Nick Stokes. "Not this. You practically just moved into my house."

"Do you want me to leave?" Nick stared at his boss slightly sadden.

Gil let out a sigh. "No. It's just..."

"You're asking if I'm taking advantage of your hospitality." Nick nodded his head in understanding.

"Well...?"

"I-I don't know. I mean, I like, no, I love living here, Grissom. Not just because I feel safe, but, because I liked getting up and getting ready for work together. My routine is a lot better than it was when I was living alone."

"So...it's the balance and familiarity then." Gil nodded in satisfaction and turned around and went back to watching the bacon before they burned. He heard a small laugh come from behind him and he looked over his shoulder at Nick, who was staring at him. "What?"

"Everything has to be rationalized." Nick shook his head at the other man.

Gil just went back to cooking with a slight smile on his face. "And you can call me Gil, Nick. No need to be formal when you're sitting in my kitchen." After a moment he turned to Nick over his shoulder. "Could you give me a ride into work?"

"Something's up with your car?"

"Yeah," he went back to cooking, "it's shifting wrong, or something. I'll look at it later, after work."

"No problem."

"Thanks." Gil didn't want to tell Nick the real reason that he didn't trust himself to drive. He set the skillet aside, making both of them plates.

***

Gil gave Warrick the arson while Sara took the B&E. He decided to take the murder case with Nick. It was another 419 on the side of I-15, it was supposed to be Catherine's case but she had the night off.

Nick's Tahoe came to a stop behind a police car. They got out and headed for the scene with kits in tow. Gil spotted Brass talking with a woman. He stopped next to Brass and waited for him to fill him in.

"Hey, Gil, we have another dead male, name Carter Matthews, 45 years of age. Amber Tinsley, the woman I was talking to, found him. She pulled over to check the radiator, said it was acting up."

"Did she touch the body?"

"She checked for a pulse then she called 911 from her cell phone."

Gil took in the scene before him. Nick had already started taking pictures. "How far are we from the other two crime scenes?"

"Uh, the first one's about four miles and the second, two miles..." Brass looked up and pointed in front of him, "that way."

Gil looked down the interstate toward the direction of the second crime scene. "So, four miles in both directions--"

"No, no. Four miles that way, two that way." Brass pointed behind him then to the front.

"Huh, huh, anyway, and this guy's right in the middle...Why put them so close? Whoever's doing this must know that we'll watch this area."

Brass shrugged, "I don't know. There could be something specific about this area."

Gil nodded. "Maybe, we'll know soon enough."

"Hey, you okay?"

Gil looked at Brass, confused.

"I was just asking because your sparkly blues have been looking dull lately. Have the bed bugs been keeping you awake," Brass asked with a half smile.

Gil tried to hide his laugh. "I just, can't seem to get to bed on time."

"Why don't you stop by my office after work? We could talk, have a drink. What'd you say?"

Gil nodded. "I'll be there."

"Great. I'll see you later then."

Brass left the two men to do their jobs. Gil watched his friend leave then turned back to the roadside and immediately switching to "Grissom mode" as his colleagues like to call it when he got down to business.

At first look, there didn't appear to be a struggle or anything out of the ordinary. The victim was laying face down in the grass in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, just like the second and third victim. There were two exit gun-shot wounds in the victims' back. David gave the okay to touch the body. They immediately turned the body over. Again there were two gun-shot wounds to the chest.

"Why didn't he beat him?" Gil calmly inquired himself.

"The man has been dead five hours. Isn't the body usually kept for a while," David said next to him.

"Yeah, this is the third right?"

"Fourth, I thought Anthony Ramirez was the first vic."

Gil stared at the body in front of him. He didn't remember who Anthony Ramirez was. Making a mental note to review the case once he got back, he stood up from the body. "Are you done with the photos Nick," Gil asked without looking at him.

"Yeah. I found condoms."

Gil looked up. Nick was twenty feet or so into the tall desert grass. "Condoms?"

"Yeah, and one has blood on it."

Gil got up and walked over to Nick. He looked over the condom and immediately shouted to David. "Don't take the body yet. I need to check for assault."

"But there are no other injuries on him" David said from the side of the rode.

"Sexual assault. The blood's on the outside, semen on the inside."

Nick bagged it and the other one. "Are you thinking rape?"

"Yeah...but why two condoms?"

"This is the first time the victim was raped, right? Is this guy evolving?"

"We have two bullet wounds but no bullets and two condoms both with DNA. I don't know what to think."


Gil processed the body and collected evidence that was definitely suggestive of a rape. Then he gave the okay for David to take the body. "Here," he said to David, handing him the evidence bag with the condoms, "take this back with you and give it to Greg at the lab. Tell him to run it before I get back."

After the body was removed, they continued to look around the area. Nick started looking for tire tracks while Gil finished searching the surrounding area. An officer waved to Gil as he ducked under the crime scene tape and started searching outside the main perimeter. He was forty feet out when he heard someone running up behind him.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked from behind him.

"Sleuthing...What are you doing?" Gil deadpanned as he continued walking.

"As a sleuth you should be fired. I passed up tire tracks and footprints on my little run to catch up with you.

Gil stopped in his steps and looked back. Noticing the numbered markers that Nick put down. "Must have been too deep in thought to see them." He glanced over at Nick as they started their way back. "Guess you're a better sleuth than I."

Nick chuckled as he started taking photos of the evidence. "Nah, just more awake. Try to get some sleep tonight."



Hours later, they had all the evidence, or lack thereof, in the back of the truck and were on the way back to the lab. The only good piece of evidence was the condom, and hopefully the guy was in CODIS. Gil let out a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. If this turned out to be a dead end, they would have nothing.


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They arrived back at the lab and Gil left Nick to deal with the autopsy while he tracked down Greg. He walked into the DNA lab and noticed that Greg wasn't there. He stormed into the break room where Greg was getting coffee. "What are you doing?" He literally huffed at the other man.

Greg was startled at the sudden strict voice. "I was getting coffee."

"Are my results done yet?"

"I haven't started on yours yet. I have five DNA samples from Warrick's arson case, five dead, burned beyond recognition. He got here first."

"I don't care about first, Greg. I need to know who my suspect is now!"

Greg nodded quickly and walked by Gil and out the room. "I'll start it right away." He almost bumped into Catherine as he turned to head back to the DNA lab.

Catherine looked after Greg then turned to stare at Gil. "What the hell was that about?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Warrick needed help with the arson, five dead bodies. You can't yell at Greg because he got our DNA samples before yours."

Gil stared at her with intensity in his eyes that Catherine only seen a few times since she has known him. "It's not about first! I have to get the DNA into CODIS so I, we, can find out who our murder suspect is."

"And Warrick has five people to identify," she shot back at him, "our I-15 case can wait."

"No, that can wait! You know that the first 24 hours of a murder investigation is critical. The more hours that go by the more I'm losing evidence!"

"Okay Gil. Calm down. You can explain that to Greg instead of flipping your lid, again. You know, this is the second time you've lost it in two weeks and frankly I think you need to take a break."

"I don't need a break Catherine! I'm-"

"Don't you give me that 'I'm fine' bullshit you've been giving everyone who has the guts to say something to you." She let out a frustrated sigh at the perplexed look on Gil's face, "Fine, whatever Gil. Pretend everything is okay when you look like hell, forgetting things, missing evidence...

His eyes narrowed on her. "You..."

"Me what?" She snapped at him.

"You've been talking to Ecklie." The words were accusing and cold.

She sighed and crossed her arms, "I haven't been talking to anyone, especially Ecklie." Gil inched toward her. She stepped back away from him. His eyes bore into hers, an emotion she had never seen before flickering quickly over his features. "Gil..."

He shook his head and stopped in front of her. When he spoke, his mouth was right by her ear, "Stop it. Whatever you're saying to him, whatever fucking lies you've been telling him, stop. I don't want to have to tell you again." With that he backed away and went to the sink and grabbed his coffee cup.

She stepped back at lost for words. When she finally spoke her voice shook, "Gil?"

He looked over his shoulder at her without easing the intensity in his eyes as he prepared his cup of coffee.

"Look, you're already on edge, and this case isn't helping ease tensions much...you need to take a break, you're not doing to good."

"Don't tell me how I am, how I feel," he stopped beside her as he went to leave the break room, "why don't you get back to your evidence and leave me the hell alone."

Catherine huffed out a frustrated sigh and shook her head as she turned and left the break room. Gil started to sip his coffee as he watched her leave. His head was pounding, heart was racing, and he couldn't stand much longer before his legs gave out. Making his way he passed several labs, each one he passed the techs looked at him briefly before they went back to work. There was no doubt that they had heard him yell at Greg and Catherine.

He shut his office door and locked it, not wanting anyone to interrupt him while he tried to ease his aching head. Swallowing two migraine pills with his coffee he sat down on his sofa and slowly drank the rest of the coffee as he thought.

He really didn't know where that had come from. Exploding on Catherine wouldn't help matters, and where did he get off on accusing her of talking to Ecklie? That notion had come out of nowhere, but the more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself he was right. It was either her or Sara...

A beeping noise brought him out of his thoughts, it was his beeper. Greg wanted him. He left his office and went in search of the CSI/Lab tech. He found Greg still going over Catherine's DNA reports.

Greg turned to face him once he was through with Catherine. "I don't have yours done yet," he said as he looked down at the machine, "but Nick stopped by looking for you, something about having jack and stalking off. So, I decided to beep you."

Gil nodded. "Okay. I'll be...uh, come find me when it's done."

"Are you going to be with Nick?" Greg asked as he stared to process the DNA.

"Yeah, I'll be...with him."

Greg stared after Grissom as he left the lab. "Is it just me, or does Grissom get weirder every day?"

"It's not just you, Greg." Catherine said from behind him.



Gil went in search of Nick after he made a stop in the break room for another cup of coffee. As he went in search for Nick, he realized he didn't remember working on a case that night. In fact, he didn't remember much of that night. He found Nick at a computer and sat down next to him.

"Hey Griss. The autopsy was kind of pointless. We knew how the vic died. And you would think we could get lucky with finding a bullet in the body, but nothing. Two of the three prints I found on the condom wrappers are the victims, one is not. I'm running it through AFIS now." Nick took a sip of his coffee. "So, I heard you had an explosion with Greg and Catherine. What was that about?"

"There was no coffee," Gil deadpanned.

Nick smiled. "I'm serious. Why--"

"Nick." Gil let out a breath. Why would he have an explosion with Greg...Catherine he could understand that.

"Don't tell me, you thought that our case was priority."

Gil sat back in the chair. That was reasonable. "Yeah."

Nick shook his head. "You're such a control freak."

Gil smirked. "I am not." The computer screen stopped its search and started beeping. They had a match. "Brian Crawford."

"He's local," Nick said.

Gil quickly jotted down the address. "Call Brass," he said as he stood.

"I'm on it. Where are you going?"

"To meet him there." Gil was out the door before Nick even got his phone out.

Nick jumped up and ran out the door. "Gil! Grissom! Wait up!"

Gil stopped and turned to see Nick jogging around the corner. Nick stopped in front of him and held up his keys.

"I'm driving, remember?" Nick started to walk beside Gil.

Gil stared ahead and cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, right."


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Nick's Tahoe pulled up to the residence of Brian Crawford just seconds after Brass arrived from the other direction. Gil and Nick both got out and grabbed their kits and followed an officer up to the house. They all stood back while Brass knocked on the door.

After several knocks a man opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Are you Brian Crawford?" Brass asked the man.

"Yeah."

"We need to talk to you about the murder of Carter Matthews. May we come in?"

Brian nodded and opened the door. "Carter's dead?"

"He was found tonight. Have a seat, please." Brass said as he walked into the living room.

Brian sat down and stared up at Brass. "Do you know how?"

"We'll get to that later. Right now I want to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Brian looked around at the other people in the room.

Gil was watching from the sidelines as Brian and Brass walked into the living room. Nick joined Brass and stood on the other side of him. When Brian looked up at Gil, Gil stared right back at him.

Brass noticed Brian looking away from him and up at Gil. Gil's eyes were dead locked on the younger man with a fire burning behind his cold eyes; he looked like he was about ready to kill him. "Uh, Mr. Crawford?" Brass cleared his throat. "Look at me, please."

Brian turned back to Brass, only this time he was nervous. "Good. Now, where were you this evening around 9?" Brass asked him.

"I was here, waiting. We had a date at ten; Carter was supposed to pick me up."

"Is there anyone that can verify that?"

Brian shook his head.

"How come you didn't call the police when he didn't show up?"

"He sometimes forgets and works late. It happened several times before, we'd make plans but he'd forget and tell his boss he could help close up. Sometimes he'd call at three telling me he was sorry."

"Can you explain why your fingerprint was found on a condom wrapper next to his body?"

"I gave him a couple when he ran out to keep in his wallet, you know, just in case."

"When was the last time you and Mr. Matthews had intercourse?"

Brian thought about the question, "Uh, the night before."

"Okay." Brass finished writing and closed his notepad. "We are going to need a sample of your DNA, to rule you out as a suspect."

Brian sat back. "Is that necessary?"

"What's the problem?" Brass asked.

"Nothing, it was just a question."

"Grissom?"

Gil's head shot up from staring at Brian and looked at Brass. Did he miss something? He frowned and his head wrinkle in confusion.

"Swab him." Brass said as he put his notepad in his inside jacket pocket.

"Why can't he do it?" Brian pointed to Nick.

Nick looked over at Grissom who went back to staring at Brian. "Grissom is the primary...lead investigator. He'll swab you."

Brian hesitatingly let Gil take a swab from his mouth. When Brian looked up at Gil again he flinched back and immediately looked back at the floor.

Brass suddenly grabbed Gil's arm and led him out of the house. Once they got off the porch, Brass let go. "What was that all about?"

"Just collecting evidence Jim."

Nick hurried out the door and was hesitant as he looked back and forth between the two men. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, Nick, everything's fine." Brass pulled Grissom away from Nick and stopped them in front of the Tahoe. He motioned for Nick to stay where he was. "What's up with that look? I thought for sure I was going to have to call in back up just to get you out of there before you tore that guy apart."

"I don't like being dragged around like some child, Jim. The next time you want to talk to me in private say so, but don't fucking touch me again." With that Gil opened the passenger side door and climbed in. He honked the horn for Nick.

Nick took his time getting to the Tahoe. He wanted Gil to calm down before he got in with him.

Brass focused his eyes on Nick. "What's his problem?"

Nick shrugged. "I don't know...maybe a migraine."

Brass nodded, "Kept an eye on him will you? I don't want him to do something stupid, like tell off Ecklie."

Nick smiled and nodded. "We don't want that. See ya Brass."


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Gil sat down hard on his sofa in his office. His hands held his head as he breathed deeply through his nose. He snapped at Jim. Expressing any kind of emotions always left him feeling tired, or dead. Being sleep deprived had a lot of side effects, that he knew, but he couldn't control them. He was snapping at everyone, Catherine, Jim, Greg...who was next?

His office was almost completely dark from the lack of light. The desk lamp was on casting a yellow glow over the paperwork, name plate, and frames. This felt empty, he felt empty. Tired, empty...Was that what depression felt like?

As he left his office he realized that he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. Warrick went into the trace lab and started to talk to Hodges about something. He decided to follow.

"Hey Warrick, how's the case going?" Gil said as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Cath went back to the scene, something about lighter fluid being used as an accelerant. I'm running some unknown substance." Warrick reached for his cell phone as it vibrated on his hip. "That's Catherine. I gotta jet. Hodges, call me when the results get done."

"Will do." Hodges turned to Grissom, "Don't you just love having to be a secretary."

Gil raised a brow and turned to leave. Okay, so he wasn't working with Warrick. He saw Nick in the DNA lab with Greg, they were laughing about something. He walked in, but before he could say anything, Nick spoke up.

"DNA came back. The semen in the first condom matches the victim; DNA on outside was unknown. The blood on the second matched the victim as well, and the semen was unknown, but the two unknown samples are the same."

Bingo, he was working with Nicky. Did they have suspect? "Suspect?"

"Don't know yet if Brian's DNA matches."

Minutes later the machine beeped and Greg grabbed the results and compared them to the unknown. "I'm sorry guys, but this isn't a match."

Nick shook his head in disbelief. "We're back to square one."

***

A week went by and they still had nothing. Ecklie finally made his threat of giving Gil temp leave. It became official after shift and Gil was in his office pretending to be going through paperwork, when he was really napping on his desk. His door slam shut and his head shot up from its position lying on top of his folded arms.

Cocking an eyebrow up at the Assistant Director, Gil leaned back in his chair. Ecklie was hovering over him with his best 'I'm so pissed at you' look that Gil actually was nervous. "What do you want?"

Ecklie slammed a sheet down on his desk. "You're on temp leave for the next two weeks. I have orders from the Mayor, Sheriff, and half the LAPD and guys in robes, so its official, Gil. I don't want to see you around here for at least two weeks."

Gil couldn't do anything but stare at the sheet in front of him. Why did he have a two weeks leave? "Conrad..."

"Save it. You also have an appointment with our therapist. It's been a ruff two and a half years, Gil. You need time to get some rest and clear your head, before another case gets compromised because you can't remember ever collecting the evidence."

Gil stared up at Ecklie. "Compromised? I have never compromised a case!" He stood up and slammed his hands down on the sheet. "What are you trying to pull this time? Are you twisting statements to get me out of here?!"

"No one's twisting statements Gil." Ecklie leaned in closer, "I'm doing this for your own good."

"Bullshit. You know what Conrad, I'll give you the two weeks, and I'll also give you my resignation because I don't want to work in a lab where the AD is an asshole!"

Ecklie stepped back and looked at Gil. He really looked at him. "Jesus, Gil. You know what, take as long as you want. Two weeks, a month, I don't care, but I won't take your resignation."

"Cause this lab will go under without me? They do fine without me."

"No, because you're not in the right state of mind to be making that kind of decision!" Ecklie leaned down closer to Gil, "I'm doing this to help you. Take this time off. You'll thank me later."


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Thank him? How in the hell was he supposed to thank him? Work was what got his mind off things. At home he'd just drive himself crazy with nothing to do. Gil threw his stuff down on his sofa and went to the kitchen. After swallowing his migraine pills down, he put coffee on.

He relaxed into the sofa and begun reading over the unsolved I-15 case file. It had been almost month and they still had nothing. There had to be something they missed or passed up as unimportant. He knew solving these cases took time, but how could there be nothing? People, humans, were fallible. They made mistakes all the time, but this guy was perfect. The killer had to know a lot about crime scenes and evidence to not leave anything and to clean up so perfectly.

The lab always wanted to set up a system with all the employers DNA in it, just in case something was to happen, they have their prints in AFIS, but now he wished they had their DNA too. If this person knew this much about forensic, maybe they were one of them. He wanted to disregard that thought, but it was possible.

He let out a frustrated sigh and kicked off his shoes and leaned back against the sofa. He couldn't think; he was too exhausted.

His bedroom was pitch black as he shuffled through the door. Numb, he wanted to be comfortably numb, he thought as he stuck his head under the cold tap water from his bathroom sink.

As he looked up in the mirror his breath caught at how horrible he looked. When did he get so...old? His eyes were bloodshot and hollow, bags were big and grey under his eyes, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes were more apparent, and he was pale and just...dull looking. It looked like he had aged twenty years.

Slipping out of his clothes he crawled into bed. He didn't hear Nick come into the townhouse or him getting into the shower. Sleep took Gil easily.


He was in his townhouse, but the room was fading into blackness from the night. The room was tilting side-to-side and he was feeling seasick. He heard someone start to talk so he turned to look toward the front door. Nick was in mid-turn when he started to speak. "So, I'll just call--"

"Shut up." He almost didn't recognize his own voice it was so cold. He saw how it made Nick flinch.

"Griss--" Nick went to say.

He watched himself, out of body and like a director rolling film, as he grabbed Nick by the shirt collar. Nick searched for words, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth as he looked into his own. Nicks' eyes widen, he must have realized the emotion and intention in his eyes.

"Why were you in that club?" His words sounded as sharp as a razor blade. He felt his heart pound great waves throughout his body. His dilated pupils never left Nick's as he watched him search for words.

"I...uh, c-couldn't sleep so I went out looking for something to do. I stopped, the club... it looked like a fun place..." The words stumbled out of Nick.

"Hmm." His lips pursed as he thought. "Did you have any idea what kind of people were in there?"

"W-what?" Nick managed to shake out of his mouth.

"Did you," he asked louder, gripping the neck tighter.

"No, but--" Nick managed to get out before he'd completely collapsed against the metal door, his legs finally giving out.

Nicks' eyes were slowly closing, confusion and drunkenness setting in. He let go of Nick and continued to stare, brows furrowed, mouth tight, and eyes prying. "You can sleep on the couch," he finally heard himself say.

Nicks' mouth dropped. "I don't--"

His eyes narrowed at Nick. Nick swallowed again then nodded. "Okay."



Gil tried to move but felt constriction and pain immediately rushed through his chest. A high pitch noise, a scream, filled his ears. When the realization hit that it was his own voice he slammed his mouth shut and rode the pain out through clenched teeth. The taste of chopper made him ease up as his tongue bled.



Nick was just starting to get ready for bed when he heard something shattering and a high pitched scream. He quickly stumbled up in the dark room and shuffled over the carpeted floor, kicking his shoes out of the way as he rushed to hallway, and he quickly headed up the stairs.

A cry came from Gil's bedroom. Nick crept along the floor and slowly opened the door. Another muffled cry escaped Gils' lips then he started fidgeting and twitching in the sheets. Nick noticed a lamp that must have been on the side table was shattered in the corner.

Nick sat on the side of the bed; he could feel Gil shaking next to him. He instantly pulled the sheet up, thinking Gil might be cold. When he moved his arms around Gil, Gil grabbed hold of his right wrist and held on as tight as he could.

"Shit," he gasped under his breath. He tried prying Gil's fingers off but they kept getting tighter.

Then the noise Gil was making got louder as Nick continued to fight with the arm squeezing and pushing him away. He watched anxiously as Gil went from shaking to trembling and mumbling.

Nick couldn't make out most of the words, he didn't have too. The twisted, horrified look caused a cold shiver to run down his spine and his mouth to go dry. He remembered his own memories of having these types of nightmares. Night terrors were what they were called.

Suddenly Gil let his arm go and relaxed back into sleep. Nick stood and left the room when he saw Gils' eyes fluttering open. He didn't want Gil to think he was prying in his room while he was asleep. Plus, he didn't know how to confront Gil about his night terrors just yet. He would wait for Gil to wake up first then he'd ask him.

Nick was sitting on the sofa nursing a cup of coffee when Gil strolled into the kitchen.

"Why were you in my room?"

Nicks' head snapped up and stared at Gil as he turned to the kitchen. "I heard a noise. Decided to check it out."

"What was it?" Gil asked, generally concerned.

Nick spoke calmly. "You were screaming in your sleep."

Gil stiffened and turned to look at Nick. He went to speak but nothing came out, a breath escaped instead, and he went back to preparing his cup of coffee. He looked at the clock on the microwave. Shit, he had only gotten an hour of sleep.

Nick sat down on a stool in front of the kitchen island and watched Gil as he went through the process of making breakfast. Every thing was done in order. Gil never strayed from the systematic way he did things once he found the exact flow.

Nick absently rubbed his right wrist, the one Gil had grabbed, as he watched the older man. "You want to talk about it?"

Gil shook his head as took out the eggs. "It's nothing." Happens all the time, especially in the last month, he wanted to say but didn't.

"I seriously doubt that. I've had night terrors before. I know how to recognize them when--"

"Nick!" Gil turned to face the younger man. Nick had sat back from the harsh use of his name. He steadied his voice before he continued, "It's nothing..." he trailed off as he caught sight of the bruise on Nick's wrist.

Nick traveled Gil's concerned eyes to his own wrist. He slid it away from the counter top and rested it in his lap. "I was trying to cover you up when you were shaking and...I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm the one that hurt you."

"Yeah, but, it was an accident. I shouldn't have tried to..."

"Help me? Nick," Gil sighed, not wanting to take the conversation any further, "How do you want your eggs?"

Nick wasn't relieved with the sudden change of subject, but Gil wasn't going to talk if he kept pushing, "Scrambled, just like always."

Gil nodded and went back to cooking. Nick kept watching him the whole time. It seemed like everything Gil did was in precise order. He was sure that this looked just like every other time he'd watched him make scrambled eggs.

Nothing changed, from the way Gil mixed the eggs to adding the shredded cheese at the end, it was the same. Nick betted himself that Gil could make him breakfast blind folded and he'd do it exactly the same.

"Why do you do that?" Nick asked after several minutes.

"Do what?"

"Everything is in order."

Gil didn't say anything as he went back to cooking.

After several minutes of silence, Nick decided to push once more. "It helps, you know, to talk about things. Dr. Philip made me talk about every nightmare I had and after I was done I felt better, and they stopped recurring as often. I think you should start talking to someone about what's bothering you. Gil...just, tell me about your dream. You don't have to try to express anything. Just relate the dream back to me, just like you would facts about a crime scene. I'm just saying, maybe telling it out loud will keep it from reoccurring."

Gil turned around and stared at Nick for what seemed like hours before he breathed out a breath. "Fine, it's...I have many dreams. Most are about cases, some are about...personal things. Okay." He took a deep breath and stared at Nick, "That's it."


"Gil," Nick leaned back and shook his head. Gil wasn't going to tell him anything he didn't want to tell. "Nothing."

Gil stared into Nicks' eyes looking for something like 'this isn't over Gil' because there was no way Nick gave up that easily. "I don't remember much of my dreams, Nick." He shook his head as the images of the pervious dream, nightmare, surfaced in his head. He was desperate to know if that really happened. Not remembering shit was one thing, but grabbing a colleague, his Nicky, by the throat was something completely different.

His heart was pounding in his ears at jus the thought that maybe it did happen. Something unexplainable, like intuition rose in his soul and mind, he did it. That night, when Nick had first stayed there, the night he didn't remember, he hurt Nick. "Nick, did...Did I ever, hurt you?"

Nick closed his eyes at the soft whisper of that question; he shook his head. He wasn't expecting that. He never thought that Gil would be having nightmares over...that. "No, you didn't. You were tired, I was drunk, and..."

"Stop making excuses and answer me."

Nick looked up at the sharp tone of Gil's voice. He stared into Gil's eyes. "I said no, Gil. You never hurt me."

Gil's brow wrinkled a little in confusion for a moment then he nodded. He was seldom at a lost for words and surprised, but he didn't know what to say. He had physically harmed a colleague, and Nick was defending him. He continued to stare at Nick who was staring right back at him until the smoke alarm went off. Turning around, he quickly grabbed the skillet off the stove. "I think breakfast is done."


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They ate in silence for a long time, neither one knew exactly what to say. Nick kept looking at Gil's plate. Gil had hardly eaten any of his food before he took it into the kitchen and sat it in the sink. They'd been eating on the sofa and watching a show on the Discovery channel before they had to go to work. Gil never had a television in his living room before Nick moved in.

Nick finished his food and looked over at him. "I've wanted to ask you something."

Gil turned his head slightly and looked over his shoulder at Nick. He cleared his throat and turned fully towards the other man, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Nick laughed at the frightened look on his face. "It's nothing serious. It's just, I've lived here for a few weeks now and I still don't know what that door leads to." He pointed at the door under the staircase.

Gil let out a breath and smiled. "That's the garage."

"How come you don't use it?"

"I do, just not for my car." Gil hid his laugh from a now curious Nick Stokes. "Go ahead, you can open it."

Nick stood and quietly walked to the door and opened the door. Staring back at Nick was a giant lizard. "Oh shit!" He jumped and went to back up when he hit something solid. Nick turned and came face-to-face with Gil. "Griss...Gil, t-there's a giant lizard."

Gil was still trying to control his laugher. "Calm down, Nick. It's a Varanus Komodoensis, Komodo Dragon."

"A-a what? You have a Komodo Dragon?!"

Gil shrugged. "Yeah. He's better than a dog, can run as fast as a dog if not faster, depends...Anyway, see," he pointed just inside the door. There was another door off the 12 by 12 room, "That door leads to the garage. He makes sure no one gets in...or out."

"I'd say. Anyone who tries to break into this house will quickly leave." Nick got his breathing under control. "How come I've never seen him before?"

"I keep him in here when I'm at work. He sleeps at night, gets sun during the day. I used to let him out during the day but the neighbors complained. I have a fence, but they kept complaining anyway. So, I usually let him out to roam around the house when I get home, but since you moved in..." Gil trail off while staring at Nick.

"Oh, I'm cool with him being out. He doesn't bit does he?"

"Well," Gil shrugged, "he hasn't yet."

"These things are carnivorous, right? People have died from them!"

"Nick, I've taken every liberty to make sure no one dies from Puff. He's practically harmless." Gil looked down at the Kimono Dragon and smiled.

Nick stared back at him in bewilderment. "Puff?"

Gil nodded never taking his eyes off the Komodo. "Yeah, Puff the Kimono Dragon."

Nick was biting back his laughter. "Isn't it 'Puff the Magic Dragon'?"

Gil looked up at Nick like he should understand the choice of name. "He's not magic, but I loved that song when I was a kid. And...." he trailed off when Nick's laughter filled the room. "What? It's a perfectly good name."

"It's just, you. The name's perfect." Nick sat back down on the sofa and got his laughter under control. "You know, I'd really wish you'd tell me these things before I open up doors and find giant lizards behind them."

Gil's smile faded. "I...what?" He asked in confusion, "Why would I?"

Nick shook his head. "Because we're friends...Why don't you talk to me like you do with Catherine and Jim?"

Gil pursed his lips in thought and shrugged. "You know me, Nicky. I'm an extremely private man. I don't like making my personal life known. It took me a long time to...openly talk to Cath and Jim."

Nick nodded and looked back at the table. "It's just...I thought we were close."

Gil let out a breath and closed his eyes. He didn't know why Nick was so upset with him not talking to him. Sitting down in the recliner, he rubbed the back of his neck, "Nick. Nicky, I'm just not good with people."

"See, I don't understand that. Help me understand that, Gil. Please. Your arm was wrapped in a bandage last week, why? I know you haven't slept for more than one or two hours and that's every other day. Talk to me, I want to help you."

They looked at each other for a long moment; they finally looked away when a phone rang. It was Nick's cell. Nick went into the kitchen to answer it.

Gil sat back in the recliner, debating on what to tell Nick, if anything, about himself. As soon as he let Nick move in, he knew this was going to happen. He grabbed his glass of milk and accompanied Nick in the kitchen. He emptied his cup into the sink muttering under his breath, "I need caffeine" and started a pot of coffee then turned to face Nick who was leaning against the counter. "You have siblings, right?"

Nick was staring at his cell. "What?"

"You have brothers and sisters?"

Nick looked up and nodded. "Yes. I have one brother and five sisters."

Gil crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. "Parents still together?"

"For over forty years, you know that."

"You're right, I do, and I know that that's the reason why you're good with people and families, Nick. You've had experience with siblings growing up that helped you understand people. You have a mom and dad, who are still together, and that also helped you." He took a breath. Bare it all or shut up, "I never had that, Nick. I'm the only child, my parents split up when I was five, my mom's deaf, my dad died when I was nine, and friends," he shrugged, "...they never seemed to stay around long enough. I've been basically alone my whole life. Those things are what made me who I am." He found two coffee cups and filled them with the freshly brewed coffee and handed one to Nick.

Nick sipped his cup of coffee and studied Gil. "The hermit shares."

Gil stared at him before a smirk placed across his lips. He shook his head, "I'm far from being a hermit, Nick. Just because no one's with me when I go out, doesn't mean I don't." He left the kitchen feeling extremely exposed and walked back into the living room. He stopped next to a wall and stared at his butterfly collection while he sipped his coffee.

Nick stood in the entryway of the kitchen with his cup in his hand and leaned against the frame. "Why do you believe that?"

Gil turned and faced Nick. "Believe what?"

"That no one will ever be there for you?"

Gil shrugged. "It's a fact. No one ever has-"

Nick pushed himself off the wall. "Just because no one ever has doesn't mean no one ever will. Damn it. Look around you. What about me? The thing is you won't let anyone in. You've got this thick, huge ass wall around you. You have to make the decision on whether you want people in your life. It's not fact, Gil, it's a lie made by your choices!"

Gil stood facing Nick with a complete loss for words. What did he do to deserve that? All he did was state a fact. A fact that was never going to change, it hasn't changed in fifty years. He watched Nick empty his cup into the sink then walk by him to the front door. He didn't understand what was happening. In a matter of seconds everything slipped from him, he didn't feel anything as Nick walked by him. He was tired, too tired for this. He did have a wall and it closed up completely in a second.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you, but..." Nick stopped speaking as he heard glass shatter behind him. He spun around and saw Gil standing staring at the wall. Nick realized the case the butterfly collection that was on the wall was now lying broken in front of Gil's feet. "Gil?"

Gil stepped away from the broken glass and quickly to the stairs toward his bedroom. Nick was on his heels.

"Gil?"

"Go to work Nick. I'm fine." The door shut on the last word and Nick was left in deafening silence in the middle of the hallway.


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Nick walked into the police department and immediately tracked down Brass who was in his office. The door slammed behind him as he entered the office. Brass looked away from his computer screen and stared at the younger man.

"Looking into breaking doors now Stokes?" Brass said as he turned around to face the CSI.

"Grissom isn't sleeping," Nick yelled out.

Brass stared at him. "I'll alert the press. 'Grissom can't sleep. News at eleven'."

"This isn't funny Brass!"

"Calm down, Nicky. Gil barely sleeps. If you asked him what was up before you barged into my office, I wouldn't have to have my door replaced."

Nick stalked around the office. He then dropped down hard in the chair. "Can I trust you with something?"

"It depends." Brass said coldly.

Nick sighed. "Grissom has been acting weird, not sleeping--"

Brass lifted an eyebrow. "What else is new?"

Nick was getting fed up. "Brass, I mean, he hasn't been sleeping at all. Its, he's been hitting walls, breaking tables, and he can't remember anything. Sometimes I talk to him and it's like he's not there, you know." He looked down then back up at Brass. "He broke one of his butterfly collections today before work. One minute we were laughing about Puff--"

Brass stared in confusion, "Who's Puff?"

Nick smiled, "His Komodo Dragon. He named him Puff the Kimono Dragon..."

Brass lifted both of his eyebrows, "As in 'Puff the Magic Dragon'?"

"Yeah, anyway that's not important. Gil, just...flipped out, but he said he'd be fine."

"Do you know what's causing this? His lack of sleep?" Brass was concerned now.

"No, he won't talk to me. I know he's been having night terrors, but nothing specific." There was no way he was telling Jim about that evening with Gil earlier. "Look, you can't let him know I told you, okay. He'll just deny everything."

Brass nodded in agreement. The last thing they needed was Gil shutting down and distrusting them completely.

***

Gil stayed in his room until he heard Nick leave. His breathing was becoming ridged and his pulse was racing at well over 95. His nails dug into the palm of his hand as his fists clenched tighter. He lost it, again. There was no controlling this, his anger, insomnia, and himself. It was getting too much, he couldn't take on all of this, not alone. Probably not even with help.

He wanted to leave. Get the hell out of Vegas, go to the ocean, escape into the abyss, depths of the ocean, maybe it held the answers. A laugh built up in his chest and escaped through his clenched tight teeth. He wasn't thinking clearly. California didn't hold anything for him. What was once there was lost a long time ago.

He pushed himself away from the door he'd been leaning against and left the room. The air conditioning kicked on and started to fill the townhouse with a numbing 45 degrees. It was scorching outside at a high of 120. He'd rather be numb than hot, but that didn't stop him from filling a cup with coffee.

He grabbed the newspaper off of the kitchen island and went out onto the back porch with it. A pack of cigarettes was still on the small table next to the chair on the little patio. Lighting one up then started to flip through the classifieds in the paper. Nick wasn't searching for a new apartment, so he was doing it for him.

Sipping on his coffee and taking a drag off the cigarette he spotted the perfect ad for Nick. He called the number for the apartment on his cell phone and found out that the guy who used to live there before had Lygophobia, the phobia of dark places, so the whole apartment was aligned with lights, the security was top-notch, and the complex even had a gym with a full basketball court. The place was perfect.

Nick had stuff scattered all over his townhouse to the point that it didn't look like much of his home anymore. A basketball sat in his chair with a gym bag next to it, bird magazines were mixed in with his forensic journals, dust no longer collected on his art collections or his tables, he had a television in his living room, and lazy-boy next to his sofa.

It wasn't Nick's things that made him upset, it was his own things. His things were empty. They had no life to them. Dead bugs, dead butterflies, dead journals, dead books that he has read so many times he could recite them for beginning to end then back again. He down the cup of coffee and stomped on his cigarette butt as he stood to go back inside. The townhouse was dead, and he might as well be.

The sliding door clicked behind him. Something deep within him surfaced, clicked into place just like the sliding door. His mind focused on one thing as he went through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. He hated this, everything. Most of all, himself, and he didn't know why. What was causing him to ache like this, mentally, physically, emotionally?

He found the baseball bat in his closet, where it always was. Even if this wasn't what he should be doing, it was deserved, at least that was what his sleep deprived mind told him. He had it coming.

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"Sir!"

Someone was yelling at him through a thick solid wall...or at least that was what it sounded like. Gil turned his head toward the direction of the noise. A State Trooper was shining a flashlight in his eyes. He sat up start in his car and looked around. He didn't even remember leaving his townhouse. The window came down easy. "Yes, officer?"

Was that his voice? It sounded so ruff and slurred.

The trooper looked over the car then back at Gil. "Are you okay?" The officer straightened up, "I saw you pull off the road after you swerved through both lanes. I'm going to have to see your license, proof of insurance, and registration."

Gil nodded and quickly got out all three cards and hanged them to the officer. "Can I get out of the car? I need to stretch."

The officer looked at his license and other two forms while nodding his head. Gil got out of the car and stretched his legs. He surveyed the highway and realized he'd been driving southwest toward California on the I-15. He must have pulled over to rest. The trooper said he was swerving. He knew better than to drive, but he hadn't been thinking straight for a long time now.

The car felt good as he leaned back against the door. He was tired, too tired. The clock read 2:16 am. The interstate was dark and deserted except for his and the troopers' car. Gil looked over at the trooper, it was hard to see in the almost pitch dark, but he thought he recognized the trooper.

"Gil Grissom, I've heard of you. You work with the crime lab." The trooper handed back his information. The trooper studied him and the car before he talked again, "Have you been drinking?"

Gil pushed himself away from the car. That voice sounded familiar too, but he couldn't place it. Maybe he would recognize the name. "I haven't been sleeping much Officer..."

"Doyle."

"Doyle." That didn't ring any bells. He had to urge to take the flashlight away from the trooper so he could see clearly what the trooper looked like, but he would probably end up in jail for that. "I pulled over to catch a little rest before I ended up in an accident..." Not like there was anyone else out driving toward California at 2 am, "I'm..." sorry? Would never do it again? What the hell do you say to a trooper to get out of a ticket? He'd never gotten one before.

"Mr. Grissom, I'm not going to write you up. But I am going to have to call in a tow truck." Trooper Doyle radioed in for a tow truck while Grissom looked on down the highway.

You should have just kept going, the voice in his head kept telling him. Home was that way. There was nothing in Vegas for you, not anymore. He leaned back against the car and stared at the depth of darkness in front of him. That was the abyss. That was where all his emotions were, where he put his heart and soul into, a big, open, black abyss. He wondered how long it'd take his team to find him if he died out here in the desert. The beetles would only take...

"Are you heading to California?"

Gil quickly snapped out of thoughts and looked at the officer. "No."

Trooper Doyle nodded. "I'll stay here with you until the truck gets here. Steve's a good man, he'll take you home."

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On his way back he kept thinking about Nick. The last thing he remembered was Nick yelling at him. He made coffee, talked about his family then...he couldn't remember. He looked down at his hands and noticed that they were cut and bruised. He frowned and stared at his hand until the car behind them honked. The light was green. His first thought was why there was s a streetlight in the middle of the interstate before the city around him came into focus. He was back in the city. It was a good thing he wasn't driving. He didn't even understand how he got from his townhouse to ten miles before he reached California without driving off the road.

Steve dropped him and his car off in front of his townhouse a little past four in the morning. Graveyard was still on, so Nick wasn't due back for another three hours.

It wasn't until he started up his driveway that he actually felt something, he felt afraid. He didn't know why he was afraid to go into his house. It was the one place that was supposed to be his and only his, where he could go to get away, to be alone, to have peace, and to just be.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket while still staring at his cut up hand. When did that happen? He needed to see a doctor, and not just the kind that put stitches in your hand.

As soon as he walked into his townhouse he froze. The house was almost destroyed. Everything that was his, artwork, picture frame, and anything else that was breakable was shattered all over the floor. The hallway was the same. The kitchen didn't look any better. There were broken glasses, plates, blender, and he saw blood on the floor. He checked his office and found the computer was smashed and the desk was shoved against the wall and on its side. The whole office was in disarray.

He went through his whole house, feeling lost in every room. He came to the guest room and took a breath before opening it up. To his surprise, everything of Nick's room was intact and still nicely placed in his room. He closed the bedroom door and leaned against it.

"...son-of-a-bitch."

He stayed leaning against the door for a long time.

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Gil kept thinking about Nick, which he did the whole time while he cleaned up his house. He didn't even hear the piano and cellos coming from his speakers. He didn't even know if Nick was here when all this happened. He'd done this before, but not to this extent. He nearly destroyed his house in LA before he came to Vegas. He blamed it on stress, like always.

After everything was cleaned up he had almost nothing left, except for his stereo, which was miraculously still attached, the coffeemaker, and his cell phone which was ringing. He found his cell phone on the kitchen counter. It was Jim. He found a coffee mug unbroken in the dishwasher and started to make coffee as he answered the phone.

"Grissom."

"Hey Gil." There was a pause then Jim cleared his throat. "So, how are you?"

"Why'd you ask?"

"You said you had to go to see a doctor when I called earlier. I tried calling you an hour ago, got no answer."

"I was out. And I forgot to turn on the cell. I was about to come in after I make coffee."

Jim huffed out a laugh, "I knew you couldn't stay out of the lab. I know you're not supposed to come in because of your two weeks leave..."

He had a two week leave?

"...but everyone is out on a case and Ecklie's in a meeting."

"What is it?" Gil set the coffeemaker and waited for Jim's answer

"We have another 419 on I-15, this time ten miles from the Nevada/California border. Ecklie said it was all right if you came out here to give us a hand, but you have to go home immediately after you collect. So, put the coffee in a thermos and get out here."

Gil stared at the coffeemaker in front of him. "I'm on my way."

Before he left he went into the bathroom to clean up his wounded hands. His head felt like it was on fire and it was pounding so hard. He ducked his head under the cold water, felling his head numb quickly and the fire ceased for a little while. He didn't bother to towel off as he left the bathroom and changed his clothes. He downed two of his pills and placed the bottle in his pocket. Then grabbed his coffee and left.

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The sun was starting to rise when Gil pulled up behind a cop car an hour after Brass called. He had to pull over a couple of times so he wouldn't run into the oncoming traffic. Insomnia was a bitch.

Gil found Brass standing talking to an officer and a CSI he had never seen before. The CSI looked up at Gil and watched as he made his way over to the scene. The CSI's face frowned as he looked Gil up and down. Gil sat his kit down next to the yellow crime-scene tape and surveyed the area.

"Another quick kill. Have you started yet?" Gil looked over at the young CSI. An eyebrow lifted as he saw both of them looking at him.

"Grissom," Jim was the first to speak, "have you been boxing. You look like hell, and I'm just talking about the bags under your eyes."

Gil frowned; the biting inquiry wasn't lost on him. Jim was upset, but so was he. "It's my first night off, if you want me to stay then let me do my job. Who's that?"

They were both taken back by the spitefulness that wasn't remotely concealed in Gil's voice.

"I'm Kevin Moore, CSI from..."

Gil ducked under the tape without letting the guy finish and went up to David. The dead man was face down when he approached, as David turned him over, he flinched back as he recognized the man. It was the bartender at the club he picked Nick up at, Johnny. He quickly regained himself and went about taking photos of the body.

Behind him, still standing by the vehicles, the CSI from days, Kevin, turned to Brass. "What the hell's wrong with him?"

Brass sighed and shrugged. "Wouldn't you be upset if you were called in on your day off?"

"Yeah, but he's Gil Grissom, I've heard that he doesn't have days off."

Brass huffed out a laugh. "Don't believe everything you hear."

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"I'm leaving." Gil stuck his head into Catherine's office. He wasn't supposed to go back to the lab, but he didn't care. Kevin from days didn't look that all impressive to him, so he followed the young kid back to the lab.

"Gil!" She yelled after him from her desk.

He stopped mid-step and turned back. "Yeah?"

"I got a call from Philip. He said you didn't come in."

He shifted away from the door frame. Ecklie had ordered him to see Philip, the department psychiatrist, he had forgotten. He sat down in the chair in front of her desk. "I," he stopped wanting to choose his words wisely, "I'm seeing a different doctor."

"Why?" She calmly asked him.

Did she have to do this now? He was tired. For once he wanted to go home and sleep. "That's all you need to know. Now, I'm going home."

She put her hands on her hips in frustration. "Gil..."

That was it. He abruptly stood, "Catherine!" Standing too quickly caused him to get dizzy. The room tilted in his view and he shook his head to get it to stop.

She came around his desk and grabbed both of his arms. She was concerned. "Gil?"

"Cath..." his words came out slurred and desperate, "you, shouldn't...Get away, please."

Her grip on his arms tightened as he started to fall sideways, "No, you need to sit down." She lightly pushed him back down into the seat.

He didn't fight her as he was eased into the chair. The room was spinning and his body ached with fatigue and pain. Lowering his head into his hands he heard Catherine leave the room. Before he knew it she was back with Nick.

"I need you to take him home." Catherine said to Nick as they entered the room. "Philip prescribed him some sleeping pills." She handed him the prescription.

"Sure. I'll take his car and get a cab back." Nick helped Gil up. "Don't worry Cath. He'll be fine. I'll stop by the pharmacy on the way home."

The drive home was silent. Nick kept glancing over at Gil. Gil had insisted on driving, but Nick was glad to have accepted the keys as Gil handed them over.

Gil cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the road as they continued. "I saw a listing in the paper the other day for an apartment. I called them up to see about it, they got everything you're looking for. The guy who lived there before had Lygophobia, phobia of dark places, and the complex even has a gym with a full basketball court."

Nick stared straight ahead as he continued to drive. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You want me to move out?"

Gil took a quick glance over at the younger man. "You said this was temporary, Nick. I wasn't expecting you to stay forever."

The truth was it hurt Gil to have Nick there. At first it was fun and they had a good time, but since Ecklie forcing him to have two weeks off, he had time to think things over. He liked, and needed, to be alone.

He couldn't be anything more to Nick then just a friend. Having Nick stay there was a constant reminder of what he wanted but couldn't have and it was killing him. Nick had suffered enough, through his temper, night terrors, and silent treatment. Nick had to move out, before he ended up hurting the younger man more than he had already.

Once they got to the townhouse, Nick helped Gil through the front door of the townhouse and led him into his bedroom.

"Okay." He let Gil set down on the bed. Gil didn't look good, Nick noted as he stood back from the bed. "I'm going to use your truck and go to the pharmacy, k? I'll be back soon."

The trip to the drug store and back didn't take long. Nick walked back through Gil's front door 30 minutes later reading the front page of the morning paper. The radio was on and playing "A Day in The Life" by The Beatles.

He shuffled off his shoes by the door, deposited his keys and change in the small antique dish on the table by the door without ever glancing up. This has become routine by now. He wandered through the wide open rooms straight to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He could smell the Columbian mix from outside. Something else was in the air, smoke. There was a cigarette lit in the ashtray on the coffee table. Gil smoked?

Tossing the paper on the island and depositing the bag with the sleeping pills in it on the counter, he went about preparing his cup when a sound from the garage pulled his attention away. He barely heard the noise over the radio. He frowned in confusion, glancing behind him and towards the sound of the noise.

"Has to be Gil" Nick sighed under his breath and slowly approached the door.

Just as Nick was about to pull the door open the door opened and Gil emerged. Nick jumped at the sight of the older man. He quickly regained control and shook his head at him. "What are you doing? You should be in bed." Nick practically yelled. "I can take care of Puff you know."

Gil quirked an eyebrow and let out a breath. He slowly walked by Nick and deposited himself on the sofa. "I'm bored," was his only response.

Nick got Gil a cup of coffee too and went to the sofa. "Are you tired?" He watched surprised as Gil took a drag from the cigarette. The sliding door to the back porch was open and the window behind the sofa with the fans was open too and the fans were going. At least Gil was trying to air out the house.

Gil took the offered cup and lazily took a sip. "No."

Nick had realized that Gil had grown more reserved then before. Nick stared at the table in front of them. Before, they used to talk after work about cases, baseball, and the newest "Myth Busters" episode. Now, Nick sighed with disappointment, they hardly talked at all.

Nick looked over at Gil and noticed he was softly singing along to the song. It was Paul McCartney's part.

"Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head, found my way downstairs and drank a cup, and looking up I noticed I was late, found my coat and grabbed my hat, made the bus in seconds flat, found my way upstairs and had a smoke, and somebody spoke and I went into a dream."

It wasn't lost on Nick that the townhouse looked different. He just didn't know what to say, or how to say it.

Gil sat back against the sofa and continued to sing, this time louder. "I read the news today, oh boy, four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire, and though the holes were rather small, they had to count them all, now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall, I'd love to turn you on."

The song was over and another one didn't come on, must have been the end of the CD. "What CD was that?"

Gil glanced over at him, "Sergeant Peppers."

"Oh," Nick went back to drinking his coffee. "You smoke?" Why was it so hard to make small talk, Nick asked himself as he stared at the ashtray.

"A long time. I usually don't, but..." Gil trailed off as he took a sip.

Nick waited for him to continue but it didn't happen. Finally after a few minutes, Nick got the courage to ask about the house. "Did you do spring cleaning or something?" Good one, Nick, he thought and wanted to pound his head on the table in front of him.

Gil took a sip of the coffee, he didn't hear Nick. Nick looked over and noticed the dazed look from Gil. He waved a hand in front of Gil and still didn't get an answer. He tapped Gil on the shoulder.

Gil felt something on him and turned to see Nick staring at him, concerned. When did Nick come over? Man, he was losing it. "What?" It was more of a question to himself than Nick, but Nick took it as a question for him to repeat himself.

"What happened to your stuff? All your art, pictures, butterfly collections...they're all gone."

Nick wished he could take the question back at the sight of Gil getting up and going into the kitchen with his coffee cup.

Nick quickly followed. He leaned against the counter next to Gil and looked into the living room. "Gil, I'm sorry for asking but--" when he turned to face Gil he noticed that Gil was staring off into space again. He tried to get Gil's attention but it didn't work.

Nick stood watching Gil for five minutes as he tried to wake Gil out of whatever place he was in that made his face cringed in pain and hurt, but Gil wouldn't move. Gil didn't even blink his eyes.

Gil finally blinked and recoiled into calm composed, grabbed his coffee cup, and then retreated from the kitchen and went to his room. Nick did nothing but watch.

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A day later, Gil was staring at the white tile floor in Philip's office. He was ready to get this meeting over with so he could get on with his life. Nick was waiting outside the door reading a sports magazine trying to give him some privacy.

Philip kept asking him questions and getting very little, vague responses in return as Gil continued to stared at the floor. His mind was on the events that led up to this. He still couldn't remember much of anything. He told the Philip that he was sleeping and his memory was improving, but that was a lie. He wasn't sleeping, even with the sleeping pills Philip prescribed him. He still kept waking up sweating and hyperventilating.

"Gil?"

Gil looked up at Philip. The doctor was right in front of him. "Do the sleeping pills work?"

Gil nodded his head. "I'm fine, Philip."

Philip frowned back, obviously not believing him, but there wasn't much he could do. It wasn't like he could keep Gil in his office.

Before Gil knew it he was leaving the office with another prescription of sleeping pills, ones that were stronger and only required him to swallow one at night and not two.

Once Gil was gone, Philip picked up his phone and dialed a number. "Jim? Hey, it's Philip. We've got to talk....Its about Gil."

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Gil studied himself in the mirror as he went about brushing his teeth. He debated about shaving his beard but decided against it. It wasn't like it mattered, no one cared. He looked at his watch, Jim would be there soon. Jim wanted to see how he was, make sure everything went all right with Philip. He tried to tell Jim that he was fine but he insisted on coming over.

He went to get the bottle of migraine pills out of his medicine cabinet and found that they weren't in there. He left the bathroom to go find the pill bottle. Before he found it there was a knock on the front door. He shuffled across the floor and opened it.

Jim hesitated in his tracks because he certainly wasn't expecting the sight of the man that suddenly appeared before him. Gil was standing in front of the door with a toothbrush in his mouth and a towel wrapped around his waist, and that was it.

Gil looked back and forth around the yard. "Jim..."

Jim huffed out a laugh. "Move."

Jim didn't give a half-naked Gil any mind as he walked through the entryway. After all, he had seen Gil in much less, that man didn't have any modesty in his own home. "What happened?"

Gil continued to stare at as he moved away from the door. "What do you'd mean?"

Jim moved into the living room. "With Philip...how did the session go?"

Gil followed Jim into the living room. He shrugged, "Fine, I guess. I got some more sleeping pills."

"They don't look like they've been working."

Gil sighed in annoyance and went upstairs. "I'll be back."

It seemed like hours before Gil went back into the living room. He forgot that Jim was there. He couldn't believe that he his memory was so bad he couldn't remember that Jim was there. He also got a call from Nick, who was staying over at Greg's. Nick said not to worry, that he'd have his stuff moved out of the townhouse in a week. When in the hell did Nick decide to leave?

Jim stood up from the sofa when Gil walked back into the room. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but the way Gil had been acting lately and the call he got from Philip, he was worried. He walked around the coffee table and stopped when Gil turned suddenly and went into the kitchen.

Gil grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and found the migraine bottle on top of the coffeemaker...okay. He turned on the faucet and resisted the urge to put his head under the water as he grabbed a Styrofoam cup that Nick had gotten and filled it. His throat felt ruff as he downed two of his pills. He didn't want coffee right now, he wanted a drink of something a lot stronger, and so he filled a cup with half coffee, half whiskey, and ignored the voice in his head that he couldn't have alcohol with his migraine medicine.
A person who stayed awake for 24 hours had a reduced hand-to-eye coordination that was similar to having a blood alcohol content of 0.1. The thought of what one shot to the system with no sleep would do entered his mind, but it didn't last long.

"Are you going to tell me why you look like you just woke up on the side of the street?" Jim asked as he walked into the kitchen.

Gil continued to stare at the coffeepot. "Cause I did." He smirked as he looked over at Jim who was studying him.

"Come on bro...What's up with you?"

Gil went back to staring at the coffeepot. Jim was trying to cheer him up, but he wasn't in the mood for it. "Jim, there's nothing to tell."

"You look like hell and there's nothing to tell."

Gil could tell that Jim just went into detective mode. "An untamed beard isn't hell."

"It's enough." Jim leaned against the refrigerator. "What's going on with you? Nick came to see me the other day. He said that you haven't been sleeping, breaking things, losing your concentration and memory. I didn't know what to do about it until yesterday at the crime scene. Then I get a call from Philip today...Gil, I'm your friend and I think you need to see someone, and not Phil, he wants you to see someone who is a specialist in sleep deprivation. 'Cause if this continues you'll lose your job."

"You don't think I know that!"

Jim stared at him with his arms crossed. Finally he said, "I'll take a cup too."

Gil sat down his cup then poured another for Jim. He left the kitchen and sat down on the sofa while he sipped on his coffee. He kept his eyes on the floor where his other new coffee table used to be and Nicks' table now sat. He didn't want Nick's table there. He didn't want Nick there. Today, when Nick got back, he'd help Nick pack.

Jim sat down in the chair at the dining table and looked at him. "Are you going to talk to me Gil?" He said after they'd been sitting for a while.

"Why are you here, Jim?" Gil suddenly asked.

Jim blinked at the sudden change in his voice. A second ago he sounded like Gil, his friend, now, he sounded like a complete stranger. "I thought I'd come by, have breakfast, see how you were."

Gil made a silent "oh" and took a drink. "Well, you can leave now. Breakfast's ruined." He glared over at him.

Jim had heard Gil snarl at someone before, but it was unnerving, especially since it was at him. He never wavered from Gil's eyes. "I'm here to see if you need any help."

"You think with a little help from my friends everything will be okay?" Gil took a sip of his coffee and looked over at his friend. Was Jim really his friend? Were any of them really his friends? "You don't know anything."

Jim's features wrinkled in sorrow. "Yeah, you're right I don't know anything because you won't tell me anything! I just found out that my best friend for eighteen years might be depressed, and doing a lot more than feeling sorry for himself for a department psychiatrist."

"That's a big maybe." Gil turned his attention back to the floor. He was getting sick of this. He just wanted Jim gone. He wanted to be gone. Death sounded good.

"Why do you want to do this to yourself?" Jim asked in disbelief.

"Do what exactly?" It wasn't like Nick loved him...Where did that come from? And if he was, he'd get sick of him and leave anyway. He was too much of a fuck up. He closed his eyes and tried to keep his emotions from flooding out of the abyss. His head was still pounding and the pain shooting through his body wasn't helping either. His whole body wanted to shake, but he held the little control he had until Jim was gone.

Jim stared at Gil, trying to figure this out. "Gil, tell me what the hell is happening here? Please, I mean Cath is worried to death over this, and Nick is practically crawling up the walls trying to figure out the best way to help you. Hell even Greg is coming up with ideas on how to get you back to normal!"

Gil didn't say anything. He just continued to sip his coffee like he didn't hear anything. The truth was he didn't. He was gone, back to hiding out in his mind.

Jim huffed out a sigh and leaned back into the chair, thinking. He was getting even angrier now. The muscles in his jaw tightened and his hands clenched shut, and he knew his face was probably getting red too. He finally nodded. "Okay. I'll leave, but this doesn't change anything. I'm going to figure out what's going on. You have my word."

Jim was going to get to the bottom of this, even if he had to go behind Gil's back to do it. He couldn't stand seeing Gil like this. This was the man that has helped him after everything he'd been through and the man that saved his life on more than one occasion. Jim took one last look at that man then he stood up and went to the door. He didn't hear Gil get up and walk behind him. "You know what Gil..." he opened the door and was turning around when he felt something solid hit his face.

Jim stumbled from the hard impact and landed on the front step. He looked up and saw Gil standing in the doorway with a rage in his eyes that Jim had never seen before. The door slammed shut before he could say anything.

Gil was startled to the sudden natural silence that took over his house. He felt the abyss trying to break open, but it was clouded by the fogginess that took over his mind. He went to walk away from the door but the room spun and he felt sick. The medication and the alcohol were clashing in his system and his hands clenched around the Styrofoam cup that was still in his left hand. The coffee burned as it spilled out of the cup.

His stomach lurched as he made it into the bathroom on the first floor. He leaned back against the opposite wall facing the toliet then everything went black before his eyes. He hit the floor as he slipped into unconsciousness.

***

Gil woke up to a pounding headache and staring at the floor. His muscles ached as he slowly got onto his hands and knees. He had to watch were his hands went, and he was glad he collapsed face down and not face up because he had gotten sick while he was unconscious.

He leaned against the wall as he tried to regain something, composer, senses, his sanity. He couldn't figure out what he was supposed to be doing. The light of the bathroom was too much so he reached up and turned it off. He hadn't stood up yet, his equilibrium was too off. He could barely see as he pulled himself up using the sink and wall as support. When finally on both feet he turned on the sink and began cleaning up.

Once done he stumbled into his bedroom and fell in the bed.


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Jim walked into Catherine's office with a grin cutting his face in two. "Guess what we have?" He teased her.

"What, besides the bruise forming on your face? It must be something earth shattering to make you smile like that." Catherine stood and went over to him. "What is it?"

"Well, my guys were just out driving around, you know, scoping out the hood, when they spotted this guy looking kind of suspicious. Turns out, not only was he selling smack, but he was almost abducted around the time our fifth victim, John Latham, was abducted and killed."

"We have a witness!?" She grinned as she followed Brass down the hall. "Is he here?"

"They're bringing him in now."


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A skinny pale looking man sat at the table in the interrogation room, staring indifferent at his hands. Catherine and Brass came in one after the other and sat down. Catherine glanced at the two-way mirror where Nick was standing.

Catherine stared at the man while Brass processed to ask the man questions.

"So, Mr....?" Brass smiled.

"Jimmy Wales." The man spoke a little uneasy.

Brass continued, "Jimmy, tell us about two weeks ago, when you were almost abducted."

"I didn't see the guy. I took the fuck off before he got out of the truck. He threatened me!"

"Calm down Mr. Wales. Just relax and tell us whatever you remember."

Jimmy sat back and sighed. "Alright, like I was saying, he threatened me."


Jimmy stumbled away from the nightclub and crossed the busy street before he was almost hit by an on coming SUV.

"Watch it pal!" He yelled at the truck, flipping it off.

He lit a cigarette as he continued down the sidewalk. Tight blue jeans hugged his hips, his shirt exposing his fit body. When he stopped at the light, waiting for his time to cross, he glanced back and noticed what looked like the same SUV that almost hit him earlier.

"Son-of-a-bitch." He mouth behind his cigarette.

The truck softly hummed behind him as he crossed the street toward the strip. The truck never passed him as it inched slowly along. The man kept glancing back and gaining more speed. When he realized the truck wasn't going to go away, he stopped and started walking toward the truck.

"Hey man!" He yelled at the passenger window. He couldn't see inside, it was dark and the windows were slightly tinted, "What's your problem! You fucking almost hit me earlier. You mad that I flipped you off, asshole!"

Just then the passenger window rolled down. The man stared wide-eyed at the person in the driver's seat. He couldn't see his face because it was hidden in the shadows of the truck, but the gun the driver was holding was what caught his attention.

"Hey now," Jimmy said, "don't do anything stupid."

"Shut up." The driver said.

Jimmy flinched at the cold, calm voice of the driver, he immediately shut his mouth.

The driver smiled slightly, "James Wales?"

Jimmy nodded slowly.

"Good. Now, come forward."

Jimmy did just that but he didn't stop as he quickly took off across the street in front of the truck. A car clipped his leg but he didn't stop running until he knew that the driver didn't follow him.



"And that's what happened." Jimmy leaned back against the seat and continued to stare at his hands. "He was going to kill me, wasn't he?"

"Jimmy, did you happen to notice anything distinctive on the truck. Like, the license plate, or a logo, stickers, anything?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it, there was a logo of a sort. It was dark so I didn't get a good look, plus I was more focused on the gun. Anyway, it was like...a star or something, on the side. Grey...I think."

Brass and Catherine both looked at each other. They left the room and started toward the lab when Nick joined them.

"Think he's telling the truth?" Nick asked as they walked.

"We have no reason to think otherwise at this point. We have to follow every lead, even if it's given to us by the least credible witness." Brass stated; his voice was full of grief and tiredness.

Since Gil had been on medical leave, that was what everyone was calling it, they all had to work overtime, even Brass stayed on the clock longer. The serial case had been pulling at everyone, five murders, and the strange part was that it stopped. Catherine had a theory about why he rushed the last two and thought maybe this time their killer wanted to savor the madness.

Catherine was the first to speak as they crowded into the conference room with all the team and Brass. "So," she said at the head of the table, "I'm working this new lead with Brass. Warrick and Nick you two have a 419, Bellagio fountain. Sara, Greg needs help with his a missing person. That's it."


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Catherine and Brass pulled up along a curb outside of the nightclub Jimmy claimed to have left a few weeks ago. Brass looked at the name just to make sure they were at the right place. It was Johnny's Lounge, one of the most notorious gay/lesbian clubs in Vegas.

Brass looked over at Catherine. "Look familiar? This was where our fifth victim, John Latham worked."

"Bartender and owner, right?"

"Yeah. I wonder how many of our victims were regulars?"

Catherine nodded. "This could be a hate crime." She followed steadily behind Brass taking in the lounge and the people. She had to admit the place was pretty nice.

Brass stepped up to the bar and flashed his badge to the bartender. "I'm Jim Brass, LVPD. I have a few questions Mr....?"

The bartender sat a shot glass down and leaned back against the bar, crossing his arms. "Andy, call me Andy. There's nothing illegal here."

Brass smirked. "I didn't say there was, Andy. I'm here about a costumer. Jimmy Wales." Brass showed him the picture. "You recognize him?"

Andy nodded. He didn't waver from his defensive pose.

"Good. Were you working two weeks ago, around ten?"

"Yeah, I usually work seconded shift, Johnny works third...well, he used to."

"What can you tell about Jimmy?"

Andy sighed and pushed himself away from the bar. "He's a regular. Always came in after work, five or so. Would leave around ten or eleven, sometimes later, it depended on the night."

Brass pulled out four more pictures. "Do you recognize any of these men?"

"Yeah," Andy looked at the pictures and frowned. "Thomas, Carter, Anthony, and Kurt. Are they dead too?" He barely got the words out from his shaky voice.

"Do you remember them leaving with anyone. Or, was there someone watching them extensively? Someone hanging around that didn't seem like they belonged?" Brass calmly asked.

Andy frowned as he thought about it. "There was a guy in about two months ago that I never seen before."

"What about the guy?" Catherine asked as she stepped up to Brass.

"He came in to pick up another guy, his friend maybe, they didn't seem like they were together. Johnny walked up to him like they've been friends for years. They talked, laughed, then the guy got his friend and left, but...there was something about him that made me uneasy. When he looked around, it was like he was angry at us or something. Like he couldn't believe his friend was here. I saw him a few times after that. He always sat in a back booth. He watched everyone. I don't know if he was here on the days those guys were killed. I don't remember specifics. Just that he's been in here a few times."

Brass wrote the information down in his pad. "Do you remember what he looked like? Anything could be a big help."

Andy nodded and stared at the bar in front of him. "Average built...about your height, uh, beard, I'm sure of that. Sometimes he wore glasses, other times he didn't. His eyes, they were always withdrawn, like he wasn't all there. Like, he was having an out of body experience. I usually see that look with people who are messed up, you know, on drugs or something. That guy always gave me the creeps."

"Did he ever leave with anyone? Even if they weren't one of our vics?"

Andy looked up at Brass, like he'd just remembered where he left his keys. "Yeah, he did. One time, he left with a man, not the same guy he picked up the first time, I know Nicholas. This guy was new. I've never seen him before--"

"But you've seen the first guy, Nicholas?"

"Yeah, he's a regular. Every Thursday he'd be in that booth. He was real fun, but after that night his friend picked him up, he never came back. Do, do you think he's dead?" Andy asked in fear and disgust.

Brass shook his head. "I don't know. Do you know his full name?"

"Yeah...Stokes, Nicholas Stokes."


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Nick and Warrick were standing looking at the world famous Bellagio Fountain, when Warrick spoke. "I'll bet on drowning." Warrick looked over at Nick with a smile.

"Accidental or homicide?" Nick stared down at the body floating in the fountain.

"Homicide."

Nick nodded and rubbed his hands together. "Piece of cake."

They started taking photos and processing the scene around the fountain. David came and took the body away after they processed it. Nick was taking shoots of the edges around the fountain when he saw something at the bottom of the fountain.

"Hey Warrick come look at this." Nick waved him over.

Warrick strolled up along side him. "What is that? Definitely not a penny."

"Nope," Nick reached his hand in and pulled it out. "It's a cufflink."

"The vic wasn't wearing a jacket. Could be the murderers?" Warrick snapped a picture of it.

"Or, someone threw it in days before. The guy saw it. It's gold. He figured it might cost something. Went to retrieve it, slipped, hit his head and drowned."

"Nice theory, but I say, the vic got into it with another guy. It escalated and the guy pushed him over and held him under water. He reached up, trying to fight the guy, pulled his cufflink out."

"I like mine better." Nick finished bagging the cufflink and checked the area one more time.

"Yeah, well, we'll know for sure soon enough." Warrick grabbed his kit up.

"Speaking of which, we're done here. Let's go see what Doc Robbins has for us."



Warrick sped down Tropicana Avenue. He came to a stop at a light and cursed under his breath.

Nick laughed from the passenger seat. "Think I can drive before you get us killed?"

Warrick shot Nick a look and he backed off. He turned back to looking at the light. "So, how's Griss doing?"

Nick shrugged. "I know just as much as you do Rick."

Warrick looked over at him. "I don't believe that." The light turned green and Warrick about floored it.

Nick stared at him, confused. "Why?"

"I do have eyes you know. Plus, I heard some things."

"You can't believe everything you hear." Nick turned back to looking at the road.

"I know that. That's why I'm asking." Warrick pulled into the parking lot of the lab and cut the engine. "Nick, I'm not just talking about Griss here. I mean, you were actually pretty obvious to figure out because you were always eyeing him. Griss on the other hand, took a lot of time and observing."

Nick was shocked. "You've been watching us?"

"You know, I do pay attention to detail. And one detail is that your admiration for him isn't just admiration. And he's not just mentoring you for the practice you know."

Nicks' mouth went dry and he swallowed. "Rick..."

"Hey man. I'm cool with it. I don't bat both ways, but if you do, that's cool. It's all about love. So, that's why I was asking about Griss, I know you're over there a lot. Have you come clean to him?"

Nick blushed and shook his head. "Nah, he actually found out about me because, well, I called him to pick me up at a gay bar a while ago."

Warrick jawed dropped. "Are you two in a relationship? I could have sworn he'd never notice you eyeing his ass."

Nick swore his eyes got huge as saucers. "You saw that?"

"Oh yeah. You can't hide from me." Warrick got out of the truck and grabbed his kit.

Nick smiled, "Well, he hasn't noticed it, and no, we're not in a relationship. But, we are living together...strictly friends of course. If you'd take me out once in a while you'll know this Rick." He laughed at Warrick as he rolled his eyes. "Come on. We have an autopsy to get to."


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They reached the morgue and caught Doc. Robbins finishing the examination of their victim. Nick looked over the body as Warrick started to ask the questions.

"Did he drown?" Warrick asked as he looked at the body.

"Yep. And I found a cut on his head that indicated that he fell."

Nick nodded. "Yeah. I found blood on the side of the fountain."

"Other than that, I've found no trauma and no bruising. There's nothing to support he was held under." Robbins looked right at Warrick and smiled. "I think Nick just might win."

Warrick smirked. "David?"

"Of course, he is my link to the outside world."

Nick smiled over at his friend, "This is making my theory look a whole lot better than yours, Rick." He nodded to Doc. Robbins. "Thanks Doc."



Back at the lab Nick searched out the other new guy in DNA. They seemed to keep changing techs every other week. He spotted the new guy starring down the microscope. "Hey...what'd you have for me?" He forgot the man's name. Everyone's been calling him "hey guy".

The man turned to him and held out the sheet. "It's the victim's DNA, but I found something weird in the DNA and sent it over to Tox. Just got the results back," he hesitated, "and he was poisoned. And the name's Justin. Ecklie hired me for days a few weeks ago, but you guys need me."

Nick nodded as he read the report. "Rat poison? But that's not what killed him."

"No. There wasn't enough to cause any serious damage, yet. The poison was diluted with water, but more specifically, bottled water. Someone's pulling a Romeo."

Nick turned to walk out. If it was Greg who made that comment he would have said, "Thanks Juliet" but it wasn't so he settled for a small, "Thanks. I'll let Warrick know."

"Maybe you shouldn't. He'll win the bet."

Nick stopped and turned back. "Does everyone know about the bet?"

Justin smiled and laughed. "Of course."

Nick found Warrick in the break room getting coffee. "Put that down. We have to go back to the scene," he held up the sheet, "he was poisoned."

Warrick followed him out. "You serious?"

"Sure am. There was rat poison found in his DNA."


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When they arrived at the Bellagio, they found that the fountain was shut off. Warrick approached an officer standing by watching. "What's all this about?"

The officer turned to him. "One of the water sprays isn't working. They're trying to figure out what's wrong. So far they've got nothing."

Nick walked up to the edge of the fountain. "We have to search this area again." Just then he felt his cell phone vibrate. "Hang on." He walked away from Warrick and answered the phone. "Stokes." There was silence on the other line. "Nick Stokes. Grissom I know it's you, I have caller ID."

"Nick?"

Nicks' smile dropped. Grissom sounded, horrible. "Grissom, are you okay?"

The hesitant and confused voice of Gil came back over the line. "Yeah...I called the wrong number."

"Who were you trying to call? You sound...sick. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." There was the sound of water running. "Are you at a scene? Maybe I can help."

Nick bit his lip and shook his head. Of course Gil would change the subject. He filled him in on what he and Warrick had found out. "And now, we're back at the fountain, but something's up with the pipes."

There was a silent pause then Gil spoke, "Did you know that when they first built the fountain, after a while the sprays would stop working? Every time they went to see what was blocking the water flow, they found nothing. This happened a lot before they brought in some guy that figured out what was wrong with it. The water at the bottom of the fountain was freezing so the water would freeze into ice in the pipes, blocking the water. They never saw the ice because every time they screwed off the pipes to see what was blocking it, the ice would melt."

Nick was confused. "Are you telling me that ice is what's making the spray not work?"

"No. I'm saying that something is blocking the water flow. They fixed the ice problem."

Nick shook his head. "But, the guy keeps saying that he can't find anything."

"Just because he can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there."

"All right. I see what you're saying." Nick turned and saw Warrick looking at him. "Okay, thanks Grissom, I have to go...Do you need me to come by after work and take you to see a doctor?" When Nick got nothing but the dial tone he flipped his phone shut and went over to the officer who was now talking to who he assumed was the owner. "Have they found anything yet?"

The man shook his head. "Nothing."

Nick nodded. "Can something get sucked into the pipe?"

"No, not really. We used to think that the pipe could suck in the coins that people throw in, but they just sink to the bottom."

"So, something would have to float. Like say, a water bottle."

The man nodded. "Yeah, that's possible."

Nick smiled and nodded. "Can they drain the water out through the bottom of the pipe? Whatever's blocking it will eventually make its way to the bottom."

Nick and Warrick stood off to the side as the workers began to drain the water out of the pipe. As soon as the water was all out of it, a water bottle dropped out.

Nick smiled over at Warrick. "Well, it's not ice, but it is a murder weapon."


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They made it back to the lab just before their shift ended. Justin immediately confirmed that the water bottle had the same poison in it that was found in the victim's blood. The only bad news was that they didn't know who the person was that put the poison in it.

"Here." Warrick handed Nick his money once they were in the locker room. "You won, fair and square." Warrick sat the money down on the bench and shut his locker and looked over at Nick. "Want to go get something to eat?"

Nick shook his head. "I'm just going to head home, man."

"That's cool. I guess I'll see you tonight." Warrick said smiling as he walked out the door.


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Nick was on his way out the lab when Catherine's voice from behind stopped him in his tracks. "Yeah?" he said as he turned around.

Catherine wasn't looking to happy. "My office. Now."

Nick swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as he made his way down the hall. He didn't know what called for the harsh tone, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He shut the door behind him then took a seat. Brass was in the office too, sitting in the chair against the wall. "Can I help you something Catherine," he asked in his best professional tone.

Brass spoke up just then. "Just to let you know first off, we're not angry with you, Nicky. But we have questions we need answered."

Nick nodded at Brass then turned back to Catherine. She didn't look any better than he did, in fact, she seemed nervous.

"Nick. We just came back from a nightclub that our victims have all been regulars of." Catherine took a breath, "Have you ever been to Johnny's Lounge?"

Nick momentary froze. He stared at Catherine wide-eyed. His gaze quickly shifted to Brass who was waiting just as Catherine for an answer. He closed his eyes and slowly nodded. "Y-yeah, I've been there before." After he said it and no one jumped him, he opened his eyes and found the two of them still looking at him, but this time compassion could be seen in their eyes.

Catherine nodded with a weak smile and continued. "Has anyone ever picked you up there? Like a friend to give you a lift home?"

Nick nodded. "I called Grissom one night. I knew he had the night off and I thought...he was my first person to call if..." he trailed off as he realized where this was going. Their fifth victim was the bartender and owner, Gil was there, the truck, Jimmy Wales, the suspect knew a lot about crime scenes..."Wait, you knew that already, didn't you?" He didn't realize he was getting upset until Brass grabbed his shoulder.

"Calm down Nicky. We're just getting our facts straight."

Nick pushed away from the chair and out of Brass's grip. He paced around the room thinking. This couldn't be right. Grissom was a liable suspect in five murders. Five! Murders! He stopped mid-step and turned to the other two people in the room. "This can't be right. Gil could never do anything like that."

"We agree Nick. That's why we need to know everything that happened. Identify everyone who made contact with the victims, and Grissom." Catherine said.

Brass nodded his agreement. "Sit down, Nicky. We have some more questions."


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Nick tried calling the townhouse but he got the machine. After he got the "temporary out of service" response when he tried Gil's cell, he slammed his own phone down on the passenger seat. Gil was a possible suspect. He was spotted at the bar several times. The interrogation with Jimmy came to mind. The truck was an SUV. Would Gil be that stupid to drive his work truck?

Nick shook his head. Gil didn't do this. The victims were clean, no evidence of any kind. Grissom even said himself that this guy knew a lot about crime scenes, forensics. They needed a way to prove his innocence. Nick knew the best way to do that, DNA. They had the unidentified DNA from the condoms they found at the third crime scene. It wasn't Gil's, it couldn't be.

Nick swerved into the driveway and came to a quick stop in front of the townhouse. He made his way to the door and went to unlock it but the key wouldn't turn. He tried it again and it still wouldn't work. He pounded on the door but there was no answer.

He stepped away from the door and looked around. Gil's car was in the driveway, but it looked like no one was home. Nick was about to give up and go to the lab when he saw a piece of paper sticking out from the mailbox. It was the newspaper clipping of the apartment Gil was talking about. There was another note. Nick looked up at the door to the townhouse. He no longer lived there. Gil had all his stuff put into storage and the apartment was awaiting his signature.

***

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