One pill makes you larger…

--

The sudden feeling of being alone washed over him, encompassed him, and caused his breath to hitch. Something he'd felt too many times in his life, he thought he finally overcame it, passed it, but it was still there. It still haunted the back of his mind where he tried to bury it so long ago. And the fact that he couldn't see only served to make his current situation worse.

He had never really been afraid of the dark, but it didn't stop the panic from beginning to set in; didn'tf matter when he came to the understanding of how helpless he felt, when he understood how vulnerable he was.

And regardless of how hard he tried to, he still couldn't see. He'd almost catch a glimpse of something, a vague image before it would disappear; as if he were seeing out of the corners of a blindfold that tied too tightly. Slowly, he let his hand wander to his face, hoping to find some kind of cloth over his eyes, but he only felt his fingertips brush over close eyelids and discovering that he couldn't open his eyes at all.

"…hello?" he called out hesitantly, voice soft as he tried to rationalise the situation; tried to consider the possibility that he may not have been alone after all. He hoped fear would take a backseat to reason as he extended one arm; reaching out to nothing.

"Anybody…" he said again after a few seconds, only to be answered by the faint echo of his own voice. Making the assumption that he was in a confined space, or somewhere that retained sound, he took a step forward. His slowed and controlled breathing undermined the light tap of his bare foot on what he now noticed was a dirt floor; feeling awkward and somehow out of place.

There was a sudden laughter behind him, the resonance of which causing a chill to run down his spine. He couldn't really explain why, but it sounded wrong, almost unnatural and he had to resist the instinct to just run. Stilling, he waited to hear it again. It came from a deep voice, sonorous and part of him wondered if he imagined it entirely when he didn't hear it for a second time. But his heart still continued to race when he finally decided to turn around.

"Who's there?" he asked, voice raised slightly and inflicted with a fear he couldn't quite grasp.

The sound of his quick breathing was interchanged with the silence, his pulse fervently reverberating in his mind. And he began to back away slowly, unsure of what lay behind him, but resolved to get away from the voice he heard. It stirred a dread within him he couldn't explain – a trepidation that he didn't want to know – and for a reason he couldn't remember why.

He nearly jumped, startled when the back of his knees hit something soft; immediately placing his hands behind him as he fell onto what he could only determine was a large bed. The image of striped sheets, blue and white suddenly came to mind before it disappeared just as quickly; once more leaving him in darkness.

Hands on resting on the bed, he griped the material beneath him tightly, lush within his desperate grasp as he tried to hold back tears of frustration; wanting to no more than to be able to open his eyes.

But his body stiffened when he heard a harsh pounding, something hitting a wall and furthering the possibility that someone else was here with him. Though, he wasn't sure who or even what it was, and despite the possibility it could be from the same source of the laughter, any reservation was quickly drowned out by the realization it meant he would no longer be alone.

He scrambled off the bed at the thought, nearly tripping over himself in his haste. Quickly regaining his balance, he could feel the dirt settling in between his toes as he broke out into a run; moving in the first direction his feet led him. The pounding was getting louder, almost deafening in his ears as he came closer and closer to it.

But even through this, he could somehow discern another sound, muffled against the hammering on the hard surface; a muted voice that was almost recognizable - suddenly recognizable – and was augmenting his need to find it.

He shouted a familiar name when the sounds overshadowed everything else; his own heartbeat and frantic breathing nearly nonexistent against the reckless banging on the wall, the desolate tone of another person's voice. He yelled again when his body slammed against a wall, bringing his own fists against it and adding to the wretched cacophony when he realised he couldn't get to the other side. His pounding became louder, more desperate as it began to obscure the initial noise. He bit his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood; adrenaline sill coursing through him as he wondered why he couldn't just break through.

He moved as he kept hitting the wall, frantically searching for a way to the other side and ignoring the pain in his throbbing hands as time began to slow down. What seemed like an eternity only lasted for a moment as he became less fervent in his motions – the silence returning and intertwined with his discordant breathing; the muffled voice already fading away. He waited for a few seconds, already knowing what to expect but still not able to repress a choking sound when he heard the shot; a silent cry coming out of him as his forehead rested against the wall.

The last of the adrenaline leaving him, his shoulders began to hunch, body leaning heavily against the wall as his fist made contact with it one last time; the effort feeble. He cursed aloud, the whispered words a poor consolation to his trembling frame as he brought his knees to chest, putting his head in between them.

Eyes suddenly opening when he felt an arm wrap around him.


Nick glanced up when he heard someone sneezing behind him, turning around to see Sara lift her face from her shoulder. "Bless you."

Sara sniffed, looking at Nick somewhat groggily. "Thanks."

"Getting a cold there, Sara?" he asked; a teasing note in his voice.

"Ha. Ha." She gave him a sardonic smile. "And to think I just got used to not having to deal with you so early in the day."

Nick had no problem returning the smile, amusement fading when Sara's phone rang. He turned away as she answered it, shifting his attention back on the body sprawled out on a blue chairs. They got the call not even a half hour ago, a male DB found in one of the rooms at The Venetian. It was the housekeeper – Tanya Harding – who found him, using her key to enter the room when no one answered her knock on the door. At first she thought he was just sleeping because there was no evidence of blood or any obvious trauma, but it was when she checked his pulse that she discovered he was dead.

When Nick questioned her, she didn't seem to be that phased by the fact that she stumbled upon a dead body; didn't even move it or mess up a potential crime scene. Either she watched too much TV or she was used to this kind of thing. Though, Nick was betting on the latter since the obvious aggravation in her voice let him know she just wanted get back to her cleaning schedule. That and she more or less hinted at it.

It almost disheartened Nick that people were becoming more and more desensitized by things like death, and in this case, possibly murder, but he wouldn't immediately think to put her down as a suspect. Though, he still had her information and a surprisingly voluntary set of prints. And since she didn't really have an alibi, he surmised it was better to be safe than sorry.

Nick glanced up the same time Sara closed her cell phone. "That was Catherine?" he asked.

"She's on her way."

"Is Dave behind her?"

"Apparently, he's caught up in traffic, too." Sara scrunched up her face. "I forgot that this weekend is Labor Day weekend."

"No different from any other weekend here," Nick replied with a snort. He reached for the black leather wallet on the small coffee table, gloves rubbing against the worn material. He unfolded it carefully, mindful of the fraying edges and wary of it falling it apart. After skimming through a couple of credit cards, he found a driver's license; the photo on it matching the victim's face.

"Our victim was a Thomas Wilcox, 28 years old and from Westminster, Maryland. Even had a Club Grazie card."

"I'm assuming he used to come here often."

"Yeah, I guess so. Because other than a few credit cards, this guy's wallet is practically empty. No photos, receipts...not even bills or change. "

Sara shrugged. "Maybe he's paranoid like you."

"I'm not that bad...am I?" Nick asked, his voice becoming uncertain as he placed the wallet in an evidence bag; tagging it before setting it in a cardboard box.

"I'm not the one you should be asking."

Nick looked at her in confusion before understanding settled on his face. "...oh."

"Hey, Nick..."

"Hmm?" Nick blinked when the flash of the camera went off, Sara taking a picture of the laptop on the coffee table.

"Turn the lights off, please."

Nick moved to the front of the room; reaching to turn off the lights. Returning to the table, he watched as Sara slowly moved the UV light across the victim's body; immediately identifying various dark spots on Wilcox's body as semen. The findings wouldn't have been unusual on their own accord if it weren't for the fact that the victim's pants weren't undone, to which some part of Nick was immensely grateful for.

At first glance, it seemed as if Wilcox may have been having sex on the chair with someone, and judging by his need to travel light, probably a hooker or call girl. And if the case turned up being a homicide, it could explain why no cash was found in his wallet. It could also explain the nearly full beer bottle he and Sara found on the table earlier, which could have easily been a medium for poison. But it wasn't until Sara moved the light across the keyboard of the laptop did he begin to rethink the situation; suggesting the semen was a result from a solitary act.

"On the…" she began warily, turning the UV light off and getting up to turn the main room lights back on.

"Yeah..."

"Okay, honestly, I can say that of all the places I'd thought I'd find semen," she paused, taking a moment to watch Nick collect a sample of the semen, placing a swab in a tube. "On a computer wasn't one of them."

"Which is ironic considering the kinds of things people get up to on them," Nick said. While he could understand where Sara was coming from, the circumstances for the situation actually did make sense. He spared her a glance before turning around to put away the sample; reaching across the table to turn on the computer and careful not to make contact with the keyboard.

"Looks like the battery's dead," he said after trying to turn it on few more times. He looked under the table. "And I don't see an A/C adapter, either."

Sara pursed her lips. "Guess that means we're taking it back with us. Maybe that will help give us a motive or at least explain why he's dead if not how."

"The guy probably got caught up in his own excitement." Nick made a face when he thought about what he said, realising it probably sounded worse said out loud than in his head. "But not – Not like how it sounds."

"Well," Sara said, drawing the word out slowly, "I think there may be something that can give us both our how and our why."


Greg released a heavy sigh as he unbuckled his seatbelt, watching Warrick approach his car from the corner of his eye. He tensed when the other man opened the door, not able to gauge his expression due the sunglasses he was wearing.

"Looking a little roughed up there, Sanders," the other man said not without a hint of concern.

Momentarily unsettled, Greg felt a small frown appear on his face. He neglected to look in the mirror this morning, but wondered how bad he looked if Warrick was trying to bringing it to light. But more importantly, he wondered how quickly he could divert the other man's attention. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Warrick's concern, but Greg personally thought it was neither the time nor place to be worrying about him; especially with what happened to Nick a few months ago and the sudden increase of cases, lately. His dreams were his problem and he really didn't want to involve anyone else if he could help it.

Eventually, Greg decided to answer Warrick with a knowifng smile; hoping the other man would make his own assumptions.

Warrick paused briefly at the expression on Greg's face, the tone in his voice quickly on the verge of becoming one of unease. "Wait…is it something I don't want to know about?" he asked uncertainly.

If possible, Greg's smile grew even wider. "Not if it's not what you don't want to be thinking."

Warrick sucked his teeth as Greg got out of the car, the sound almost lost as Greg closed the door. "Between you and Nick…"

"You say it like it's a bad thing," Greg countered, kit in one hand and his other using the key to lock his car.

"Don't push it, Sanders. You're late enough as it is."

"Technically," Greg began, taking a quick glance at his watch before looking back at Warrick. "You two are just really early." He continued before Warrick had a chance to respond. "How long ago was the fire?" he asked, nodding to the brick house in front of them. The damage of the fire seemed to be concentrated in the upper right portion of the house.

"The fire department was called in a couple of hours ago," Warrick answered as he walked past the fire truck and under the police tape, Greg closely following him as he listened to the older man. "Still not sure about the fire's point of origin, but we haven't ruled out arson, yet."

Greg nodded his head, suppressing the morbid curiosity that dwelled within him. He didn't have much experience with cases that dealt with fire, but had always had a kind of fascination with it; one that captivated him yet instilled a fear within him could sometimes be suffocating. Pushing the thoughts away, he looked to the house in front of him.

It was large for a house, three stories and not uncommon to see in this part of Vegas. But it was strange because it was an all brick house with no hint of vinyl siding, which could have been how the outside of the house survived the fire for the most part. It led Greg to believe that whoever lived had more than just some kind of money. As they neared the front door, he peered into the open garage, wide enough to hold more than four cars, but raised his eyebrows when he saw that it was empty.

"Was anyone here during the fire?" Greg asked as he readjusted the camera strap around his neck.

Taking off his glasses, Warrick shook his head. "House belongs to a Nathan and Carol Harrison, an older couple in their late forties, early fifties. But we didn't find any bodies. One of the neighbours, Vincent Dawkins," he gestured his head to a man speaking with a police officer up ahead, "called it in. But he says he hasn't seen any sign of the Harrisons in a few months. The alarm system did go off and the fire marshal said they had to break down the door, corroborating with what the neighbour's claim."

"Any other witnesses?" Greg asked.

"Apparently just him."

Greg glanced at the house, again; narrowing his eyes in concentration. "How big was the fire, then?"

"Small enough that it didn't have time to reach the hallway."

Greg would readily concede that he didn't have as much experience in the field as his colleagues, but even he was beginning to think the situation was more than a little odd. "It must have been a really slow burning fire. And if what Dawkins said about the Harrison is true – insurance claim maybe? Entered and left in the middle of the night."

"Not that it looks like they need it. But yeah, I'm not thinking it was an accident, either. It looks more like someone was trying too hard to make it look that way, though," Warrick said, slightly nodding to an officer who stood by the front door.

Ready to greet the officer as well, Greg bit his tongue when he actually took notice of her; eyes slightly narrowing in confusion when he realised he didn't recognize her; the name on her uniform reading Davis. Yet, it only surprised him because he usually knew or already had dealings with most of the officers. He didn't know if it was coincidence or otherwise, but it had always been like that since he first started training to go into the field. And despite acknowledging his own lack of forethought, it just never occurred to him that there was a possibility of there being people he had yet to meet until now.

If Greg did cross paths with her before, he would at least like to think that he would have remembered her. She was much shorter than him, not even reaching his shoulder. She looked older, maybe closer in age to Sara and had a light complexion, almost pale against dark black hair that was rolled into a slightly messy bun. But it was her face that really caught his attention. She had mousey features; including a small nose and slanted eyes – ones that Greg would have called exotic if everything didn't seem so scrunched together.

Davis shifted a little, and Greg was gazing at her too intently to be concerned about whether it was out of comfort when he caught sight something on her forearm; what looked to be a tattoo just above her wrist.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen a tattoo, but something about it seemed funny...almost off. It was the outline of the back of a rather elongated rabbit; its head turned over its shoulder so it seemed that it was peering directly at whoever was looking at it. And the only coloured portion of the tattoo was the puffy tail that was filled in with white ink.

Greg was taken out of his musings when he heard a voice close to his ear. "Do you have something you need to ask me?" Davis said, turning her head slowly to look at Greg.

Caught off guard by the detachment in her voice, Greg stammered in response. "No, it's just that-"

"Then, I'd appreciate if you'd stop staring and get to your job so I can do mine," she said resolutely, turning to face away from Greg and leaving him with the view of her profile.

Greg blinked twice, taking a moment to recollect his thoughts. He could feel the heated blush on his face and already acknowledged he was wrong for staring, but was sure that an attempt at an apology would be just that – an attempt – and probably end up getting him in trouble.

He was going to try anyway, but was cut off when he heard Warrick's voice calling him from upstairs.


"That's bull and you know it, Sara," Nick said tightly – maybe even a little petulantly. He couldn't tell by her expression if she was merely teasing him or if she was being serious, but the subject was beginning to hit too close to home for comfort and he wanted nothing more than to drop it.

"I don't know, Nick," Sara said slyly, a kind of gleam in her eyes. "It's not much different from death by chocolate. In fact, I'd even go as far to say-"

"Again?"

Nick and Sara halted their conversation at the presence of a new voice; both looking up to see Catherine entering the room.

"No, Catherine," Nick said firmly, hoping the discussion would end now that Catherine was here.

"You're the one who believed in the scuba diver-"

"Don't even start, Sidle. That was a completely different-"

"Wait a minute," Catherine interrupted, pointing between Nick and Sara. "Does this have anything to do with our victim?"

"No," Nick answered the same time Sara said, "Yes."

Catherine looked at them impatiently. "Guys, whatever you have to say, just spit it out," she said resignedly.

Nick sighed in annoyance before deciding to speak first, sparing a reproving glance to Sara and returning his attention to Catherine. "Sara thinks our vic's death may have been caused..." he paused, motioning his head to show his displeasure, "by ejaculation," he finished almost reluctantly.

"Really, now?" Catherine asked, eyebrows rising with evident interest in her voice.

"Oh, come on Catherine," Nick said, feeling more than a little outnumbered with both Sara and Catherine teaming up on him. "Don't tell me you actually believe that?"

"Well...maybe not literally, Nicky. But sure," she said, shrugging her shoulders, "why couldn't a stimulus as strong as an orgasm-"

"Look, the guy was 28. And I don't know about you two," Nick said pointedly, "but I think that's pretty young to be having a heart attack."

"Then you don't have anything to worry about," Sara said, "do you, Nick?"

Nick frowned at the remark, but refrained from saying anything. While he knew he was fairly secure with himself, he did have his moments, which – to his displeasure – many people were able to pick up on; some more easily than others. Because though common sense had told him Sara was intentionally teasing him from the beginning, it didn't mean he had to listen to it.

"We're just messing with you, Nick," Catherine added, not bothering to hide the grin on her face. She reached out for his arm, squeezing the muscle in reassurance until he responded with a small smile of his own; the moment disappearing at the sound of hurried footsteps in the hall.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. It felt like it took forever to leave that crime scene."

The other three occupants in the room turned to see David standing in the doorway, glasses askew and nearly out of breath.

"Did I miss anything?"


Greg followed Warrick into the room, not startled by the familiar voice that seemed to anticipate their entrance.

"Took you long enough," Grissom said, not turning around to face the other two men. He was kneeling down in the far right corner of a room, elbow resting on one knee.

Greg placed his kit down by the door. He took the camera from around his neck, giving it to Warrick when the other man gestured silently for it. Not having much experience with these kinds of cases, he didn't take it seriously, more than willing to watch and learn from Warrick. He reached into his pocket for a pair of gloves, staring at the back of Grissom's head patiently as he moved closer to the older man.

"Judging by char pattern," Grissom continued; using his finger to trail from the ceiling to the floor, following a particularly wide and dark impression on the wall, "I'd say the point of origin is here."

Greg looked up at the ceiling beams, noticing where the corners rounded off away from the fire's point of origin. He turned his gaze back to the floor, recognising the depression around a small area where a hole was almost burned in the wooden floor. Bending down, he pointed at the collection of a substance on the floor.

"Is that...is that wax?" he asked, absently backing away so Warrick could take a picture. Greg looked to Grissom with a bemused expression. "Could a candle have done this? Directed the fire straight up, I mean," he added while pointing to the wall.

"I don't know," Grissom admitted. "Never came across anything like this before."

"I don't see any glass or metal, though," Warrick said through the whirring sound of the camera, "no sign of anything that could have held the candle. Unless it was just placed on the floor and left to burn."

"Out of context, it looks like the flame rose to the ceiling," Grissom said. "But it burned too slowly and there's no evidence of an accelerant being used."

Greg bit his lip in thought. "There's no chemical you can use to stabilise fire like that because the heat is ultimately going to cause some kind of reaction; either speed up the fire or put it out because I don't think whoever did this was going for a pyrotechnic display. And yeah, some chemical combinations may slow it down, but nothing like this."

"Regardless, though," Warrick countered, "someone would have to be here to even plan something like that out. The door had to be kicked down to get in the house during the fire, but that doesn't tell us much, if anything."

"And our only suspects are the missing owners of the house and our only eyewitness," Grissom stated.

Greg let his eyes wander around the room as a brief silence fell between them. Even after the fire, the room wasn't really much to look it; almost painfully simple with only a full sized bed and a small dresser across from it. It didn't even have a closet, but Greg's interest peaked when his eyes wandered back to the bed, catching the smallest glimpse of white behind the bed.

"Hey, Grissom," he said as he moved closer to the bed, bending over to pick up the white object and inspect it carefully. "Did the Harrisons have any kids?"

Grissom shook his head without turning around. "No…why do you ask?"

"This looks like a…stuffed animal." Greg held up what he now determined to be some kind of bear. It was wet and soggy, the stuffing sagging and distributing most of the weight to the bottom of it. "What's left of it, anyway," he added as he tried to keep the head from falling off its body.

Focus now on Greg, Grissom tilted his head slightly. "Could be from a collection or some kind childhood memorabilia. They've been married for thirty years and have no record of any children."

"Really…" Greg asked dubiously, gaze wavering between Grissom and the white bear in his hand. "Because the rest of the house seems so…"

"Bare?" Grissom suggested.

"I was going to say clinical, but that works, too."

"Well," Warrick added, "since the Harrisons don't visit often, it makes since that it is."

Greg gave a non-committal shrug, putting the bear on the dresser to look at the room once more.

In general, the room was mostly intact. There was considerable damage done to the walls and the two pieces of furniture – anything that was out in the open – but Greg was still surprised that the fire department was able to contain the fire to one room. Regardless of the exterior of house, by the time help arrived, Greg would have assumed that the fire would have spread beyond just one room; especially since it took him nearly half an hour to get here.

That was unless someone was trying to hide something; using the fire to cover something else up.

He knew it was a long shot, but he fixed his gaze back on the bed; the wooden frame surprisingly still erect. When he was younger, his parents used to put some of their papers in the second and smaller guest room until he unofficially decided to make it his play area. And compared to the other rooms in the house, the damaged one was relatively small and seemed more suitable for an office space. It was more probable the Harrisons kept any important papers or documentation with them if they didn't visit this house often, but Greg still thought it was worth something to check beneath the bed.

Placing himself on his hands and knees, Greg lifted the bed skirt; still damp by the water used to put out the fire earlier. His face twisted in confusion upon seeing a gathered pink blanket near the wall. Considering how neutral and sparsely decorated the rest of the house was, it seemed more than a little unusual to have something like a blanket under the bed – much less a pink one – and especially one that wasn't even folded. Licking his lips as he put his head underneath the bed, he reached for it carefully, nearly taken by surprise when he felt a slight weight attached to it. Reaching with his other hand, he took hold of the other end of blanket carefully; wary of what could be in it.

He grunted when he was able to get the blanket out, a small gasp escaping him when he realised what was in the bundle.

"Grissom," he yelled out hurriedly, arms beginning to shake; suddenly becoming heavy despite the light weight he held. He tried to calm himself, closing his eyes when he heard two sets of footsteps rushing towards him.

He heard Warrick first, calling out his name; the other man's shadow moving over him and suddenly making Greg feel small. He felt Warrick kneel beside him, a soft curse falling from the older man's lips.

When Grissom hovered over him, Greg opened his eyes; his expression lost as he looked peered up at his supervisor. "I thought you said they didn't have any kids?" he asked quietly. He knew there really wasn't an answer – probably wasn't going be – but right now, he couldn't help but want some kind of reason that explained the still body in the blanket, the little girl in his arms.

He waited as Grissom continued to stare at her; eyes grim and mouth set in a straight line.

"I was wrong."


:insert standard disclaimer here:

The lyrics from the top are taken from "White Rabbit," the song by Jefferson Airplane that ultimately pushed me to write this.

Still, I'm mentally strangling myself for even putting this up here while simultaneously chanting something about finishing this. I'm not even going to lie and say I'll complete it by the end of this month because this will be painfully long (for me, at any rate). And while this does contain slash of the Nick and Greg variety, it's predominantly a casefile(s) that focusses on their takes on what's happening; and may include a little snippet here or there about their relationship. On the same token, this does contain some...different themes. Though, unfortunately, they're based on real life situations.

Anyways, this will be twelve parts in total and refers to things that occur in canon and my WibG universe, both of which can be completely disregarded for the sake of sanity.