Nick didn't know where to go. After finding Warrick's body in his car, everything had become a blur. He remembered yanking open the car door and frantically administering mouth to mouth, trying to hold the bloody wounds in Warrick's neck closed. He recalled intruding hands prying him away from Warrick and the paramedics loading Warrick into the ambulance. The red and blue lights of the ambulance had faded away into a blurry glow as it had screeched away to Desert Palm.

"Nick," he heard from far, far away. "Nick!"

Nick realized he was sitting down, and someone was asking him some questions. Somehow he couldn't comprehend what the man or woman was saying. It was white noise to his ears. He commenced staring blankly at his hands – hands that were red with blood. Warrick's blood.

"Pancho!"

Nick glanced up and spotted an older man. He squinted at the man – salt-and-pepper hair, mustache and beard, boyishly handsome face that was lined and aged, eyes that were much older than he looked.

Do I know this guy?

Then lucidity returned to him in a heartbeat as he recognized the figure standing in front of him. It was Grissom. His supervisor and second father had a look of pain on his face that cut Nick to the bone. That pain was echoed in his head and heart, and he didn't want to face it. So he kept staring numbly at Grissom, wanting to remain in his silent cocoon and keep from dealing with the hurt.

Grissom latched onto Nick's arm and lifted him up from the back of the ambulance where he was sitting. He had to work to try and hide the pain and the despair that churned in him. When he had hailed Nick, the young CSI hadn't recognized him for an instant. Shock and grief had already set in. Nick had seen Warrick as the other young man lay dying, and there was nothing that would blot out that image save for Warrick's survival and recovery. Unfortunately, Grissom's scientific mind wouldn't stop blaring about the odds of that happening. Shot in the neck twice…Warrick was likely a DOA. The thoughts were cold, but Grissom's loss was white-hot in intensity.

"Let's go, Nick."

Go? Go where? Grissom's mind shouted at him. You can't bring him back to the lab. Ecklie will probably get days to work on this, since the graveyard shift isn't exactly up to this. We're too closely connected to Warrick to be objective in the case. So are the lab technicians, however. Maybe I can argue with Ecklie over this.

For now, I have to bring Nicky to the –

"Lab," Nick croaked. It was the first thing he had said since he'd found Warrick in the car.

"What?" Grissom exploded as he laid his hands on the wheel of his Denali. Nick's eyes were empty as he met Grissom's outraged gaze. "No way, Nicky. I'm going to check on Warrick at the hospital, and I think you should go home."

Nick's response was to crank open the car door and hop out. He headed towards his own Tahoe at a purposeful stride. After a few seconds of stunned silence, Grissom jumped out of his Denali and followed Nick.

"Nick, don't do this," he snapped. "Go home. Get some rest. Days will be handling this, and I want you to stay out of their way."

Nick cocked his head and met Grissom's gaze straight-on. Grissom noted with alarm that the pupils of the younger man's eyes were immensely dilated, and his face was ashen in color and shade. The calmness in his expression didn't fool Grissom one bit.

"I will, Gris. Go see how Warrick is doing."

Grissom didn't even have time to object before Nick gunned the engine and raced out of the parking lot. The screech of the tires on the cement was like a knife to Grissom's stomach, raising a lump in the pit of his belly. His hand went to his jacket pocket, and he snagged his phone by the tips of his fingers and hit Speed Dial.

"Brass." The police captain's voice was world-weary.

"Jim, this is Gil. I want you to do me a favor. Help me to keep an eye on Nick, will you? He's going back to the station."

Brass kept quiet for all of two seconds. "You let Nicky go to the station?" His ironic tone was emphasized by the note of sarcasm and surprise that was more prominent than usual. Considering the events of this morning and last night, Grissom wasn't offended.

"He took off before I could stop him. It's not like I want to become roadkill either, Jim." Grissom steeled himself and took a breath before formulating his next question in his head. "How…how's Warrick?"

Brass' voice shook when he next spoke. "Gil, I'm sorry – Warrick's a DOA."

Tears sprang to Grissom's eyes as his sockets began stinging hard. He shut his eyes to blot out the truth as saltwater dripped down his cheeks. "Please tell me that's not the truth. Jim, April Fool's months away." The tremor in his voice was palpable.

Brass' voice also trembled as he finally answered Grissom. "I'm sorry, Gil. He's gone. Ecklie's given the go-ahead to days to handle this."

Grissom's heart sank and kept on sinking. "Where-where's Warrick now?"

Brass' voice was small and quiet. "In the morgue."

It took Grissom nine seconds to realize that he was holding the phone and crying. It was all lumped together: the death and loss of one of his team and family, Sara's departure, and the thought that Warrick's death was just the beginning of the end.