Next chapter up. Reviews, once again, are greatly appreciated. This is my first fanfic and I would love any feedback, including constructive criticism. If you review my story, I'll review yours :)

And I promise, there will be more angst and suspense to come. Threats, moles, mysterious eavesdroppers, kidnappings, murder and more clues to come. This ends up becoming a bit of a conspiracy theory, investigation a la Nick and Greg, for the whole Gedda/Warrick story arc.

Enjoy :)

Harper

Chapter 2: Unfortunate Phone Calls

It was time to get the word out. It was. It really was.

Grissom picked up the phone. Nick's number was on speed dial. All it took was a number. He rehearsed the conversation in his head.

"I'm sorry Nick. There's been an accident."

Then what would Nick ask?

"Did Nigel Crane escape from jail?" "Had the lab blown up again?" "Another round of those punks beatin' tourists?" Grissom imagined Nick's concern for Greg, at the implications of the latter two.

The older CSI had taken on an almost older brotherly role for his younger friend, yet it seemed, at times, like Greg was the more mature of the two. In fact, lately it seemed like that a lot, at least since Greg had been spending time in the field.

Nonetheless, the two always seemed to be hanging out. It had been good that they had each other, especially in the wake of the horrors of the last few years.

He was glad that Greg had someone to support him after the Demetrius James incident – even though Grissom would have preferred if Nick had managed to find an alternate means of supporting Greg that did not involve punching bystanders in the stomach.

He was also glad that they'd had each other to lean on when Sara left. In retrospect, Grissom almost wished he had taken Nick up on his offer of support as well.

He knew that Sara and Greg were close, that his girlfriend had been Greg's mentor as he learned the ropes of fieldwork, and after. Meanwhile, Nick's support of Greg was no doubt invaluable and had kept Greg relatively in line after his mentor's departure, aside from one oddly placed hallway snipe.

Perhaps, Grissom wondered, that strong support would get him out of at least one phone call. Nick was close enough to Greg that perhaps one phone call could satisfy both. Perhaps either one could more delicately relay the news to the other than Grissom could to both. Grissom knew he would already be emotionally exhausted after the first phone call. Multiply that by five team members.

Five. He laughed at himself ruefully. The laughter was a nice break, but the gravity of the situation was not lost. He had no five team members to call. He had four to call, to inform them of why, in fact, the fifth one would not be receiving the call. How could he, to learn that he was dead?

Grissom became increasingly aware of just how sleep-deprived he was. Too tired to think anymore of the most emotionally efficient relay call strategy, he instead went with the number he would never need speed dial for, the one that came naturally to him, and who he knew could help him think clearly enough to handle the situation at hand: Sara.

"Hey Greggo," she said tiredly, dreading the task at hand. Grissom had urged her to break the news to the youngest teammate. Though he was the youngest, she had a feeling he would handle it the best. In addition to being the least close to Warrick, he had been significantly more toned down lately, since he started working in the lab.

'Especially since the beating,' she thought with chagrin. Actually, it seemed like he'd first calmed down a little after the explosion at the lab. 'Poor Greggo,' she cried to herself. 'This lab is taking away pieces of him.' All the former lab tech's energy and enthusiasm for life, and the spontaneous and bizarre, seemed to be gradually seeping out of him, like an hourglass, and at every instance of hardship, a little more tumbled through too fast.

"Fancy hearing your voice. At this hour." He coughed. Intentionally.

'Ok, so he hasn't lost all of the old Greggo,' she smiled to herself, then straightened up, remembering the news she was responsible for delivering.

"There's something Gil- err Griss wanted me to tell you."

Funny, no quip in return. Maybe he has lost the old Greggo.

"Yes?"

"It's about Warrick."

"Oh." His voice softened significantly. He was bracing himself for the blow, she thought.

"He's dead."

"How- wait- ha – what?! How?!" he stuttered.

"He was shot. In the parking lot. By that diner, the one the team ate at."

"Huh-Who's investigating? Do we have to see the body?"

"IAB, or actually… I think the Feds are investigating… or it might be day shift… I don't know. And no," she sniffed, "we don't have to see the body"

"But you're sure he's really dead?"

Sara was puzzled at his questions, but assumed it was just a normal stage of grief.

"Yeah. I'm sure. I'm sorry Greg."

"Has someone told Nicky?"

"Uh… no –"

"You want me to do it?"

"Thanks so much. I can't believe –"

"I know."

She could see Greg pursing his lips over the phone, the tears falling out.

After choking back what sounded like a sob, he spoke, so quietly she could barely make out what he said. But after years as Greg Sanders' mentor, she could always figure out what Greg was saying, no matter how bizarre. And this was not at all bizarre.

"Thanks Sara."

"Bye Greg."

"Willows," was the groggy answer on the other line.

Nick may be – have been – Warrick's best friend, but this was the call he was dreading most, not because he feared getting yelled at for not taking action, as he did with Nick, nor because he couldn't imagine the emotional outpour, because he could for both, but because the woman, his right hand, and really also his left hand, and eyes and ears at the lab half the time, not to mention loyal confidante… he shuddered… because she had already been through so much in the last year.

She'd already lost her father in the past year, and, perhaps worse, almost lost her daughter. He knew how Catherine agonized over trying to raise her daughter, safely and well, in Las Vegas, while working grave shift for LVPD. To see her daughter's life put on the line over Sam Braun's mistakes had been terrifying, to say the least, for the now-single mom. He shuddered at the Catherine's impending horrified reaction to the fact that the man she loved, as Nick had pointed out to him not so subtly that day, was gone too.

Yet Grissom knew that, for all Catherine's grief, she had learned to cope with it. Who better to deal with grief than Catherine Willows?

That was it. The phone was up, shaking with his trembling hands. He certainly couldn't have had Sara make this call. It had to come straight from him.

"Catherine. It's about Warrick."

She was already crying.

"Stokes –" replied the groggy voice.

"Hey Ni –"

"Greg. Why the hell are you calling this late?!" Nick blasted, though knowing full well he had summoned the former lab rat at all hours for nights on the town, or, more often, video game marathons. But still, the difference was that Greg was always awake, or so it seemed. Nick was willing to guess that Greg, unlike the rest of them, slept right after shift, rather than before it.

"Nick. Slow down. I wouldn't be calling you at this hour if it weren't really important."

"Important? Uh-"

"Nick. I have some news. Make sure you're sitting down. In fact, why don't you get a drink first?"

"Greg, just get to it."

"Seriously, Nick. You're not gonna like what I have to say."

"Come on Greg. After everything that's happened in the last week with Warrick, you think there's anything worse you can say to make my week suck much more, aside from you sayin' you're gonna, like, wake me up this way every morning. It's 4 o'clock in the afternoon, buddy, and I'm still nursin' a hangover from celebratin' my best friend gettin' out of jail, someplace he never should have been in the first place." Nick was talking faster and faster.

"Nick, calm down. I – Warrick didn't make it home last night."

"Whad'ya mean, he didn't make it home last night. I saw him walk out the damn door. Now stop pullin' my strings Greggo. This ain't funny. He just got out of jail. He just got out of trouble. He's fine. He's…" His voice dwindled as the implications of Greg's words hit him.

"I'm sorry Nick –"

"Naw, naw," Nick shook his head, his Texas drawl kicking in more than ever. "Rick's not dead. He's – HE'S NOT DEAD! YOU HEAR ME?! HE'S NOT DEAD!" He yelled into the phone, breaking down into tears.

"Nick. I know you're upset."

"Damn right I'm upset. I'm –" Nick's words, or attempts at words, were lost in tears again.

"If you need someone to talk to, if you need anything, you know I'm always here for you."

"Always here for me. Always here for me?! That was supposed to be Warrick!" Nick croaked out as he slammed down the receiver and head butted his pillow. He covered his eyes and sobbed himself to sleep, still not believing one word Greg had said.