Chapter 4

It was around ten in the morning by the time Grissom pushed back from his paper-covered desk, placing his glasses on its surface before rubbing the bridge of his nose gingerly. He never had liked doing the paperwork for cases and was always amazed at his willingness to subject himself to hours on end of it, as well as amazed that he never seemed to learn from his bad habit of letting it all pile up until there was hours worth of work ahead of him.

He sighed, letting his hand drop and looking up from his mess and over at the large, but apparently 'not a problem to lift' leather couch that had temporarily taken up residence in front of one of his sets of shelves to the left of the door, the couch's occupant having fallen asleep not two seconds after he had lain down. Though they had doubted that Nick cared, for he probably would've eventually slept sitting up against the roof's ledge had they not found him sooner, they had made sure that he was as comfortable as possible, removing his running shoes and cell phone holder for him and setting up a roll of jackets as a pillow under his head, draping one of the blankets from break room's first aid kit over his unmoving form.

The man had been asleep ever since, not having even stirred when someone from the day shift had engaged in a screaming fight with Hodges right outside Grissom's office, the door having been accidentally left open. Both Grissom and Catherine had checked up on him after they'd rushed to break up the fight and shoo the two of them away, ready to apologize for the noise when they realized that he was still sound asleep, not even reacting at all to his name being called.

Presently, he looked away from Nick's slackened features and down at his watch, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he realized that Nick had already slept for fifteen hours straight when the irregularity of a CSI's sleep patterns more often than not resulted in the CSI only being able to sleep solid for five to six hours at the most, unless they were completely and totally exhausted.

'Then again,' Grissom thought to himself as he shifted his gaze back to the mess in front of him, not really seeing it, 'he technically hasn't really slept for a little over a week, so that could have something to do with it.'

He jumped a little in his seat when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he quickly turned to find that Nick's arms had begun jerking in his sleep and his face shone with perspiration, a grimace creasing the skin around his closed eyes and mouth. As his arms continued to jerk, Grissom could see Nick's eyes moving rapidly back and forth under their lids – there was only one thing that he could be dreaming about. Right away Grissom abandoned his chair and rushed to kneel at Nick's side, shaking him as gently as possible.

"Nick, Nick wake up, common Nicky…" But despite Grissom's now harsher shaking, Nick remained in the throws of his nightmare, his arms and now his legs starting to thrash more violently against imaginary walls, in the process discarding the blanket on the floor.

Frustrated and a little scared, he shot up from his place on the floor and whipped open his door, leaning out into the hall. Right away he spotted his team all headed towards the break room and stuck two fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly. Startled, the four of them quickly looked in the direction the piercing sound had come from only to find their boss leaning out of his office, the frantic expression on his face being enough to stop any objections to his means of getting their attention and to start them hurrying towards him even before he spoke the words that made them pick up their pace.

"I need a hand in here!" It was obviously something to do with Nick and when they finally raced through the open door and to the couch, they saw immediately why Grissom had been so upset: Nick, still asleep, was thrashing wildly around, his face shining with sweat, his eyes squeezed shut but his brow furrowed and mouth partly open as though to cry out in fear, but no sound came. Catherine gripped Grissom's arm, her voice panicked.

"Have you tried to wake him up?" she asked, staring at Nick's struggles.

"Yes," Grissom croaked. "I shook him and kept on calling his name, but he won't wake up." Both Greg and Warrick wanted to try for themselves, but didn't want to chance being caught in the thrashes. Suddenly Sara, who had been holding a tall styrefoam cup in her hands, approached Grissom.

"Do you think water would work?" she asked quickly.

Before he could answer, a gut-wrenching cry of anguish and phantom pain, nearly yell-volume, escaped Nick's lips and the thrashes suddenly stopped, leaving Nick trembling from head to toe. For a moment he remained that way and the team hoped to God that he was about to wake up, but then, while he was still asleep, he slowly lifted one trembling hand, bringing it carefully to his hip and wrapping around an unseen object. Then suddenly, Nick's panicked and pained breaths changed, becoming more rapid and choked, their irregularity easily recognizable the type that would come from slow suffocation.

Their blood ran cold as they realized what part of the event his subconscious had brought him to, but Sara was the first to react. She quickly took a step forward; she knew exactly what that unseen object was and what his imagination would have him do with it, and she'd be damned if she let it get away with that.

Without another thought, she took another step closer and threw the clear contents of her cup right into Nick's face. His reaction was immediate – with a sharp gasp, his eyes shot open, wide with irrational terror as he half leapt, half fell off of the couch, landing hard on the tiled ground. His back muscles spasmmed and his stomach muscles clenched as a series of painful dry-heaves and coughs wracked his exhausted body, there already being nothing in his system for him to relinquish. Though he wasn't entirely aware of it, his friends had taken seats around him, Catherine, being a mother and used to comforting someone when they were sick, sitting right next to him in order to rub slow and gentle circles on his back, whispering whatever soothing words could come to mind.

A final shudder passed through his body before it could relax a little and he was able to open his eyes again, noticing for the first time that once more he was no longer alone; each CSI from the nightshift had again positioned themselves around him, except he remembered that this time round, they were in Grissom's office, and he was blessedly free of the weight of his service weapon.

After a brief glance at the look on each of their faces, he sighed, turning his eyes to the floor as he realized that the dream he remembered having hadn't just acted itself out in his mind. In an attempt to deviate from the mood that what must have been quite the spectacle had created, he smiled half-heartedly.

"You guys just can't seem to get a break from me," he joked and was glad when they humoured him with smiles and brief chuckles before becoming serious and silent once more. He was glad that Catherine hadn't stopped rubbing his back, for it helped ease the paralyzing fear as well as the pain that his mode of waking up had left behind, however he couldn't help but wipe a hand carefully over his face, bringing it away and staring from the water that dripped from it to Sara, regarding her cup with a raised eyebrow. Blushing slightly despite herself, Sara's eyes shifted back and forth between Nick and the floor as she explained.

"You were having a nightmare and - and we figured you'd be better off awake, even if it meant using drastic measures," she said, and Nick chuckled quietly.

"Well, you deffinitely figured right on that one," he said, using his sleeve to wipe the rest of his face and neck dry. It wasn't long however before the previous levity vanished and he was able to recall exactly what he had been dreaming; had it not been for his ever present exhaustion, he would have jumped up and run as fast as he could, in any direction, just to prove to himself that he was indeed free, able to move around as he pleased. He found his eyes wandering down to his hand and he could sware that he could still feel the cold, solidness of the gun in his palm, could still feel his finger pulling back on the trigger as he squeezed his eyes shut...

He shook his head, blinking hard to clear it of its thoughts as he balled his still cold hand into a loose fist and forced his mind to focuss on the important thing at the moment: he was surrounded by his friends, people who he knew cared about him enough to see him through the aftershocks of last week - they were the one thing that hadn't changed andhe knew he could depend on them for as long as it took, and longer.

Finally he was able to bring himself to look up at them and smile, but found that he was at a loss for words to express his gratitude and so settled instead for pulling the closest person into a tight hug, which incidentaly was Catherine, who was caught off guard by this sudden action but pushed aside her surprise and returned the hug ten-fold, smiling at no one in particular; Nick was going to be okay, it was just a matter of time - and they had plenty of that.

"Thanks guys, all of you," Nick said horsely, wanting to say more until he was suddenly cut off by the angry growl of his stomach. Greg was the only one that couldn't hold back a snicker.

"A little hungry are we?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest. For a second Nick simply looked confused, as though debating something in his head before he finally voiced his question, gazing blankly at the floor in front of him.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked. It was Warrick who answered.

"Around fifteen hours or so; it's a little after ten in the morning," he said, glancing down at his watch for conformation before looking back up at his friend, looking at him steadily for a moment before venturing to an offer. "What do you say: should a few of us head over to the deli, pick up a late breakfast, or an early lunch?" They were relieved once more to see him smile and nod his ascent.

"That'd be really be great 'Rick," he whispered, his eyes shifting as his smile turned sheepish. "'Cause I really don't think I'd be able to see straight enough to even place an order for myself." Warrick grinned.

"It's no problem man; me 'n Greg'll handle it." And with that, the two of them raced out of the room, not even having to ask what everyone would like - they knew each other well enough to know it by heart.

When they had gone, the other three combined their efforts to carefully help Nick to stand and move back to sit up on the couch, rewrapping the blanket around him before Sara and Catherine took a seat on either side of him, Grissom returning to the chair behind his desk, gazing at Nick's drooping eyes thoughtfully; by the looks of things, the man wasn't going to be able to stay awake until the other two returned with their food, not that he couldn't use the extra sleep seeing as he had the time and opportunity to take it and they could just wake him up when Greg and Warrick returned.

Nodding resolutely, Grissom paused before returning to his paperwork, a thoughtfull smile playing on his lips as he watched Nick finally give in to his exhaustion, his chin resting on his chest as his breaths evened out and became deeper once more. And, though the supervisor wasn't entirely sure where they would go, what they would do once the immediate needs for sleep and food had been adressed, he wasn't worried; they'd made it this far - together, they'd be able to figure out the rest.

All in due time.

The End

A/N: and there you have it, the end of the story:) hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it:) - if you have a spare moment, or haven't already,check out my other csi fic 'nowhere to run' (drama/actionadventure),set 300 feet underground, and pitting the team against a murderer. -- chapter 2 will be up shortly