IRREVERSIBLE

CHAPTER 8

Warning: Graphic talk

Sorry about the double posting.

Thanks to my Beta Smokey!!

I don't want to be a soldier
With the captain of some sinking ship
With snow, far below
So if you love me

Why'd you let me go?

Violet Hill, Cold Play

"He ain't been home for weeks now," the crazy cat lady named Mrs. Matthews said as she sat on the porch with a black and white three-legged kitty. A cigarette dangled from the edge of her mouth, dropping ashes onto a shabby sweater as her blue eyes followed the two CSIs closely. Her hair was done in its atypical fashion of a pony tail. In her better days, Mrs. Matthews was a lawyer, but the profession wore her down physically. Mentally, she was as keen as an eagle on a mountain and still made it her business to know who and what was going on in the neighborhood. Even those who were AWOL.

"We know," Catherine said, walking up the steps with Greg following behind.

"He was really strange that night he left." The old lady pulled the cigarette from her mouth and squashed it into a pop can.

Catherine stopped and said, "How do you mean?"

"He looked like the Terminator. You know, from Terminator 2? The liquid guy. Normally he walks around like he's pissed off, or tired, or lately like death, but he looked like a man on a mission." She picked up the cat and held him as he tried to get away, while another cat came walking by and trotted over to Greg who backed away. "And he was carrying a black duffle bag and not much else. I don't know where he was going, but it didn't look like it was going to be some vacation. Figured him for a guy who goes to brothels or something."

Greg and Catherine looked at each other, eyes wide. "What time did he leave that night?"

"Oh about midnight. I was out having my last smoke when he came charging out of his house. He had some chick there before that, but she came and went looking really pissed off, just like that young thing that came and was gone from his house within an hour. That guy don't have much luck with women. They're in and out of his house like a cuckoo clock. I'd say he was a male hooker, but I know he works for some crime lab…or so he says. He's kind of a kook anyways. I don't even think he knows where he works half the time."

Catherine and Greg exchanged humorous looks, as normally people think of Nick Stokes as the sainted cowboy, so this image of a Nick Stokes was different. Most women were in awe of Nick, except for Sara and Catherine; but not this old lady. She seemed to have a mind of her own and had surmised the grumpy Texan in her own category - a moody, brooding, ego-maniac - and it was her job to knock him off his high horse. Catherine liked this old lady already, having done her fair share of knocking men off their high horses since she was 16.

She rambled on, "No wonder that little orange tabby of mine went off to live with him. One's as crazy as the other, especially after the cat attacked some lunatic lurking around his house."

Catherine walked over to her and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Some weird guy with long hair with bald spot in the middle of his head, hanging around watching what's his name…oh...Mick."

"Nick," Catherine corrected.

"Yeah, well, Nick's cat done gone crazy one day and flew at the guy, ripping his hands to shreds. Ain't seen the guy here since."

"Was there any blood?" Greg asked.

"I don't think so. Told you that cat is crazy, but he likes Mike."

"Nick," Catherine said.

"Oh yeah...Nick. Then I saw him a long time ago trying to burn something in the barrel out back…and he looked like he had a shower…about friggin' time…and his face was red and blistered like he bathed in acid or something and he looked like he was in shock or something, or shock and awe more likely. Like he'd been completely devastated by an event and was rendered defenseless. I don't know what happened to that guy, but he'd done gone crazy if you ask me. Time to get the men in white coats to drag Nick Stokes off to the funny farm. And he can take his damn cat with him. That cat was normal until he went to live with the kook over there, and now one's as crazy as the other."

Greg and Catherine glanced at each other quizzically before Catherine asked, "What was it that he was burning?"

"Well it was clothes, but then he tries to tell me that it was pictures of an old girlfriend. Wouldn't tell me which one…probably couldn't remember since there's so many of them that walk in and out of there."

Greg asked, "Do you remember which clothes they were, Mrs…?"

"Matthews. Oh yeah, I have a great memory. Oh it was a blue denim shirt and black jeans…think I saw his grey boxers. Tacky, tacky!! Bad enough he's always changing his hairstyle, but his clothes, now there's a man who could use 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.'"

Catherine had turned her attention to Greg. "What was Nick wearing that day you were locked in the prison?"

"That sounds close."

"Mrs. Matthews," Catherine asked, "did you see anything on the clothes?"

"Oh, he had them crumpled up, but when he dumped them in there I thought I saw blood. I tell you he's up to no good, that one. That guy plays all sweet with those puppy dog eyes of his and his big old goofy grin, but that Nick guy is a strange one. Really weird. Cat goes around stealing everyone's things…even stole a vibrator once. Nick just threw it in the trash. Hope he washed his hands. Pervert!"

Catherine held her hand up. "Mrs. Matthews, thank you, you've been a great help."

"No problem. Just tell Mack to smarten up when you see him. I'm watching him, 'cause I know that Stookes guy is up to no good, I tell ya. And his cat done gone and stole my cigarettes once and got one of my girls pregnant. I told Nick to get the damn thing neutered, but he's walking around like some emo rock star. One of these days he's gonna wear a black cape with a hood and carry a staff, like's he got some black cloud over that big head of his. You just tell him I'm watching his every move."

Greg was stifling a laugh at the 'emo rock star' comment as Catherine jabbed him in the ribs to shut him up and thanked Mrs. Matthews for the info by saying, "Believe it or not, Mrs. Matthews, you've been a huge help to us, and I'm glad someone's watching Nick."

Mrs. Matthews replied with a quizzical look before scooping up the three legged cat and walking back into the house.

xxXXxx

Stale air greeted them as they entered their colleague's house and turned on the lights. Dust covered the black leather couches, turning them almost grey, and even Nick's flat screen TV was shimmering with dust. Catherine looked around and saw Nick's desktop over in the corner and went over to it while Greg searched around the house. Just then Catherine's cell rang.

"Willows."

"Catherine, it's Mandy."

"Mandy, what's up?" Catherine lowered her voice to a whisper.

"I don't know if this means anything, but the last time I was there Nick was worried that when I cleaned his house I might have gone into his closet. I don't know. I just thought he was being paranoid."

"Did he say which one?"

"No."

"Thanks, Mandy. That might help us more then you think." Catherine called to Greg who was in the bathroom, "Greg, can you start going through Nick's closets?"

"Yeah, sure," the younger man answered and decided to start in Nick's bedroom.

Catherine turned on the computer and searched around for a password. She looked under the keyboard and found a sticky note and read it. "Oh Nicky, you're so predictable." She typed 'George' into the computer and was greeted by the Windows Vista logo, then started to check his e-mail. Outlook Express played the familiar ring as one e-mail popped up. It was from Sara Sidle. Catherine clicked on it.

Greg walked into the bedroom and opened Nick's closet. Everything was so neat and precise except for a garbage bag on a shelf. He pulled it out and looked inside. Shock and awe was a good way to describe his reaction as he numbly walked back out into the living room.

Catherine had just settled into a chair to go through Nick's computer, and she turned upon hearing Greg's footsteps. The look on his face was enough for her to stop what she was doing, jump out of the chair, and take the bag from his shaking hands. She walked over to a table in the eat-in kitchen and dumped the contents, spreading them out and asking Greg to bring her kit over to her.

Carefully, she spread out the denim shirt and then the jeans which smelled of iron. Then with a firm resolve she unfolded the grey boxers, mentally separating the victim (her friend) from the evidence and held fast as it became clear that her hunch had been right all along, as much as a part of her wanted it not to be. Dried blood, lots and lots on the seat of the boxers, and she hypothesized that if she sprayed luminal on the seat of the black jeans, blood would be on them as well.

Greg brought her kit over and set it on the table. Catherine steeled herself. She had no choice in the matter. A crime had taken place. There was a victim, and she had evidence linking victim to attacker.

"I think we found the key evidence, Greg," Catherine crowed and looked at the younger man who had walked over to the bookshelf, arms folded, sniffling, the light from the window reflecting on the 'Forensics' lettering on his black vest.

Leaving Greg to his own devices to resolve this for himself, Catherine went back to the e-mail that Sara Sidle had sent to Nick.

Dear Nick:

Nick, I read your e-mail and I'm so, so sorry this has happened to you. You have my word that I will say nothing to Grissom about this, although I wish you would say something. I wish you had done something right away instead of just going home and pretending nothing happened, because something did happen, Nick. But I assume you got rid of the evidence as soon as you got in the house. These guys need to pay for what they did to you.

Statistics show that men are less likely to report this stuff, even less then the rate for women, for obvious reasons… fear of not being believed, embarrassment. However, Nick, I wish you had said something. I know Grissom would never mock you and Catherine would be in your corner fighting for justice. There are laws to protect your identity; I used to help victims all the time. It's called a 'Request for Pseudonyms'. Please reconsider. Whatever evidence you have, turn it over to Catherine. Personally, she'd be the best person for this. I know as a man this is probably the most horrific thing you've had to endure, but it does not change the person you are. I'm sure that Cat will do her best. If there's any evidence left, then give it to her and she'll fight for justice.

Please don't let these two jerks get away with it, and don't take the law into your own hands, Nick. I wasn't sure what you meant when said you only had so many cheeks to turn, but don't do this yourself. You'll only risk yourself, your career, and everything. Just find the courage in your soul to come forward. Please do it for me.

Sara

Having collected his wits, Greg sat down and read Sara's e-mail as well and asked, "What does she mean by taking things into your own hands?"

Catherine shook her head. "Well, there's only one person who could find that out." She placed a call to Grissom and let him know about Sara's e-mail.

"Forward it to me and I'll read it over and then give her a call," he instructed.

xxXXxx

Dr. Zayid read the latest test results with a frown…a frown that made Nick uneasy. The young doctor pulled out a form from his desk and started writing on it. "Nick, this is a referral to Dr. Ramoro. If you have time, he's willing to see you today," Dr. Zayid said. "I've sent your file over."

"What's wrong?" Nick asked, even though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

The doctor looked at him, hopeful, yet worried. "Well, the good news is your last HIV test came back negative. However, your enzymes are up. My concern is that your liver is deteriorating."

"Gees," Nick sighed in exasperation, "is there no end in sight to this?"

Dr. Zayid looked into Nick's eyes with the light. "You look better. Have you been taking it easy?"

"Yeah," Nick said. "Sleeping, eating, and relaxing." His brain rhymed off, "And watching a dirty scumbag does wonders for the endorphins."

"Shut up brain!!" Nick thought to himself.

"Good. Now get on the scale."

Nick took off his shoes and stood on it as the doctor watched the numbers. "You're down another five pounds."

Nick growled in frustration as Dr. Zayid wrote in his chart. "I've been eating a lot better though," he said. "My weight should be up."

Dr. Zayid's blue eyes faced him. "Well, Doctor Ramora said he could see you today, otherwise you'll wait another month to get in. So I suggest you get over there. More than likely you'll need to get a liver biopsy done."

"Well, I've been through worse," Nick said, taking the referral form and heading off to the specialist.

xxxXXxxx

Grissom studied McVeigh's medical file with Doc Robbins. "He's got Chronic Hepatitis B but is HIV Negative, while Smith is HIV Positive and has Hepatitis B."

Doc Robbins shook his head. "Well, the attack was about six months ago? Mr. Smith could have been infected shortly after that. If his regular partner had left the prison a few days after attacking Nick and if he's still not HIV Positive, then Nick should be fine. However, the virus could lay dormant for months."

Doc took the news of Nick's attack in stride, as nothing shocked the Coroner anymore. As far as he was concerned, it didn't change his view of the CSI in any way. He would far rather have Nick alive, yet traumatized, than here on the slab where he and David would have to see the horrific-ness of his attack in an autopsy. And when the Texan CSI returned, he would simply act as if nothing happened, knowing that would be what Nick would want.

Grissom looked guilty when Robbins told him this, which didn't shock the Coroner. Most men couldn't deal with it in the least. But working with the dead often changed your perspective of life. Anything was better then the slab, and Nick was very lucky to be alive as far Robbins was concerned.

"What are Nick's chances though?"

"It depends on many factors, Grissom. I'll talk to my colleague over there today about it. Seems strange…if they were in some kind of relationship then the other should have it as well. Actually, Nick probably would have tested HIV Positive before getting Hepatitis B. HR might be able to access his medical records."

"Well, I don't know. Nick could be paying out of pocket for the tests to avoid suspicion." Grissom sighed. "I'll guess I'll be the one to tell him Smith's status. What do I say?"

Doc Robbins shrugged. "The truth."

xxXXxx

Nick hobbled out of the theatre carrying the program under his arm. He wished the crowd would hurry up and was irritated as two teenage girls babbled on about the cute Australian from 'American Idol' who had the starring role as Galileo Figaro. Nick sucked his breath under his teeth as his ankle protested every slow step he made.

Eponine glanced at him. "You okay?"

Nick forced a smile at her and said, "Yeah. I'm tired and my ankle hurts."

The dark-haired girl slid her arm through his and said, "C'mon, I'll help you out."

"I'm fine," Nick said, grunting.

"So how did you hurt your ankle?" she asked as they headed out of the theatre to her car.

"I tripped while I was taking a walk."

"Uh huh...near McVeigh's trailer." She stood in front of him and fixed him with a scolding stare.

Nick shoved his hands into the cargo pants he wore along with a blue dress shirt. "Yeah, how did you know that?"

She looked at him as she opened the passenger door for him. "Because he called me and complained about some dark-haired, British guy near his trailer and said I'd better tell him to watch out."

Nick frowned and then forced a grin. "Oh."

"Get in the car. We'll talk about it." She drove a grey Volkswagen Bug…her ex-husband's before he left her for a younger woman. It was the only thing other than her daughter that she got out of the marriage.

"So, what were you doing at McVeigh's trailer?" she asked as they pulled out of the parking lot

"Watching him."

"Why?"

"Because I'm sure he's up to something." Nick stared out the window, watching to see if any of his friends from the lab were here. Nope.

"And where's your proof, Nick?"

"I don't have any other than a gut instinct."

"Well, that and a cup of coffee won't get you far, speaking of which…do you want to stop by Ruby's?"

"No, I'm tired. I think I'd like to go home," Nick answered. He glanced over at Eponine who wore a fitted, blue, snug, dress emphasizing her voluptuous curves. She had straightened her hair and it was swept to one side. God she looked hot! "The seats were great! Third row centre from the stage," he said. "It was a really great show. I'm not big on musicals."

"My mom's an…or was…an opera singer, and I used to sing on Broadway, so it's kind of in my blood," Eponine said as she pulled out of the parking lot and waited as the traffic slowly made its way out. "My mom was a singer, so Stephanie comes by it naturally. She had read Les Miserables and named me after a character in a book…a character I later played in our local theatre in town. I majored in Theatre Arts in university."

"Oh!" Nick commented surprised. "So how come you...now…did you..."

Eponine smirked. "How did I wind up in a trailer park near Vegas? Well, I met my daughter's father who didn't approve of what I did, and so like the idiot I was I just caved and became a good cop's wife. I mean, I sang for a while…even got to Broadway for a bit where I met my husband who was a New York cop. Then we moved to Nevada where he became the local sheriff in Reno…until he ran off with a younger woman...some newbie on the force."

"So you have a lot of experience in the law enforcement world," the Texan commented, staring at the lights on the highway.

"Yep, more then you think, Nick," Eponine sighed. "I'm glad to put that world behind me. I never got on with the other cops' wives, because I preferred books over partying with the cops and their wives. Not a great world, I tell you. They were all skinny and blonde and perfect, and I'm none of those things."

Nick looked her over. "So that's why we get along so well."

"I knew you were in law enforcement as soon as I met you!" She laughed. "Gees, you had that clean cut look about you when you walked in the office, although you also looked very tired, and very sick."

"I have been sick," he told her. "I hate that clean cut look, but I grew up with a judge dad who expected that of me. Where are your parents?"

"Still in Maine. My mom teaches acting at the local university."

"Do you miss being on stage?" He cast his eyes over and saw the familiar wistful look that all performers get when asked that question. Even Catherine Willows got that longing-to-be-in-the-spotlight-look, although Nick couldn't figure that one out since her stage performance included taking her clothes off for perverted men; although he wouldn't have minded checking out one of those performances had he been old enough.

Eponine was quiet and then answered his question. "Yeah, I do. I liked it. It's addictive. I did all those melodramatic Andrew Lloyd Webber ones. I did my namesake in 'Les Miz'. I did 'Chicago'."

"Ooh," Nick answered, "you mean you were on stage dressing in those skimpy outfits like the movie with…Catherine Zeta Jones?" The Texan sighed as he said the name of that goddess from Wales whose accent drove him crazy. "Or Rene's character?"

"Ohh...well, I did the Catherine Zeta Jones character, Velma. I got to sing about killing my philandering husband." Eponine smiled evilly, her nose scrunched as she said that. "Actually, Nick, if you could sing and dance I could see you doing the sleazy lawyer in that show, Billy Flynn."

Nick was taken aback by the compliment. Sleazy lawyer…hmm. "Ya think?"

"Oh yeah, you've got the look."

"But no talent," Nick reminded her. "Can't get anywhere without that. My talent is...uh..."

"Spying on parolees in trailer parks, Nick?" Eponine asked pointedly and sarcastically.

"Oh, I can do more than that. I'm a science geek."

"Oh, and your parents?"

"Judge and lawyer."

"Awww...so you're in the field by nature?"

"Yep. They would have liked me to be a lawyer or a judge, but I like what I do." Nick shifted gears. "So what about this change of careers? Why therapy?"

"I'm following in my dad's footsteps," she announced matter-of-factly.

"Which is...being a sex therapist? And why don't you live there if your mom works at the university? Free education? Free room and board?"

She laughed, "No, my dad's a marriage counselor. They're good people, but I don't want to move home with them because I just feel like I let them down. They had all these expectations of Lee and I, and we just fucked up royally."

"I don't think so," Nick said to her. "You're a great mom. You take good care of your brother. You're studying for your Ph.D. You're earning your own money. That's a lot to be said."

Eponine was quiet again and then said, "Thanks, Nick. That's really, really nice of you to say that."

"Hey, I see the drudges of society, Eponine. I see people who throw their kids away like garbage. I see families with money to burn, yet their kids are messed up. I did a case a few years ago where these boys, both from families with tons of money, went into a Laundromat and one of them locked the other in a dryer and took off. Kid died."

"That's awful," she said. "I guess being loaded doesn't always mean your kids will turn out well."

"No, it's about the time you spend with them," Nick said, "and Stephanie is an amazing kid."

"Her ADHD gets the best of her, but I deal with it. It's hard for her because it makes her stand out like a sore thumb, so putting her into musical theatre was a way to get out the extra energy and work on the talent she has."

"She was great the other day," the Texan said. "She sang that song so well, people were crying."

"I'm glad you came with us, Nick," she said. "You've been hiding in that trailer so much, I've made it a mission to get you out of there and into the real world again. I don't know what you're hiding from, but it's time to come out."

"Of the closet?" he answered coyly.

"Yeah, if you want to come out of that too, you can. I'm all ears." Eponine was giggling, keeping her eyes to the road.

"No, that's not my closet," Nick said. "I play for the other team."

"I'm sure all the ladies in the park will be happy to hear that."

"Well, sorry, I'm not their knight in shining armor."

"Oh don't worry about them. They'll find some other man to take care of them."

"And you'll study sex in the meantime?" Nick asked, his eyebrows raised.

"No, I'm studying sexuality…human sexuality and the chemicals it releases that aid in healing of all sorts of things, particularly emotional and sexual trauma." She gave him a quick, devilish yet goofy, look and then stuck her tongue out at him to which he cracked up, before she said, "But a player like you wouldn't understand that."

"I'm not a player!" he snapped, wondering what it would take for people to stop thinking he was a player. "I'm a full-fledged, single man who, yes, likes to dally in one night stands for releases when Mr. Hand wasn't doing the job."

"Oh that was TMI for me, Mr. Stokes. I daresay I'll have that image of you and your hand in my head tonight."

"You're the sexologist!" Nick told her. "Why should that shock you?"

"Oh it doesn't. It's good for you…releases good chemicals into your brain and makes your day go along smoother," she quipped and then guffed, "Sexologist! That's a good one. One night stands are okay, as long as you keep yourself protected and the girl you're with isn't going to start stalking you."

"I've been stalked…by a man!"

"Oh? For sexual purposes?" Eponine's voice raised in interest.

"That's a loooong story…don't even wanna go there. I don't think it was about sex. I think he was deranged," Nick drawled.

"Well anyway, you can only be a player for so long, and then even that gets boring," she told him.

"You're right," Nick admitted reluctantly, "I am a player, but I've learned the hard way that it's a lonely road."

"Is that how you contracted Hepatitis B?" She pulled into the park.

A tense silence followed the question. "I don't want to talk about it," Nick finally answered coldly.

Her smile dropped. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound so judgmental, Nick. I really don't. I'm just bitter, and I guess I projected those feelings onto you."

"It's alright," he said. "I know all about bitterness, more then you can imagine. I put on this happy face for everyone at work, but at home my mind goes dark."

They were quiet for a moment and then Eponine looked at him. "Do you want to come in for awhile?" Her voice sounded nervous.

Nick thought for a moment about the question. Sure, he could go back to his trailer and watch more of 'Planet Earth' and get depressed about the state of the environment and the ecological systems, or he could spend some time with an attractive woman whom he actually enjoyed talking to.

He did introduce himself to the single moms, but he got the impression they were looking for a White Knight trying to save them from the throes of poverty, which he wasn't. He was a Black Knight and someone they should veer from before being swept up in the sick vortex of his miserable life. Eponine had an edge to her. She was certainly bitter, but seemed to channel it well.

"Yeah I'll come in for a bit," he finally said. "I'd like to read some of that thesis of yours."

"I don't know if you can handle it, Nick," she warned.

"Don't be too sure of that, Eponine," Nick laughed. "I once investigated a case involving Lady Heather."

"Oh, the dominatrix!" Eponine brightened with interest. "Yeah, I interviewed her for an essay on Slave and Master relationships."

"Really?" Nick pulled himself out of the car wincing at the pain that shot from his ankle. "I never spent any time with her. That kind of stuff creeps me out."

"Oh, you're a player and a prude?" Eponine surmised, locking the door of her car and linking her arm through his as she led him to her trailer.

"You can't be both?" Nick raised his eyebrows at her and smiled slyly as she shook her head at him in exasperation.

"Just come in and I'll get some Diet Colas out for us."

xxXXxx

At the lab, Catherine opened the bag for Warrick, Brass, and Grissom to see what she had found. They had papered the plexiglass windows to avoid any stares from cops and Lab Rats. Greg stood off to the side with the 'John Doe' file.

She carefully laid the boxers, black jeans, and denim shirt across the table, stretched them out, and took stock of their reactions. Brass groaned and turned away, while Warrick wiped his face and walked away, hands in fists, cursing, "Fuck!! Fuck!!" Finally, she looked at Grissom whose jaw had clenched, mouth pursed, and arms folded, almost hugging himself.

"Well," she asked tentatively, "do you think this is enough for Klein?"

"If the DNA matches any of the suspects, then yes, it is," Grissom answered in a tight voice.

"It does match," Greg told them. He had long recovered from the shock and was back in professional mode, behaving as if this were just another crime scene for him to investigate. "There are two types of semen on there. One matches McVeigh and the other Smith. The blood belongs to Nick."

The room was silent as the team took stock of the news. Catherine watched as her guys' faces went from shades of white to grey and then to red. The first to speak was Brass. "I just want to go down to that prison and wrap my hands around that scrawny son of a bitch's neck!" the burly detective growled, shaking his head from side to side, teeth gritted. "Just fucking bash the shit out of him."

Catherine looked at Warrick who had one hand over his mouth, the other on his hip as he took deep breaths to control himself and then said, "Why…I don't know if I want to know…but why was there semen from Nick on the carpet?"

"Physical stimulation of any sort can cause a reaction, it was beyond his control," Catherine explained grimly.

Grissom quickly agreed. No need to go further on that one. "I know. I'm going to talk to Maddie about pressing charges. I think we need to find Nick and see if he will tell us what happened and how."

"Sara mentioned a form about..." Catherine reminded the shocked entomologist.

"I've already got a copy of it. I just need him to sign it."

"If we can get him to sign it," Greg said.

Grissom took a deep breath. "Sara and I talked long and hard about how to deal with this, and I know this is horrifying for us, but we have to find a way to separate the victim from the person and from the evidence. We just have to reassure him of that. Sara…" The man paused, wishing she was here because God knows she and Catherine could handle this far better then the rest of them. "Sara said to be compassionate and empathetic but straight forward, and no matter how much he…he...reacts…we have to..."

"We got it, Gil, we got it," Catherine finished because as far she was concerned, Grissom had finally confronted the truth (thanks to Sara) and now they could be a team and help their friend.

"We should never have let him run away, Catherine," Grissom said. "God knows what he's doing or where he's gone."

"You sound genuinely worried, Gil," Catherine commented, surprised.

"I am," Grissom sighed after a momentary pause.

"It's about time you were worried about Nick, but unfortunately we did let him go."

xxXXxx

Nick sat in the living room of the trailer. It was narrow and slightly cluttered with shelves filled with books, movies, CDs and pictures of families, but what did one expect with a brother and a daughter living here, both of whom were out for the night: Stephanie at a sleepover, and Lee with a girl that he had been seeing. And then there was the Berenese Mountain Dog who immediately did his two-legged dance for Nick who applauded his approval and asked when he'd be appearing at Caesar's. Then eased a stuffed animal from out under his butt-poor stuffed animal he thought.

Eponine showed him the latest CD she bought, Cold Play's 'Viva La Vida Or Death and All His Friends.'

"Well that's a light hearted title," Nick commented. "They must have been thinking about the Coroner I work with."

"Your job sounds depressing," she said as she slid the CD in, and soon Chris Martin's soft, melancholic voice filled the room.

"It has its moments," Nick told her. "Once the perpetrator is behind bars, there's a real sense of satisfaction."

"Well, I kind of prefer my line of work, helping people reclaim their sex lives after a traumatic event," she said as she gave him a quick tour of the trailer, what little there was of it. It was certainly the biggest trailer on King Trailer Lot, but it was still a house on wheels. Nick couldn't imagine living a life like that, but some people managed and probably did better then he did. It seemed that people in this park did their best to form a tight knit community. Not too tight knit though, as Nick found himself welcomed with open arms, although probably because he was a single guy surrounded by single moms.

Then Eponine showed him her workstation in her bedroom, which was small but decorated rather exotically with an East Indian theme to it. Dark reds, blues, and purples were on her bedspread, and paintings of tigers and elephants lined the wall with her Bachelor of Arts and her Masters in Health Sciences, which helped her get a part-time job at the Public Health Clinic handing out condoms and educating youth about protection against pregnancies and disease. Her desk held a laptop, printer, and a pile of books with titles like 'The Joy of Sex' and 'Karma Sutra', which Nick picked up and smirked at.

"What are you laughing at?" she asked, sipping her cola. "You've probably done most of those moves."

"Oh, probably. I just didn't know they had names." Nick looked at her and laughed, noticing her eyes widening.

"Yes, they do, Nick. You know, for a ladies man, you certainly don't know much."

"Yeah, my boss said that to me. We were looking at a skeleton and he told me that it was female because of the wider hip bones. I told him I knew all I needed to know…in other words, what goes where."

He smiled mischievously at Eponine who rolled her eyes and said, "Well, at least you know that much." She grabbed a folder and motioned for him to follow her into the living room where they sat on the couch. She looked through her file and showed him a passage that correlated to her thesis on 'Sexual Healing'.

Nick picked up the newspaper article and read a passage:


Researchers debate the mechanisms of sexual first-aid. One theory is that the endorphins activated by orgasm travel to receptor sites throughout the body and produce a morphine-like effect.

Nick looked at her. "Yeah, I kind of knew that." Then he picked up a book from her pile, 'Healing Sex: A Mind-Body Approach to Healing Sexual Trauma', by Staci Haines.

Eponine had set her file down and quickly leaned over to see what he was looking at. "Oh that's a good one. It's a book for survivors of sexual trauma and their loved ones."

Nick bit his lower lip. "So is she saying survivors can actually have sex again?"

"Oh yeah, it's not easy for them, but it does happen, and it can actually help them on their road to recovery."

"But it's mostly for women, right?" Nick asked, as he had done a bit of research and found out he was in the minority for his experience. Figures.

Eponine turned some of the pages and concluded, "Well, yeah, but I mean men certainly can benefit from it. Statistically, one out of six boys will be molested and one out of eight men will be assaulted. It's more common then we think, but unfortunately men have a rough time because there's not as much support for them. And an assault like that can really wreak havoc on a man's masculinity which can affect him sexually."

Nick sighed, "Yeah, I can believe that."

"Actually, I have an interview of the author right here." She handed him a newspaper clipping. Nick rubbed his chin as he read it:

Anything can be a trigger for survivors, depending on their sexual trauma — sexual positions or acts, smells, or something a lover says. When you are triggered, the past rushes into the present, and the person can't tell the difference between the two. For instance, they won't know the difference between their lover and their perpetrator.

After sexual trauma, many people continue to experience upsetting and traumatic reactions to sex, closeness, intimacy, and even their own desire. Positive experiences of closeness or intimacy can leave one feeling ashamed, protective, or angry. Many people can understand intellectually what happened to them, but put them in a stressful situation like having sex and their bodies continue to respond as they did during the abuse. A survivor might be making love with someone she cares about deeply and suddenly freeze or become angry and start reacting to the lover as if that person were the perpetrator of long ago.

Nick forgot about Eponine as he read the article and it dawned on him what happened with Mandy and Pamela. It was as if McVeigh and Smith were on him and not them.

"Another Nick Stokes 'Deeep Thought?" Eponine asked brightly, bringing him out of the reverie.

"It's a shame that this is women-centric. I mean, a lot of men have been assaulted and not a lot of help is out there for them," Nick said, laying the article back on the file.

"Maybe it's because men aren't as forthcoming about being assaulted because law enforcement is a patriarchal society. So that doesn't exactly spell for a safe environment that would encourage male assault victims to come forward. Hell, my ex-husband couldn't deal with it and he was a run of the mill cop. So our justice system isn't equipped to handle male assaults, only female assault victims. Male assault victims have rather unique needs, but there's nothing out there, particularly for adult males. There's some for boys, but not men. Sad, really."

Nick digested Eponine's words as if she was saying exactly what he was going through. What happened in the prison had left him feeling so alone, so isolated, as if whatever element made him part of general society was gone. "Listen, when a guy has been…attacked…and he tries to be with a woman, can it be difficult?" He lowered his eyes and pretended to look at the book-which he wasn't.

"Typically, yeah," Eponine said. "It's pretty normal. But there are ways around it."

The conversation was making Nick squirm a bit, and he looked at her, noticing how gorgeous she was. "I just…I just…I've been..." He stopped because a stupid lump was forming in his throat. Out, damn lump, out! Oh, Grissom would love this analogy.

Eponine stared at him and knowingly asked, "How long ago did it happen?"

"Oh, I'm real lucky in that department," he said, his eyes growing misty. "Twice. Once when I was nine, and the other…the other happened about six months ago."

He looked at her face and was partly surprised at her reaction which was a nonreaction. She took the information in calmly and without emotion with only her dark eyes decorated by long lashes widening a bit, and then Eponine simply patted his hand and asked "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's just that after what happened, I couldn't be with anyone, and I mean there were two women that I tried to be with, and I just freaked when they got too close."

"You weren't ready yet," she told him. "Your body reacted naturally because it's still in flight mode. But sex is also very healing and can help you overcome it."

"Worst part was that one of those women was a good friend, and I really, really hurt her feelings," Nick told her. "Sweet girl, and I fucked things up big time with her."

"She didn't know, I assume?" Eponine asked.

"No. I work with her, and I never reported it."

"It's hard when you're in the field?"

"No one I work with would ever look at me the same way."

Eponine sighed. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Nick thought about it and said, "I was investigating a case at a prison, and I got jumped by two guys. They gagged me, tied me up, and it...was...I don't remember much."

"A lot of rape victims black out. The trauma is too much for their brains to take in."

Nick heard the words 'rape victim' and found them hard to digest. It was hard enough to identify himself as a 'victim', but add the R word and it was not just tough but incomprehensible.

"What's wrong?" Eponine asked.

"I've never used the R word," he explained.

"But that's what it was. You think because you're a man it has to be called something else? Nick, it is what it is," she said matter-of-factly, not concerned about his reaction.

"It wasn't supposed to happen to me," Nick told her. "I'm a man, a former football player, and..."

"And it was two against one, and you were tied up and gagged," she said. "What were the odds of you escaping that?"

Nick thought about it for a second and then answered, "I guess they were small odds, but still I should have…could have..."

"Should have, would have," Eponine interrupted, "are not expressions that you need to be telling yourself. Would you tell that to another male victim of sexual assault?"

"No, of course not. That would be cruel," Nick answered.

"So why are you being cruel to yourself?" she asked and then continued. "How do you expect to move on? Or maybe you don't want to because it's easier for you to wallow in a pool of self pity. I don't know you well, but I have a feeling that's not normally how you've dealt with shit in your life. You're a survivor. Time to turn that thought process around and look at this event in a different light. To wallow in self pity is to give power to the attackers even more so. This wasn't about sex, Nick; this was about power and abuse in a vile way."

Nick picked up her thesis and read a few lines from it, then smiled at her. "So, about this sexual healing."

Eponine leaned back on the couch and started laughing. "Well, I'm glad at least you're being a typical male who thinks about sex every 11 seconds. I gave you an 11 second therapy session and you respond by mentioning sex."

"Hey," Nick said, "you said I was a player, didn't you?"

Eponine smirked and grabbed one of his hands, started kissing it slowly, and whispered, "Your hands look like they could pleasure a woman very well."

"They've been known to do that," he whispered back, surprisingly enjoying this. He watched as that luscious mouth began to suck each digit, from thumb to pinky, slowly sending small jolts down to his libido which crawled out from a cave and asked his brain if it was safe to come out now. Not sure, his traumatized self answered back. Stand by.

As she finished, he slid over, moving his hand down to her waist and pulling her to him. He kissed her while Cold Play sang on about political strife. Not very romantic music, but it didn't matter. Never mind. Kissing Eponine was reassuring his libido that all was well. His traumatized self was interested but not sure and still putting up caution signs.

This girl could kiss. Nick had kissed many girls and sometimes found it a necessary evil in order to get to the real action. But if all he could muster tonight was kissing Eponine, then he could be proud of that. She rolled her tongue around his mouth while her finger drew along his jawline before she drew back and whispered, "So do you want to keep things like this or shall we move on?"

A stark reality hit Nick. "Shit, I kissed you and I've got..."

"I've been vaccinated against it because I work part-time at the public health clinic with Mrs. Riley."

"And then there's..." Nick's eyes said it all.

"Don't worry. I've got that covered."

"Aren't you worried? I mean my six month test was clean."

Eponine stood up and motioned for him to follow. "Then you should be fine."

"I'm just worried about you." Nick followed her into her bedroom.

"And I told you that I've got it covered. It's time for you to relax," she told him as she closed the door and wrapped her arms around his waist. "This night will be about you taking a step forward."

A/N Okay folks next chapter is very, very naughty- Informative, but naughty.

And the song I was referring to you is called "Violet Hill". An excellent song.

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