Chapter 11 is pretty dull (just Nick and Greg talking). However, I thought it was an important chapter to include, just to make sure everyone's caught up to speed. Nonetheless, it seemed a little cruel to just give you that, so instead I'm posting chapters 11 and 12 together, as 12 is more exciting. More love to my loyal readers. Thanks to lostladyknight and sasukesmyemo for reviews last chap :)

Happy reading to all,

Harper

CHAPTER 11: A Little (More) Conversation

As Greg rushed off to hand over the case file on the Pembleton break-in. The similarly sleep-deprived, and very rushed, DA took the file wordlessly and turned the corner for her office.

"That was for the Pembleton case," Greg yelled at her as she disappeared down the hall.

"Whatcha yellin' for?" Nick asked as he caught up.

"Nothin. So… what case are you working on right now?"

"Yours."

"Was I murdered or something?"

Nick chuckled. "No, silly. I'm working on the Pembleton case."

"You mean the one I just turned in to the DA – and the one I've spent the last week waiting for trace and DNA on…?"

"Yup." Nick winked.

"Heh. Nice."

"All the more time for more important cases."

"Every case is important," Greg said frowning. "You taught me that… or actually, Sara taught me that." He redirected, looking Nick in the eye, "Don't put Warrick's case, which, I feel compelled to mention, isn't actually even an assignment, over your actual work. To quote a great man, 'The crime rate in Vegas isn't slowing down.'"

"Gil Grissom."

"Very good young grasshopper."

"If I were a grasshopper, don't you think he would have eaten me by now?"

Greg through back his head and laughed. "So what have you actually been working on lately?"

"Griss has pretty much given me free reign,… considerin' the circumstances." Nick shuffled his feet. "Personally, I'd take that as an implied 'okay' on our investigation. He's lettin' us have more time to investigate what we feel is more important."

"Or as acknowledgement that you're going through a tough time, given that your best friend just died, and Grissom, being the nice guy that he is, is trying to cut you some slack," Greg corrected.

Nick averted eye contact.

"And you're betraying that trust and taking advantage of Grissom's generosity and concern for you."

Nick's face grew redder. "I'm just doin' what I think is necessary. Griss knows we're runnin' this investigation. And he hasn't stopped us."

"Correction. He hasn't been able to stop us."

"So you're sayin' he's the mole."

"I'm saying he called us into his office, after a nasty call from the Feds, and politely requested us to stop our investigation. You refused the request. And I'm sure Griss is now just concerned for your safety."

"If he wanted to get me to stop investigating, he would have given me more casework!" Nick exclaimed, overjoyed by the epiphany that, to him, meant that his boss, who was, in reality, like a father to him, was not the mole.

"Well, you could take it that way. He could just be concerned for your well-being."

But, to Nick, both explanations pointed to a verdict of innocent for Gil Grissom. "Well, either way, Griss is good and, more importantly, we're done with our case –"

Greg smirked, interrupting. "Our case. Nice."

Nick smiled back. "Anyways, now we have time to do more on Warrick."

"Fine, but let's not leave the lab this time. We can at least try to look productive – or at least like we're not totally ditching work."

They headed back to the cold case files.

Nick, gripping his handy notepad, ran down the list of possibilities – possible scenes, possible evidence, possible key witnesses and sources of the slightest bits of information and – the thing that scared him the most, but that he was most tempted to push to the back of him mind – possible moles.

Starting at the most benign topic, he pondered possible scenes.

"What do we know?" he asked, thinking aloud.

"In normal, practical CSI lingo, I'd say we have nothing that will hold up in court," Greg observed in a monotone.

Nick leaned back on his chair, and recited. "We have five known murders. The first one was Jason Lewes. We've already established that Gedda's gang was responsible for that one, though we don't know which of his henchmen, specifically, killed Lewes and stuck him in the garbage truck."

"You wanna run the garbage truck again?" asked Greg, who was still fascinated by the ancient artifacts of past Vegas decades left to rot in the garbage truck. To the Vegas mob history buff, all was priceless memorabilia.

"Nah. That scene was ours from the get-go, so it's been processed thoroughly enough, under the more than sufficient eyes of Grissom."

"Who you are now convinced is not a mole?"

"Yeah. I guess. We haven't found anything to indicate him as a mole yet. And I'd rather wait to find evidence to the contrary before jumping to that conclusion. Think about it: if we find any evidence – any tiny trace left behind at any of the murder scenes – then we can pretty much comfortably rule out Grissom, because he's simply too good a CSI to leave us any clues."

"What if he leaves clues just because he knows we'll think that?"

"It's the Feds investigating, not us. Or at least that's what the mole would have been assuming. So, even if it were Grissom, he wouldn't plant evidence based on the farfetched prediction that we, Warrick's teammates, would be the ones investigating."

Greg could see Nick's logic.

"Okay then," he started. "Next scene."

"Joanna Cromsky."

"The stripper."

"We don't have the evidence from that one, at least not as much, because they tried to get Warrick for that one again. And it looks pretty clear that he was framed, and that the scene was processed."

"Yup."

"And it's gonna be pretty darn hard to get into the scene anyways," Nick continued.

"True again, seeing as it's one of Gedda's old haunts."

"Almost certainly still one of his remaining gang's haunts."

"It's their safehold," Greg agreed.

"So…" Nick began again.

"We should leave that one for later as well. It's gonna be dangerous, and difficult, not to mention borderline not-allowed."

"True… So next murder?"

"The PI."

"Hmm. Don't know where to start with that one."

"It feels like we kind of got distracted from that one while trying to de-frame Warrick."

"Is de-frame even a word?"

"As the Stanford whiz-kid, I hereby pronounce 'de-frame' a word."

"Very funny Greg. So you want to get back to that case?"

"Sure. But let's see if it's the most important one first."

"Okay. Next up is Gedda."

"We're definitely not allowed near that one. Plus we've already got a man for that."

"True," acknowledged Nick, though he still felt there was something missing from the case, aside from Daniel Pritchard.

"Next."

"Warrick."

They both stared in silence before Nick verbalized what they both already knew. "I don't know where to start with that one."

"The Feds are probably keeping that one close underwraps. I wouldn't want to mess with that."

"So basically, what you're saying, or what we're sayin', is that we've got nothin'."

"Something like that."

Nick looked glumly. "We've got two team members, plus maybe even Sara, that could possibly pan out to be the mole, but that we sure as hell hope don't include the mole. We have two scenes – Pritchard's and the PI's – that have already been investigated thoroughly by CSI. We have one – Candy's – which will be near impossible to investigate due to location and conflict of interest, which almost certainly put it on IAB's, if not the Feds' – docket. We have one" – He still flinched as he said his best friend's name – "that is being investigated by the Feds and that will, consequentially, be next to impossible for us to investigate." He paused. "And then we have the case of the PI."

"Contrary to what seems like wisdom you're espousing –" Greg was interrupted by a paging beeper. The rushed DA, who really ought to have let him explain the case, or at least give its name, in the first place. "We'll continue this conversation later."

CHAPTER 12: Sleeping Confessions

"For now, we can provisionally eliminate Grissom as a possible mole."

"Based on his willingness to let you off of work."

Nick nodded.

"Well, that takes corrupt officeroom politics to a whole new level. Nice work Nicky."

"Plus, I just can't imagine it bein' Griss."

"Well, can you imagine Cath bein' the mole?"

"Eh," Nick thought, still bitter over his last confrontation with the redhead. "She has the connections."

"Certainly more than Griss. At least in the human world. I feel like we're kinda conducting this investigation – and conversation – on the assumption that roaches – or any other insects – were not behind this conspiracy."

"Hey, I'm just thinking practically. Wouldn't want to get surprised like Will Smith was in Men in Black when his nemesis turned out to be a giant cockroach and he didn't realize it until the big roach was crawlin' up the tower, carrying the girl."

"Uhuh."

"Hey. It's a highly realistic movie. Wouldn't want to miss out on the infinite lessons it has to teach –Leave out no species when considering your nemesis—"

"That's a very awkwardly worded moral."

"Didn't think you'd notice, Mr. Texas Slang."

Nick feigned insult.

"And we hardly know if squashing his cockroach brethren will even work in this situation."

"I never quite got that part. How would squashing cockroaches distract him? I mean, he was going up and away to destroy the entire world – that meant all cockroaches were gonna be dead."

"Hmm. Good question."

"Highly realistic movie."

"No doubt." Greg released a trademark grin. "My point, however, --"

"You didn't have a point."

"Fine. Touché."

"But back to Catherine, after highly logical forays into the possibilities of alien cockroach intervention, which we may or may not be able to deal with…"

Greg grinned.

"So ya think Catherine could be the mole?"

"I honestly think it could be anyone. I'm pretty lost on this."

"Maybe we need to pay Cath a visit – in a public setting, at least one that's safe if she is the mole."

"I can't believe we're talking about Cath this way."

"Yeah. I know. But we need to rule out potential moles. Griss is out of the picture for the moment."

"As is the rest of the bug world."

"As is Sara, I guess."

Greg looked up, startled. "I really can't believe we're bringing up Sara on this one."

"Well, it's possible –"

"She's been in Frisco."

"Or so she says. If she's the mole –"

Greg shook his head. He refused to believe that Sara Sidle, his hero, mentor and probably best friend could be the mole. "If she's the mole within the department, then why would she quit the department?"

"Even moles can still have legitimate normal emotional problems."

"Yeah, but unlike the rest of us, they'd have to worry about someone like Lou Gedda killin' them for letting those legitimate emotional problems get in the way of their mole work."

"True."

"Let's start with Catherine. I think I know where we can find her."

Nick somberly nodded. "Actually, why don't we start at her place?"

"That sounds like a highly risky endeavor."

"But the best way to catch her if she's the mole."

Greg didn't like the idea. Greg really didn't like the idea. But he went along with it, knowing there was no stopping Nick.

The lights were off at Catherine's house, and her car was nowhere in sight, so the investigators felt confident entering the empty house – or at least as confident as possible, given the circumstances. Both, nonetheless, drew guns from their holsters, as discreetly as possible, as they walked up the front steps.

"Okay lockbreaker. Work your magic."

Greg rolled his eyes. Breaking into a coworker's house is hardly the magic I had in mind. Before he even touched the knob, he looked around, registering possible locations for a key. Doormat. No, that's too typical. Cath's a crime scene investigator. She knows not to put it someplace commonplace and obvious like that. Mailbox. No. Then the mailman would see it too. Hmm… Cath's tough.

"Lookin' for something?"

"A key."

"Ah. That makes sense."

"Hey, I'll check the doormat and mailbox. You check wherever."

Nick looked around thoughtfully, before reaching his hand into a flowerpot on the ground.

"Try lifting it up."

Nick picked up the flowerpot, surprised to see a key lying there.

"Bingo. Open 'er up cowboy."

Nick put the key in the door, gently turning it and walking in quietly.

A noise inside the house startled him.

"Riiiiit!?" screamed a teary voice. "Riiii, is that you?" The intensity of the voice mounted.

Nick looked to his friend, mid-step behind him and equally startled.

"Riiii, please!" The intensity in Catherine's voice escalated. "Please, I knew you'd come back. I love you."

They saw Catherine, tossing and turning in her sleep on the couch, hair disheveled, no doubt, at least in part, due to another haphazard night on the town.

A tall, dark-skinned man was pushing himself up off the same couch.

"Geez, you're crazy," he said groggily, before turning to face Greg and Nick. "What the?!" he registered in alarm.

Greg put a finger to his lips. "Don't say anything."

The terrified man, seeing the guns in both investigators' hands, obliged.

Greg motioned the man outside, and he and Nick quietly followed.

The man, still shaking, looked up to Greg and Nick, and then down to their guns. In the growing light, Nick could see his light eyes and poofed out hair. More than a little similar to Warrick.

"Hi. I'm really sorry to startle you," Greg began.

The man looked at him incredulously, not expecting to be politely held up. An idea dawning on him, he quickly and nervously asked, "Wait, are you – or one of you – her husband? She said she used to have a husband, but I swear, she said she was divorced. I didn't mean to get in the way of someone's marriage."

Greg quickly shook his head, cutting the man off.

"So then one of you must be Warrick?"

Greg and Nick looked at each other in shock. It dawned on them. That's what Catherine had been moaning in her sleep:

"Riiiii" was really "Rick" in Catherine's inebriated and dreaming state.

"One of you is Warrick, right?" the slowly calming man asked again.

Nick shook his head. "We both work for LVPD. Cath too," he said, motioning to the door. "Warrick was one of our colleagues. He was recently murdered."

"Was he also her boyfriend?"

Nick, slightly shocked at the statement, didn't know how to reply. Were Warrick and Catherine an item? He sensed some chemistry, but hardly to the degree that would leave Catherine yelling Warrick's name in her sleep. Unless,…

Suddenly feeling guilty for breaking into his obviously heartbroken and grieving friend's house, he looked down at the ground.

Greg, after a long pause, finally answered the question. "Not that we know of. What makes you think he was?"

"She kept accidentally calling me Warrick. And she seemed distracted. Trust me. When someone's that crazy about someone else, it's just obvious. We met at a bar, and somehow she ended up mentioning her work, and how there was this guy named Warrick… and then she just clammed up. Something was really wrong. She had this dreamy look in her eyes whenever she mentioned him. She was really starting to get wasted too. Every time, without fail, that she mentioned his name, she'd stop and either swig down her shot, or order another. I just assumed he was her ex…"

"She was in love with him," Nick blurted, giving voice to the thoughts going through both Greg's and his minds. "Uh… we should get going. Sorry for… intruding."

"No worries. We weren't doing anything. She was too upset. I tried to just help her calm down."

"Sure. Just don't tell her we stopped by."

"I was about to be heading out the door myself, now that she's asleep. I drove her back – felt sorry for her."

"It's cool man. We can tell why she was throwing herself at you. You… look kinda like Warrick."

The man grimaced. "Oh… I see. That takes rebound guy to another, kinda creepy extreme."

"Yeah."

"Well… nice… um meeting you guys."

"You too."

As the man closed the door, they heard Catherine yell out again in her sleep, and this time they could distinctly make out the name Warrick. "Riiiick… don't leave me now… Please… don't leave me… I really do love you… I'm sorry for not telling you…" Her sobs became louder. "Please don't be dead Warrick."

As Nick and Greg stepped back into the car, Nick summarized the only conclusion of the surreal encounter. "She couldn't have killed him. She can't be the mole."

BAM

Nick slammed his hand on the steering wheel. "Shit!"

"You're disappointed that Catherine's not the mole?"

"I'm disappointed because I'm a CSI. I'm disappointed because I'm used to dealing with evidence, not hypotheticals. I'm disappointed because hypotheticals and statements and emotions are what we have. As for actual evidence, we've got nada."

"Well said."

Nick began driving. "I don't know where to go from here. We've ruled out Griss and Catherine."

"Albeit without solid evidence, and based entirely on hypotheticals."

"Thanks for rainin' on my parade."

"That parade you already canceled."

"Yeah."

"So where to for now, Batman? The BatMobile isn't gonna steer itself."

"No, but sometimes it feels like that's what it's doin'."

"Man, I hear ya."

Nick steered toward the lab. "Don't trust anybody, okay?"

Greg looked up.

"Don't tell anybody. Don't assume anybody's not the mole. We have no solid proof. As CSIs, we don't make any assumptions without proof. For now, it's guilty until proven innocent, for anybody."

"Okay."

"Okay," Nick said conclusively, as he pulled into the lab.

Thanks so much for reading. Reviews are loved, and definitely feel free to venture a guess as to who the mole is at this point.

:)

Harper