Title: Disenchanted (14/18)
Author: Emono
Rating: PG-16
Fandom: CSI: Las Vegas – Miami – New York
Pairings: Grissom/Greg, Horatio/Speed, Mac/Danny, Warrick/Nick, Don/Eric
Disclaimer: Hello, my name is Emono, and I am part of the CSI cult. I do not own it, and I admit that...this is where you applaud me.
Summary: Greg gets some good news, Don gets some bad, and Warrick is just fucked up.
Warning: Usual warnings, slash and such.
Beta: gil_follower, whom I luv dearly to semi-death
Word Count: 2,129

"Another sad song, with nothing to say
About a life-long wait for a hospital stay
If you believe that I'm wrong
This never meant nothing to you
I waited so long for someone to say
If you can move on
I'll never get you to stay
If you believe that I'm wrong
This never meant nothing to you"
---"Disenchanted (Shut Up and Play)" by My Chemical Romance

Author Note: I got the W/N idea because I walked in on someone in my own house doing what I believe is cocaine, so I decided to write a fic and bottle up all my feelings :) It was by serious random chance that W/N got chose for this, since I asked my friend Corey what CSI character would be the most likely to do drugs. He quickly responded, "Warrick. Since he's already proved he can get addicted."

"Are my results in?" Greg asked, stepping into the DNA lab. The girl there cast him a filthy look, then went back to her test tubes "Come on, I gave you the samples two hours ago. You better pick up the pace, Grissom expects a lot out of this lab."

She turned back to him with a sickly sweet smile, "So if I let Grissom fuck me, does that mean I get to work in the field too?"

Greg bit back his nasty comment and left, he refused to tolerate people like that. He was halfway down the hall when he was seized by the back of his jacket, dragged around the corner, and pinned against the wall.

"Not at work, Gil, we got caught last time" Greg rattled off automatically, but he found himself face-to-face with a grinning Southerner "Oh...hey, everything ok?"

"Better than ok, they're paramount" Nick pulled a gold key out of his pocket "Do you know what this is? It's a key to Warrick's house."

"Nick" Greg warned lowly, giving him a look "You can't just steal and copy his key-"

"No!" Nick pleaded with him to understand "Warrick asked me to move in!"

Greg didn't even try and repress his squeal, jumping on the man in a complete glomp. Nick couldn't keep the wide smile off his face, embracing him back.

"Oh, Nicky, I'm so happy for you" Greg whispered to the Southerner "I told you he loved you, didn't I? Am I ever wrong?"

"All the time" Nick chuckled, giving the CSI a firm squeeze "But I'm glad you weren't wrong about this."

"You're so in love" Greg teased, pulling back and jabbing his friend in the stomach "Careful now, Nicky...Warrick will have you barefoot, pregnant, and stuck in the kitchen in half no-time."

Nick glared down the hall, "Here comes Hodges."

Hodges was –indeed- making his way toward them. He still had a line of bandage over his nose, his face still a little swollen, and his lip hadn't healed over. Greg grinned wickedly, then pushed past his friend and waved enthusiastically at the Trace Expert.

"Hey Hodges!" Greg put his best sweet-as-sugar voice to use "How was your Christmas?"

"Go to hell, Sanders" past he swollen nose, Hodges voice was still fierce "This isn't over yet."

Greg's faux-cheer turned into genuine loathing in less than a second, "You'll have Gil over my cold, lifeless body."

An air of foreshadow fell over them, but Hodges nearly ran from the scene. Greg turned to his friend with a triumphant smile, beaming.

"Whoa" Nick's eyes were wide "I've never heard you so pissed."

The brunette merely shrugged, "If you think that's bad, you should have been there when I pounded his face in."

~*~

Don had gotten the call five hours ago, and that was when he got hopped on a plane without a word to Mac or the Chief. He was making his way through a hospital in Miami, pale and shaking...more with fear than anger, but it was an even blend. He found the first member of Horatio's team, Ryan, and twisted his fingers in his lapel.

"Where is he?" Don hissed, shoving the younger man against the wall and holding him fast "Where's Eric?"

Ryan spat out a number, nearly choking as his feet struggled to rest on the ground. Don threw the boy away from him, turning and going off in the direction. He soon found his lover's room, peeking in and spotting him from between the curtains.

There was his beautiful Cuban, asleep in a hospital bed and looking horrible. His head was wrapped up, an IV in his arm, barely breathing on his own. He looked so vulnerable laying there by himself...a gold cross necklace laying in his palm. Don's breath caught, approaching with kitten-steps and praying it was all just a dream.

"Eric? Sweets?" Don nearly purred, seating himself by the man's bedside and gently taking his hand into his.

"Marisol?" Eric whispered dreamily "Where...where's my sister?"

"She's dead, Eric" Don couldn't lie to his lover, the hand in his tightened it's grip "Can you hear me at all?"

"Donnie?" Eric turned his head, chocolate eyes fluttering open briefly as he swallowed thickly "You shouldn't be here...Mac will..."

"Hush" Don soothed him "It doesn't matter, I want to be here. They told me you were shot...and I couldn't keep myself away...I can't do this forever, Eric."

The Cuban made a confused sound, brow creasing.

"It's gettin' to where I can't close my eyes without worrying about you" the New Yorker admitted quietly, tears coming to his eyes as he pressed the back of his lover's hand to his forehead "This doesn't ease my nerves, Eric...and now..."

"...worry about you..." Eric murmured, swallowing as if each word was painful "Love you...so much, Donnie...hurts..."

"I know, sweets, I know" Don placed kisses along his knuckles, staining his lover's digits with his tears "Rest now, I'll watch over you."

~*~

~Two Month Later~

Night had fallen on Vegas, but did it truly ever? This God-forsaken city never slept, never rested, never paused. And because it was a 24/7 town, the crime never ceased...so neither did it's CSIs. Every night brought a new terror, a new horrific sight that could never be erased from their minds. It was enough to reduce a grown man to tears, and it had on more than one occasion.

In the heart of Vegas, in a rough apartment complex, sat a lone CSI. The apartment was dark, clutter gathered on the shadowed floor. The only light came from the windows, the blue of night entwined with the bloody after-cast of the cheap neon lights across the street. A glass coffee table caught the light, reflecting it back onto the drawn face of the man on the couch. Soft tapping echoed throughout the room, followed closely by scraping.

Warrick sat there on his couch, rubbing absently at his mouth with his free hand. His eyes were blood-shot, and a paleness had crept into his mocha-skin. It had been a long day, and his whole body was heavy with exaughtstion. He closed his eyes against the images that assaulted his mind, bloody bodies danced along his conscious. He couldn't escape them, not without help.

Warrick's other hand worked steadily on the table, chopping the powder there up finely. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, but after the pills and gambling had failed him...cocaine was only the next logical step, right?

Forming a line, he didn't hear the door creak open.

Nick walked into his –and his boyfriend's– apartment, turning as he got inside to hang up his coat. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned and was caught off guard by the sight of the man before him. There was Warrick, his lover, bending over the glass table and snorting up a substance off it. Nick gaped dumbly, he couldn't speak as the man inhaled the line and came back up. Warrick swiped at his nose hastily, then ran his thumb over his teeth.

Their eyes met, alarm and hurt mingling in both sets.

"Warrick..." Nick's shock was melting into rage fat, desperate dark eyes taking in the discarded playing card on the table along with the dregs of cocaine "What...what the hell do you think you're doing?! You said you were done with this kind of shit!"

"Nicky" Warrick blinked dully at the Southerner, a smile twisting his lips "I...I guess I lied."

"I'm not gonna put up with this shit" the Southerner grabbed the other by his chin, forcing him to lock their eyes again (the anger there had melted into worry) "I love you, 'Rick...you know that. But I can't stand to see you hurt yourself like this."

"You'd leave me?" Warrick growled, his drug-addled mind shutting down all rational thought to leave only the physical, possessive urges left to take charge. Warrick lunged at the man, taking down his slighter frame easily. Nick cried out, attempted to struggle, but he found himself flat on his back on the carpet. The older man hovered over him menacingly, fingers twitching and pupils shot. In one quick, swift motion, Warrick captured his lover's lips with his own. Nick made a pathetic sound in the back of his throat, the tongue that ravished his mouth was sour-tinged and made his stomach flip uncomfortably. Warrick's solid body weight pressed into him, pinning him effectively.

"Mine" Warrick growled lowly, breaking the kiss to press his lips to the Southerner's ear "You're mine, Nicky...love you, babe."

Nick sighed out shakily, sharp teeth nipping at the lobe of his ear, " 'Rick, stop-"

But Warrick wasn't listening, he was busy ripping the buttons off the man's shirt and exposing his chest. Nick pushed at his shoulders, protesting more and more as the licks and kisses turned into sharp bites that stung.

"Warrick, quit!" Nick kicked out from under his lover, scrambling backwards on the floor to try and escape. But Warrick was having none of that, hooking his fingers in the man's jeans and yanking him bodily back. Warrick swooped in, digging his teeth into his lover's neck until he tasted blood on his lips.

Warrick found himself pushed away far enough to allow a solid fist to connect with his jaw, knocking him right off his lover and onto the floor. He groaned, but the drugs lacing with his blood dulled the pain. He looked up, confused and grasping at the carpet, to see Nick crawling away. The Southerner didn't stop until his back hit the wall, panting, blood trickling down his digits from his busted knuckles and down into his collar from his neck.

"Bastard" Nick snarled, though he looked like he was going into some sort of shock "You need help, Warrick, I'm not gonna fuckin' take this!"

Nick left, dialing his boss as he made his way out the door.

If anyone could help him, it was Grissom and Greg.

~*~

~Three Month Later~

"Rehab is a bitch" Warrick declared, stepping into his apartment for the first time in months. Somehow, Nick had convinced him to get clean, and he had gone along with it. Why? Because he loved Nick, and he had seen the fear in his lover's eyes when he had done the damn drugs. It was the same look with the gambling, and the pills...

So now he was cocaine-free, done with it, and ready to be home.

" 'Rick?" Nick looked up from the hamburgers, dropping his spatula mid-flip and running at the taller man. Warrick grinned, opening his arms and getting jumped right there in the middle of his living room. He clenched his eyes shut, savoring every bit of contact and warm flesh against his. He had missed Nick the most...

"Nicky" Warrick pulled away enough to buss their lips, foreheads touching "How you been holding up?"

"Forget that, are you ok?" Nick's eyes were shining with concern "Is this stupid addiction over with?"

Warrick hesitated only for a moment, "Yeah, Nicky, it's done."

"Good" Nick cleared his throat, backing up a bit and trying to act like he wasn't getting all weepy like woman "Cause it was gettin' real fucked up toward the end, and you just had to make me kick your ass."

Warrick smiled to himself, glad that everything was back to normal.

Of course, what he hell was normal for them anyways?

TBC

R&R, I feed off it

---Emono