Author's Note: Oooh... my educated guess is... three more chapters after this one. However I could do a 180 and make it longer. I'm not nearly as far ahead as I'd like to be (only about a chapter ahead now, but I have plans...) Ideally, I'd be finished with a story by this point so close to where I want to wrap it up. Anyways! Your reviews are the highlight of my online experience (I adore hearing from you guys!) so keep up your insightful comments. And... forget about the "cheating" thing in the last chapter. It wasn't really cheating. LOVE YOU GUYS! Also, another quote twofer just because I was talking to Kegel and realized they went so well together. Even if they're little irrelevant, I'm running out of my quotes resource (I didn't know it would be this many chapters) so, uh... deal with it.

Shameless Plug: I made my first fan vid today. Ever. And it's for CSI too. It's two minutes long and it's on YouTube. "Natalie: Lost In A House of Leaves" a short psychological thriller by Carly. I would link it but FanFiction-Dot-Net isn't cool with that so... It's in my profile. Or just copy/paste this: http://www.youtube. com/watch?v "Equal Sign" 003XOdaMHL0

and take out the space between ". com" and replace "Equal Sign" with an actual equal sign. :oS (FF makes things difficult)

Thanks, you guys rock.

"You can always count on Americans to do the right thing - after they've tried everything else."

Winston Churchill


"Stuff happens . . . And it's untidy, and freedom's untidy, and free people are free to make mistakes and commit crimes and do bad things."

Donald Rumsfeld, April 11, 2003, following the infamous looting and pillaging of Baghdad.

When he opened his eyes again, Nick half-expected to see black. But he didn't. Instead, blinding florescent lights burned his corneas and he thought that maybe he had gone blind. His whole body ached, in particular his gut and he wondered maybe if they had removed his organs to sell on the black market. He didn't want to look down for fear of seeing a gaping hole in his torso like a cartoon character hit with a canon ball. His throat was dry and hoarse, his eyelids heavy. He was exceptionally groggy. It reminded him vaguely of the time he had gotten his tonsils out when he was a kid. He had woken up in a similar fashion, dazed and aching, his throat on fire. But this was different. He no longer had his tonsils. So what had been removed this time? What was he doing here, in these white linen sheets, in this impossibly clean room that reeked of ammonia? Oh how he hated hospitals.

"I'm so sorry…"

Nick recognized the voice before it had even sounded by the way his old friend had inhaled. Did he react? Nick felt intrinsically that there was no need for apologies. What did he feel the need to apologize for?

To Nick's surprise, Warrick continued. It was only then that Nick realized that Warrick hadn't noticed Nick was awake. "You know, I talked to you. I mean, well, I thought I did. I dunno, I got a little drunk and… It doesn't matter. But I think I find it easier to talk to you when I know you're not listening. I… I didn't do anything, Nick. I heard you were in there, and I just ran in the opposite direction. I didn't feel like there was anything I could do. I deserted you to hide in a bar and I think that's one of the worst things I could have done. I mean, Catherine and Sara at least tried to help out, Grissom never left that FBI van, and Brass and Sofia fought like crazy to track down suspects, but me? I just drank tequila until my mind exploded. And a whiskey on the rocks for you. Even though you don't like whiskey. You're more of a rum man if I recall… Maybe I'll buy you a bottle of Captain Morgan. Maybe you can forgive me then."

"I see nothing to forgive."

Silence followed the scratchy whisper that echoed off the sterile walls. Neither friend said anything for what seemed like hours. Warrick was too terrified to move, and Nick was way too tired.

Finally, Warrick couldn't contain himself. "… N-Nick?"

"No, it's your fucking conscience." It was an anemic attempt to be sarcastic, but it launched Warrick into another few minutes of silent contemplation. Nick knew that if he wanted to continue this conversation, he would have to participate a little bit more, and it was hard. His throat was so dry, and every time his chest moved with his breathing, his lungs ached. He felt as though a grand piano was resting on top of him and he lifted it with every inhalation. He felt the tubes in his nose and heard the ventilator sighing somewhere to his left, and yet he still found it difficult to breathe. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. So if Warrick didn't want to speak, then neither did he. Breathing was a foreign task to him at that moment, and just the few phrases he had already whispered had taken a lot out of him.

Regardless, Nick began to grow tired of the silence. He wanted his friend back. "How long?" he gasped, hoping to get his point across.

Warrick blinked at him, then folded his arms across his chest. "Four days," he replied. "You've been weaving in and out of it. But the important thing is that you're OK now."

"Greg?"

Warrick leaned forward in his chair and Nick turned his head slowly to see his reaction. His hands were clasped together as his forearms rested on his knees. "Greg is… doing fine. Considering."

"Fine?"

"He's been back at work," Warrick said, a little louder. "Doing really well too. Cracking a few jokes again. He's been asking after you too."

"When was he…" Nick coughed. "When was he last here?"

Warrick chewed on his lip and was quiet again. "Well, actually…"

Nick nodded. "He hasn't been here at all, has he?"

"It's not that he isn't worried about you," Warrick said quickly.

"I know," Nick said, staring up at the ceiling. "The others?"

"They've been around," Warrick replied. "In and out, checking up on you… It's well into shift now, they're probably all working but I'll give Grissom a call. They'll want to know you're awake." He fished out his phone from his pocket.

"'Rick?" Nick said, making Warrick look up in response. Nick tried to smile. "Do I still get that rum?"

Warrick laughed quietly and nodded. "I'll get right on that. Captain Morgan?"

"Bacardi," Nick insisted. "I deserve it."

Warrick nodded. "Sure thing." He turned back to his phone.

"And…" Nick added, making his friend look up again at him curiously. "You did fine, Warrick. Just fine."

Warrick smiled at him genuinely before holding the phone to his ear. "Thanks, Nick."

"Who wants to bet COD was decapitation?" Greg smirked as his eyes rolled up to look at Catherine through the sunroof.

"Well…" she said. "He could have been dead before he hit the overpass…"

"Right," Greg said. "Because dead guys stick their heads out of sunroofs all the time to scream at girls." He tugged at the corpse's tuxedo, smoothing out a wrinkle that had been bothering him, and made his way out of the limo, straightening up to look at Catherine across the roof of the car. "I think I saw the head a ways back, would you care to do the honors?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "I'll rock-paper-scissors you for it."

Greg put his fist on top of the car in front of their corpse and Catherine extended her arm. They were just about to reveal their choices when Catherine's buzzing phone caught her attention. She held up a finger and Greg rolled his eyes as she reached for her phone.

"Willows," she greeted the receiver.

Grissom's voice was even, but there was a hint of a smile to his tone. "Catherine, Warrick just called. Nick's awake. He wants to see us."

Excitement began in her chest and reached out tingling tentacles throughout her whole body as she grinned. "Great," she said. "We'll be over there as soon as we finish up with this scene."

She looked up at Greg who shrugged impatiently at her. "Well? Rock-paper-scissors?"

"I'll get the head," Catherine replied. "And then after this, we'll go see Nick. He's awake."

Greg went pale. "Uh… But we're working!" he called after her as she headed down the street.

She grinned at him over her shoulder. "Oh come on, Greg!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. "Don't you want to talk to Nick?"

Greg returned the smile, but his eyes were filled with fear as he waved at her. "O… OK," he said through his plastic smile. When she was out of sight, he raked his hands through his hair and cursed under his breath. Would he be able to handle it, seeing Nick like that? Even though he was awake now… Would he be able to see his friend looking so weak?

He looked at the tuxedo-clad dead body and shook his head. "Let's hope I can keep my head…" He was quiet a moment before he frowned. "Oh, you're dead, what do you care if I make bad puns?"

When they finally got there, Greg noticed that Catherine couldn't seem to wait for the elevator to stop on Nick's floor. She kept bouncing back and forth on her feet. Meanwhile, Greg was dreading it. When the elevator doors finally pinged open, Catherine jumped out and Greg followed her with a slow trudge. The more he could delay this meeting, the better.

Catherine seemed to notice when she was a good twenty feet ahead of him in the hall and she stopped and turned to look at him. "What's the matter with you? Nick is waiting!"

"I know," Greg said. "My shoes are untied, I don't want to trip."

Catherine cocked an eyebrow as she glanced at his feet then up to his face again. "OK, even if that were true, which it clearly isn't, walking slowly isn't the solution, tying them is." She closed the distance between them. "What's really the matter, sweetie?"

Greg shook his head slowly, looking at a point beyond Catherine's shoulder. "I'm… not sure, Catherine."

Her smile faded and she put a kind hand on his shoulder. "Hey," she said. "It's OK to be a little scared."

He was startled that she could read him so well. He had never really considered their relationship to be particularly close, but he had always valued her friendship. "I'm not—"

"Don't lie to me, Greg, I hate it when men lie to me," Catherine interrupted.

He cracked a soft smile. "Have you always been so intuitive?"

"When you're married to a liar for as long as I was, and your job is to read people, you kind of pick it up," she replied.

"Grissom says your job is to read the evidence," Greg pointed out.

"Grissom and I differ on that point," Catherine answered. She tilted her head up and looked down at him, like a mother examining her child to make sure he looked alright. She smoothed a cowlick in Greg's hair and tucked a tuft of hair behind his ear before smiling. "Well you look good."

"I always look good," Greg returned.

"You smug little bastard," Catherine smirked. "Do you need a minute?"

"Or twenty," Greg said.

She nodded. "OK, hon," she said. "But don't take too long. There are only so many excuses Warrick and I can think of to explain why you haven't been to see him yet." Catherine turned to the door to Nick's room when Greg called after her again.

"Hey, um, Cath?"

She paused, then turned to look at him with curious eyes. "Hm?"

"Have you ever… been scared? Like this?" He needed someone to understand. He needed someone to realize why he was so terrified of seeing his best friend like that.

Catherine smiled sadly at him and nodded. "Too many times," she replied. She took a breath, as if to continue, then closed her mouth and nodded. "This, uh… This one time when Lindsey was five, my marriage was just hanging by a thread, and then… And then she got really sick. Pneumonia. She had a soaring fever, and she was in so much pain. I held her hand through a lot of it, but I have to confess, Greg, there was a time when I wished I wasn't there. I wished I was somewhere else. I wished I didn't have to watch my little girl suffer like that. But you know what, Greg? I stayed by her side at all times, all night, all day, when she finally fell into restless sleeps then so did I. I took more sick days at work for her than I ever have for my own illnesses. Used up my vacation days for the year. The whole time, I was scared shitless, but I did it. Do you know why?"

Greg bit his lip and shrugged halfheartedly.

"I did it because Lindsey needed me to," Catherine replied. "Because if she woke up one time and I wasn't there, it meant I'd failed her. And if she needed me there, than I would be there for her, even though it hurt me to see her writhe in pain like that."

"Do you… Do you think I've failed Nick?" Greg asked. "By not being there?"

Catherine's features softened, the epitome of sympathy as she quickly walked towards her friend and rubbed his arm maternally. "Aw, Greg… No. No, I don't think you could ever fail Nick. Not even if you never go in and see him while he's here. But I think it would mean one hell of a lot if you do see him. I know you're afraid of what you'll see, but if you could just go in there and be there for him…"

Greg smiled at her and nodded. "Thanks, Catherine," he said. "I'll be in there in a sec."

Catherine beamed at him. She paused a moment, then threw her arms around Greg, temporarily knocking the wind out of him as he was surprised. "My God, Greg, I'm so glad you're OK. I'm so glad you're both OK…"

He softly stroked her hair to sooth her, glad that his eyes had shed far too many tears that week to shed any more. "Me too, Cath," he whispered. "Me too."

"Thanks for calling…" Sara said. "I'll be there, but I might be a little late."

"You took the night off, Sara. You said you needed time after handling the El Gabany case. What are you doing anyway?" Grissom asked.

"It's personal," Sara replied.

"Are you going to be OK?" Grissom asked. "Because I could put Warrick or Catherine on it if it bothers you too much—"

"No," Sara interrupted, sounding a little too desperate. She forced herself to calm down. "I mean… No. No, I want that case, Grissom, I just… Look, what I'm doing right now has nothing to do with that, OK? Have you made any headway?"

She heard him shuffle some papers on the other end. "Mm, a little. Brass talked to his roommate and his classmates. He was an English major at UNLV. He didn't have any enemies. But apparently he was eating lunch a few days ago on the lawn and someone came and stepped in his food on purpose. Our witness IDed him as someone from his Shakespeare class, Brass is bringing him in later today after we see Nick."

"That's good," Sara said. "It's something." She head a door open behind her and turned around to see the prison guard standing there looking at her. "Hey, Grissom, I gotta go, but I'll see you at the hospital."

"OK," said Grissom. "Take care."

They hung up and Sara looked at the guard with a stony expression before she nodded and he took her into the visiting area. He was leaning back in his chair, fiddling with the cord of the phone when she entered and sat down on the opposite side of the glass, watching him. He cocked an eyebrow at her as she reached for the phone and held it to her ear. "Trevor Savage? My name is Sara Sidle."

"Unless they brought you here for a conjugal visit, I'm not interested." Words like these coming from a seventeen-year-old boy really riled Sara.

"I want to tell you about Islam," she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a Quran. She opened to a part and looked up at Derrick, who was rolling his eyes. "The Profit Muhammad says… 'Do you know what is better than charity and fasting and prayer? It is keeping peace and good relations between people, as quarrels and bad feelings destroy mankind.'"

"It says that in there, does it?"

"Actually, it says that in the Sahih Bukari, detailing the life of the Profit," Sara replied. "I just thought you ought to know the scripture that the woman you murdered believed in so wholeheartedly. She was fighting for peace, and in one motion you completely destroyed the lives of more than forty people. I hope you know that." The boy scoffed and Sara became angry, slamming her fist on the Quran. "Don't scoff at me, kid, I know punks like you. You're sick in the head. Now I know there's no changing you. I'm not stupid."

"Then what are you doing here?" Trevor asked with genuine intrigue as he leaned forward to see her more clearly behind the glass.

"I'm here because I wanted to see the person who was heartless enough to rape and beat to death a woman simply because she was a little bit different from you. And I… I wanted to know. Have you done this before?"

Trevor tilted his head and looked at her with empty blue eyes. "What do you want me to say, lady?"

"I want you to tell me the truth," Sara replied.

Trevor's tongue shot out like a snake's and slid across his lips before he slowly shook his head. "No. I haven't done this before."

"So why did you do it now?"

"Because the opportunity presented itself," Trevor said with a shrug.

"You really have no sympathy at all for that woman, do you?" Sara asked, breathlessly. "Well what about the sixteen innocent people who have died because of your actions? What about her husband? Her children? She had three, you know. Two boys and a girl. And now, they're orphans because of you."

"They're terrorist spawn," Trevor said dismissively with a roll of his eyes.

Sara slammed the book again and hissed through gritted teeth. "They are children. And you took their parents away because… Because of some sick and twisted conception that the actions of a few extremists reflect on the society as a whole. Are you fucking insane? Would you have done it, if she had been a white woman walking alone on the street? Would you?!"

Trevor simply shrugged and shook his head. "Whether you want to see it my way or not," he said, "I did this country a favor. The less of those camel jockeys we got in here, the better."

"And then what, Trevor, huh?" Sara demanded. "You eliminate all the Middle Easterners and then what? Are you going to target the Hispanics? The Asians? The blacks?"

"Why not?" Trevor returned.

"Fucking Hitler wannabe…" Sara muttered, shaking her head. "Fighting for a pure race… You do realize you're a coward, right?"

Trevor cocked an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

"Yeah," Sara said, nodding. "Instinct teaches us to fear what is different from us. It's intellect that makes us realize that they're not that different after all. And seeing as you're obviously lacking a few parts in your brain, your fear takes over and you give into it. Fight of flight. Now… you're a macho sort of creature, so my guess is, you fight, thinking it makes you look strong. Well you're wrong. Beating an innocent woman to death doesn't make you strong. It makes you a coward. It makes you a coward because it's the weakest thing anyone can do. So just… be brave for once in your life and learn something for Christ's sake!"

She stood up and picked up the Quran, holding it tightly . "I'm going to leave this for you. You can do with it what you will. Trade it, burn it, use it for toilet paper… But on the off chance you'll read it… Then maybe you'll see that there is more than one way to look at the world."

"I thought you already knew," Trevor said, "I can't be changed."

Sara let out a shuddering breath before she nodded. "I know that," she whispered. "But I really want to believe it isn't true." And with that, she hung up the phone. She walked down the hallway and entered the front area, where a receptionist sat in her own cage. Sara approached her, then looked down at the book she held in her hands. She had never been religious one way or another. But still, that monster didn't deserve to lay his paws on that book. So instead she hugged it to her chest, smiled politely at the receptionist, and walked out.

He had been right anyway. He would never change.