FALSEHOODS
As Nick had suspected, Grissom was still at the lab. The guy practically fucking lived there. He half expected to see Sara's car as well, and was relieved when he didn't. He didn't want to deal with her right now. He liked Sara, but she had the tenacity of a pit bull and the people skills to match, and he knew if they ran in to each other she would just end up pissing him off. Smiling grimly to himself, he slid out of his truck and headed into the building. *Just pretend that nothing is wrong, Nicky-boy,* he mentally exhorted himself, *paste on a smile; apologize for yesterday and this morning and ask to be put back on the case. You can do it.*
He smiled at the front receptionist as he entered the building, absently reaching into his jean jacket pocket for his ID badge as he walked by. He could hear the faint sounds of a piano concerto emanating from Grissom's office; the music haunting and melancholic. He recognized it as a piece Grissom played often, and wondered if it had any personal meaning to him. Whatever. The music was fucking sad, man. Made him want to cry.
Grissom was sitting in his office at his desk, head back and eyes closed, lost in thought. He looked - different, somehow older than he had just this morning, each line on his face a map of devastation and regret. Nick paused in the doorway, studying Grissom. He wondered idly if he was the person who had etched that grief so deeply in Grissom's face and was surprised at the sudden tightening in his own chest, before he mercilessly shoved his emotions back down. *Of course he's not,* he muttered to himself as he pasted a large grin on his face, *one of his bugs must have died.*
Clearing his throat, he knocked lightly on the open door and stepped into the office. *Act 1, Scene 1 - The Apology*. "Grissom?"
Grissom didn't respond. Didn't even twitch. Nick frowned. "Grissom?" Louder this time, voice slightly raspy, "Grissom!?"
The older man opened an eye and looked at him warily, sighing as he sat up, "Nick. You're here early."
Nick shrugged, "I wanted to talk with you. You got a minute?" Behind his eyes he could feel his blood pulsing. The smile on his face felt like it was going to crack his head in two. When Grissom indicated the empty chair in front of his desk, Nick entered the office and sat down. Silence filled the office, uncomfortable and tense, so thick he could feel the weight of it on his chest, suffocating him.
Grissom studied the younger man in front of him intently, noting the pallor still clinging to his features; the bleakness in his eyes. "How's your arm?"
"Sore," Nick responded, letting his gaze drop to the gauze wrapping it. "The medicine is helping, but I don't want to take too many pain killers and be out of it. The antibiotics are bad enough."
Silence. Nick slanted his glance sideways and down, to the large tarantula Grissom had sitting in a small terrarium on his desk. He swore he could hear the fucking thing breathe. A small bead of sweat trickled uncomfortably down his back, and he sighed.
He wished Grissom would say something else, make this easier on him. Finally, he blurted out, "Listen, Grissom. About what I said today at the hospital -"
Grissom waved a hand carelessly to the side, "Don't worry about it."
"I shouldn't have said it, and I wanted to apologize. I was - angry, and my arm hurt -" *still am, still does* "- and I lashed out at you." Nick found it very easy to look contrite, and he glanced at Grissom nervously, "I really didn't mean it."
"That's what Sara said. She said you didn't mean it." Grissom looked at Nick suddenly, and flexed his hands, "What's going on with you lately, Nicky? I've never seen you act like that before. Not just at the hospital, but earlier - at the crime scene, at the Steeply's house. Talking to the babysitter."
Nick felt his expression tighten, and he shrugged. "Don't know," he lied. "I think I was just tired, felt like I was getting the 'flu or something. And that kid - there was no need for what happened to him. He should have been at home." Nick studied his hands, noticing the frayed cuticles and the nails bit to the nub. "It just upset me. But it won't happen again - I'm over it. I'd really like - I'm hoping - would you put me back on the case?"
"I don't think that's a good idea, Nick."
*I bet you don't, you fuck,* the angry voice inside Nick's head snarled back. Nick himself just quirked his lips, trying to look chagrined. "I swear it won't happen again. I know I was out of line, but I really want back on that case. I feel a connection to that kid. I want to see this through."
When Grissom looked like he was about to object, Nick stalled him. "I can feel empathy for the victim without letting it cloud my responses to the investigation, Grissom. I'm a big boy. Besides which, you let Catherine investigate a rape charge against Eddie - she had way more invested in that than I do with this case. You gotta be fair, man."
Grissom sighed. "Okay. But I'll yank you again if you can't keep it cool. I mean it, Nicky. I still feel like there's something you're not telling me."
Nick shrugged, "You know me, Grissom. I'm an open book. What you see is what you get!" But even as he said it, he knew he was lying, and he knew Griss knew it too.
* * * * *
The break room was dead quite. Nick sat at the table drinking a third cup of coffee and flipping back and forth from the pictures of Nick Steeply to the information compiled at the crime scene frowning, trying to ignore the tight throbbing of his arm. Grissom had told him he and Sara had found nothing new at the playground when they had gone back this morning. Nick had known they wouldn't.
Mr. and Mrs. Steeply had arrived back in Nevada on an earlier flight that afternoon, and had given brief statements to Brass and O'Reilly at their house just after lunch. Grissom was expecting them to arrive around 5:00 for general questioning. He had asked Nick to research the area, see if there were any known pedophiles living within a 5 mile square radius. So far, they were running on empty as far as suspects were concerned. Motive as well, for that matter. Motive besides the obvious - Nick Steeply had been violated in ways too terrible to contemplate.
*Did you know the person who did this to you?* Nick sighed. *Did you know you were going to die?*
The sound of laughter drifted down the hallway, and Nick lifted his head from the papers he had been studying, rubbing his hand across his gritty eyes. How could people be happy when little kids like Nick Steeply were raped and murdered? Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the small bottle of painkillers and popped the top. He could have sworn the small green pills were smiling at him, and he shut his eyes tightly as he slid a couple into his hand. They burned going down. Nick wondered idly how many of the little fuckers he'd have to swallow to fill the great gaping hole inside him, and decided there weren't enough pills in the world.
"Hey, Nick," the sound of Sara's voice made him jump. Photos and paper flew everywhere.
"Jesus Christ, Sara!" Nick growled, "You scared the living shit outta me!"
Sara looked at him sanguinely, and shrugged. "Thought you heard me. How's the arm?"
"Hurts." He looked down at the table top, roughly sorting the photos and papers. *Leave me alone.*
Sara had come to stand beside him, looking over his shoulder. "Didn't Grissom take you off that case?"
"He put me back on it," Nick replied icily. *Remember, Nicky-boy. Nice. Be nice.*
Sara sat down beside him, a surprised look on her face. "He put you back on it?"
"Yeah." Nick grinned, flashing his teeth at her. "That's not a problem is it?"
"Not for me. I'm just - surprised. You were pretty worked up about it last night."
Nick shrugged, "You get involved with your cases all the time, so -" he sighed again, and this time shot a more genuine smile in her direction. "I want to be just like you when I grow up."
Sara rolled her eyes, but Nick could sense some of the tension leaving her. He smiled again. Junkyard dog Nick made her nervous. Good to know.
"Listen, Nick -" Sara started, then paused. Nick looked at her, eyebrow raised, smiling at her discomfort. "I'm worried about you."
Nick plastered his patented 'who me?' look on his face, and tried to hide the sudden anger he felt at her words. "Nothing to be worried about," he replied.
Sara shrugged, "I think there is. I wish - listen, Nick. I'm your friend; we're all your friends. If something was wrong, you know you could talk to me right? I wouldn't judge you or anything."
*Like you didn't judge me this morning when I snapped at Grissom? Ri-ii- ight!*
"Nothing to talk about. Things are all better now."
Sara sighed. Nick was lying to her. She looked down at the photos he was holding in his hands. The top image was a head shot from the morgue - Robbins had cleaned the grit out of Steeply's eyes, and they shone flatly - cold and brown and dead. Much like Nick's own eyes looked right this minute; when he smiled at her and told her things were all better.
Sara felt like crying.
* * * * *
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, momentarily jarring his concentration. He was in Interview Room 1 with Grissom, listening intently as Grissom and Brass spoke to Nick Steeply's parents.
Mr. Steeply was a tall man, reed thin and angular. He reminded Nick of Ichabod Crane from the Disney version of 'The Headless Horseman'. Mrs. Steeply was much shorter than her husband; fleshier in a pretty way. At least, Nick imagined she used to be attractive, before the horror and the grief and the guilt of her sons' death had marred her features like acid. Nick wondered if she would ever be pretty again, and vaguely doubted it. He might have even felt sorry for her, if he didn't think she and her husband were partly responsible for the entire travesty.
Sighing, he quickly shifted sideways and looked at the LCD display on his vibrating phone. *Shit. His mother. Again.*
Keeping his face carefully neutral, he turned back to the Steeply's.
"We don't - we've never ever left him before," Mrs. Steeply's voice was warbly with grief, "but Rob - he - I - this was the first time he's ever been able to bring me to one of his seminars. We didn't - I didn't -" she broke down in fresh sobs.
Mr. Steeply put his arm around her, and Nick noticed that were she was all emotion; he was all calm cold reasoning. *Probably still in shock, trying to be strong. Give it up man. Life as you knew it is OVER!*
Brass leaned forward, "Why did you bring in a babysitter for the few days you were gone? Couldn't you have sent him to stay at a friends' house, or with relatives?"
"We don't have any relatives in Las Vegas," Mr. Steeply replied. "And Nick wanted to stay home. Jenny has babysat for us before. We didn't think it would be a problem. She's always been very reliable." His eyes flickered angrily for a second, blazingly intense, "Little slut. Can we press charges against her? It's her fault our son is dead."
Nick sat up straighter, mouth tightening imperceptibly. Grissom felt the sudden tension radiating off the younger man. "Actually," he replied, even as he touched Nick's knee, in gentle warning, "I don't think you want to do that. I know this is hard for you, and you want to blame someone - but she didn't know this would happen. It's tragic, but she's not the murderer."
Mr. Steeply looked as if he were about to respond when Nick calmly added, "If we were to charge her with child endangerment, we'd have to charge you and your wife as well. You went out of state and left your child in the custody of a minor. That could be construed as child abandonment."
"You bastard!" Steeply was on his feet, the icy-veneer of self-control he had barely been holding onto all night snapping at Nick's words, "It's not our fault!"
Nick held up his hands placatingly, his voice smooth as silk as he responded with vicious glee, "No one's saying it was, Mr. Steeply. I'm merely pointing out to you how this could be misconstrued. You don't want us to charge her. You really don't want to take this there."
Before his eyes, the older man crumpled and seemed to cave in on himself, his eyes suddenly flooding with tears as harsh, barking sobs rose from his chest, "Nicky, Nicky - I'm so sorry. I should have never left you. I'm so sorry!"
Nick mumbled a few consoling words, even as his heart screamed, *It's too late for sorry, you pathetic fuck. Too goddamned late!*
* * * * *
"So, the murderer obviously took the victims clothes for a trophy," Grissom and Nick were back in the breakroom. The Steeply's had been gently escorted from the station about 20 minutes earlier, their interview over.
Grissom had said nothing to Nick - yet - about his comments during the Interview. Nick wondered if he would, or if he had been professional enough in his demeanor to have gotten away with it. Everything he had said to little Nick's parents had been the truth. He knew it, Grissom knew it - Christ, even they knew it! - so maybe Grissom would just let it slide.
"Do we have any idea yet what type of tree the switch used to whip him - violate him - with was used?" Nick asked.
Grissom shrugged, "Waiting for Greg to arrive before we can check on that. Vincent didn't get around to running the tests today. We do know that whoever attacked him was a man. The DNA we retrieved from the body is all male."
"Would a pedophile work like that, though?" Nick asked, frowning, "If it was a man, why didn't he rape him? Physically, I mean. Why use a stick, or a switch, or whatever it was?" His stomach rolled uncontrollably at the image, and he was glad he hadn't had anything to eat since the half-bowl of cereal he had managed to force down earlier that morning.
"Good question, Nicky. Maybe we're not dealing with a pedophile."
"No," Nick replied, voice grim, "we're dealing with a sick fuck."
Grissom was about to respond when Warrick and Greg walked into the break room. Greg looked at Nick quickly, smiling tentatively. "How're you feeling?"
"I've been better," Nick grunted. He was surprised that he actually managed a genuine smile at both Greg and Warrick when he said this. "Sorry I rushed out on you earlier. Thanks for taking care of me."
Greg shrugged, looking slightly pleased, "What are friends for?"
Warrick merely nodded as he poured himself a coffee, looking at the case file spread out on the table between Grissom and Nick. "I see Grissom put you back on the case."
"Yeah. He did."
Catherine breezed in, smiling. "Just made it! Nick - what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home, in bed -"
"I'm fine, Catherine. I wanted to come in." His tone was smooth, and he glanced down at his bandaged arm, "but I appreciate the concern." *Not really.*
Grissom looked at his watch, "I suppose we should get going. Greg - I need you to tell me what type of tree the pieces of bark found with Nick Steeply's body is. Sara's in the computer room already; researching the MO of our murderer - seeing if maybe he's struck before somewhere else. Warrick and Cath - DB at the Palms. Brass is already there." He paused as he looked at his team. Nick was sitting hunched over the case file, face to blank to be believed. Grissom sighed. "Nick. We need to go talk to Jenny Letch again. See if there's anything she might have forgotten to tell us. You think you can handle it?"
Nick nodded, "I can handle it."
___________________________________
Author's Note: Sorry for the dark subject matter. That's all I have to say.
As Nick had suspected, Grissom was still at the lab. The guy practically fucking lived there. He half expected to see Sara's car as well, and was relieved when he didn't. He didn't want to deal with her right now. He liked Sara, but she had the tenacity of a pit bull and the people skills to match, and he knew if they ran in to each other she would just end up pissing him off. Smiling grimly to himself, he slid out of his truck and headed into the building. *Just pretend that nothing is wrong, Nicky-boy,* he mentally exhorted himself, *paste on a smile; apologize for yesterday and this morning and ask to be put back on the case. You can do it.*
He smiled at the front receptionist as he entered the building, absently reaching into his jean jacket pocket for his ID badge as he walked by. He could hear the faint sounds of a piano concerto emanating from Grissom's office; the music haunting and melancholic. He recognized it as a piece Grissom played often, and wondered if it had any personal meaning to him. Whatever. The music was fucking sad, man. Made him want to cry.
Grissom was sitting in his office at his desk, head back and eyes closed, lost in thought. He looked - different, somehow older than he had just this morning, each line on his face a map of devastation and regret. Nick paused in the doorway, studying Grissom. He wondered idly if he was the person who had etched that grief so deeply in Grissom's face and was surprised at the sudden tightening in his own chest, before he mercilessly shoved his emotions back down. *Of course he's not,* he muttered to himself as he pasted a large grin on his face, *one of his bugs must have died.*
Clearing his throat, he knocked lightly on the open door and stepped into the office. *Act 1, Scene 1 - The Apology*. "Grissom?"
Grissom didn't respond. Didn't even twitch. Nick frowned. "Grissom?" Louder this time, voice slightly raspy, "Grissom!?"
The older man opened an eye and looked at him warily, sighing as he sat up, "Nick. You're here early."
Nick shrugged, "I wanted to talk with you. You got a minute?" Behind his eyes he could feel his blood pulsing. The smile on his face felt like it was going to crack his head in two. When Grissom indicated the empty chair in front of his desk, Nick entered the office and sat down. Silence filled the office, uncomfortable and tense, so thick he could feel the weight of it on his chest, suffocating him.
Grissom studied the younger man in front of him intently, noting the pallor still clinging to his features; the bleakness in his eyes. "How's your arm?"
"Sore," Nick responded, letting his gaze drop to the gauze wrapping it. "The medicine is helping, but I don't want to take too many pain killers and be out of it. The antibiotics are bad enough."
Silence. Nick slanted his glance sideways and down, to the large tarantula Grissom had sitting in a small terrarium on his desk. He swore he could hear the fucking thing breathe. A small bead of sweat trickled uncomfortably down his back, and he sighed.
He wished Grissom would say something else, make this easier on him. Finally, he blurted out, "Listen, Grissom. About what I said today at the hospital -"
Grissom waved a hand carelessly to the side, "Don't worry about it."
"I shouldn't have said it, and I wanted to apologize. I was - angry, and my arm hurt -" *still am, still does* "- and I lashed out at you." Nick found it very easy to look contrite, and he glanced at Grissom nervously, "I really didn't mean it."
"That's what Sara said. She said you didn't mean it." Grissom looked at Nick suddenly, and flexed his hands, "What's going on with you lately, Nicky? I've never seen you act like that before. Not just at the hospital, but earlier - at the crime scene, at the Steeply's house. Talking to the babysitter."
Nick felt his expression tighten, and he shrugged. "Don't know," he lied. "I think I was just tired, felt like I was getting the 'flu or something. And that kid - there was no need for what happened to him. He should have been at home." Nick studied his hands, noticing the frayed cuticles and the nails bit to the nub. "It just upset me. But it won't happen again - I'm over it. I'd really like - I'm hoping - would you put me back on the case?"
"I don't think that's a good idea, Nick."
*I bet you don't, you fuck,* the angry voice inside Nick's head snarled back. Nick himself just quirked his lips, trying to look chagrined. "I swear it won't happen again. I know I was out of line, but I really want back on that case. I feel a connection to that kid. I want to see this through."
When Grissom looked like he was about to object, Nick stalled him. "I can feel empathy for the victim without letting it cloud my responses to the investigation, Grissom. I'm a big boy. Besides which, you let Catherine investigate a rape charge against Eddie - she had way more invested in that than I do with this case. You gotta be fair, man."
Grissom sighed. "Okay. But I'll yank you again if you can't keep it cool. I mean it, Nicky. I still feel like there's something you're not telling me."
Nick shrugged, "You know me, Grissom. I'm an open book. What you see is what you get!" But even as he said it, he knew he was lying, and he knew Griss knew it too.
* * * * *
The break room was dead quite. Nick sat at the table drinking a third cup of coffee and flipping back and forth from the pictures of Nick Steeply to the information compiled at the crime scene frowning, trying to ignore the tight throbbing of his arm. Grissom had told him he and Sara had found nothing new at the playground when they had gone back this morning. Nick had known they wouldn't.
Mr. and Mrs. Steeply had arrived back in Nevada on an earlier flight that afternoon, and had given brief statements to Brass and O'Reilly at their house just after lunch. Grissom was expecting them to arrive around 5:00 for general questioning. He had asked Nick to research the area, see if there were any known pedophiles living within a 5 mile square radius. So far, they were running on empty as far as suspects were concerned. Motive as well, for that matter. Motive besides the obvious - Nick Steeply had been violated in ways too terrible to contemplate.
*Did you know the person who did this to you?* Nick sighed. *Did you know you were going to die?*
The sound of laughter drifted down the hallway, and Nick lifted his head from the papers he had been studying, rubbing his hand across his gritty eyes. How could people be happy when little kids like Nick Steeply were raped and murdered? Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the small bottle of painkillers and popped the top. He could have sworn the small green pills were smiling at him, and he shut his eyes tightly as he slid a couple into his hand. They burned going down. Nick wondered idly how many of the little fuckers he'd have to swallow to fill the great gaping hole inside him, and decided there weren't enough pills in the world.
"Hey, Nick," the sound of Sara's voice made him jump. Photos and paper flew everywhere.
"Jesus Christ, Sara!" Nick growled, "You scared the living shit outta me!"
Sara looked at him sanguinely, and shrugged. "Thought you heard me. How's the arm?"
"Hurts." He looked down at the table top, roughly sorting the photos and papers. *Leave me alone.*
Sara had come to stand beside him, looking over his shoulder. "Didn't Grissom take you off that case?"
"He put me back on it," Nick replied icily. *Remember, Nicky-boy. Nice. Be nice.*
Sara sat down beside him, a surprised look on her face. "He put you back on it?"
"Yeah." Nick grinned, flashing his teeth at her. "That's not a problem is it?"
"Not for me. I'm just - surprised. You were pretty worked up about it last night."
Nick shrugged, "You get involved with your cases all the time, so -" he sighed again, and this time shot a more genuine smile in her direction. "I want to be just like you when I grow up."
Sara rolled her eyes, but Nick could sense some of the tension leaving her. He smiled again. Junkyard dog Nick made her nervous. Good to know.
"Listen, Nick -" Sara started, then paused. Nick looked at her, eyebrow raised, smiling at her discomfort. "I'm worried about you."
Nick plastered his patented 'who me?' look on his face, and tried to hide the sudden anger he felt at her words. "Nothing to be worried about," he replied.
Sara shrugged, "I think there is. I wish - listen, Nick. I'm your friend; we're all your friends. If something was wrong, you know you could talk to me right? I wouldn't judge you or anything."
*Like you didn't judge me this morning when I snapped at Grissom? Ri-ii- ight!*
"Nothing to talk about. Things are all better now."
Sara sighed. Nick was lying to her. She looked down at the photos he was holding in his hands. The top image was a head shot from the morgue - Robbins had cleaned the grit out of Steeply's eyes, and they shone flatly - cold and brown and dead. Much like Nick's own eyes looked right this minute; when he smiled at her and told her things were all better.
Sara felt like crying.
* * * * *
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, momentarily jarring his concentration. He was in Interview Room 1 with Grissom, listening intently as Grissom and Brass spoke to Nick Steeply's parents.
Mr. Steeply was a tall man, reed thin and angular. He reminded Nick of Ichabod Crane from the Disney version of 'The Headless Horseman'. Mrs. Steeply was much shorter than her husband; fleshier in a pretty way. At least, Nick imagined she used to be attractive, before the horror and the grief and the guilt of her sons' death had marred her features like acid. Nick wondered if she would ever be pretty again, and vaguely doubted it. He might have even felt sorry for her, if he didn't think she and her husband were partly responsible for the entire travesty.
Sighing, he quickly shifted sideways and looked at the LCD display on his vibrating phone. *Shit. His mother. Again.*
Keeping his face carefully neutral, he turned back to the Steeply's.
"We don't - we've never ever left him before," Mrs. Steeply's voice was warbly with grief, "but Rob - he - I - this was the first time he's ever been able to bring me to one of his seminars. We didn't - I didn't -" she broke down in fresh sobs.
Mr. Steeply put his arm around her, and Nick noticed that were she was all emotion; he was all calm cold reasoning. *Probably still in shock, trying to be strong. Give it up man. Life as you knew it is OVER!*
Brass leaned forward, "Why did you bring in a babysitter for the few days you were gone? Couldn't you have sent him to stay at a friends' house, or with relatives?"
"We don't have any relatives in Las Vegas," Mr. Steeply replied. "And Nick wanted to stay home. Jenny has babysat for us before. We didn't think it would be a problem. She's always been very reliable." His eyes flickered angrily for a second, blazingly intense, "Little slut. Can we press charges against her? It's her fault our son is dead."
Nick sat up straighter, mouth tightening imperceptibly. Grissom felt the sudden tension radiating off the younger man. "Actually," he replied, even as he touched Nick's knee, in gentle warning, "I don't think you want to do that. I know this is hard for you, and you want to blame someone - but she didn't know this would happen. It's tragic, but she's not the murderer."
Mr. Steeply looked as if he were about to respond when Nick calmly added, "If we were to charge her with child endangerment, we'd have to charge you and your wife as well. You went out of state and left your child in the custody of a minor. That could be construed as child abandonment."
"You bastard!" Steeply was on his feet, the icy-veneer of self-control he had barely been holding onto all night snapping at Nick's words, "It's not our fault!"
Nick held up his hands placatingly, his voice smooth as silk as he responded with vicious glee, "No one's saying it was, Mr. Steeply. I'm merely pointing out to you how this could be misconstrued. You don't want us to charge her. You really don't want to take this there."
Before his eyes, the older man crumpled and seemed to cave in on himself, his eyes suddenly flooding with tears as harsh, barking sobs rose from his chest, "Nicky, Nicky - I'm so sorry. I should have never left you. I'm so sorry!"
Nick mumbled a few consoling words, even as his heart screamed, *It's too late for sorry, you pathetic fuck. Too goddamned late!*
* * * * *
"So, the murderer obviously took the victims clothes for a trophy," Grissom and Nick were back in the breakroom. The Steeply's had been gently escorted from the station about 20 minutes earlier, their interview over.
Grissom had said nothing to Nick - yet - about his comments during the Interview. Nick wondered if he would, or if he had been professional enough in his demeanor to have gotten away with it. Everything he had said to little Nick's parents had been the truth. He knew it, Grissom knew it - Christ, even they knew it! - so maybe Grissom would just let it slide.
"Do we have any idea yet what type of tree the switch used to whip him - violate him - with was used?" Nick asked.
Grissom shrugged, "Waiting for Greg to arrive before we can check on that. Vincent didn't get around to running the tests today. We do know that whoever attacked him was a man. The DNA we retrieved from the body is all male."
"Would a pedophile work like that, though?" Nick asked, frowning, "If it was a man, why didn't he rape him? Physically, I mean. Why use a stick, or a switch, or whatever it was?" His stomach rolled uncontrollably at the image, and he was glad he hadn't had anything to eat since the half-bowl of cereal he had managed to force down earlier that morning.
"Good question, Nicky. Maybe we're not dealing with a pedophile."
"No," Nick replied, voice grim, "we're dealing with a sick fuck."
Grissom was about to respond when Warrick and Greg walked into the break room. Greg looked at Nick quickly, smiling tentatively. "How're you feeling?"
"I've been better," Nick grunted. He was surprised that he actually managed a genuine smile at both Greg and Warrick when he said this. "Sorry I rushed out on you earlier. Thanks for taking care of me."
Greg shrugged, looking slightly pleased, "What are friends for?"
Warrick merely nodded as he poured himself a coffee, looking at the case file spread out on the table between Grissom and Nick. "I see Grissom put you back on the case."
"Yeah. He did."
Catherine breezed in, smiling. "Just made it! Nick - what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home, in bed -"
"I'm fine, Catherine. I wanted to come in." His tone was smooth, and he glanced down at his bandaged arm, "but I appreciate the concern." *Not really.*
Grissom looked at his watch, "I suppose we should get going. Greg - I need you to tell me what type of tree the pieces of bark found with Nick Steeply's body is. Sara's in the computer room already; researching the MO of our murderer - seeing if maybe he's struck before somewhere else. Warrick and Cath - DB at the Palms. Brass is already there." He paused as he looked at his team. Nick was sitting hunched over the case file, face to blank to be believed. Grissom sighed. "Nick. We need to go talk to Jenny Letch again. See if there's anything she might have forgotten to tell us. You think you can handle it?"
Nick nodded, "I can handle it."
___________________________________
Author's Note: Sorry for the dark subject matter. That's all I have to say.