Home Again

Warrick slowed the SUV as he rounded the corner to Nick's house. His SUV was parked in the driveway, as if he were already home. Nick gulped.

The day was pretty gray, overcast and cool. The dreary atmosphere seemed to damper Nick's already down mood. He guessed Warrick noticed it, but was grateful he didn't say anything.

His parents flew back to Texas today. They were relieved, of course, that he was better now. His mom had tried to tell him they could stay, but Nick knew better. They had obligations, and what he wanted more than anything was just to get back to normal.

But looking at his home, he knew things couldn't be too normal.

Warrick turned the car off, and got out. Nick reluctantly followed.

"Hey man," Warrick said, "you coming?" Nick nodded. He started towards the front door, subconsciously clutching his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move.

"Mr. Stokes!"

Nick quickly faced the person, or persons, as it turned out. Two men approached him, and judging by their confidence and overbearing manner, Nick knew what they were.

Warrick must have as well, because he stood as a buffer between Nick and the reporters.

"Mr. Stokes, how do feel knowing Nigel Crane is still free?" one of them said. Warrick shut them down.

"You're trespassing on private property," he said in his firm voice. His towering frame wasn't one to take lightly, and the reporters backed up. "Leave him alone." He continued towards them until the two men retreated to the other side of the street.

Nick couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Thanks, man." Warrick smiled proudly.

"I thought they would have killed the story after you got back," Warrick said, shaking his head.

They went inside, and immediately it felt strange to Nick. He returned to his blank expression as he looked around.

"Are you going to be okay staying here?" Warrick asked. He stared at Nick's rigid posture and clenched jawline. "I mean, Brass wants to send a couple of uniforms to stay with you."

Nick shook his head, even though a guard or two was tempting. "I don't want to have to worry about two guys standing outside my door," he said. "I'll be fine."

Warrick shot him a look.

"Seriously, Nick."

Nick matched the look. "Seriously, Warrick, I'll be all right." His friend raised an eyebrow at that, but let it go.

"Okay. I better get back," he said, heading for the door. Nick nodded.

"Thanks for the ride." Warrick just waved that off.

"Nick, get some rest," he said, pausing at the door. "You can't get back to work anyway, so just chill."

Work was the last thing on his mind right now, but he gave Warrick a reassuring nod.

"Hey Warrick," Nick said, catching the man before he shut the door behind him. "Let me know if you guys find him."

Warrick stared at Nick, concern washing over his normal laid-back features. Nick knew it was a tell of his really worry, but luckily Warrick didn't play it up.

"I will."

And Nick was left alone. He stood still in the middle of his living room, just listening for noises, scraps in the attic, anything.

He heard only silence screaming back at him. It pressured him, and suddenly Nick found himself darting from room to room, throwing open cabinets and closets, looking under his bed and in every corner. He grabbed a chair and stood on it, just below his attic access. His body was still sore, but he managed to lift himself up into the attic.

It was empty. No surveillance equipment. No personal items belonging to Nigel Crane. Just dust and insulation. He wondered if Grissom had already had everything cleared out that Crane might have left here.

Nick carefully walked through the attic. He checked the corners and the beams. His eyes fell on a spot in the wood. Nick knelt down, his eyes never looking away from what he saw.

It was a small circular hole. Slowly he leaned down closer, bracing himself for what he'd see. He stared through the hole.

And saw his bed. He was directly above it.

Nick's stomach started to churn, but he fought the nausea. He quickly looked around other holes.

Soon he found himself in his kitchen, downing a glass of water to keep himself from throwing up. His lungs were expanding and contracting too quickly to be healthy. Nick gasped for air, for control.

He'd found holes to every room, sometimes two holes for different angles.

Just like Jane Galloway.

But so much worse.

Nick dropped the glass in the sink, not caring if it shattered or not. He darted back to his room and started throwing a few things into a bag. He grabbed his spare gun and some clips too and added them to the bag.

He locked the door behind him, and fought himself not to run to his SUV. He drove off quickly, and didn't notice the car following him until he was on the main roads.

Nick changed lanes, and noticed the white car behind him do the same. He turned off to the road a hotel was on, where he planned on staying for awhile. Nick glanced at the rearview mirror, and the white car turned as well.

He weaved through the parking lot, and suddenly turned into a spot. He watched in the mirrors as the white car came up and parked behind him.

Nick's heart pounded till it hurt. He quickly fumbled in his bag and pulled out his gun. A part of him was terrified, and another part of him wanted this to end.

He jumped out of his car, his gun at his side. As he went around his SUV, he almost ran in to a tall blonde woman.

She shrieked, and Nick couldn't help but do the same. She'd come from the white car.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Nick yelled at her. She gasped and then glared at him.

"ME?! You're the one with the gun!" she shouted. Nick felt his heart rate dropping and sighed. He tucked the gun in the back of his jeans.

"Why were you following me?" he asked, taking his tone down a notch.

The blonde swept her fingers through her hair and ran a hand over her business suit.

"I saw you leave your place in a hurry."

Nick narrowed his eyes at her. "You were watching me?" She nodded reluctantly.

"I'm a reporter with the—"

Nick just turned away from her and started back to his car. He grabbed his bag and locked his car.

"Wait!" he heard her say. Nick walked towards the hotel, fuming at this development. You're going to look nuts to the press now too.

Just what you need.

He shook his head to himself. Suddenly the woman grabbed his arm.

"Nick, please," she said, "just hear me out." Nick shrugged off her hold but paused for a second.

"Quickly," he said. She nodded.

"I've been researching cases of criminals getting too close to investigators—police, CSI, DAs, whatever," she said. "I really think your story is one that needs to be told. It'd add a new perspective."

"What makes you think I want my story told?" Nick said, challenging her. "I don't want more criminals getting ideas from your article, and I certainly don't want another stalker, reporter or not."

He turned away again. But he heard her footsteps behind him.

"So Crane was stalking you?"

Nick didn't grace that with an answer. He just walked through the lobby and to the front desk. A concierge addressed him immediately.

"May I help you?"

Nick nodded. "I need a room please, preferably one on the higher floors." The concierge nodded and started typing away in his computer system.

"Nick, are you here now because you're afraid of him?" The blonde woman wouldn't give up. The concierge raised an eyebrow.

"Back off, or I'll get a TRO against you," Nick warned in a muttered voice. She glared at him, but didn't move away.

"Miss," the concierge said, "on behalf of the privacy of all our guests, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The reporter glared at him next, but the concierge was unfazed. He picked up a phone. "Please send security to the front desk."

The blonde huffed at that, and left the lobby.

Nick shot a grateful look to the man. "Thanks." The concierge just smiled.

"No need, Mr. Stokes. Would you like a queen- or king-sized bed?"