a/n: I decided to break up the chapters, if nothing else than for the rhythm of the story. Hope you like it! I'm winding it up now, so consider yourselves warned. I may post something else tonight, but if not, then in the morning.

Tear It Up

Nick bolted upright in his bed, gasping for air and clawing at his skin.

"Whoa, calm down, Nick!" Warrick said. Nick froze, then glanced at his arms and chest. They were clean—no more blood.

Nick sighed and fell back against the hospital bed. He took several deep breaths before opening his eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Bad dream." He managed a weak smile. Warrick smiled back.

"It's okay, man," he said. "You all right?"

Nick nodded out of habit to the question. But his mind replayed what had happened in that parking lot. He felt it all over again—the anger, the panic, the nausea, the draining of all his energy.

Suddenly, Nick's eyes were welling up with tears. His breathing quickened, and Nick leaned his head back to keep the tears from falling. He didn't want Warrick to see him like this.

"Tell me he's dead," Nick said in a muffled sob. He didn't dare look at Warrick, but just waited for words he hoped would confirm it all.

Instead there was silence.

"He's still alive," Nick said, filling in.

Warrick spoke softly, hesitantly. "He was resuscitated at the scene," he said. "He's in ICU right now."

No.

It's still not over.

Nick swiped at the tears and sat up in his bed. He quickly pulled the sheets back and looked around the room.

"Where are my clothes, Warrick?" he asked, his voice a little on the panicky side. His body protested his sudden movements, but Nick made himself ignore it.

"Nick, you need to rest—"

"I'll rest at home, miles away from Nigel Crane," Nick said. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and reopening them when he felt a little calmer. "Get me some clothes, man, please."

Grissom looked over the boxes in front of him. Each contained evidence from the various crime scenes involving Nigel Crane. The tapes alone filled up three boxes.

Catherine came in with two additional pieces of bagged evidence.

"Rope used to tie Nick's wrists," she said, tossing in by the boxes. "And Nick's clothes."

"Cow blood?" Grissom asked, eyeing the remains of the clothing.

Catherine nodded. "It matched what was being cut up in the meat department." She looked over the evidence, the boxes scattered all around them. "I don't think we'll have a problem putting Crane away."

Gil grimaced. "That depends on your definition of putting him away." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn her head sharply at him. "Brass called. The public defender is filing the motions to have Nigel declared unfit to stand trial."

"I can't say I'm surprised," she said. She noticed how rigid Grissom seemed, his whole body radiating disappointment or more. "But you seem to be."

Grissom shot her a look. "I'm not surprised," he said. "But regardless of his mental state, he killed two people, and terrorized Nick. If you ask me, people who commit crimes have something wrong in their heads anyway."

"But we can't declare them all insane," Catherine said.

"No, we can't."

Nick stared out over the park. The sun was falling fast, and there was a pleasant breeze that signaled the changing seasons. It felt refreshing, being outside. He hadn't been out much this week. But now he'd heard that Nigel Crane was recovering well in the ICU, and that various doctors were leaning towards certifying his instability. His insanity. Nick had to get out.

His chest ached at the thought of Nigel comfortable in an institution after everything he'd done. Not just the crimes against Nick, but the murders of Sam Davis and Jane Galloway. He couldn't help but want to rewind the past few weeks, back before he ordered Luna Cable.

He mentally berated himself. If it wasn't him, it would have been someone else that Nigel Crane fixated on.

Part of Nick wished it was someone else. And most of him wanted Nigel Crane to die.

Why did they have to resuscitate him? He knew what was next. Nigel Crane wouldn't face his criminal charges. He would spend the rest of his days in a moderately secure mental institution. He would talk with doctors and counselors about his obsessions, about Nick.

That just angered Nick. Worse, it sickened him. Nick swallowed back the nausea he felt whenever he thought of Crane, and started to stretch out his legs.

He started running, just a trot at first, but soon he was fueled by that anger again. He ran full out, going around the paved path in the dim park.

When he ran hard, he found himself focusing on nothing but the ground and his footsteps. His chest still ached a bit, but Nick desperately needed some release. He plowed ahead, his legs moving in an unrelenting cycle.

The ache in his chest spread to his stomach, a sharp pain that finally stopped Nick. He panted heavily as he just walked, his hand pressing his stomach where it hurt.

Immediately, Crane was back in his mind.

Will I ever stop thinking about this? Crane dominated his life lately, and it just poisoned Nick—his mind, his spirit, his love of life. Nothing made him happy anymore.

You have to put him out of your mind. Otherwise, he'll always be stalking you. Nick stopped and sat down on the grass. He leaned back against a tree and just looked at the sky.

The sun was well gone now, leaving only traces of light blue in the west. Everything else was darkened. He felt invisible—maybe because he was. A couple strolled by, giggling and enjoying each other's company. They never noticed Nick as he watched them.

Invisible. Is that how Crane was?

That's why you didn't notice him before. Nick shook his head. He wasn't going down this path again.

He suppressed a groan as he got to his feet and walked home.