a/n: Here's a rapid update for you. It's short for a reason, so don't interpret it or my delays in updating as me abandoning this story—I just don't do that (well, I haven't yet anyway). Enjoy!

Fight Night

The assassin circled around Nick. It made him nervous, but he figured that's what the assassin wanted. The gun never wavered.

"Why did you kill Paige?" Nick asked, his eyes on the gun. The assassin laughed.

"It's because of questions like that that I'm here."

Nick took a deep breath. It was an effort at composure, but he feared he was failing miserably. He needed something, some advantage. The assassin disappeared behind him.

Nick listened for the movement, honing in on the assassin's position. Moving wasn't smart, but Nick knew he couldn't lie down and wait for death either.

He heard the shuffle of the assassin's shoes against the carpet, directly behind him. Nick went for it.

He lunged backwards, hitting the man's body with the back of his head and hands. Nick heard the gun clatter to the ground, and it fueled him. He turned to face the man as the assassin took action.

He jumped off one foot and kicked the other out at Nick's head. The kick caught him in the jaw, and face-planted him in the carpet. Nick was stunned. Who is this guy? The assassin didn't stop. He didn't seem to need any weapon to kill him.

Nick fended off another kick, but a follow-up punch hit him in the shoulder. It spun him to the side, and opened him up for another onslaught. The assassin grabbed Nick again by the shirt, and yanked him up. Nick's head just ached and spun. He couldn't focus on anything.

The assassin flung Nick into the blaring stereo and entertainment center. His body just shuddered with pain as he hit the furniture. He heard the stereo die on impact, and glass from the entertainment center shatter over him. Various tapes and DVDs fell off, and the TV and DVD player teetered on the edge.

Nick groaned. He moved, trying to get back up. He knew he was too slow. The assassin stood over him, glancing at the large electronics. With a grin, he gave them a shove.

The TV fell, and Nick's eyes widened as he saw it through blurry vision. Immediately, Nick curled up and threw his hands over his head. The TV crashed on him, shattering more glass and breaking hard plastic. He felt the impact on his side by his ribs and shoulder. The glass was like confetti, littering over him in his hair and on his clothes.

Nick lay there, stunned. His side felt numb but yet like it was on fire. He tried to move, but the TV was still on him.

Suddenly it was pulled off, and Nick saw the assassin grinning down at him. He grabbed Nick by the arm and flipped the unresisting CSI on his stomach. Nick grimaced at the force used on him. He felt his hands being restrained by a hard plastic tie, he guessed. The assassin grabbed at his hair next, pulling on it to force Nick to look at him.

"I was going to have you be unconscious for this," he said venomously, "but you've ticked me off." He practically threw Nick's head at the ground as he let go, and the side of his head bounced against the floor. Nick groaned.

The assassin bound Nick's feet too, with the same type of plastic tie. Fear coursed through Nick, but he couldn't move now. Even if he could, he doubted he had the strength or immunity from pain to do so.

He was left alone after that. Throughout his house, he heard the assassin walking around. Whatever he was doing, Nick couldn't guess, but it made him afraid.

He looked around his tossed living room. The assassin pulled out a large jug, a red one---

Gasoline. Nick groaned. The assassin started to splash it around.

"Hey," Nick said, trying to get the man's attention. It worked for a moment, but the assassin continued to pour the accelerant around the room. "Please. I got the message with Paige Landry."

The assassin snorted at that. "Maybe it wasn't clear enough to you. That's why I'm here." He approached Nick, and drew a circle around him with the gasoline. Nick watched as a hand dipped into a pocket and pulled out a matchbook. Nick swallowed.

The assassin tore off a match and struck it against the back of the book. He grinned as he held the match up for Nick to see.

"I thought you wanted it to look like an accident," Nick said, his eyes betraying how calm he tried to sound. The assassin shrugged.

"I'm starting to not care."

The match suddenly dropped and Nick gasped. It landed on his pants, by his feet, but by then it was blown out.

If there was one way to go that Nick wanted to avoid, it was fire. Something about it always scared him.

Terrified him, actually. His breathing sky-rocketed now, and the assassin just laughed at the helpless victim in front of him. It angered Nick, what was happening, and that he was being a victim. His father had always taught him to be stronger than that.

The assassin lit another match. And Nick acted.

He kicked his bound feet at the man's ankles. He yelped as he fell, and Nick heard the thick but dull sound of skull on floor.

The man didn't move for a moment, but he was only sluggish. Nick watched as the man gingerly touched the back of his head.

"You . . ." The assassin trailed off as he swore, and Nick began to wiggle away from the man. Though he swaggered a bit, the assassin's fury seemed clear as he stormed over to Nick. He lashed out a kick to Nick's ribs.

Nick closed his eyes to try and lessen the pain. The assassin kicked him again, and again. Nick's ribs cracked—he heard it—and he screamed.

He didn't feel any more attacks, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt just as much. Nick rocked his body back and forth, moaning as he tried to feel some relief. He coughed, and immediately had a coppery taste in his mouth.

The assassin appeared over Nick, that jug of gasoline in hand, and started pouring it on Nick's head. He laughed as the CSI sputtered on the fuel, choking on it. The fumes were strong, and between it and the taste, Nick could hardly breathe.

He finally managed to turn his body so his head faced the floor. The gas continued to fall over him and the rest of his body now.

The assassin dropped the jug, empty. He panted, as if he exerted so much energy doing this to Nick. The matchbook came out again.

He struck a match and leaned over Nick, lowering the match closer and closer to his face.

Nick gulped, and instantly tasted gasoline.

Suddenly the assassin stood up straight and tossed the match across the room. As it flew, Nick stared at it. It flickered and blew out.

The assassin laughed and kicked Nick in the face. Nick grunted as his head whipped to the side. He heard footsteps as his tormentor moved away.

"Goodbye, Nick Stokes," the assassin said. Nick managed to look up as the man lit another match and dropped it. The man quickly left the house as a hissing swoop of ignition took over.

Nick felt the heat instantly. His eyes widened as the bright orange and blue flames rose.

This can't be happening.