a/n: Just a quick note of thanks for the reviews! I appreciate the feedback and tips, and am glad you all seem to be enjoying this as much as I am.

Feared Consolation

They moved to the dinkiest apartment. Nick didn't know how she found this place, but he had to admit it was smart. She paid cash for a month's rent of the scummiest apartment on earth.

It was safer for her. No housekeeping making daily calls. No front desk clerk wondering about them. Just a dark neighborhood that didn't care about what was going on beyond the next room.

Nick's arm still hurt. Bruises developed on both forearms, but his right arm just ached constantly. He grimaced just looking at it.

The handcuffs rattled against a large pipe in the main room as he shifted his body. He was lying down, on the bare and dirty floor. There were limited furnishings, just an old, broken dresser, coffee table, barely-running fridge, and a couple of chairs. The pipe was the most secure and permanent thing. It was Nick's new anchor to captivity.

Amy was gone. He didn't know where she went, or how long she would be gone. It didn't matter. He couldn't go anywhere. Handcuffs were a lot harder to get out of, especially with nothing around to try to pick at them.

He thought about yelling, but the gag was in place again, and it was so noisy around here that he didn't stand a chance. He sighed and rested his head against the hard floor.

She hadn't talked to him since last night. He hadn't spoken either. He figured it was best to see what she would say before he tried anything. But she was obviously mad.

A sharp pain went through Nick's right arm again. He bit down on his lip until the pain subsided.

Suddenly he heard keys rattling outside the door. Nick's body tensed as he waited. She's back.

She came in with another load of groceries. Nick frowned. If she's not using her credit cards, how is she paying for all this?

She could have used an ATM, but that can be traced as well. They might have frozen her account even.

Unless she's using something that's only in her husband's name. Nick shook his head. Whatever she did for cash, it just made it easier for her to stay hidden.

Amy put the bags down on the floor. She never once looked at Nick the whole time she unpacked the bags. He watched though. She'd bought meat, a pan, eggs, bread, milk, frozen veggies . . .

Nick shut his eyes. She's adjusting to all this. She's going to cook, get back to normal . . . How can she act so normal through all this?

"Are you hungry?" She didn't look at him, but Nick was surprised she said anything. He was hungry, but part of him didn't want to eat. She finally glanced at him, knowing he couldn't say anything with that gag.

Slowly, Nick nodded, his eyes low and unchallenging. Amy nodded. She walked over to him, and pulled the gag down. Nick licked his lips and swallowed, trying to rid himself of the cotton thread.

"I'll make us something," Amy said. She went back to the small kitchen area and began tinkering about.

Nick just watched. She had a small smile on her face, like she was content. She stepped around lightly, bouncing a bit in her dyed red hair, her jeans and t-shirt. Nick thought he heard her hum even.

Whatever she was making, it smelt good. Nick's stomach growled, reminding him he really didn't get to eat last night, or this morning. When was the last time I ate? He shrugged the thought off. It didn't really matter. He'd had other things to worry about.

She went ahead and ate her food before offering him any. She had the gun out as she tossed him the keys to unlock himself. That was tricky in itself—he had to twist his wrists to unlock the cuffs, but it sent pains through his arm. He grimaced and got through it anyway.

Amy watched him carefully as he ate. Nick didn't look at her at all, but just ate quietly, trying to ignore the gun aimed at him.

"Just like Jason," she commented with a snort. "Never a 'thank you' or 'it's delicious!'" Nick glanced at her.

Did you keep him chained up as well?

"Thank you," Nick said instead. Satisfaction crept over her face, and it made Nick's stomach turn. "Amy, what do you plan to do now?"

She cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've run away from your old life—your husband, Faye Green, the police," Nick said. Her eyes flashed at the mention of Faye, but she let it go as he continued. "What are you going to do?"

She looked away for a second, then back at him.

"I have been thinking about that," she said. She sat down next to him, close enough that her elbow touched him. It made him swallow a chunk of meat prematurely. Nick fought not to cough. "I loved Jason. So much . . . and all this time, I thought he loved me."

Nick's mind flashed to what Jason Henler had admitted in front of him and Grissom and Amy. He'd said he loved Faye Green, even now. In hindsight, that'd probably been the emotional bullet that drove Amy to this.

"But obviously he doesn't. So I've been wasting my life," Amy said. She stopped, thinking and smiling. "Not anymore. I'm going to move on. Make a new life, for me. Whatever makes me happy."

Nick stared at her. He'd hoped that somewhere in her plans she would say she would release him. No such luck.

She stared back, looking deep into his eyes. Nick shifted and looked away.

"You remind me of him," she whispered. Nick tensed until he was stiffer than board. "I know you're not Jason." Nick started breathing again. "No, you seem . . . better."

Nick froze again. He could feel her eyes on him, but Nick didn't dare look at her. His skin tingled, like a rush of goose bumps.

Suddenly she stood up and took his plate. "Why don't you take a shower, change into that blue shirt I bought you?" she said. Her eyes pressed him for some agreement.

Nick nodded and swallowed a lump of anxiety.

"What've we heard?" Sara asked the group. They were temporarily using the conference room at a LAPD precinct. She slid a file across the table to where Grissom, Catherine and Warrick sat.

"Nothing," Grissom admitted. "Nothing from the tipline, no sightings, no activity on her credit or debit cards."

"How is she getting around?" Warrick asked the group. "I mean, it's only been a couple of days, but being on the run can be costly." Grissom just shook his head.

"Well," Sara piped up, "Greg just faxed me the results from the second motel room."

Catherine opened the file and started to read aloud.

"Amy Henler and Nick's fingerprints everywhere . . . Nick's saliva on the gag, and his epithelials on the other cloths . . . Amy's prints on the lamp, but only Nick's epithelials . . ." She looked up from the file. "Were Nick's prints on the lamp unusable?"

Sara shook her head. "No, Greg was very clear about that," she said. "The only prints on the lamp were Mrs. Henler's."

"Then how did Nick's skin get on the lamp?" Warrick questioned.

"Weapon of opportunity?" Grissom offered. Warrick shook his head.

"There's no blood," he said. Grissom shot him a look.

"Warrick, not all weapons draw blood," he said. He shook his head though, as the image of Nick injured entered his mind. "Where are we on the cops' story?"

Catherine sighed. "They say Nick admitted to hurting Mrs. Henler, and then that she begged them not to arrest him."

Warrick snorted. "Yeah, if they arrested him, Nick would have been safer."

"That just doesn't make sense to me," Sara said, pressing her palms into the table as she thought about the situation. "Why would Nick do that? Why wouldn't he get them to help, even if the cops thought he was the bad guy?"

The four CSIs sat in silence as that question played repeatedly in their minds.

Nick fought a shiver as he lay on the floor. It was dark outside, but enough moonlight showed through the window to let Nick know it was the first hours of the day. It wasn't too cold yet, and this was Los Angeles—it never got unbearable. But that blue t-shirt that Mrs. Henler had Nick wear didn't provide much warmth.

That, and the closest thing to a blanket that he had was the dirt on the hard floor.

He wanted to wrap his arms around his chest to preserve his body heat. The cuffs, though, kept him uncomfortable. His wrists were starting to chaff against the metal, and any movement still made his right arm ache.

He sighed miserably to himself.

His mind turned to Faye Green. She was killed in a rage, because Amy was jealous. It wasn't a new crime, but that didn't make it any better for the victim. Nick thought about Faye's mother, how worried and lonely she was. She'd spent five years wondering what became of her daughter. She probably thought Faye was dead, but just the uncertainty made it impossible to move on.

How can you move on without the truth?

Nick felt a shiver win him over. He immediately tensed his body, trying to prevent an onslaught of cold.

Will anyone be able to move on while I'm gone? It was a morbid thought, and maybe a bit egotistical. But he wondered . . . How long will it take before they start to lose hope? His family. His friends. Would they keep searching for him?

Will I still be alive when they find me?

He told himself that he couldn't think like that. Mrs. Henler's actions, murdering Faye Green, had to be spur of the moment. Nick didn't think it was premeditated.

But what about now? She knows what she's doing, for the most part.

Nick shut his eyes, and let out a slow breath.

"Can't sleep?"

Nick jerked at that. His eyes flew open to see Amy standing in the room's doorway. She was dressed in a pajama set, flannel, Nick guessed.

"It's a little cold in here," he said between clenched teeth. Amy frowned, and disappeared for a few moments.

She returned with a comforter. She fluffed it up and let it fall over him. Nick instantly relished the shield it provided from the chill.

Nick was about to thank her for it when she sat on the ground next to him, and slid under the comforter. He jerked again when her body brushed against his. He tried scooting away, but Nick could only go so far.

"What?" Amy asked. She looked at him, her eyes concerned and confused.

"Uh . . ." How do I say this? Nick fought a blush that instantly warmed his face and ears. "The blanket is enough. You don't need to stay here."

She started to smile coyly—maybe even seductively. "I only have one, Nick. We can share it."

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Mrs. Henler inched closer to him, resting her head on his right shoulder. It pulled down on the cuffs and his arm. Nick groaned.

"Please," he whispered, more because he was trying to block out the pain. "Just get away from me."

He didn't see the shock on her face. He hadn't been that blunt to her yet. But she reacted.

She grabbed his arm, yanking on it to pull herself to her feet. Nick yelped between clenched teeth as needles of agony went through his forearm and seemed to spread to the rest of him.

He rolled to the side, trying to shake off some of the pain. He barely registered the comforter being pulled away as he groaned into the floor boards.