Nick was regulated to another couch, this time in the break room. The DNA test was being run while he sat impatiently for the results. Once the four of them arrived at the lab, he had been ordered to relax while Hodges could finish up without all of them crowding the room. Greg went back to "oversee" things, so here he was stuck doing the one thing he hated, waiting.

Usually the break area had people bustling in and out all the time. He had been scanning a magazine for at least twenty minutes when he noticed the solitude. He briefly wondered if the room was now off limits. He wouldn't put it past Warrick to threaten the rest of the staff if they entered. He absently flipped through the pages, not really paying attention to the words. He found it hard to concentrate: the letters would blur together, causing the thumping in his head to increase in intensity.

Nick was about to throw the magazine down when he heard someone enter. He looked up to see Gil Grissom looming over him with a very unhappy disposition about him. Nick immediately began to straighten to attention while trying to formulate what he was going to say in his mind.

"Stay put Nick," Grissom told him in one of those tones teachers reserved for lecturing their students.

The graveyard supervisor peered at him through his glasses, pursed his lips as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Instead he unfolded a sheet of paper and handed it to Nick wordlessly.

Confused and now on edge, the other criminalist took the offered item and read the information. Nick's brow furrowed, and he blinked twice, as if he had been handed a wrong bank statement. He sat back, disappointed. Whatever had been energizing him for the past hour had dissipated. He lost all his motivation and practically wilted back in the couch.

Nick tilted his head and looked up the older man, his voice despondent. "Roger Sikes isn't a match."

Calmly, Grissom shook his head. "No, he isn't. Had Greg run it twice, but it's still the same result."

The wind yanked out of his sails, Nick ran his hand through his hair. He chuckled lightly. "Back to square one."

Grissom exhaled heavily and sat down next to the younger man. "Not square one. Just back to examining the evidence."

"You knew, didn't you?"

Grissom paused for a moment. "No, I didn't. I also didn't jump to any conclusions."

Nick didn't feel like arguing. In his gut he liked Sikes for the murders and for his own attack. He never felt like his emotions were clouding his judgment. Maybe Sikes was just an asshole plain and simple.

Grissom patted the CSI's knee. "Go home Nick. You look terrible."

Nick raised an eyebrow. He wasn't getting reprimanded for coming back to work. The criminalist guessed that the unexpected results were enough of a punishment in a way. Nick rose from the couch stiffly. He was exhausted and now his body was feeling the effects of his encounter in the hallway. Grissom followed him out of the break room. The supervisor noticed how the younger man used the walls for support, his left hand guiding him along. Grissom stayed close just in case the injured man stumbled.

Greg waited in the parking lot for them, a large box in hand. Catherine had followed through with her promise. She was allowing Nick to take some of the papers and files home they had confiscated from Michelle's office. The lead CSI knew they wouldn't get to those for quite some time, not really thinking any of it was really relevant. She felt it wouldn't hurt for Nick to have something to channel his restlessness as he recovered at his townhouse.

Gil Grissom watched as Nick piled into the lab tech's car and the two men drove away. Grissom took off his glasses and dug his thumb into his forehead; a migraine was threatening. He slid his spectacles back on and looked up at the sky. He was just as upset over the DNA results, but not really surprised for some reason. Warrick and Catherine had not taken the news well and he wasn't about to let them break it to their colleague.

Glumly, the supervisor returned to the lab. His own high profile homicide was wrapping up: a suspect was being hauled in with some very damning evidence. He hoped they could finish the case and take some of the pressure off his shift. Grissom wanted to concentrate more on the Gold Gym murders; something told him that the trail was there. Warrick was right about one thing. The murderer was escalating and he knew another victim wasn't far behind.


Greg parked the car in front of Nick's townhouse. Nick fumbled with the door handle and struggled to pull his abused body out of the car. He took careful steps towards his door. It was taking every effort to keep himself upright. With sluggish fingers, he punched the digits to his alarm code. The panel buzzed at him when the wrong combination had been entered.

Greg had followed the criminalist, carrying the box of files and things from the hospital. The tech watched his friend waffle with his door alarm.

"Damn it," Nick cursed when it beeped at him again.

Greg brushed past him. "Look you're tired. It's cool. Tell me the number and I'll punch it in."

Nick resigned himself to that fact he was too exhausted to do anything. He thought for a moment, then remembered the correct order. He gave Greg the right numbers and the green light lit up. Greg had the other man's keys and unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open.

Nick walked in with heavy steps. Greg quickly dropped the box of files on the coffee table and hustled back over to the CSI, who was just now entering the foyer. Greg closed and locked the door, and slid an arm around Nick's waist.

The tech felt his friend flinch. "Just lean on me dude, it's cool."

"I hate this," Nick mumbled, even as he let the wiry tech lead him to his sofa.

Nick grunted slightly as he fell more than sat down; it felt like someone was sitting on his chest, and his back ached without mercy. He closed his eyes and tried to relax tense muscles.

Greg knew his way around the CSI's kitchen and rifled through cabinets. He heated up a kettle of water on the stove and found a box of oatmeal. After a few minutes, he stirred the items together and poured the mixture into a bowl. The tech wandered over to the living room and set the bowl down.

Nick opened up heavy eyelids as he smelled the cinnamon odor. He felt his stomach protest at the thought of food, but when he saw Greg staring at him, he knew he wouldn't have a choice. He started eating, and the tech seemed to relax a little, taking a seat in one of Nick's love chairs.

"Thanks," Nick said in between mouthfuls.

"Hey, oatmeal is easy. I can cook gourmet for the ladies when I have to," Greg replied.

Nick snorted, pushing his bowl aside. He reached out for the box of files, which were immediately snatched out of reach. "Hey, man, I was going to read those."

Greg took the box and placed it on the dining room table. Then he opened the lid and brought out the prescription bags he had stashed inside. He carried the three bottles and set them in a neat little row on the kitchen counter. He read the labels and dosages before bringing back the necessary pills and a glass of water.

Nick looked at him with annoyance. Greg sighed. "Look man. You can't even remember your alarm code. Give your hard head a rest, your brains haven been knocked around enough for a few days." Greg handed his friend the medication. "Pain pills, muscle relaxants, and most importantly heavy duty antibiotics."

Nick obeyed for now and obediently swallowed his meds.

Greg looked around the living room and eyed the X-Box on one of the shelves. "Well, I see what's going to keep me entertained before I head to bed."

Nick raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Um... dude, this isn't a sleep over."

Greg rolled his eyes. "I just finished a double, grabbed you from the hospital, watched you to do a few rounds with Mike Tyson, and brought you home. I am damn sleepy, and there's no way I'm driving back to my place tonight. Anyway, Catherine and Warrick reminded me that CSI's know how to hide the bodies of their victims properly, if you know what I mean."

Nick considered the situation for a moment. "All right, man. Couch is yours."

Nick got up very, very slowly. When it didn't feel like he was going to fall down, he made his way towards his bedroom. "Extra sheets... are... in... the ah..."

"I know where everything is, man. I've crashed here before." Greg fiddled with his hands. He had never been put in charge of the care of a grown man before. Especially a friend and mentor from work.

Nick leaned on the doorframe. "Oh yeah." He pushed the bedroom door almost shut, gingerly crawled into bed and waited for his medication to take effect. It was only a few minutes later when he was out like a light.

Greg wandered into the darkened room in between rounds of Madden to make sure things were all right. Satisfied that his friend was sleeping soundly, he grabbed some linens and sacked out for a few hours himself.


It was dark, and the sound of his heart beating thundered in his ears. He didn't know where he was, but he knew he needed to get away. He couldn't see where he was going, and his feet were unmoving. His pulse quickened as he tried to draw deeper breaths. However, there wasn't any air to breathe, and he thrashed around trying to fight off whatever was suffocating him. He felt pain rip through his chest as he bolted upwards in bed. That was defiantly a bad move.

Nick tried to slow down his rapid breathing while hugging himself fiercely. His whole upper body was on fire, and his skull felt like it had been cracked wide open. He kept himself perfectly still, till the pain subsided to manageable levels. After several moments, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and groaned when he got up. He stared at his digital clock, the numbers reading 11:00 a.m.

He really needed to log another twelve hours of sleep instead of the eight he got, but there was still a ton of work to do, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep any time soon. The CSI dragged himself out of bed and stood up, waiting for the sudden onslaught of dizziness to go away. He decided to leave on his sweat pants and shirt instead of changing, and shuffled barefoot into his kitchen. He filled a glass of water and drank it greedily to try to relieve his parched throat. Nick forewent the next round of medication so he could stay alert enough to go through the box that was laying in the dining room.

He sat in one if his chairs and stared dumbly towards his living room. Greg Sanders was passed out on the sofa. Nick blinked several times, trying to remember why the lab tech was sleeping at his place. It took a few moments to clear the cobwebs that clouded his mind before he recalled the events of last night. Nick had a table lamp he used sometimes with his laptop.

Sighing, he got out of the chair he had just settled in and grabbed the light from a side table. He traced the cord and unplugged it, trying to keep himself from tumbling to the floor. He brought the lamp over to the table, found another outlet and plugged it back in. He found himself breathing rather heavily from just scurrying around, hutched over, and tried to keep himself from coughing again. His chest still had that heavy laden feeling, and he slumped down in his chair glad he had something to lean against. He clicked the lamp on so he could see a bit better without waking up his guest.

Most of the papers in the box were log books from the club. There were typical records of daily operations, employee files, member applications and payroll. Nick flipped through the employee records with interest. He lay out various client sheets, reviewing any common threads. He noticed one similar theme. Like the primary staff, many of the members and other employees attended the same high school and college that Roger and Michelle had graduated from. This was a very unusual link in a city like Vegas with so many transients. Nick thought that the staff must have recruited from the owner's personal ties from school.

Nick tapped his finger on the table, trying to figure out the relevance of this discovery. He scribbled down notes, and made cross references. The criminalist stretched his neck, the muscles were tight with tension. He'd been scouring the files for over an hour, and he was disgusted at how he was still reeling from the after effects of his attack. He eyed the bottle of muscle relaxant, but pushed the thought of taking them out of his mind. The last time he had broken a rib, his body had endured a fall from a second story window, and it hurt a hell of a lot more in the days afterwards. Sadly, his battered body felt no different this time around.

Nick dug into the box again, pulling out an old yearbook. He flipped through the pages and scanned the "biographies" of each student. There were write ups on Michelle, Blair Olsen, Bob Fulton, Roger, Michael Ross, Nancy Brookes, as well as a few others who worked at the gym. Nick circled each passage, thinking that something might click later on. He discarded the book, when his head started to pound again and his vision blurred slightly. His shoulder burned with pain every time he shifted his arm, but his sling was abandoned somewhere in his bedroom.

His musings were quickly interrupted by a noise from his living room. Greg Sanders had woken up, and it seemed that he was not very much of a morning person. The tech sat up, kicking away the sheets, looking as disgruntled as his discombobulated stuck-his-finger-in-a-light-socket hair. Frowning, the tech stretched and stood up.

Nick couldn't help but chuckle. "Something wrong, G?"

The bleary-eyed man shot his friend a disapproving look. "Just trying to remember where I put my clothes."

Nick laughed a bit more. Greg looked like a lost little kid in his undershirt and boxers. "Why don't you try the love seat, man."

The tech looked over at the furniture dumbly, where he had discarded his clothes only hours earlier. "Yeah. Right. Uh... thanks."

Greg quickly shrugged on his jeans and buttoned up his shirt. He shuffled his way over to the dining room and slumped into one of the other chairs, propping an elbow on the table and cradling his head with his hand. "Whatcha doin?"

Nick smiled. "Going over notes. Why don't you go home and catch some real sleep."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Um, did you forget what happened the last time I listened to you?"

Nick tilted his head sideways in one of his usual gestures that indicated he knew he was wrong.

This silent admittance only seemed to fuel the tech with a cocky sort of self righteousness. "Yeah, I thought so. It's not like I'm not on their 'List,'" Greg hooked two fingers on each hand and gestured in the air to emphasize his meaning.

Nick smiled. "List, boss?"

Greg stood up, crossing his arms in front of him. "It'll be months before I assist in a case with either of them now, after I took you to the station. I'm on their bad side currently."

Nick shook his head, not really buying into the tech's paranoid argument. "I said I was sorry in the car."

Greg wasn't going to back down just yet, he was just getting warmed up. The tech took the opportunity to scan the table with all the papers, books, and notes scattered everywhere. He eyed everything with scrutiny and gazed back at the CSI he was put in charge of.

"How long have you been working on the case?"

Nick ran his hand over his jaw, suppressing an irritated sigh. "A little while."

Greg huffed. "Have you eaten anything? Taken your meds?"

Now the other criminalist couldn't hide his annoyance. Was Greg Sanders, the wild man of DNA, about to lecture him? "No, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. Been doing it for many years now," he replied with a sour expression.

Greg scoffed at him. "You need to eat and take those prescriptions. They are not here just to decorate your kitchen table. Nowhere on the label does it say, if you feel like it, please take these," he rattled off, somewhat miffed.

Nick had about enough of this little argument. "Greggo, I appreciate all this but..." Nick trailed off when he saw Greg take out his cell phone.

The tech pulled out a business card, scanned it, and began punching in numbers.

"Wha... what are you doing, G?"

Greg peered at him as he rested the phone against his ear. "Calling your doctor."

Nick looked at him with a flabbergasted expression. "What?"

Greg seemed like he was waiting for someone on the other end to pick up. "She said if you didn't take care of yourself or follow instructions, that someone should haul you back. You could have easily stayed another day or two in the hospital. She was quite adamant."

Getting out of his chair, Nick held his hands out. "Fine, fine, whatever. Put the damn phone away, man."

Greg searched the other man's face, and clicked the end button. Somewhat satisfied, he tucked the phone away. "Now, let's see about some hot soup and another round of medication."

Nick growled and watched as his guest fixed another bowl and set it in front of him to eat. The older CSI ate it in silence, while the younger man gathered up the sheets he used to sleep in and deposited them in a heap in the hall closet to be laundered later. Greg excused himself to the bathroom, and returned looking a bit fresher after washing up.

Greg looked at his watch and silently calculated a few things. "All right, let's see about those pills."

The tech gathered up the needed meds and handed them to the reluctant man. "You need to lay down and get some more rest. Your doctor would throttle both of us if she knew you were up at all and working on a case."

Nick decided it was time to hold his ground. "I don't want any of the pain ones."

Greg looked ready to protest, but Nick wasn't going to be completely bossed around in his own home. "I'll go lay down for a while and that's it, G."

Greg tapped his foot. "What about half of a muscle relaxant? It won't knock you out, but it'll help you actually sleep."

Nick thought about arguing, but he was feeling a great deal of pain. Greg pulled out a knife and chopped the tablet in half and handed it to the other man.

Nick took and swallowed it. "Happy now?"

"Take the antibiotics, too. You still have inflammation in your lungs and are at risk for infection."

Nick arched an eyebrow. "I didn't see an M.D. attached to the end of your name the last time I checked."

"I also heard you were a CSI level 3, but you don't seem to be exhibiting the sense of one right now," the tech rebuffed.

Nick finished his water and took the horse tablet, wincing when it irritated his already sore throat. Greg simply smiled. Then the tech went about shooing the CSI back to his room. Nick slowly climbed into bed. "You wanna read me a bedtime story too, mom?" Nick snarked in an undertone.

Greg didn't respond to the baited remark. The tech made sure his charge was situated before he closed the door most of the way.

Greg took a few minutes going through Nick's library, looking for something to read. The CSI had a wide assortment of Forensic books, tons of journals, numerous science texts, and an odd selection of sports related reads. Nothing jumped out at him, and he resigned himself to the X-Box sitting on the shelf.

TBC...


Author's notes: This was one of my favorite chapters to write. Gave Nick some rest and you guys a reprive from the tension for just a little while.

msquirrel:

I'm good and evil? Hehe, thats cool, I do have a split personality. DId you brainstorming seesion go all right? I think maybe it'll apply to the next one I think as the case gets going again. Thanks for the comments!

A.Remains:

You're a doll, thanks for being so loyal.

groban:

Here's your fix AND Nick darling getting to bed, by the way of Greggo! Hehe.

amarawind:

I have quite a few authors on those alert lists. Its neat, you get the link as soon as a chapter is posted, when it takes the site several hours. I used to read fanfic at labs...back in the day. Thanks again, hoped you liked your fix.

csifan:

Thats a true compliment. I like to think I stick to the "CSI world" just cranked up several levels as the plots can be a bit extreme. Hence why I love the show and leave the rest to writing. :-)

mudhousejunkie:

thanks again. The last few chapters have been longer, and I'm glad you liked the hallway scene. Now our fav CSI is at home not getting into trouble...oh no..he'd never do anything ...bad. snickers

staresp4cat:

You have a theroy? Goodie, in a few chapters' well see if you're right.

blaugrana9:

Hello. Glad you caught on here. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story. Thanks for the feedback.

designation:

I liked taking on Catherine in this story. Each new story I try to focus on someone I have not tackled yet. WITW was Warrick and Greg. "Pound of Flesh" was Catherine. I'm working slowly on a purely Nick and Grissom fic...its tougher, so we shall see. Thanks, Its good to know if you're hitting the mark on characterizations, since its a real challenge to capture dialogue and gestures, and personalities. Thanks!