Nick swallowed. His chest tightened even more, making it difficult to draw a full breath. A tidal wave of fear seemed to have a hold of him. Nick was frozen still, every nerve in his body was engulfed in icy fear. Time seemed to morph. He wasn't in the warehouse any more. He saw the gun pointed at his head. Saw the look of sorrowful determination as Mrs. Hendler muttered an apology right before pulling the trigger. Nick had been forced into a corner then just like he was now.

He began violently shaking; he saw the barrel of the gun waver, but its target was quite clear. His mother would be forced to have a closed casket funeral, and his coworkers would spend hours collecting every tiny remnant of bone and shattered skull. The blood pool wouldn't have carpet to soak into. It would simply just spread over all the lacquered panels of the wooden floor with that damn aquarium. The splatter patterns would be so widespread that it would take countless rolls of film to document.

The smell of copper filled his nostrils and his throat constricted.

He let out a strangled, scream. "No!"

Nick bolted and knocked Grissom out of the way as he scrambled towards the doors of the entrance.

Grissom wasn't quite prepared to be bowled over by the CSI. Nick easily pushed him out of the way, and almost knocked him down in the process. Nick's uneven gait towards the entrance only disturbed him further. The older CSI quickly caught up to the frantic man, who screamed and pounded away at the heavy wooden door. Nick slammed his hand into the unwavering object again and again. Frustrated at the obstacle that separated him from the outside, he balled up both hands into fists and punched the structure in fury.

Grissom knew that, fueled by hysteria, the power behind Nick's jabs would only cause him injury if he insisted. "Nick, stop it!" Grissom beseeched him with all the authority he could muster.

Nick didn't feel his flesh impact with the barrier, or the bones snap when he had applied way too much force. His fist had gone white with the circulation being cut off. The door didn't budge and he started to slam his shoulder against it, desperate to make it buckle.

Grissom wasn't going to stand aside and watch the younger man dislocate his shoulder. The older CSI grabbed Nick from behind and yanked backwards with all of his might. With the uncontrolled momentum, Grissom fell onto his back with a grunt. Nick landed on the top of the right side of his body, and both men had the wind knocked out of them. Grissom struggled to get out from underneath Nick's almost dead weight.

Once freed, Grissom rubbed his shoulder and tried to soothe the pain from where Nick's elbow had jabbed him. The older man felt the twinge of a pulled muscle in his lower back and sat up gingerly. Nick was sprawled on the floor next to him, but didn't seem to be phased by his tumble to the ground; instead sitting splay-legged with a stunned expression.

"Nicky?" Grissom asked in a soft voice.

The CSI didn't respond; he seemed too caught up in some inner turmoil. Gone was the overwhelming panic... replaced by a subtle sense of gloom, as Nick's eyes could only be described as despondent. Grissom attempted once again to slide closer to the younger man.

Nick felt numb. He didn't know why he'd attacked the door like that. It was like he wasn't in control of his own body, that someone else had taken charge. He'd been a bystander, outside his body, as someone else who looked eerily like him pummeled at the exit. Nick wearily rubbed at his face, but looked at his fingers in confusion. They didn't seem quite right. Maybe he was at fault for this situation, perhaps all of Grissom's doubts had been calculated and realistic expectations.

Nick felt the floodgate to the looming insanity crash open. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rocked back and forth quietly, drowning in the sea of loneliness and isolation. All the way in Vegas and he still couldn't reach their high standards.

Grissom needed a scorecard to keep up with the never-ending cycle of mood swings that his criminalist was going through. He tried to stay in his line of vision, but it was like the supervisor wasn't even present. Nick looked completely lost, with his chin on his knees and his arms wrapped around them in protection.

"Nick?" Grissom's voice was a bit louder as he tried to break through to the other man.

Nick lifted his head; it felt so heavy. He stared at his mentor--the newest judge in his life. "I can never measure up. Never have... never will," his voice trailed off.

Grissom cursed to himself; he wasn't a psychologist. This was not his forte. Gil settled on locking eyes with the criminalist. "Some people use the wrong tools to gauge success and accomplishments, Nick. Seeking out approval will never fulfill self realizations. If you can't be satisfied with yourself, then there's no way you can fill the void from others."

Nick didn't hear Grissom's words. He saw the unapproving stare of his father reflected in his mentor's eyes. His dad's disappointment was a heavy burden to carry. No matter how hard he worked, how difficult the task, he was just the son who ran away from the pressures he couldn't bear.

Nick collapsed in on himself. He let out another strangled sound deep within his throat, and dropped his head in defeat as he was surrounded by all of his failures.

Gil Grissom watched in muted horror as one of the most stable people he knew fell apart emotionally. The older CSI sat silently as muffled noises of deep distress drifted through the warehouse. Grissom struggled with how to handle this. Options were something he had very little of. Gil knew in his gut that this roller coaster ride was far from over. His mind also screamed at him to do something. He shouldn't just act like the robot he was perceived to be at work.

Slowly, as if approaching a dangerous animal, Grissom tentatively put an arm around the younger man. There were no violent reactions, however, his presence was not the calming effect he had sought. Still quite out of his element, he murmured soothing inconsequential things under his breath. He hoped his tone would evoke some sort of calm.

Grissom patted Nick's shoulder and he used the opportunity to examine his right hand. Grissom hissed under his breath in sympathy. The young CSI's hand was red and swollen in several places. Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage there from where Jorge had sliced it up, but Gil didn't want to prod too much at this time. Nick had obviously broken at least several bones and he wasn't even aware of it. No doubt the younger man would be in real pain soon enough.

Gil Grissom knew these signs, and he finally was able to put it all together and make sense of it. Low blood pressure, irregular heartbeat, irregular breathing, severe nausea, loss of sense of pain, states of panic and fear. Nick Stokes had been injected with some form of PCP, and this nightmare could only get worse.

Nick had been eerily silent for the past few minutes. What worried Grissom the most was the way he watched the shadows. The younger CSI was suffering from involuntary eye movement. Nick's stare twitched uncontrollably.

The darkness was mitigated by the few rays of sunlight that managed to drift in through the dirty windows. Nick would catch every little shift in pattern, as the dancing light created ominous distortions. The criminalist's eyes started drifting upwards towards the ceiling. The shadows were more frightening up there. Little splotches of color would jump in and out of the void of emptiness around the rafters. The dark hid things that didn't want to be seen, but he could still hear them.

Grissom had instructed the young man to lay on the ground, and it seemed to relax him somewhat. The silence would be interrupted when Nick asked his boss if he heard something. Gil would simply reply that had not been any noise. In fact, the warehouse was solemnly still and silent. The sun continued to bake down on the structure, and Grissom kept Nick still because he knew that the less you moved the better in heat like this.

Gil would give Nick a gentle squeeze to his shoulder when his body stiffened from some unseen enemy or sound. Every once in a while the older man would monitor his CSI's pulse and check his blood pressure with his crude technique. For half an hour it was slightly elevated, then just as suddenly it would drop. Gil slipped his fingers to feel out the investigator's jugular vein, and tried to keep his own concern at bay when he felt it begin to wildly fluctuate.

Nick felt a set of eyes watching him from above. He had remained frozen in place, and hoped that whatever had been staring at him would think he was asleep. The CSI couldn't control his rapid intake of breath when he saw the silhouette of a man looming over him. His heart began to pound again. Those orbs burned from above and glared at him... mocking him. Sweat trickled down his chin as he clutched at his stomach again. His guts twisted with new pain and his nausea returned twofold.

Those yellow eyes were mesmerizing. They seemed to drift in and out at random intervals, just waiting to pounce from above. Nick swallowed but his throat was so dry, his weak cry of fear barely made it out of his lips.

Grissom could feel the shakes begin again. "Nick, it's all right. Whatever you think you're seeing is a trick. It's not here."

Nick tried to tell Grissom just how wrong he was, but found he couldn't articulate his thoughts. It was as if he'd forgotten how to produce speech. Words failed him and the idea that communicating was not longer available increased the panic ten fold.

He bolted up, panting hard. 'If he doesn't control his breathing soon, he'll start to hyperventilate,' Grissom thought worriedly and was beside him again, trying to restrain him.

Nick shoved away the smothering hands. The eyes from the ceiling were getting closer.

Nick grabbed Grissom's arm and gripped his biceps tightly. The supervisor gasped. Nicks' vise-like hold hurt, and the pressure was mounting. "Nick, let... go," he said in between clenched teeth.

It didn't matter. The panic swelled again and the younger man started searching for a place to hide. He had to get away from those prying eyes. The hollow laughter was back, and it was tinged with a very familiar voice that he just couldn't place. He latched onto his supervisors' arm; all his fear channeled into his grip.

Grissom tried to pry Nick's fingers away. He was going to leave one hell of a bruise. "Nick!" Grissom yelled, trying to get his attention.

The younger man looked at his friend and saw the yellow eyes reflected in Grissom's reading glasses. Whatever evil that was in this warehouse was now invading his mentor. Nick couldn't scramble away fast enough. He couldn't take his eyes off of Grissom's spectacles.

Grissom cradled his arm and absently rubbed at it to ease the pain. The supervisor tried to keep eye contact with the frightened man still trying to back away from him. Gil's head pounded from his own headache. His body was weary from having its energy zapped by the soaring temperature. He slowly stood and used small steps. The warehouse wasn't that big, it wasn't like Nick could get lost inside. No, his CSI was mixed up in his own mind, and Grissom needed to remain a tether to reality.

"Nick, it's me... Grissom ... your boss." Gil searched for any resemblance of the man he knew as the calm and collected Nick Stokes.

The man in question held his hands out in front of him to warn the supervisor to back away. Nick's face was red, almost sunburned in appearance. His eyes kept rapidly twitching back and forth. It was a wonder Nick hadn't fallen down yet from making himself dizzy.

There were odd sounds coming from deep within the younger man's throat. Strange strangled sobs of protest. Nick had the strangest mix in posture. He looked scared to death, but ready to tear the other criminalist apart.

Grissom gulped. Fear was not something he expected from being in close proximity with one of his colleagues.

"Nick. Whatever you see. Whatever you feel, is not real. Think," the older man reasoned in the clearest way possible.

Nick wavered on his feet, but he never took his sight off the man in front of him. The eyes were no longer yellow. The iris had been leached of color; it was just the infinite darkness of the pupil. Large and empty.

He saw this kind of lifelessness in the bodies he processed. Empty... Soulless... Every aspect of the human condition absent. The raw horror of death stared back at him.

The muscles along his jaw constricted, but he could only move his mouth slightly. It had to be enough to warn off the evil that sought him.

"S-s-stay... A-Away," he stuttered painfully.

Grissom didn't approach. He wisely kept his distance. "Fine. I'll just stand right here."

For some reason that wasn't enough. Suspects lied to his face all the time. He'd been taught to distrust people, not to listen to words, just actions. The inside of his head buzzed loudly. Doubt crept along and caused the hairs along the back of his neck to stand on end. The evil man was just telling him what he wanted to hear. Look for the evidence. That's right, take in the scene, let the room talk.

The problem was that the room was screaming at him. Nick was trapped and unable to escape. He didn't remember why, but then again, that had always been the last question to answer when investigating a case. It was always the how. Spasms engulfed his calves, the acidic burn shot through his thighs as well. The fluctuations made it extremely difficult to stand. It also didn't help that the room continued to bounce around wildly. He swayed back and forth, barely managing to stay upright.

The suspect just stared at him, that easy going calmness was really starting to piss him off. How many times had he let his guard down before?

Another wave of trepidation passed over him. The enemy wouldn't back down. The image of his father stood before him, lecturing him about strength and weakness. Don't act the victim. How many times did he allow himself to fall under that trap?

Grissom felt slightly lightheaded standing so intently. He didn't know whether to move one way or another. Nick seemed caught in some internal battle, and he didn't want to set the man off. All of a sudden feeling very exhausted, Gil carefully lowered himself to the floor. Nick flinched, but he remained rooted in frozen panic a few feet ahead of him.

It was the stench in the air that was really getting to Grissom. Decomposed bodies, rotting flesh, the steel scent of blood, those didn't really bother him. It was the suffocated feeling of the small space itself that made the criminalist take a seat on the ground. He could only take so much of the overbearing stuffiness. It made him feel like the strength was being literally sucked out from him.

The supervisor was impressed in Nick's ability to withstand the overwhelming temperature. Gil debated on trying to communicate. How much could Nick understand in the state he was in?

Just like before, more time elapsed. The minutes ticked away, and the silence of the warehouse was almost overwhelming in the absence of sound. Nick never took his eyes off of the entomologist. After half an hour, the younger CSI simply folded in on himself. His body jerked almost involuntarily. He collapsed to the ground when his legs could no longer bear his weight.

Grissom almost jumped up to his aid, but he held himself back. It wasn't the strange posture, or the eyes that continued to dart around at every sound. There was a disturbance in the air. Gil tried very carefully not to start a spark that would create an unstoppable chain of events that he'd soon regret.

Nick stared at the filthy floor. He tried to focus, but it proved to be overwhelmingly difficult. His train of thought kept slipping away. The CSI didn't know where he was, and he had no clue how to get away. He had to leave, there was something evil lurking in every corner of this place. Nick drew a shuddering breath; it was a deep guttural sound. He was suddenly cold, and his body shook from the dip in temperature.

The criminalist tried to remember the events of the night. When he was at CSI he'd needed to locate Grissom. The supervisor had disappeared and Nick couldn't get a hold of him. His boss had been missing for a couple of hours and that was very unlike him. Everyone else at the lab had been wrapped up in their own cases, and worry had leached into his mind. Nick had a suspicion about that pharmacy that they'd been to earlier. His boss still hadn't responded to his cell. Maybe that was where the wandering supervisor had to gone off to inspect. That's where Nick's gut told him to go.

So he left, without telling anyone. If anything, he'd prove to the supervisor that his hunch from earlier would prove valid. Or he'd catch his boss already there, and Grissom would be forced to admit that Nick had good instincts as well. Of course, that's not exactly how his boss would rationalize anything. Grissom seldom gave out praise.

Nick flinched, jerked out of his chain of memories. He heard the sound of a film strip moving in perfect cadence to all the images that flashed through his head. The Botánica... the goons had been there. After he had been hit over the head, they brought him to the priest's little hideaway. Grissom was there, to his surprise. Gil had been talking to Jorge Carlos. The criminalist was mad, even livid that Nick had been brought here.

Nick's insides began to twist and jerk. The sharp pain in his gut intensified even more. Nick tried to bite back the bile as waves of sickness enveloped him. His body sent him through the motions of becoming violently ill, only to hold him at the break of relief. No release, just acid that burned along the lining of his throat.

Nick had a sinking feeling that Grissom had lured him here; to this wretched place. He couldn't dare look up now. Not when all the pieces were falling into place. He had to keep low, try to control his body's discontent only a little bit longer. The shadows, the yellow eyes and the vacant stares of death would only pounce on him if he made his move.

Nick felt the dread of breaking a case wide open, confirming his worst fears and releasing the horror of knowing who the perpetrator of this whole terrible ordeal was.The ends of his mouth twitched in pain and disappointment. He shook his head.

No No No No No...

It couldn't be, but a tiny voice in his head told him that he'd been duped. Nick had been deceived by a great mastermind. All the clues were here, but being the empathic weak person that he was, the CSI had up until this point chosen to ignore it. The room was talking to him, had been whispering the truth in his ears the whole time.

Grissom always told him that crime scene spoke to you if you would just let it. Now the absolute fear and anxiety of what was happening hit him all at once. Nick squeezed his eyes tightly as tears slipped away down his cheek.

Nick lifted his head up and stared back at the abyss mocking him. His father's voice boomed in his head. 'A Stokes always faces his fear.'

His coordination was shaky. The younger man pushed himself to his hands and knees. He ignored the way the room tilted and shook. Nick's face flushed white-hot, the distinct feeling of cold melted away with a new sensation of fire that crackled around his flesh.

Nick grunted from the effort of standing. It was a battle to even maintain a sense of balance. The CSI staggered forward, his intent and purpose was so vividly clear now.

"Nick?"

Grissom looked on with a bit of trepidation of his own. Gil opened his mouth to speak again, but he was at a loss for words. Very slowly he stood up; his knees popped, his back tweaked from the pulled muscle. Gil was very worried. Nick was starting to show signs of his body's deterioration from the drug and heat. The younger man's system could only tolerate so many fluctuations in vital signs, but the supervisor didn't want to take a chance with Nick's current delicate mental state.

Anything the supervisor had done only caused the younger criminalist a great amount of fear and panic. Grissom didn't have the capability to handle this type of situation. Despite feeling torn about what was happening to the young CSI, he'd allowed Nick to withdraw further away and deal with his hallucinations without added pressure. Gil now doubted the success of his plan.

Grissom adjusted his glasses, they were slippery from the sweat that dotted his face. "Nick, are you all right?"

Nick hesitated for a moment as his eyes scanned the room again. The criminalist bit his lip. His mind had found a way to talk again.

"Y-you always looked p-past Warrick's faults. Sara's p-prejudices. Hell, C-Cath gets the benefit of the doubt all the time." Nick felt the anger swell.

Grissom pursed his lips. It confused him that Nick seemed so preoccupied with his insecurities. "We've talked about this already."

"No, we haven't!" His voice was thick, the accent heavy again. "Y-you don't think I'm capable. I've always g-got to have back up. N-Nicky can't work solo or h-he'll screw everything up." His voice was stern, the anger palpable.

Grissom didn't want this to escalate. "I think maybe you should lay back down."

The CSI gritted his teeth. "Stop t-telling me what to do! Damn it Grissom! I'm a CSI l-level 3. Treat me with some respect!" Nick hollered at him.

"I do Nick. However, this is not the time to discuss this. We need to concentrate on the matter at hand," Grissom reasoned.

It didn't seem possible, but Nick's face flushed a bit redder. "You don't g-get it... do you boss? I'm on to it. I'm on to your l-little games."

Nick heard the laughter in the storage area... the shadows swarmed. The faces of the dead were all around him now, washed out like some creepy watercolor painting. They drifted in and out of view. Nick felt his precarious hold to life and sanity slip from his grasp, and he shook in fear.

The warehouse was getting smaller; he was going to die in here.

Grissom stepped closer, Nick was losing it. "Nick, please sit down before you fall down."

Nick's hands balled up into fists at his sides. "You brought me here, Gris," Nick's voice faltered. "I went after you. Tried to help, and all along you knew... didn't you?"

Now Gil held his hands out in an appeasing motion. "Knew about what?"

"This! This damn place!" Nick pointed around the room wildly. "Singling me out all the time during cases just wasn't enough. Guns shoved in my face. Goddamn maniacs living in my attic." Nick shook his head furiously. "I've coped. I've bounced right back."

"Yes, you have, Nick." Grissom was clearly confused. Calm, keep him calm, he told himself. "You've done a very good job. You're one of the finest CSI's I've ever worked alongside." Gil switched tactics.

"No, I haven't. Not in your eyes. Not ever!" Nick started screaming again. His head pounded fit to split his skull in two. His stomach was driving him insane. "Stop patronizing me!"

Nick's chest heaved in and out rapidly. His eyes burned. The tin box of hell was squeezing the very breath out of him. He felt like he was dying. Nick dug his thumbs against his temples, trying to soothe away the pressure of his skull caving in on him. He bit his lip so hard that he drew blood.

"You did this, Gris. You have to stop it. Please..." Nick beseeched in a choked voice.

Gil started to back away. Little steps like before. "The drug is messing with your mind, Nick. Look at yourself. Do you hear what you're saying?" Grissom worked his jaw from side to side.

"Step testing me. Stop it now Gris!" Nick shook his head while he shakily moved closer to the older man. "Experiment's over."

"Oh, Nicky. Please think about this." Gil kept his hands out in a non-threatening way.

His vision swam in and out again. This had to stop. "You're going to let me out," Nick growled menacingly.

Grissom froze. He didn't like the tone that his colleague had taken. "I... I can't."

The cool calmness of his tone. Grissom was so damn collected, because he was the reason for all of this. The warehouse was closing in around him. A shrilling noise filled his ears. Nick couldn't take the claustrophobia anymore.

Nick let out a strangled cry and lunged. He plowed right into the man responsible for all of this.

Grissom watched in frightened awe as Nick's expression morphed. The scream that escaped the younger CSI's lips broke his heart. It was that reason alone that kept him from being prepared as Nick Stokes charged at him like an insane bull.

Gil Grissom was tackled with tremendous force. He felt like one of those dummies that a younger Nick must have used in training during football season. However, Gil was not an inanimate object meant to take the brunt of uncontrolled fury. His breath was knocked right out of him and he was left dazed on the ground.

Grissom held his hands out defensively in front of him, but it wasn't enough to take the punishment of an ex-jock in his prime. The supervisor took several powerful blows to his face. His glasses had been knocked off his nose, and his chest hurt from being pinned to the ground by a knee.

Gil Grissom was now in his own full blown panic mode. His heart lurched in his chest when he felt a powerful hand clasp around his throat, shutting off his air supply.

"Make it stop!" Nick's bellow echoed in the room.

Notes: The updates will now be more frequent. This chapter was kept long because of pacing needed to do it properly. Thank you again for the immense support for this story. It took me a long time to write this, to try to get everything right in my head and for it to express what I wanted the characters to experience the correct way.

P.S.-Too overwhelmed to discuss GD. My reactions can be seen in a co-story I'm writing with Shacky and several one shots. later on.

shacky-

Thank you very much for the support. The Gil and Nick dynamic is such a wonderful thing to write. The drug plot device was the only way to explore this journey the way I wanted to.

csisam-

Don't hold your breath too long...hope this chapter was fulfilling!

mudhousejunkie-

Good to see you again. Thanks for your constant support for all my work.

designation-

I really needed to write a lot of good imagery...to let the reader get a sense of what Nick is going through. Glad you liked those sentences, its neat to see what catches a writer's attention. As far as Nick pushing past Gil, well he is panicked ..hope it wasn't too cliched, but he is really hallucination very badly about now, and the sense of panic and fear of death is too overwhelming for him based on my medical research.

amarawind-

Another fix for you my dear. Thanks for the compliments..the best one are when readers can actually see this transpire. Thank you very much..it means the world to know that this plays out very real.

a.remains-

Thank you so much..I'm gushing..really. Again I'm thrilled to know people find the Gris and Nick interactions beliveable..it was the goal of the story.

mad maggie-

Thank you. yes, I do have a thing for Nick!

rozzy-

You are the bomb! I always look forward to what you think. Glad to see people picking up on the slow deterioration of Nick's mental state as well as his physical..he's going through a lot. Glad the descriptions are vivid enough to feel dread and fear Nick is feeling.

m2s-

I love all of Nick's traits, why do we put him through such horror? Because he's strong and can endure and brings out the best in others and their interactions.

sarah-

Thank you for the support!

higherbeingfriendsfan-

I think this would be one of the few ways that Nick could ever express his anger and darker feelings...yep, too bad it because he's doing it because he's loosing his mind.

wolfwood-

Indeed. Gil I think would be one of the few who would have the control and collectiveness to handle this situation, poor Gris, he's going to have a very tough time right now.

pike-

Thanks!

Miss Anonymous hp-

Its after Stalker. When I was reading all the effects of the drug Nick was injected with, I had to really put myself in his head and then in that particular cramped, warehouse and let my imagination run wild! Glad it worked!

groban-

Just for you, I posted today! Thank you for the continued support, you're the best! Sigh, left you with another cliffhanger! No other way!

silverdragon-

No past experinces..just a totally absorption of a ton of research. Glad that it could efffect you in that way..means that I'm getting Nick's condition across effectively.

amy-

Thank you. Some of the beat thing I could hear! Lots of time on the Internet, reading and taking notes. Plus a wonderful beta to help!