Author's notes:

Yes, I've seen Grave Danger, and was I glad they finally gave Nicky some airtime and what airtime it was! Man, talk about an intense episode, and of course, my story will include some spoilers for it too, eventually. To answer the question if I'm going to continue with this story, yes, I will. I don't know what the end is and when it will come though, be warned.

I walk alone

The only one that I have ever known

Don't know where it goes

But it's home to me

And I walk alone

Was I supposed to feel like this? To be scared of every little corner that wasn't bright enough for me to see what was in it? Every time I tense, especially at night, and that's not very convenient with me working nightshift. It has been so long, I thought I was over it, that it was gone and out of my life. But Nigel Crane will never leave my mind, he will always be with me, the very reason I really hate attics. The reason why I can't go to the dry cleaner's anymore, because every time a piece of clothing goes missing, I freak. I know he's still behind bars, locked up safely, but I can't think clearly when fear takes over.

My stalker, as Greg calls him, and that was what he was, he still is. I don't know why I did it, I visited him in prison. I guess I wanted a way to understand why he picked me out of all those people. The director of the prison wouldn't let me see him though. The man's still obsessed with me, I was told. They try to discourage him, but he manages to get my pictures time and time again, so they leave it be. I can almost imagine his cell, and I don't ever want to see it, to look at myself hanging on his stone walls. I never got that answer to my question. I just know Grissom was wrong, it was about me, it still is. And it will never be over for me either.

I really try to look normal, you know. I'm letting my hair grow back, simply because it's not me. I don't like it, it's from when I felt that bad, not that I feel that good right now. But I feel a lot better, I mean, I started eating again, a little. Warrick got through eventually, when it got obvious enough for not only Brass to notice. I didn't want to be the object of the whispers at work, to be looked at like some pathetic social worker's case. And Rick had been persuasive enough.

"Nick, we need to talk man."

I looked up at him from tying my shoelaces, wondering what was up this time, my friend had a serious tone, not one I heard often coming from him.

"What's up?"

He settled next to me on the hard wooden bench in the joined locker room, rubbing his fingertips together. He was nervous, had something on his mind as he looked at me with deeply serious eyes, was that worry I saw?

"I can ask you that, you're starting to look like a walking corpse and it's creeping me out. Why are you doing this to yourself man?"

"I dunno what you're talking about," I mumbled, my attention shifting back to my shoelaces, like they were the most interesting things I ever saw in my life. I wasn't crazy, I knew what he was thinking about, me having an eating disorder. Which I didn't, just wasn't hungry enough to eat. Every time I even smelled food I became nauseous enough to retch, and that wasn't a good idea being at work and all. A startling strong grasp on my arm made me look up, at his dark colored hand holding my upper arm, the contrast of his skin upon my own.

" You know damn well what I'm talking about, you're not eating and I want to know why."

I tried to look anywhere but his face, trying to avoid those prying eyes, trying to come up with a perfectly sane lie to get him to back off. But my mind was blank, my throat like dry sandpaper. Think, I told myself, Think or you'll blow it and even loose your job if you're not telling him something, anything. I couldn't tell him the truth, because that would be too insane, they would hate me forever, like I'm hating myself right now.

" Nick, you can tell my anything, we're buddies, remember? I've been holding Catherine off your back, but I can't keep her away forever."

Yeah, I could get that, Cath was a lot like a watchdog when she smelled something wrong, and she was the last person I wanted hovering over me. There was much I could tell him, but most weren't very plausible. I had to come up with something good, good enough to convince Warrick I was going to be fine eventually. I sighed deeply before finally locking eyes with him.

"It's just the shit I've been dealing with lately, with Nigel Crane and all. I'm seeing this therapist who's helping me deal. But it's bringing back memories."

He nodded understandingly, frowning briefly when I said Nigel, recognizing the name but not knowing where from. Then his eyes widened slightly, his mind making the connection as he remembered. I didn't expect anything else, they figured as soon as my stalker was convicted it was over and done with. Granted, it has been two years, not that's a long time considering what he did.

"You should have said something, I was worried about you."

His beeper buzzed him, and he stood quickly, thinking about his case already. He paused at the door briefly, turning back to look at me with a smile.

" If you need anything, I'm here for you man."

And here I am, actually seeing a therapist, just in case Warrick decided to check it out himself to make sure. It helps, a little, she's helping me deal with Nigel, and the assault when I was only nine. The sole reason why I feel this ugly today, according to her. I'm not sure I believe all this psycho analysis, some of it makes sense, but to blame it all on the babysitter is a bit too much. I mean, this is about me, I was there too, I'm still here. I'm the reason and cause of my own behavior, weird as it is.

I'm the creator of what I am today, the deep dark soul my own making, I am what I am today……

Ugly.