Part Five

Sara checked her watch and tapped her foot impatiently. Brass had said he'd be there right away, and twenty minutes had already spared a glance at the officer whose job it had been to keep an eye on the place and her heart went out to him. He was sitting on the hood of his unmarked car, hands dangling between his knees, looking severely depressed, like a man awaiting his death sentence. It was almost comical to see how many members of the cocky, sure of themselves LVPD quaked in fear in the face of an furious Jim Brass.

"You're sure you didn't see anyone enter or exit the house?" Sara asked, walking over to the officer, whose name she couldn't remember at the time. She had already asked the question at least three times, but kept checking. She wanted to make sure she caught anything that might pop up in his mind.

"Yes," he said firmly. "I was out here all night." He pounded his fist on his knee for emphasis. "I didn't see anyone."

"Okay." Sara began pacing the length of the sidewalk that ran along the front yard, shooting glances at the house.

She and the officer had done a quick walk-through when no one answered the door, and had found the house empty. Sara saw a cell phone and set of car keys on the hall table and deduced that if Miller had left, he'd done so on foot. She was waiting for Brass before she could look any further.

Sara stifled a yawn. It was still pretty early in the day, considering how long her day was going to be, but she hadn't gotten a lot of sleep, despite Grissom's order to them all to do so. Thank God, she thought as she spotted the familiar Taurus turn onto the street and started walking towards it as it pulled to the curb.

"Take your sweet time, why don't ya?" she teased as Brass stepped out of the driver's side, looked wrinkled and as tired as she felt.

"Traffic," he mumbled, shaking his head. He glared at the officer, who shrank back and looked as though he was going to be sick.

"Captain Brass – " he started to say, his voice low.

"I'll deal with you later. Right now we need to find the suspect." He looked at Sara and jerked his head to the front door of the house.

Sara adjusted her sunglasses and the two started down the walk when Brass's cell rang.

"Jim, it's Gil. Are you at the house yet? You need to get over to Nick's right now…Miller might be headed there. Just do it!" Grissom pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the 'end' button without another word.

Catherine stood, worried and scared. She wasn't the only one; Warrick and Greg rose as well.

There was a moment where it seemed no one could get their limbs to cooperate, and the four stood around the table, staring at each other.

Catherine was the first to speak. "Oh, God," she breathed and practically ran from the room. There was a heavy, guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

God, she should have been the one to notice the opportunity to get the Millers' prints, she should have been the one to bag the cup, but she'd been so caught up in meaningless petty arguments and an irrational temper that she had completely overlooked it.

She entered her office just long enough to grab her keys from her desk and turned, colliding with Warrick. She took a step back but he grabbed her roughly by the arms.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his bright green eyes full of the same worry as her own.

"I'm going to Nick's," Catherine said firmly. "You want to stop me?" She raised her arms, shaking his hold off.

Warrick grabbed her again. "Catherine, listen to me."

She glared at him and he released her arm. "We don't know that this is anything. The lazy bum just probably didn't get up to answer the phone." He smiled.

The smile did not do anything to calm her. "Do you really think so?" She watched his eyes, knowing that she would be able to tell if he was lying or just trying to keep her calm.

When he didn't say anything, Catherine took that as answer enough and he let her pass, immediately falling in step beside her.

"Can I help you?" Nick kept a steady hold on the door knob, using his other arm as a brace against the doorframe.

"Nick Stokes?"

"Yeah," Nick answered, frowning. "Do I, uh, do I know you?"

The man on his front step smiled, then looked to the left and started laughing.

Nick didn't know what was wrong with this guy, but he was really ready for him to get off of his property. "Sir, I'm not really feeling all that well right now, I'm gonna have to ask you to…" Nick trailed off.

There was something disturbing with the look of satisfaction and…pride...that passed over the man's features.

Nick squinted as the name that went with the face before him worked its way into the front of his mind. "Mr. Miller?" he asked.

The man's smile quickly faded, his expression becoming almost menacing.

An alarm went off in Nick's head and he started closing the door, mumbling something about not feeling like having any visitors when his phone started ringing. He looked back into the house, and the man on his doorstep took advantage of the distraction, stepping forward and pushing the door in, hard.

It caught Nick in the side of the face and he stumbled back, unintentionally putting all of his weight on his sprained ankle, which gave way with the pressure. He fell back, trying to keep his balance by grabbing onto the arm of his sofa, aggravating ribs that hadn't yet had the chance to begin to heal.

In the back of his mind, the little part that wasn't screaming at him, Nick heard the phone continue to ring, and then his answering machine pick up.

"It's Nick, leave a message and I'll get back to you when I get in."

"Nick? Nick, are you there? Pick up the phone."

Grissom. He heard the beep as the call was disconnected and it seemed as though his head, a fuzzy mess as thoughts and images flooded his brain, was going to explode.

The click of the front door shutting drew Nick's eyes upward and they widened. He clung to the edge of the sofa, keeping himself off of the ground, which was definitely not the place he wanted to be as Mike Miller stepped into his house. He didn't know what in the hell was going on, but his fight or flight instinct was telling him to back up fast and now. Normally, the "fight" reaction would be the one that he would go with, but the parts of him that were still sore were protesting.

Two things kept popping into Nick's mind: phone, and gun. It didn't look like his visitor had one – Nick was thinking more about his, only a few feet to his right in the small table along the wall.

"Things would have gone a lot better for you if you hadn't recognized me." Mike Miller hadn't moved from where he was standing just inside the door, his hands in his pockets like they were just having a casual conversation.

He was acting cocky, and Nick did not exactly think that this was a good thing. He wanted to pull himself up and gain some ground, but any sudden moves could set this guy off. So he stayed where he was, crouching on the ground, his arm locked onto the edge of the couch, all of his weight balanced on his left foot. His right one ached painfully, but he was positive that he could spring up if he needed to.

Mike Miller began to pace, walking back and forth in front of Nick, who followed the man's every move with narrowed eyes. It seemed Miller was unsure of what to do now, like he was deciding something.

As Nick watched the man pace, everything came rushing back, and he sucked in a painful breath, almost like he was falling down those stairs all over again. He remembered having a bad feeling about this guy and his wife when he met them…he remembered bagging the cup they had both touched and drank out of. It looked like his hunch was right…not that it was doing him any good right now.

The one good thing he had going for him was the message from Grissom on his answering machine. He'd sounded worried, which meant that they knew that something was up, and that help was hopefully on the way.

All of the little bits and pieces of evidence they'd collected over the past few days were starting to put themselves together in Nick's head. Something Warrick had said when he'd picked him up at the hospital, Judy Miller's murder.

"Why did you kill her? Your wife?" he asked, his voice strong and steady.

Miller's head whipped around and Nick fought the urge to cringe away. He held his position. "How did you know that?"

Nick couldn't help the smirk that came to his face. "Didn't until just now."

Miller's face contorted into a menacing frown and he kicked his foot out at Nick's chest, knocking him on his back.

Bad idea, Nick thought, wincing. He scooted back further into his living room but was stopped abruptly when a foot stepped on his chest.

Mike Miller looked down at him. "I'm a very powerful man, Mr. Stokes. Eileen threatened to tell the press that I was the father of her children, and that just wouldn't look too good for me."

"Murder doesn't look so good for you, either," Nick gritted out. The pressure on his chest increased and Nick gasped.

Miller's heel dug painfully into his side, into ribs that were already hurting. He didn't care about his ribs right now, he just wanted to keep this guy talking until someone got there.

Assuming they were coming.

The phone started ringing again.

Sara stared worriedly out of her window as Brass sped down the highway, lights flashing and siren blaring. She glanced sideways at the captain, who was gripping the wheel and staring unflinchingly out the windshield. He was swerving between cars like he was controlling a racecar in a video game.

They hadn't made it to the Millers' front door before Brass stopped, put his phone away, and turned to Sara with a look that had chilled her all the way to core. She'd had to race after him and just barely jumped into the car before he roared away, hitting the lights and sirens.

"What is it?" she'd asked fearfully, hastening to fasten her seat belt.

"It's Nick," was the answer, and he hadn't been able to look at her as he said it. In fact, he hadn't looked at her in the whole five minutes they'd been driving.

Sara's fingers dug into the fabric of the armrest, pulling painfully on her fingernails. She didn't loosen her hold, because it kept her from biting her lip. "Did they call him?"

"Gil didn't say."

"I'm calling him," Sara said. She punched in Nick's home number and hit the speaker button, holding the phone out so that Brass could hear.

Four rings and a click. "It's Nick, leave a message and I'll get back to you when I get in."

"Nick, are you home?" It was a stupid question, of course he was home – where else would he have gone? "We're on our way, okay?" Sara snapped the phone shut.

Brass's knuckles tightened even more around the steering wheel. Sara felt a tug as the car sped up.

"Nick, are you home?"

Yes, Nick wanted to yell, even though he knew it was pointless, knew Sara couldn't hear him. Miller's attention shifted momentarily from Nick, still pinned on the ground, to the phone and answering machine.

"We're on our way, okay?"

He really wished she hadn't said that last part. Not that he wasn't happy someone was coming, just that Nick hadn't been the only one to hear this message and know that back-up was on the way. Fortunately, Miller was unarmed, and Nick sidelined the pain in his side and ankle and heaved the whole of his weight to the left, dislodging Miller's foot from his chest.

He rolled and pushed himself up until he was standing with both feet firmly planted. His right leg was shaking slightly, but he refused to shift his weight. The effort, coupled with the pills he'd so recently taken, was already starting to drain him. He knew he wouldn't last long in a fight with this man, and he needed to get him talking again.

Nick took a heavy step back. "What happened to Nathaniel?"

Miller's eyes narrowed and he advanced on Nick. "My wife was smarter than I ever gave her credit for. It was something about seeing all of them at the same time – Ryan, Nate, and I – she put it together." He laughed and shook his head. "Needless to say, she wasn't happy."

Nick took another step back, and he swore at himself as he realized he was moving farther away from his gun, and the door. "Your wife killed Nathaniel?"

Miller smiled. "That's what she told me. She did it to hurt me, she said." There was no compassion in the man's voice. He didn't give a damn about that little boy.

"She didn't hurt you," Nick spat out. He could feel an anger rising in his chest up to his face until his cheeks burned. The anger fueled him, making him more confident in himself taking this man on, and he'd had taken a step forward before he even knew it.

Miller's eyes widened in amusement. "You're barely standing there, pretty boy, and I really better get going. It sounds like you have some friends on the way and I really don't want to be hanging around when they find your body." His hand went to his pocket.

Nick didn't want to see what he had in there. He dove at Miller and tackled him the ground, landing a punch before Miller threw him off.

His back hit the wall and he was stunned for a moment, but regained himself quickly. Miller had abandoned the idea of whatever it was he was going for in his pocket and lunged at Nick.

Nick rolled to the side and got to his knees. He flung open the little door to the table next to him and grabbed blindly for his spare gun.

Warrick laid down the accelerator at Catherine's request and they raced even faster in the direction of Nick's house. He'd insisted on driving from the moment he'd caught up with her in the hall. She was too emotional at the moment, and he wasn't sure that she should be handling a few tons of metal at high speeds. He wasn't exactly calm, himself, but driving at least made him feel like he was doing something.

Catherine shot him a pointed look.

"I can't go any faster, Cath," he told her, exasperated.

She sighed, reached over and flipped on the siren. "Now you can." And she resumed staring out of the windshield. "Here, turn here!" she shouted and pointed at an upcoming light.

"I know!" Warrick hadn't meant to snap, but he really wanted her to shut up. He needed to focus. He glanced over at Catherine, whose eyes were icy and face was drawn.

"Sorry," he mumbled, making the turn that she had pointed out.

"Just go faster."

Nick gripped the gun in his hand and whirled to face Miller, just as he heard the click of a hammer behind him. His heart beating so fast and hard it was hurting his ribs, he leveled the gun at the man who had one of his own. So his initial guess that Miller was unarmed wasn't entirely correct.

Third time's a charm, Nick thought, staring at the handgun pointed at him.

Miller brought up the gun. "You could have let it go, you know. But no, you had to pry, and I had to stop you. You could have followed Ryan for the murder, like everyone else did."

"He didn't do anything." In the distance, Nick could hear sirens. Calvary's coming.

"It's going to look differently." Miller looked nervous at the sound of the sirens, but apparently decided he still had time. "Ryan helped me out. He knew one of us had something to do with Nate's death. He came to the house with a gun, but Ryan never was much of a man, and he couldn't bring himself to use it." He smiled. "His fingerprints are going to be all over it, though."

"You killed your wife, too," Nick said quietly. This man had killed twice before, and Nick knew there wasn't much standing in the way of Miller shooting him where he stood.

The sirens drew closer, and Nick could make out two distinct whines. One look at Miller's eyes told him that the man was not backing down, and Nick adjusted his grip on his own gun. No matter who got a shot off first, the other was poised to react and fire one of their own.

"Like I said," Miller said coldly. "Things would have gone a lot better for you if you hadn't recognized me."

Nick saw Miller's finger start to tense, and he adjusted his aim and squeezed his own trigger first.

The bullet hit Miller in the leg. Nick fired to take him down, not kill him. The son of a bitch couldn't rot in prison if he was dead.

Miller shouted and dropped his gun, falling to the floor. Nick stepped back until his legs collided with the wall and he slid down it, wrapping his left arm around his chest. He kept his right, still with the gun, pointing at Miller, panting in a heap on the ground.

Nick ran his arm across his forehead in an attempt to wipe off the sweat that had formed there. A spot on his arm caught his eye as he drew it away and he frowned. Blood. He hadn't even realized that the hit to his head had caused him to bleed.

The sirens reached their peak and Nick heard several car doors open and slam outside. He sighed and laid his head back against the wall.

They didn't even bother with knocking. There was a kick to the door and it flew open. Nick looked over as Brass, Sara, Catherine, and Warrick rushed into the house. Brass and Warrick had their guns drawn. Sara and Catherine knelt down by Nick and the men hurried over to Miller, still prone on the ground. Brass jerked the man up roughly and secured a pair of handcuffs on him quickly.

"You're payin' for that door," Nick said with a small chuckle, which no one in the room returned.

Catherine reached out and touched the new cut on his forehead gently, causing him to hiss. "Sorry," she whispered.

Sara put a hand on his leg and pulled out her radio, requesting medical assistance.

Nick shook his head. "I'm fine."

"You're going to the hospital," Catherine ordered.

"Then we'll drive. I don't need an ambulance."

Catherine looked to Warrick as if for his approval.

He shrugged. "Do what the man says."

He and Brass dragged Miller out to the car while Sara and Catherine helped Nick up. He stood on one foot, looking longingly at his crutches, now strewn on the floor across the room.

Sara saw him looking. "Is your ankle worse?" she asked quickly, looking concerned.

Nick bit his lip and nodded. They helped him out of the door and to Warrick's truck.

Catherine stared at Miller, being loaded into the back of Brass's Taurus, and then at Nick.

"I'll fill you in on the way," he sighed.

It was quiet. Finally, it was quiet. Gil had shut the door to his office, threatening to fire the person who opened it. There were things that needed to be done. Paperwork, fingerprint comparisons, and logging all of the evidence. At least this was the excuse he had given Catherine when she'd called. That had been at least an hour ago.

In truth, he was simply sitting at his desk, staring at the wall. He couldn't help feeling guilty about everything that had transpired over the past few days. Sara had told him repeatedly it wasn't his fault, and he wasn't irrational – he knew that his actions hadn't caused anything to happen. It was just that feeling.

There was a light knock at the door.

Agitated, Gil started to stand. "I said I didn't want anyone coming in here – "

Catherine poked her head in. "Care to make an exception?"

"I doubt that I have much choice in the matter," Gil answered with a small smile, lowering himself back into his chair. He resumed his staring.

Catherine sidled up to his desk, snapping her fingers against her palm. "Whatcha doin'?"

Gil coughed and a made a show of opening several drawers of his desk. "Paperwork."

Catherine leaned over his desk and watched him fumble with a drawer that he'd forgotten he kept locked. She crossed her arms and smiled. "Yeah, that's what you said on the phone."

Gil pulled a few files from a drawer that wasn't locked, hoping Catherine wouldn't notice that they were empty. He didn't look up but could tell that she was still standing there.

"Did you need something?" he asked, looking up over the rim of his glasses.

Her nose wrinkled in the way that it did when she was concerned. "You okay?"

"Fine." He stacked the empty folders on his desk. "How's Nick doing?"

"Oh, so you do care?"

He let go of the folders and leaned back. "That's not fair."

Catherine cocked her head slightly. "He's fine. Got another couple stitches. Warrick's taking him home now."

"I'll call him later." Playing with empty files didn't seem to be presenting the impression that he was extremely busy, so he opened a webpage and started typing.

"I'm sure that will mean a lot to him." Her tone did not match the sentiment that her words suggested, and she tilted her head and tried to look at the computer screen.

Gil moved it just a touch. "Catherine," he said.

"Hmm?"

"I'm pretty busy here."

"Yeah." Catherine took a step back, her arms still crossed in front of her. "I can tell." Gil could detect sarcasm in her tone.

He let it go and stared at the computer screen, where he'd opened a random page he had saved in his 'favorites' folder and was typing away – nothing was showing up on the page. It was some site about the life cycle of a dung beetle.

"You know," Catherine said, "you're more transparent than you think." And then he heard the door shut.

"Hey," Sara said, entering the break room and seeing Greg. "Haven't seen you in a while." She rumpled his hair as she walked past him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

Greg smoothed his hair with both hands and watched Sara. "You guys finish up?"

"Uh huh." She took a sip from her water bottle. "After what he confessed to Nick, Miller's going to be in prison for a long time."

"That's good."

"You off?" Sara sat down across from him.

Greg looked at his watch. "Yeah, a while ago. Just haven't gotten the motivation to go home yet, I guess."

Sara reached out and took Greg's hand. "I'm sure it'll make Nick happy if you just go over there and hang out for a while. Warrick's there."

Greg shrugged. "Yeah, I, uh…"

"Just hang out with the guys. You guys never do anything anymore."

It was true. They were always working, and hadn't had a boy's night out in a long time. Greg nodded and stood. "Sure. Yeah." He stood and walked around the table, rumpling Sara's hair as he passed.

"See ya later," he said, a little more cheerfully.

He turned around just long enough to give Sara, glaring at him from underneath a mess of knotty hair, a cheesy grin and a wink.

"You need anything?" Warrick asked from the small kitchen, poking through Nick's refrigerator.

Nick shook his head. "Nah, I'm cool." He played with the edge of the couch cushion, mostly to keep himself from scratching at the four new stitches on the side of his head, which were itching like crazy.

He heard the fridge door shut and Warrick shuffled back into the living room, glancing at the front door, which looked like it was barely fitting into the frame. "Is Brass really gonna pay for that?"

Nick laughed. "Doubtful, man." He looked at Warrick questioningly as he friend held out a soda to him.

Warrick shrugged. "Figured you really did want something, and just didn't want to ask."

Nick took the can. "You know me too well."

Warrick threw himself onto the couch. "Yeah, I do. Besides, you need to take these." He chucked a medicine bottle into Nick's lap.

Nick rolled his eyes. "I'm still numb from that trip to the ER, I don't need anymore."

Warrick glared at him. "You're gonna do what the doctor tells you."

Nick mumbled something about a home care nurse but made a dramatic show of dumping a couple of the pills into his hand and tossing them into his mouth. He took a swig of soda and gave a loud "Ah!"

"Yeah, you better like 'em," Warrick said with a smile, taking a drink from his own can.

The joking was a cover to keep from talking about Mike Miller, but Nick couldn't keep his questions at bay any longer. He'd reported to Brass everything that Miller had told him, but no one had given him an update yet.

Nick stared at the can in his hand. "Did, uh, did Miller confess?"

If Warrick was surprised by the abrupt question, he didn't show it. Actually, it almost looked like he was expecting it. "Yeah. You know Jim. He wasn't going to let him get away with it."

Nick nodded.

Warrick chuckled. "Guy wasn't as smart as he thought, anyways. His prints were on the gun he used to shoot his wife."

"People never learn."

Warrick took another drink. "That's a good thing, man. When they do, it's gonna make our job a whole hell of a lot harder."

The phone rang, and Nick made to get up.

"What are you doing? I got it, man." Warrick jumped up and jogged over to the phone, picking it up on the third ring.

"Hello. Yeah, he's right here." He held out the phone. "Gris," he said quietly in response to Nick's raised eyebrows.

"Hey, Gris," Nick said, accepting the receiver. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't surprised.

"Nick. How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected, I guess."

"That's good."

There was a long pause. Warrick made a face at Nick, who shrugged. On the line, Grissom cleared his throat.

"You'll be back to work on Monday?"

Nick almost laughed. In Grissom's weird little way, this was probably a way to see that he was really okay. "Yeah," he said.

"I'll, uh, see you then."

"Yeah." Nick hung up and tossed the phone back to Warrick and sighed.

"What?" Warrick asked as he went to place the phone back on its stand.

Nick shook his head. "Nothin'. Just Gris being Gris."

Warrick raised his eyebrows in understanding and drained the last of his soda. "I gotta go."

Nick sat up. "Already?"

Warrick laughed. "Yeah. Man, we don't all get a nice little vacation. I gotta work tomorrow."

Nick sat back and reflexively put his arm against his side. "All right."

Warrick swung on his jacket with an ease Nick envied. "You good for now?"

Nick nodded. "Uh huh. I'm probably just gonna hit the hay here soon. I'm kinda wiped."

Warrick made some kind of sound that was a cross between a grunt and a snort. "You should be, man. You've had a hell of a week. I'll catch ya later."

Nick jerked his head. "See ya."

Warrick opened the door, which required a bit more effort than before, and flinched to see Greg standing there, hand raised like he was going to knock. "Hey, Greggo."

Nick craned his neck to see the door. "Hey, Greg. What are you doing here?"

Greg gave a small wave and an uncertain smile. "Just thought I'd stop by and say hi. See how you're doing." He fidgeted on the front step.

"Well, then come on in, man. Don't just stand out there." Nick waved him in.

Warrick stood aside for Greg to pass, repeated his goodbyes, and left the house. It took considerable force to get the door to fit back in the jamb. Greg and Nick watched Warrick struggle with it in amusement before Greg reached out and gave it a good shove.

"Thanks," Warrick yelled from the other side.

"Anytime. Maybe you should hit the gym a little more often, then you'll be built like me," Greg returned.

Nick shook his head and laughed. Greg seemed more at ease now, and Nick was happy. He didn't know why he'd seemed so uptight anyway.

Greg started to sit down and paused. "You need anything?" He smiled as Nick made a face. "You've probably been through this already."

"Yeah, a couple times."

"So," Greg said, rubbing his hands together. "I came prepared."

"Did you, now?"

"Oh yeah." He grinned and pulled a Playstation game out if his jacket pocket.

"Oh," Nick said with a small laugh. "Dude, it's on."

It was getting late, and Catherine had been working for what felt like a month straight. She almost forgot what her home looked like, almost forgot what Lindsay's voice sounded like. But she would be there with her baby soon, and that's what Catherine was looking forward to at the moment. She'd finished up with the necessary paperwork and had made the call to Ryan Walsh, explaining what had happened, apologized for any accusatory comments or actions they might have displayed. He'd expressed his gratitude for clearing his name and she'd voiced her condolences over the loss of his son, something she hadn't really done when they'd been considering him the prime suspect.

Catherine flicked off the light in her office and headed out. She was surprised to hear clicking coming from Grissom's office and leaned in the doorway.

"You're still here?"

Gil looked up, seeming a little more worn than he had only a couple of hours earlier. He pulled off his glasses and ran a hand over his beard. "Yeah."

Catherine waited for something more, but that was apparently all Grissom was going to say. She turned to leave.

"I called him."

Catherine turned around and frowned at Grissom. "What are you – "

"Nick. I called Nick."

"Okay…" Catherine took a couple of steps back into the room.

Grissom looked away. "I couldn't even say what I wanted to."

Catherine smiled. "It's okay, Gil. He knows how you feel. They all do."

He returned her smile. "Thanks."

Catherine turned to finally go home.

"You guys did a good job here."

Catherine stopped in the doorway, but didn't turn. She flipped her hair back and smiled. "I know."

She left Grissom's office to the sound of clacking computer keys.

The End