Note: it took two days to get this chapter out...but here it is...i don't even know how to put into words the emotions I went through writing this...man, it was a struggle, and I honestly feel totally worth every last ounce of energy I expended on it...
I hope you enjoy...By the way...thanks for all the reviews...muchas gracias!

Time had stopped. And he felt totally helplessness.

This wasn't a new feeling for him.

However, the utter loss of words he seemed to be experiencing was.

Words had never failed him before. He always had the advice, the knowledge, the wisdom needed for whatever the scenario. His brain was an abyss of what many would call useless information. But this time, for possibly the first time in his midlife, words were failing him. His attempt of swimming through the abyss, his attempt of digging out the right piece of advice, proved fruitless as the much sought after words escaped him.

Gil Grissom was dumbstruck and he hated it.

He wasn't good with people. It had been the excuse he'd hidden behind for years. Catherine was much more suited to handle the instability that is the human emotion. Catherine was better equipped to handle the breakdowns, the blowups, and everything in between. Catherine should have been the one sitting in the living room. Catherine should have been the one. She would have found the words to say. She wouldn't have crumbled under the pressure; much like Grissom felt he was.

He had spent his entire career trying to keep emotions at bay. Emotions were a sign of weakness, of ones inability to remain objective.

Objectivity.

It wasn't just a state of mind for him. It was how he lived his life, and he liked it that way.

It was less… complicated that way.

And, though his colleagues may argue him to be a human shell void of emotion, he struggled almost as much as the next to bury his emotions on the job. He had his moments like everyone else. He had his special cases, they all did. For Sara it was spousal abuse. For him it was the untimely death of a child.

It wasn't all that long ago he had a blow up very similar to Nick's in the DNA lab. A child had been reported missing and later found dead. A baby, not even a year old, hadn't even been given a chance to live. So, no he wasn't totally void of emotion.

But, now it was the emotionality of the man in front of him that made him want to run for the door.

But, now even more it was the emotionality of the man in front of him that kept him glued to his chair, unwilling…unable to move.

Nick was quite possibly the strongest man Gil Grissom knew. The man had been to Hell and back and remained relatively unscathed. He continued to be impressed with the man as he continually jumped and cleared every hurdle thrown in front of him. But it wasn't until now that that barrier, that seemingly unbreakable barrier, came crumbling down. It was now that he was witness to the stumbling.

The man Grissom saw sitting on the couch was not the same man he'd talked with at the lab just hours ago. The man on the couch looked worn. The man on the couch looked beaten, completely wilted. And the feeling that he was the only one capable of reviving him almost made him sick to his stomach. He was in no way prepared for this.

Time continued to stand still as he witnessed what could only be the total collapse of the man's emotional barriers.

"What can't you do anymore?" he asked finally able to form words and force them out.

"This job," Nick sighed leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

"Do you still love it?"

"What?" he asked.

Had he not heard the question? Was he not speaking at an audible volume?

"Do you…still love it…the job?" he asked again, this time being a little more deliberate with his word formation. "Do you still get the same feelings, the same emotions, when you solve a case?"

"I thought you said there was no room for emotions," Nick said.

Was there a spark in his eye?

"Just answer the question, Nick."

"Yeah," he sighed as he slouched back into the plush couch. "I mean…I guess so," he shrugged. "I don't know."

"Why don't you?" he asked. He wasn't sure where the questions were coming from or in what direction they were leading him and it was beginning to scare him.

"Today I hated the job," Nick responded, his eyes downcast. Frustration was beginning to edge into his voice.

"Why?"

"Did you see the father?" he asked meeting Grissom's eyes, his own narrowing. "There was no remorse, no regret…there was nothing in his eyes. He was empty."

"Is that why you hit him?"

"No… I hit him because he deserved it. I hit him, because his daughter couldn't fight back." Anger was beginning to take over.

"I don't get it Nick," Grissom shook his head. "I've worked with you for years and you've never crossed the line with a suspect. And then all of a sudden, first with the McBride case…and now this...Why?"

He knew the second the question was asked, it was the wrong question. There would be no answer as he watched Nick's inward retreat once more.

"Nick…"

"Don't do this Grissom," he said with a shake of his head, the fire returning to his brown eyes.

"Is it because of last summer? Are you on some kind of conquest?" he asked regretting it the second the words left his mouth. His people skills were once again getting the better of him.

"Jesus, Grissom!" he said shooting up from the couch. "Does everything have to go back to that?" he asked pacing the floor of his living room as he ran a hand through his hair. "No…it doesn't go back to last summer," he shook his head.

"Then what is it? Why can't you just talk to me?" he asked bringing himself to a standing position hoping to match that of the man in front of him.

"Damn it!" Nick shook his head, turning his back toward his boss. He brought a hand up to wipe the tear from his eye.

"Nick, what is going on?"

He continued to pace the floor, trying his best to get a grip on his emotions. He hated himself for letting Grissom see him like this. He hated himself more for what he was about to say.

"Nine year old kids aren't supposed to live in fear," he said slowing his pace, his voice obviously catching in his throat.

Grissom remained quiet for fear of causing another inward retreat. He silently sat back in the recliner, letting down his own defenses in hopes of allowing the time Nick needed to get out what he wanted to say.

"Damn, I thought I was over it," he shook his head. He hadn't yet returned to his place on the couch, but continued his slow pacing. He was hesitating. Grissom could only guess why. He was not prepared for what came next.

"I was nine years old…and I was scared," he finally choked out as he forfeited to the couch once again. "Susan Tedesco didn't deserve to live like that. Cassie McBride didn't deserve to live like that," he continued.

"Nick…"

"Catherine's the only one who knows about it," he shook his head. "A couple years ago we were given a case where a teenager was killed while in a therapy session. His doctor had a background. She'd been accused of molesting her patients."

"I remember the case," Grissom nodded hoping to encourage him to continue.

"I know what it's like to live in that kind of fear. For me…it was a last minute babysitter…" he trailed off. "The fact that that fear is invoked by the child's parent is unthinkable," he said, his face contorted with emotion.

"I don't know what to say," the man shrugged helplessly. It was an admittance he wasn't used to making. "I'm sorry."

He'd like to say the news knocked him off his feet. He'd like to say it threw him for a loop, but nothing took him by surprise anymore. Sometimes he hated that about the job. In a job where everything was thrown at a person, in a city where anything could happen, and usually did, he had almost become immune to surprise.

"Cassie McBride couldn't fight back. Susan Tedesco couldn't fight back," Nick said. His voice was quiet now; his gaze was glued to his hands in his lap. A bruise was starting to form around the knuckles of his right hand. "I couldn't fight back... I should have been able to fight back…"

"Nick you were just a kid," Grissom tried his best to console the hurting man.

"No…I wasn't," he said with a slow shake of his head. His voice was barely above a whisper.

The reality slowly began to sink in and it sent a chill up Gil's spine. Nick wasn't just talking about when he was nine years old. He wasn't talking about a scared kid in a dark bedroom. He was talking about his life now. He was talking about a scared man in a dark world.

"Sometimes…" he started to offer what he hoped would be some form of comfort, some small piece of wisdom. But, again words failed him. His heart was breaking for the man in front of him.

Though the living room was spacious, Gil was suddenly feeing suffocated. The air was thick. The chemical synapses in his brain were firing warning signals. Every impulse within him was telling him to run from the house, to experience the invigorating effects of the fresh air outside.

The inability to move, however, prevented his retreat. His feet, as if they were two blocks of cement, were glued to the floor. Running would not be an option.

"I should have been able to fight back," Nick shook his head again. He was completely and utterly defeated.

"Nick…"

Again, there were no words.

"The fear won't go away," Nick said looking into his boss's eyes.

Grissom shuddered as he came face to face with the brutal reality of the man's emotions. The look in his CSI's eyes was haunting. Nick's eyes reflected a life's worth of maturity, a life's worth of experiences. His brown eyes, once so vibrant and eager, were now deep and sorrowful. Fear was buried deep beneath the surface layers of strength and determination. Slowly Gil watched those layers deteriorate and the layers of fear come full to the surface.

He'd seen those eyes once before. He'd prayed he'd never have to see them again.

"It's been months…" he said choking on his words.

"Nick…" he started slowly. This time words would have to work. "What you went through is unimaginable. I can't pretend to know what it must feel like, to have to deal with it every day. But, everyday you wake up, everyday you eat a meal, everyday you come into work… it's one day Walter Gordon doesn't dictate."

It had been months since he'd thought about, let alone spoken, that name. The stiffening in Nick's posture didn't go unnoticed as he uttered the name of the man who'd turned the entire crime lab's world upside down.

"You're wrong…" Nick shook his head, a tear escaping down his cheek. He was quick to wipe it away.

"Nick…"

"He still has a grip. He always will."

"Nick, you have got to be the strongest person I know." It was the first time he'd made himself emotionally available to his colleague. "You held it together longer than any of us ever would have."

"Then why the hell do I feel so damn weak? Why the hell do I still struggle to sleep at night? Why the hell do I still have nightmares? Why the hell do I wake up in cold sweats scared to death that it's not over?

"All I want is for life to go back to the way it was. I don't want to be scared anymore. I don't want to be angry anymore. I don't want to hurt anymore," he said, his anger turning to despair as a slow steady stream of tears began to stain his face.

Gil slowly took a seat next to the broken man. He wasn't sure of what to say, wasn't even sure that words would even work. So, he did the only thing he knew would work. He sat nearby. He let the man cry.

And he waited.

And one more thing...
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