Note: so the last chapter was a little sappy...maybe cause for the slump in reviews...thanks to those who did post! Here's the next chap...not as sappy as the last...thoughts always appreciated!

As much as he needed to, he couldn't make himself move. He'd been off work for a week already, had actually rested and felt better than he had since…well, since last summer. It was a breath of fresh air just to sleep through the night, unaided by pharmaceuticals. Since his day with Grissom, his newly filled prescription had gone untouched.

Now, for some reason he was feeling the uneasiness, the churning in his stomach he'd hoped to never feel again. It wasn't as much a sick feeling as it was more a nervous feeling. What he was nervous about, he wasn't quite sure. But, for some reason, nervous he was, and quite unable to make his feet move.

He ran a hand through his almost-troublesomely long hair. Sweat beaded his forehead as he stood in the middle of the semi-crowded sidewalk on Rampart Boulevard. Were he double jointed; he'd kick himself for being so ridiculous.

Though the sun was shining, and even warm on his back, Nick zipped up his coat to ward off the chill racing up his spine. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, staring at the building across the street.

"Can I help you sir?" an older lady asked as she passed him, perhaps for the second or third time.

"Oh, no ma'am," he managed to smile, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking. He watched as the lady walked into the store behind him snickering as she kept a wary eye on him. He still couldn't move. He continued to stand stock still for what seemed like eternity.

Only minutes had passed, but he still hadn't moved. The street was becoming more crowded as the lunch hour approached. It would soon be the midday rush. If he was going to cross the street, now would be the time.

Nick mustered up his courage, stepped from the curb – his safe haven – and made his way across the street.

The door was heavy, heavier than it should have been, as he pushed it open. The bell just above the door jingled on its hinge as the top of the door hit it. The sound was nearly enough to make his skin crawl.

Get it together, Stokes, he berated himself. He couldn't believe how unreasonable his emotions were.

"Can I help you, sir?" an older man asked as he stepped into the small, brightly lit room.

"I'm…uh…" he cleared his throat, "I'm Nick Stokes. I have an appointment," he nodded taking in his surroundings.

"Ah," the gentleman smiled. "Come on in."

For so long, he'd tried to move past everything, to forget that life sucked. For months he hated the man in the mirror. He'd do anything to forget him, to erase the past.

His way of coping?

Work.

It was always there. It was his one constant. His team was the one reliable thing, the one thing he'd grown to count on. They'd never let him down. They were his stronghold.

In the past few months, it'd become harder and harder to run from what scared him most. It'd become harder to run from life. That's what he'd been doing, anyway. Running. Running from his past, running from the people in his life.

"So what do you think?" the man asked snapping him from his own thoughts. Slowly the chair in which he was sitting was spun around. The man in the mirror, staring back at him, was someone he'd seen before. It'd been a while, but he remembered him.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was definitely shorter. He nodded in response. He offered the best smile he could afford, paid the man and stood. The hair on the floor caught his eye. It was a lot of hair.

He felt like he'd left a part of him behind, as he walked back outside. He felt lighter, as if pounds had been shed within the past twenty minutes. Felt as if months, even years had been wiped away. He ran his hand through his hair. It felt different, lighter, more like he remembered it. It'd been a good month or two since he'd last had it cut.

He wasn't sure if it was laziness, or a change he was trying to make. The direction in which he was headed a week ago was the polar opposite of the direction he was headed now. He hoped so, anyway.

Within the time he'd been inside the barber shop, the street had become backlogged with traffic, four-wheel as well as foot. Glancing at his watch he dodged between cars making his way back across the street. It was nearing one o'clock, he couldn't be late.

"Hey bro," Warrick said standing from his seat at the usual booth. He stretched out his fist, welcoming the jibe from his friend with a smile.

"Sorry, I'm late," Nick said taking off his coat as he slid into the booth opposite him.

It hadn't taken long for Warrick to catch up with Nick following the blowup in the interrogation room.

For about a day and a half, Nick had avoided his phone calls, had neglected in calling him back.

Warrick had finally had enough and had made his way to Nick's place adamant about getting the answers he felt he rightly deserved.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" he asked a little too angrily as Nick opened the door. He almost immediately regretted his tone as he took in the man's disheveled appearance.

He hadn't shaved in a couple days. His hair, annoyingly shaggy, hung across his forehead brushing the top of his eyes.

Nick backed away from the door silently, allowing room for Warrick to enter the living room. He prepared himself for an earful.

"Damn, man, you look like shit," his friend said as he, again, took in Nick's appearance.

Nick shifted his weight as he leaned heavily against the door shutting it behind him. He was already beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well…" he stammered as he made his way slowly to his couch, "I can't say it's been the best week."

"Yeah…about that…" Warrick sighed rubbing the back of his neck, his other hand in his pocket. He slowly moved to the recliner he'd unofficially dubbed his own.

"It was a tough case, Rick."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"You know you've been an ass, right?" There was a small glint in his eye.

"Look, man…"

"Hey, no apologies needed," Warrick sighed leaning back in his chair. "We all have our sore spots." The two sat in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't an awkward silence; quite the opposite in fact. "Look, I can't stick around long. I just wanted to make sure you were still alive," he said standing.

"I'll be back in a couple weeks," Nick stood with a nod following his friend to the door.

"Yeah," he nodded in response, "I know. Look, meet me for lunch on Thursday."

"Sure," Nick nodded. "Usual spot?"

"Yeah."

Nick looked different, Warrick thought as he walked toward his SUV. Something had changed in his friend. Something obvious, yet curiously opaque. He hated the recent veiled disposition of his partner. He hated more that there seemed to be nothing he could do about it.

"You got a hair cut," Warrick smirked as he took a drink from his coffee cup.

"Yeah, it was time," Nick nodded as the waitress came to their table with a smile.

"Hey, Nick. It's been a while," she smiled filling the coffee cup she placed in front of him.

"Kelly, good to see you," he smiled at the familiar waitress.

"You guys want the usual?" she asked. There was no need for writing their order down. They had frequented the diner so often, they'd become known to most of the staff. Their orders rarely varied.

The men nodded allowing the waitress to leave before either spoke up.

"So…" Warrick started, keeping a hand on the mug in front of him. "You look good."

"I'm better," Nick nodded. "Time off's been good," he said draping an arm over the back of the bench in which he sat.

It was obvious Warrick was fishing for what to say. It was rare for him to be so uncomfortable with his partner.

"Look, I hit the guy, Rick," Nick said tired of skimming the surface. "I lost it, simple as that," he shrugged.

"I don't buy it, man. There's more to it than that."

"The case got to me. I lost my cool." Nick knew Warrick wasn't happy with his shrug ness. The thing was, he didn't know how else to respond. More than anything he wanted to move on from it, forget it had happened. More than anything, he wanted his friend to be confident in him, to trust him, to quit looking at him as if he were a cause for concern.

What Nick didn't realize, though, was that he was a cause for concern. Warrick had never seen his friend blow up like that before. He knew he had a temper, had his special cases, and had his special way with the victim's and their families. But, to haul off and punch a suspect? It just wasn't Nick.

"Rick, quit looking at me like that," Nick said shaking his head.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a cause, man."

It was time to tell the man what he was thinking.

"Look man. I've watched you unravel for the past eight months. First it was the McBride case. Now it's this. You're getting too wrapped up, too emotionally involved. What's going on with you?"

Nick didn't know how to answer. He'd wrestled with the same questions himself the past several days.

"Just talk to me, bro," Warrick said, frustrated by Nick's hesitancy.

"It's not that simple, Rick," Nick said a frustrated by the pushing of his friend. "You don't think I would if I could?"

"You don't talk to anyone, Nicky and you damn well know it."

"Here you go, guys," the waitress smiled placing each man's order in front of them. She left the check, face down, on the edge of the table. "Anything else?" she asked refilling their coffees.

"Thanks, Kelly," Nick shook his head.

The men ate their food in near silence.

"Look, Rick…"Nick started wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I don't know what to tell you."

"You can start with the truth," his friend said pushing his empty plate aside.

"I wish it were that easy."

"Why isn't it?"

"Because…" Nick paused as the waitress came to clear their dishes. "Because," he said slowly, his voice just above a whisper, "I haven't…"

"What, man?"

"Because, I don't know what the truth is, alright?" he said, frustration thick in his voice. "Damn it, man, if I had any idea what was going on inside my head, if I had any idea what the hell was happening to me…" he trailed off. He sulked back into the bench, looking out the window toward the street. "I can't talk about it, because I still don't know."

They sat silent again. Guilt was churning in Warrick's stomach. He hated seeing his friend hurting. He hated more the fact that he didn't know what to do for him. He silently picked up the check.

"I've got this," he said sliding from his seat to go pay.

Nick stood, pulled on his coat and met Warrick at the front door.

"You know I've got your back right?" Warrick asked pausing with his partner on the sidewalk. He pulled out his sunglasses, putting them on to shade his eyes from the glaring sun. The man really looked different to him.

"I know," Nick nodded as he shoved his hands in the pockets as he turned his gaze down the street.

"So you've got another week?"

"Yeah, if Ecklie has anything to do with it."

"Ecklie's a prick," Warrick smirked. "Always will be."

Nick laughed at this, the cloud lifting momentarily.

"Hey I'm taping the Bronco's game if you want…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, yeah, man. Tina's working odd hours. I'll be there," he patted the man on the shoulder. Things were still cool.

"I'll see ya later then," Nick nodded turning to go his own way.

"Yeah," Warrick returned with a smile. "Later."