Chapter Two

When Nick walked into the break room that night, he didn't even get a 'hello.' Warrick simply cleared his throat and extended his hand with an obnoxious smirk on his face, not even looking up from the case file he was reading.

"You're serious?"

"Hell, yeah. You tellin' me you wouldn't have made me pay up?"

Nick put on his best deadpan face. "No, because you're my friend and I don't want to feed into your gambling problems. I made the bet to channel your addiction, kind of like therapy, but I would never, ever, make money on your issues and send you on an inevitable tailspin."

Warrick stared at him a moment, and both men fought not to be the first to crack a smile.

Warrick lost horribly. He let out a laugh and shook his head. Nick smiled, knowing he'd bought himself some more time for Warrick to forget about the whole thing.

"You're paying me," Warrick said, jabbing a finger at Nick.

"Oh, yeah," Nick said, still in the same serious voice. He crossed the room and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. The guys were a little early for shift, and had a few minutes before Grissom and Catherine would come in and send them out again.

Warrick looked up as Nick sat across from him. "Any word on your phone?"

Nick shook his head. He was still really pissed about that. "No. I tried calling it again, but it didn't even ring. Straight to voicemail."

Warrick winced. "They turned it off." That meant they couldn't even attempt to track the signal. "You get ahold of the company?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah, they're going to watch for activity." He felt a little ridiculous, getting so worked up a cell phone, but he couldn't help it. It was just these stupid little things that made it sometimes feel like everything happened to him.

The clock on the wall slowly moved past eleven, and the room remained empty except for the two of them. At eleven-twenty, Nick stopped playing with his cheap replacement phone and cleared his throat to get Warrick's attention.

"We are open tonight, right?" he joked.

Warrick glanced at his watch, then turned and craned his neck to see the wall clock. He shrugged. "Not our problem. We're here on time."

Nick leaned over the table and tried to read the file Warrick was so immersed in. It was hard, upside down, but he could deduce it was from the case they'd been called in on last night.

He frowned. "I thought we wrapped that up."

Warrick nodded. "We did. Something just isn't sitting right with me."

Nick was going to say something more, but a knock on the door drew both of their attention to Archie leaning as casually as ever on the threshold.

"Didn't you guys get the message?"

Both men shook their heads. "What message?" Nick asked.

"Grissom left a note for you guys at the front desk. You're supposed to meet everyone at the scene."

"You serious?" Warrick asked.

Archie nodded.

"Why didn't he call us and tell us?"

Archie shrugged. "He said that doesn't seem to work."

Nick sighed. So maybe they weren't early for shift. In fact, they were going to be incredibly late.

Catherine Willows grimaced as she noted the time on her watch. The guys were late. In fact, they were about twenty minutes past late. She could tell Grissom wasn't happy about it because he, too, kept checking the time, often times sighing, the last just shaking his head. But she knew that wasn't the only thing bothering him.

He still hadn't told her what the phone call that morning was about, just grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the building. When he returned, he was even more withdrawn than usual, quiet and angry, and hadn't really spoken to anyone. It was something serious, there was no doubting that, and it was killing her not knowing the details.

As discreetly as she could, Catherine pulled out her cell phone and held down the number three.

"Don't do it."

Catherine jumped.

Grissom was watching her with raised eyebrows.

She sighed. "Come on, Gil. Give them a break."

"They're grown men, Catherine," he told her in that overly-patient, nearly patronizing way of his.

"Okay," she said, only to pacify him and not because she agreed with him. She folded her phone and returned it to her jacket pocket, and resumed trailing her flashlight beam along the curb of the sidewalk.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she sang softly to the bullet she and Greg Sanders, further on down the street, were searching for.

Her search was halted by a victorious cry from the young CSI. She looked up and aimed her light at him.

Instead of offering the bullet, however, he looked at what was in his hand and glanced at Catherine sheepishly. "Quarter," he said.

Catherine rolled her eyes but had to smile. These kids kept her young.

"Keep looking," Grissom said sharply.

Catherine frowned. He was sure in a mood, and it had to be due to more than Warrick and Nick's tardiness. Her curiosity was peaking.

"Yes, sir," Greg said softly with a salute.

Catherine shook her head, laughing lightly, and even Sara Sidle, across the street, coughed to hide her own laugh. Grissom gave the three of them his patented exasperated-boss look and turned back to the body that lay in the middle of the street.

Forever out to please Grissom, and taking the hint, Sara turned back to rummaging through her field kit for her fingerprint brush and powder.

If the mood had been lighter, Catherine might have made a joke about it, or at least given Greg the go-ahead to make one of his own, but there was something uncomfortably tense and frustrated coming from Grissom. She shrugged at Greg and the two continued their search.

Catherine walked a couple blocks along the sidewalk before pausing again, rubbing her hands together to warm them. She was justifiably frustrated. What a way to start the night. Body in the middle of the street, shot in the chest, through and through; the reason for their search. The temperature had been dropping notably in the past few nights and tonight, Catherine would even go so far as to say that she was cold. The guys were going to get it, and there was something on Grissom's mind that was making him an increasingly unpleasant person to be around.

Greg was still moving slowly down the other side of the street, sweeping his beam back and forth across the curb, but Catherine was getting the feeling that their search was pointless, at least at this time of night. The side street had no overhanging street lights, and the combined light from their flashlight beams and the headlights from the SUVs parked just on the other side of the crime tape wasn't enough to see something so small.

Catherine made her way back to Grissom and Sara, hovering around the body. Grissom was in conversation with David Phillips, and Sara was shining her flashlight near the feet of the victim.

"Gil," Catherine said, getting Grissom's attention. "We're not going to find anything in the dark."

Warrick and Nick chose this moment to make their entrance. The bright headlight beams flashed over them as the large SUV swung in beside the others.

Grissom smiled and jerked his head in the direction of the vehicle. "They will."

Catherine winced in sympathy. This was the kind of job he'd taken to handing to newly minted field investigator Greg, tedious work that usually involved trekking several, sometimes dozens of blocks through seedy neighborhoods looking for the minutest pieces of evidence.

Warrick jumped down out of the driver's side of the SUV and ducked under the tape. "Gris, I am so sorry."

Nick jogged to catch up with Warrick as they came up to the other criminalists. "Really, really sorry," he emphasized, pulling the strap of his camera around his neck.

"You didn't get the message?"

The guys shook their heads.

Grissom raised his eyebrows and stood, stretching his back. "That seems to be happening a lot lately."

Nick and Warrick exchanged guilty looks.

"Nick," Grissom said, much more quietly. "I need to speak with you when you back."

Nick frowned. "Where are you going?"

"The lab." And with that he moved past them, towards the cars.

Catherine was waiting for Grissom to tell the guys what he wanted them to do, but instead heard the engine of one of the SUVs roar to life. It was just like Grissom to leave it to her.

Greg jogged up to them, waving his flashlight. "Hey, guys. Is he leaving?"

Catherine shrugged. "Looks that way. Okay. Warrick and Nick, sorry, but you guys are playing bloodhounds."

Nick groaned. "How far?"

"We've been six blocks," Catherine answered truthfully.

Warrick craned his neck to see behind her. "You think this guy walked that far, shot in the chest?"

"There's no blood trail," Sara spoke up from where she was crouching at their feet.

It obviously wasn't the answer they were looking for, but Warrick and Nick set down their kits, got out their flashlights, and jerked their heads at the side of the street they would take.

Sara glanced up at Catherine. "There's almost no evidence here, Catherine. I think I'll just ride back with the body."

Though not overly pleased that Sara had taken it upon herself to decide her own tasks, Catherine had to agree with her. There really wasn't anything else they could get from the scene, not without that bullet. She nodded. "Greg and I'll go with you."

She turned to Warrick and Nick, moving very slow so as not to miss anything. Catherine knew them both very well, and if they found that damned bullet within the area she and Greg had already searched, they would never let them forget it. "You guys alright?"

Warrick raised a hand, which she supposed meant that he was fine, and Nick nodded. "Sure, sure, go ahead and leave us men behind."

Greg snorted, and the three of them went about collecting their kits.

Only five hundred feet from the spot the body had originally lay, Nick straightened. "You know what. This is pretty childish of Grissom."

He was in a bad mood, almost childishly so. Catherine, Sara, and Greg had left about an hour earlier, and Nick and Warrick had spent the time in near silence, concentrating on finding the bullet. It was slow work, but Nick knew Grissom well enough to know they'd better not return to the lab empty-handed.

Warrick also stood straight and popped his back, letting out a relaxed sigh. His warm breath could be seen in the cold night air. "What? Keeping us out here working in the cold just because we missed his message?"

His tone was dripping with sarcasm, and that made Nick feel better. At least he wasn't the only one pissed.

"What do you think he wants to talk to you about?" Warrick asked.

Nick shrugged. "No idea."

They continued again in silence, slowly moving out of the illumination from the truck's headlights. Nick lazily swung his beam around the curb and sidewalk. As he passed an intersecting alleyway, something sounding an awful lot like a laugh interrupted the quiet, startling him. He jerked around, his foot slipping on the curb, and he landed on his butt in the street.

Warrick laughed and jogged over, offering him a hand up. "Nice," he said. "I bet you're glad we're alone now."

"Shut up," Nick grumbled. He reached for Warrick's hand with his own left and his fallen flashlight with his right.

He was getting ready to shine the light down the alley when a glint against the curb caught his eye. He crouched and squinted. "Score."

With a latex-gloved hand, he reached out and snatched the bullet. He turned to Warrick and grinned.

"Nice," Warrick said again. "Let's get the hell outta here."

In their eagerness to get back to the lab, the eerie laugh-like sound was forgotten.

He couldn't hold the laugh in. It was just so perfect. It was just so easy.

"I bet you're glad we're alone now."

Alone?

But they weren't alone. He was there. Friends didn't leave each other alone like that.

Not real friends.

Friends didn't stand by quietly while you were led away in handcuffs. Friends didn't point you out as a murderer. As a stalker.

That was such a harsh word. He wasn't a stalker. He was a…watcher. An observer. These words seemed nicer. Friendlier.

Nigel was a good friend.

He waited to make sure the SUV had driven away before he moved a single muscle. There were things to be done now.

He wasn't going to leave his friend alone.

Gil had phone calls to make. A lot of phone calls. And it was all for nothing. Even those he really counted on had no good news for him. Jim Brass was no help. Judge Walters was no help.

Gil returned the phone to its cradle and removed his glasses. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. According to everyone he'd talked to, there was nothing he could do. The judge's orders had been carried out. The assessments of Crane's condition and mental health were all made by prestigious doctors. There was really nothing he could do about the situation. He was just going to have to live with this.

Except he wasn't the one who was going to have to live with it.

There was a hesitant knock on the door and Gil looked up.

Nick stood in the doorway, looking much like a kid in trouble. "You said that you needed to see me?"

Gil paused a moment. The guys hadn't taken nearly as long at the scene as he'd anticipated, as he'd hoped, and he hadn't adequately prepared for what he wanted to say. He was just going to have to wing it. He nodded. "Take a seat."

Nick walked slowly, like he knew something was up. He rested his arms on those of the chair and sat back, his right leg jiggling nervously.

Gil cleared his throat. "Did you find the bullet?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, we dropped it off with Bobby." He jerked a thumb at the door.

Gil didn't have anything else in his arsenal with which to stall, so he cut right to the chase, folding his hands and leaning forward over the desktop separating them. "Nick, I have to tell you something. And you're not going to like it."

Nick felt numb. He sat there, hearing Grissom but not really listening. He hadn't actually heard anything the man had said after "Nigel Crane has been released."

He could still hear him, though, a low, irritating buzz in the back of his mind. He felt like he couldn't move his body, but his mind was a different story, was racing a mile a minute.

His initial reaction was to laugh. It had to be a joke. There was no way they would let that man out. It had been hard enough to accept the fact he'd been deemed clinically insane and wouldn't even be spending the time in prison he deserved. It had been hard enough to accept the fact there were people out there helping him. And now he was supposed to accept that he was out there again?

The effects were immediate. Nick already felt the anxiety creeping in. He'd been plenty nervous randomly over the past few months, but now he was overwhelmingly paranoid, feeling that he needed to look over his shoulder just to make sure no one was standing there. He was overcome with a sudden and intense desire to be doing something and to be doing it somewhere else than here in Grissom's office.

"Thanks, Gris," Nick said. His voice was quiet. He didn't even notice he'd interrupted Grissom, still talking. He stood and looked around the office, blinking slowly.

"Nick, if you want to talk to someone…"

Nick shook his head slowly. "No, I'm okay."

He turned and exited Grissom's office, leaving his boss with a bewildered, and not a little concerned look on his face.

Nick headed towards the ballistics lab to see what Bobby had gotten off of the bullet, only to be intercepted nearly immediately by Warrick, almost as though he was waiting for him.

"So what's up?"

Nick jumped, stepping back and bracing a hand against the wall of the corridor.

Warrick took a step back. "Whoa, you all right?"

Nick nodded and smiled uneasily. "Yeah, just jumpy."

"And for a good reason." Catherine came up to the two guys and put a hand on Nick's arm. "Grissom told me when I got back to the lab."

"Told you what?" Warrick looked between them.

Nick's smile quickly faded, staring at the unwanted hand on his arm, and he let Catherine explain.

"Grissom got a call from the facility Nigel Crane was sent to," she said quietly, so as not to attract the attention of others, for which Nick was grateful. "He was released three days ago."

Warrick's eyes narrowed. "Are you kidding me?"

Catherine bit her lip and shook her head. "No. They claim he's been completely rehabilitated." There was a look of disgust on her face.

Warrick was instantly furious. "So they're just dismissing the fact that he killed two people and attacked Nick?"

"They did that at the trial," Nick spoke up, his voice still much lower than normal.

Warrick's eyes grew sympathetic. "I remember, man."

Nick hadn't talked about it much after the trial. He'd felt betrayed by the very system he worked for, and it wasn't a good feeling. Everyone had attempted to be really sympathetic about it, get him anything he needed for a few days, but then they had let him ignore it, because that was what he wanted more than anything.

If you looked close enough, you could see the scar on Nick's forehead he'd acquired, but other than that it was as if the events of four years ago had never happened. Nick had pushed them so far into the back of his mind that most days he didn't even remember being thrown out of that window. On the days that he did remember, though, phantom pains shot through his wrist, and he took a flashlight up to his attic.

This had slowly gone from happening once a day, to once a week, to once a month, until he'd finally, thankfully reached the point he hadn't been up there in months.

And he had other phantom pains to distract him now.

But now, everything that he had overcome, everything he had been able to forget...he was feeling it all, all over again.

Nick unconsciously rubbed at his wrist, drawing the attention of his two coworkers. Catherine cocked her head, and Warrick clicked his tongue.

"Stop it, man," he said gently.

Nick became aware of the action and laughed nervously at himself. He folded his arms across his chest, and tried to think of the most polite way to ask the two of them to leave him alone for a while. The hallway was all of a sudden feeling stuffy, crowded.

Catherine chewed on her lip again. "Do you want to take the night off? I can talk to Gris – "

"No," Nick said forcefully. The prospect of a sympathy send-home cleared his head instantaneously. "No, I don't need that."

"Nicky – " Catherine started again.

He shook his head. "I'm just getting my life back together, Cath. I'm not going to let him rip it apart again."

Catherine smiled proudly, and Warrick thumped him on the back.

"Atta boy," he said.

Neither of them noticed he couldn't even say Nigel's name. Neither of them knew the attic was going to be the first place he went when he got home.

To be continued...