Author's Note: Thanks so much for your kind words of encouragement. I am glad to see that people are taking an interest in my story. Getting such nice reviews is a great way to kick off a new year! Please keep the reviews coming and remember: CSI and all its characters belong to CBS, not me.

It's time to work
The work is useless now
Oh can't you see
Your help is lost in me
I wanna be alone tonight

("Losing All Control" by Rooney)

Six Days Earlier

"What aren't you telling me Nicky?"

He ran his hands tiredly over his face as he fumbled to find an answer to the question that wouldn't give too much away. He knew he couldn't pause too long; Grissom would notice that he was trying to formulate a lie. He looked up from the file in front of him and shrugged sheepishly.

"I guess I have been having trouble sleeping lately and its just kind of getting to me. I promise it won't happen again."

It wasn't a total lie. He was tired. He was tired of trying to tap dance his way around the questions and the stares that he got from his friends. He was tired of having to justify the slightest misstep in his actions. He was tired of pretending that everything was okay. As Grissom studied him in silence, Nick felt increasingly uncomfortable. If it had been anyone but Grissom he could have gotten away with such a lame explanation of what had happened the day before. Hell, he'd had all night to come up with a better response. Why hadn't he thought up some really thought provoking reason for why he had lost control? He wished Sara hadn't said anything. He had thought about asking her to keep it quiet but he knew that she never would. It wasn't her style to hide things like this. He knew she was concerned about him but he wished that she hadn't told Grissom. The relationship between he and Grissom had been so different before his time in the box. Nick couldn't figure it out, but something had changed behind Grissom's eyes. Grissom always seemed like he was about to say something, but then always seemed to think better of it. It was disconcerting really. Grissom never hesitated to offer his opinions before, why should he start hiding something now? Maybe he's disappointed in me, Nick thought miserably to himself. That thought had crossed his mind more than once in the months since the ordeal. He has every right to be disappointed in me. First I get myself buried alive, then I have a freak-out over something as stupid as fog on a car window. He must think I am such a loser. Grissom spoke before Nick could continue mentally raging at himself.

"I'm not worried about it happening again Nick. I am worried that there is something more going on here. Losing control like that isn't like you."

And how the hell would you know that Grissom? I was buried alive for God's sake! Maybe losing control is exactly like me! "It's really nothing Gris. If something was really wrong I would tell you".

Liar, taunted Nick's inner voice. You would never, EVER tell him if something was wrong.

Grissom sighed and started for the door. "If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me"

Yeah, hiding out in your office with only your bugs for company, avoiding human interaction as much as possible. "I sure do. Thank Grissom."

The report of the dead body had come in around nine that evening. Everyone else was already working a case, so Grissom assigned Nick and Greg to handle it. Grissom wasn't quick enough to hide the look of reservation that crossed his face about sending Nick back out into the field, but Nick pretended he never saw it. He and Greg drove to the scene and filled the ride with aimless conversation about an upcoming boxing match. It was a welcome relief to have a conversation that Nick found he didn't need to be entirely tuned in to. For a few minutes he was able to forget the ugliness of the past day and a half.

The lights from the police cruisers called out to Nick and Greg like a beacon in the night. The scene was the darkest corner of the parking lot of a local strip mall. Graffiti marred the walls and broken glass and trash littered the ground. The dingy street lamps offered only a melancholy glow that barely illuminated the scene. Nick pulled the car up behind one of the cruisers and he and Greg grabbed their kits. The lights were spinning so brightly and it gave Nick a headache almost instantly. He pushed the pain away as best he could as they made their way to the officer who was waving them over.

"Hey guys. Couple of teenagers called it in. They were walking back here, having a smoke when they stumbled upon the body. Male, no ID, looks to be between twenty-five and thirty. Shot at least three times, but it's hard to say for sure. The lighting's not so great back there."

"We'll make do." Nick said with a wan smile.

He and Greg headed around the back. David would be arriving soon, so Nick sent Greg to process the body while he began to process the surrounding area. He wasn't sure what he looking for. There were so many bottles and cigarette butts on the ground that it would be next to impossible to know what was relevant and what wasn't. He saw footprints in the mud that lined the edges of the parking lot and began to photograph them. He followed them until they ended, some three feet from a dumpster.

It would be a good place to get rid of a gun Nick thought was he made his way over. He was disappointed to find the dumpster empty, but he began to scour the ground around, behind and underneath for any sign of the murder weapon.

He was so caught up in his task that he didn't hear the footsteps creeping up quietly behind him. He didn't see the dark figure extend its arms to grab him. Suddenly, there was a hand around his upper arm. He could feel the closeness of the presence.

Strong hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him backwards. Before he could open his mouth to cry out, a gloved hand pressed a cloth over his mouth and nose. He struggled but the person was too strong. The world was starting to spin as the person dragged him backwards. They were taking him! He had to get away…

"NO!" he cried out as he whirled around, swinging his fist with all his might. He was so caught up in the memory that he couldn't see the person, but he could feel his fist connect with something. Whomever he had hit let out a cry of pain as they tumbled back, their hand still entangled in the sleeve of Nick's coat. In his blind panic he tumbled on top of them, bring his fist down again and again, ignoring the cries. I won't be a victim again! he thought triumphantly as the figure released its grip on Nick's coat and moved its arms to protect its face. As the bright lights swirled around his with dizzying intensity, a voice broke through the night. It was soft at first, but getting louder.

"Nick…Nicky, please….stop, you're hurting me…"

He forced himself to focus on the voice. He hands dropped to his side as he struggled to make out the figure that he had pinned to the ground. Damn, the lights were making his vision dance. Everything was blurry, like a picture that was taking out the side of a moving vehicle. He still couldn't see anything, which was terrifying. Listen to the voice. Just listen to the voice and everything will be okay.

"Nick…"

He recognized the voice. It was Greg's voice. And he sounded hurt…

Suddenly the world slammed back into focus so hard that it literally knocked Nick backwards. The lights from the police cruisers flashed too brightly against the night sky. Nick could see the figure that he had be hitting.

It was Greg.

Blood was flowing freely from what was undoubtedly a split lip. There was an ugly abrasion on his left cheek where it had been scraped against the pavement when he fell. The beginnings of several ugly bruises were appearing on his cheekbones and jaw. But it was his eyes that cut into Nick's heart like a knife. Greg's eyes were huge and full of emotion. He looked frightened, confused and sad, all at the same time. Greg pushed himself up into a sitting position, grimacing slightly as he did it. As Nick stared at him in horror, Greg reached out to Nick.

"Nick…"

Nick recoiled as if he'd been burned. He had just attacked one of his best friends without provocation. He wanted the run but his body couldn't seem to pick itself up off the concrete. He settled for scampering backwards until he had put some distance between himself and Greg. He drew his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms. God what is wrong with me? I could have killed him and not even known it!

Greg slowly pulled himself to his feet and shakily made his way to where Nick sat. He just stood in front of him until Nick looked up. Greg extended his hand to Nick.

"Come on Nicky. Let's get out of here. I'll call Warrick to come take over the scene."

Nick stared at him. "That's it?" he asked sharply.

Greg looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I just used your face as a punching bag and you're just going to walk away like nothing happened?"

Greg looked uneasy. "I shouldn't have snuck up behind you like that"

"Are you kidding me? Greg! I shouldn't be losing control like this! I didn't even know what I was doing, and you're ready to just act like it never happened?" Nick railed at his friend. "I could have killed you! Do you understand that? I could have killed you and not even realized it! I could have-" his voice broke off as the sudden, horrifying image of Greg laying beaten and broken on the ground in front of him flashed across his mind. That had been too close. He looked faintly at Greg.

"Greg, what the hell is happening to me?"

"Nick, it's ok" Greg said, in a voice that he prayed didn't betray how shaky he really felt. "I don't know what happened either. But I do know that everything will be okay. We'll figure it out."

Nick shook his head. "Everything won't be okay. People always say that it will be okay. And it's never okay!" he said, his voice rising with each word.

"Nick-" Greg reached out for him, but Nick wrenched away sharply.

"Don't. Just don't. Just leave me alone" he muttered bitterly as he stared at the ground.

"You know I can't do that Nick" Greg said softly as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "I have to call Grissom"

Nick nodded miserably as he stood there, lost in the tornado of the blue and red lights that continued to dance across the crime scene. He was overcome with a wave of numbness. As the lights hypnotized him, he didn't care what happened now. He knew that there would be reprimanding and counseling, yet he felt nothing. There was a strange sense of disembodiment as he turned to watch Greg on the cell phone. The lights illuminated the ugly mask of bruises every time they swept across Greg's face. The throbbing in his hand reminded Nick that he was cause of his friend's pain, yet he felt oddly removed from the entire situation. He felt like he was on the outside looking it. The events of the evening played back in his mind like a soap opera. He could see Greg's mouth moving, but he couldn't hear the words. He had a pretty good idea of what was being said.

"Nick just went crazy. He attacked me for no reason"

Well, maybe Greg wouldn't put it in those exact words, but that was essentially the story that was being told. Nick knew that in a matter of minutes the team would swarm the scene. They would all pretend that it was completely normal for them to have to take over a crime scene because one of their own had assaulted another member of the team. They would look at him without making eye contact, and he knew that the look in their eyes would have changed. How many times had he seen the looks in their eyes change over the years? He had seen concern, after Amy Hendler nearly shot him. Then there had been a glimmer of suspicion after Kristy died. Then it was worry after Nigel Crane tried to kill him. Most recently it had been pity, after he finally got out of that box. What kind of look would they give him now, after his actions the last couple of days? Would it be anger? Or maybe contempt? Whatever it was, he wasn't so sure that he could handle it. He wanted to make them understand that he wasn't acting this way because he was falling apart. He would have had to be whole in order to fall apart. He was a fragment of a person that used to exist. Of course, they would never understand this. Once the shock of his ordeal had worn off they had gone back to pretending like everything was all right. Oh sure, he would occasionally catch them looking at him when they thought he wasn't looking, but for the most part they had acted like everything was fine. Sometimes he wanted to scream at them that everything was not fine; he wasn't sure it ever could be fine. But something always kept him from letting them see how much he was hurting. He felt as if they had already seen too much emotion from him during his hours in the box. He didn't know if they could handle anything else. God, how he wanted all of this to go away. He wished those damned flashing lights would just fade to black already and let him disappear into the night.

Much of what happened after Grissom and the others arrived vanished from Nick's memory almost instantly. He didn't remember what he told them or how they responded. He was vaguely aware of Grissom telling him that he had an appointment with the department shrink first thing in the morning. He was surprised when he found himself in his living room, not in the lab. He struggled to recall Grissom saying something about being off active duty until the psychiatrist cleared him. He may have been told to go home and sleep on it; that would explain how he ended up here. Grissom must have dropped him off. Nick sighed wearily as he stumbled into the kitchen to get some ice for his now throbbing hand. He consciously avoided looking at it because he couldn't stand the reminder of what had transpired only a short time ago. As he wrapped the ice in a towel, his eyes were drawn to the bottles of liquor that lined his makeshift bar on the counter. Most were still full; it would be great to lose himself in the oblivion of alcohol. He decided against it only because he knew showing up at the therapist's office with a hangover would only make things worse. He made his way to the bedroom and began to get changed. His eyes lingered on his gun for several long seconds before he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Live by the gun, die by the gun he thought dully, even though he wasn't entirely sure what that meant. He grabbed the bottle of pills and popped two of them in his mouth. He hesitated for a minute before securing the cap and heading back to bed. He was just settling in when the phone rang. He ignored it and waited until the machine picked up.

"Hi you've reached Nick. Sorry I'm not here right now, but leave your name and number at the tone and I'll call you back when I am here." BEEEEEP

Nick wanted to laugh. The machine was right: he wasn't here right now. He hadn't been here in quite some time. He listened to see who was calling.

"Nick it's your mother. Is everything okay? I haven't heard from you in few days and I just want to know that you're all right. Call me when you can. I love you"

The scared child in Nick wanted to pick up the phone and tell his mom that no, everything was not okay. He wanted to be six years old again and let his mom chase away the monsters that lived under his bed. He knew though that even his mother couldn't chase away the monsters anymore. They weren't just under the bed; they were with him every waking moment and every time he fell asleep. But God how he wished his mom could make everything safe again.

His sleep was restless. He tossed and turned and struggled to keep the nightmares at bay. He cried out in his sleep, even though there was no one around to hear him.

"I can't fight you anymore! This needs to stop!"