Summary: There's evil once again in the city of sin. Whatever happens in Vegas…might just kill ya.

Timeline: Sequel to Poisonous Fear (recommended that one is read first), Early/Mid Season Six

Spoilers: Grave Danger, Bodies in Motion, Daddy's Little Girl, several references to other episodes

Disclaimer: This is all written in fun. Everything CSI is not mine and never will be. It belongs to the creative talent of the actors, the writers, the directors, and the producers. I am not making any money off of this. Only meant to offer something new on something already so great. No reason to sue.

Title: To Whom It May Concern

By: duffshel

Author's Note: Thanks to the few that review. It is great to hear from you and I promise, one of these times, I'll answer back. Now, another piece to the mess, this time back in "present" tense with our dear team. And if anyone is wondering, I have met a doctor like the one you'll read in this chapter. Hate her, love her, but I just had fun writing it. See ya later! Bye!

Chapter 7:

"I have almost forgot the taste of fears.
The time has been my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night shriek, and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in't. I have supp'd full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
Cannot once start me."
---- Will - Macbeth

present…

Every single time (just a simple once a week, still) they went to these so called meetings, the drive seemed to get shorter and shorter. It was almost pointless to comfortable in the truck at all. As soon as you got settled, you were expected to get out and walk the pavement that was lying out in front of that annoying red door.

Nick really didn't get that one. Counselors just didn't seem like people who should have red doors to the entrances of their offices. It threw people off. Well, it threw Nick off. He was used to red doors in Texas, but they opened to welcoming houses with fresh aromas of home made cooking. Not to stern looks, concerned looks, or no looks at all. Certainly not journals begging for feelings and emotions.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to follow after Warrick once they were both standing, the doors having been shut. Everyone else's cars were already in the small lot. Two lab SUV's proved that for some, work would resume right after this half hour of mini hell. Nick could feel his fingers twinge at the thought of getting back to work.

"You gonna just stand there all day? Let's get in there and get it over with. And I told ya we'd be the last ones…again."

The tone was meant to be stern, but Warrick couldn't quite pull it off. He understood somewhat at watching Nick take in the other vehicles. Work was something they both were pulling for right now, but they had to get in this meeting so they would get approval from the doctor. Grissom wasn't about to let them back to work too early, this time. Every precaution was being taken on this new development. And, Warrick knew he would be the one allowed back in first.

But he had to agree with Nick that the door was ridiculous as he reached up to push the thing open. And it wasn't a calming red at that. Bright and shiny. Seemed to be there to ward away bad spirits, or at least the I.R.S. Good thing bulls were few and far between in the city of Vegas.

There was a short hallway, lined with brown checkered carpeting. The walls were painted a pale blue, almost chalky in appearance. Several lights hung down from the ceiling, emitting a green light, and Warrick had to watch his head as he walked. Another door, this one black, greeted them. One of these times he would ask the doctor about getting a new interior decorator for this place. It was hideous.

Warrick turned to make sure Nick was still with him. The Texan was about three steps back; head downward allowing Warrick to only see the top of his brown head. It looked out of place against the checkers and paleness. But he shrugged and opened the new door. Everyone turned to look at them as they shuffled into the new room.

This one orange, green, and yellow. Circles were predominant in everything. Even the chairs were round. Their clothes offered a sickening addition to the environment. It was disorientating at first, but Warrick was easy to accept the mess of everyday things.

"Hey, sorry we're late. Sleeping beauty here needed a couple extra winks this morning."

The doctor was a middle aged woman with completely gray hair. It was long and pulled back into a loose, messy bun. Her clothes were white and flowed with her movement. But it was her smile that made Warrick feel more comfortable with this entire situation. It reminded him of his grandmother with a plate of cookies when he had a bad day at school.

"Oh, it's alright. Mr. Grissom actually just got here a couple minutes before you," Dr. Thelma Rietbrock waved them further into the room, "Seems there is a new exciting case that demands his entire attention."

Nick shifted his weight from foot to foot while still standing in the doorway as he looked at his boss, "You can leave if the case is that important. Don't want to hold anything back because of this."

"No such doing Nicky," Catherine spoke for the man. She was on the same case, but wasn't about to blow this off either. It was helping, for everyone. They needed this. "Case won't dissolve in thirty minutes. Besides, Sophia is looking into some leads for us. We can stay."

It really wasn't what Nick wanted to hear. He managed to avoid most of their glances, but got caught by Greg's persistence. The younger man smiled at him, trying to make a goofy face in the process. Nick merely nodded and took his seat. He missed the disappointment on the young CSI's face.

Dr. Rietbrock wasted no time in taking her seat and observing the people in front of her. It was a team, a unit yet they all looked disjointed around each other. Of course she knew exactly what had happened that fateful day, well days, and also what the past held for this team. She was impressed with their resilience in it all, but knew she had a lot of work to do yet.

"Alright, last time we left off with each of you taking home a notebook to start a journal in. I would like to go around the room and see what sort of progress you all have been making with it. And, if you haven't started it yet, explain why you haven't been able to. Ms. Sidle, would you please start."

That was not what Sara wanted. She wanted to go last, have more time to think up an answer. Now she was on the spot and everyone, almost everyone, was looking right at her, waiting. Sara shifted a little in her seat, arms dropped between her legs as she thought quickly.

"Well, I haven't exactly…started mine yet. I took it home and all, put it on the kitchen counter. But work has been really busy and I just haven't had time to think about my feeling and emotions about what had happened too much. I want it to make sense so I want time to think about it. But work has been really busy," Sara sped through and was a little breathless at the end of her speech. She looked down at the yellow carpet, hands twisting on each other.

"Hmm," Dr. Rietbrock took a second before speaking, "For the next session, I'd like for you to have at least one entry. Remember, this is for any feeling about what happened or what you might be experiencing now, in the aftermath of it all. This is your outlet, not for me or anyone else in the room, but for yourself. You don't have to tell any of us exactly what you write, just that you are writing. Mr. Sanders, what about you?"

Greg almost seemed excited at being called on next. He had wanted to start everything off and share his progress. "I'm going really well. I've written in it everyday since last week. Helps more than I would have thought."

"And what kinds of topics are you working around?"

"Mostly about how I felt during that week. So much still about that. Don't even know when I'll get to the recent stuff. But I've been feeling a little better since doing this."

"That's good to hear," the counselor took a look around the room before calling on someone else. The older CSI's each had picked something in the room to observe and study. She was sure none of four had heard a word Greg had said. Even the blonde woman seemed to be in her own little world. "Ms. Willows, what about you?"

Catherine had been listening, just had found it hard to look at Greg as the young man explained how it was working for him. She wasn't quite so lucky with hers. "Started to write some things down. Never been really good with journals."

"Well, you don't have to keep it in journal structure. You could make lists, illustrate if that would work better. Many of my patients find healing in drawing."

"Yeah, like I've got an artistic bone in my body," Catherine laughed, a bit forced, "But I've mostly gotten little tidbits and such down. Nothing concrete and most of the time I don't even remember where I was going with any of it when I got back to it. And it's hard with Lindsey. I find myself mostly going off about her and not about this."

"It's alright to approach other things as well. I know you've said your daughter and you have a…difficult relationship. That is something that affects you and how you are with other people. It is acceptable in this process. I'm hear to help you all move forward, with everything."

"Yeah, but it's just getting harder. I just don't know what to do. Can't keep up with my daughter and things are just getting harder in the lab. Being short two CSI's is not helping at all. I just want this all over. It wasn't like this before."

Her voice rose as did her body, but once she was done, Catherine collapsed back into the shaped plastic of the green chair she was sitting in. Movement to her right caused her to look over. Nick had pulled his arms up to his chest, tucking his chin down more into his body. Catherine closed her eyes and shook her head at what she had been so careless in saying. She knew Nick was feeling guilty enough about shorting the lab and she didn't need to rub it in his face.

"I'm sorry Nicky. I didn't mean it like that. I want you better, work can wait."

Nick shrugged, "It's okay. I understand."

The entire time Grissom sat in his chair, his eyes traveling between each of his CSI's. He was uncomfortable in all of this as they were, but Ecklie had forced his hand in this one. They weren't about to get off like previously. Someone else was going to help them work through their problems now. Maybe then they might resemble something of a group, the one from about two years ago would be good.

He watched Greg and Sara shift around in their chairs now that their turns were done for now. His eyes observed Catherine trying to show Nick how sorry she was for everything, but being turned down with a vengeance. And there was Warrick who just looked tired with it all. Grissom was so wrapped up with his watching that he barely registered his name being spoken.

"…Mr. Grissom."

"What? I'm sorry, but I missed what you said."

Dr. Rietbrock was patient, "I asked you about your progress. Please share with us."

Clearing his throat a little, Grissom looked directly at the doctor, "I've worked on mine some. Like Catherine, it's nothing concert, just sometimes a word or two."

"Does this seem to be working for you?"

"Almost, but I do find more release with a coaster," Grissom deadpanned, not really caring what sort of reaction this got from the doctor. He did get the reaction from his CSI's that he wanted. Some smiles, but most of all, Nick lifted his eyes from the floor for a split second.

"So, you as well need to concentrate and put a little more effort in for the next session. This is not some sort of punishment that I'm trying to inflict you all with. I have spoken to your lab director and he approved this step in your treatment. Now, Mr. Brown, what can I expect from you?"

Warrick slouched more in his chair, hands clasped on his lap, "Didn't realize this was treatment? Don't pills or something come with that sort of stuff?"

"No, I misused the word in this case, I guess. It's just a group therapy meeting that is meant to help you all out," Dr. Rietbrock was beginning to lose her patience and quickly, "But back to the journal?"

"Haven't started it. Thought about it, but other things keep coming up. Have a new wife to take care of as well," Warrick shrugged, face slightly indifferent.

"Have you even opened it?"

"Oh, sure, yeah. I made sure it was college lined, but not too much after that."

He knew he was receiving glares from the two female CSI's in the room, but couldn't bring himself to look them head on. Warrick chose to look at the cocky grin Greg was shooting at him and the frown Grissom was offering.

"Can you explain to me why this is so difficult for you do, Mr. Brown? What is the reason you can't bring yourself to write some thoughts down into a notebook that no one else is ever going to read unless you let them?" the doctor slapped her notepad down into her lap, smile completely gone from her lips.

"Never done it before. Doesn't seem all that worth wild to me. Pointless waste of time when I could be doing other things that really matter."

"What did you used to do in the past to deal with your feelings? Was there something else that pulled at you, made you do things to release stress or anger?"

This was enough to quiet the tall man. He had a feeling Ecklie had given this doctor a lot of information from their files, so she might just know about that little problem he had a couple years back. Warrick just didn't like her egging him on about it like she was. And from looking around, seems everyone else had an idea on what she was pulling at as well.

"What Warrick did in the past, before this, is not relevant to this discussion," Grissom was the one who spoke up, cutting Warrick off completely.

"I'm just trying to get a feel for how Mr. Brown deals with pressures under his own guidance. There is no underlining in what we are doing here, Mr. Grissom."

"Then we'll just leave it where it is. Warrick will have something written for next week. I'll see to it."

Dr. Rietbrock knew when she was beat and let it go. She knew she was being difficult, but wanted to get into this issue deeper than any of them were letting her. From reading notes from other people, the graveyard CSI's hadn't been whole for a long time now and she was determined to bring every skeleton out of the closets in order to do so. Unpleasant was to be expected.

"As long as there is some sort of progress then, otherwise, I'm going to have to insist on private meetings with each of you as well as this group one. Your supervisor has already signed an approval for such a move if deemed necessary. But I'm hoping we can work this all out together. Now, Mr. Stokes, that leaves you. Would you please tell us how you're doing with your journal?"

Nick had managed to keep quiet and still for the longest time. Glancing at his watch, he could see there was at just under ten minutes left until they were free to go. There was no getting out of having to speak. And she always seemed to save him for last, every time for the last three meetings.

He could feel the others looking at him, watching him for any sudden twitches that might arise. None of them seemed to have any faith in him for getting better on his own this time. They had left him alone fairly well after the box in the ground, but now, after what that man did to them again, he was not going to be left alone. It really bugged him they had lost faith in him for dealing with his own problems.

"Mr. Stokes?"

The calling of his name broke him out of his darkening thoughts, "Uh, sorry. Just thinking. Um, I got some stuff going with the book. Wrote a couple of times in it."

"And do you feel its helping any? Unloading those extra thoughts, not having them fighting for your attention at all hours of the day?"

Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, Nick actually thought about it in the context. He had to admit, it did take off some of the extra baggage he had been wearing. The problems were still there, buried deep in his being, but they were getting less and less complex. Nick had to admit that this was opening up doorways he never knew existed.

But he chose to shrug, "I guess. Have to give it a little bit longer."

"Well, keep up the work. Next week we'll talk about it again and see if it gets any better. Now, does anyone else have something they want to bring up before you are released?"

No one spoke up or even rose a hand. Everyone looked anxious to leave, to get on with the lives they were trying to piece back together. And there was that case pulling at Grissom. He had never been pulled in so much by a hit and run before, but this one was different. A dead girl left in her car, cell phone in hand, 911 ready to be dialed. Brass was supposed to have something new by the time they got back to the lab.

Dr. Rietbrock could tell their time was over, "Alright. So, I want progress for next week or I will be forced to go back and talk with Mr. Ecklie about the next step that should be taken. I'm not hear to cause more problems. I just want to help you solve past ones. Oh, and Mr. Stokes, can I see you for an extra minute?"

Grissom stood as soon as the woman was done talking, "Catherine, take Greg with and head back to the lab. I think Hodges might have something now. Sara, come with me. I want to go see Brass and see if we have a contact for the girl yet."

The other three CSI's stood and working any kinks out of their bodies that sitting in those chairs might have caused. Catherine stepped over to Nick and leaned over to whisper something in his ear. The Texan simply nodded his head and his lips turned up into a slight grin.

Warrick nodded to them as they passed him, slapped Greg on the back with a laugh when the younger man tried to offer him a high five. They were an odd bunch, but Warrick wanted them back to the way they used to be, even though it made them even weirder.

"Hey Nick, I'll be out by the car when you're done," Warrick stated as he followed the other from the room.

The remaining CSI watched the others with a longing, to be leaving with them, back on the case. Instead he was left behind, still in his uncomfortable chair waiting for whatever the doctor had to say.

"Mr., Stokes, Nick. I just wanted to know how things are going. I mean, just between you and me. I'm really glad to hear that you're having progress with the journal, but talking about things is still a good way to do things as well."

Nick rubbed at the back of his neck and looked down at the magazines that covered the table in the center of the room. He knew she wouldn't let him leave until he said something that pleased her questions. But even though she was a doctor, she was still essentially a stranger. And he would never be comfortable talking about his personal life with a stranger.

"I'm doing pretty well. I talk with my teammates when I need to. And my…mom. It helps."

"Well, if you ever need to talk more, I can schedule more time for you if needed. Don't forget that. Now, I don't want to keep your friend waiting. See you next week."

He bolted up from his chair and walked as fast as he could without running from the room. Nick hadn't even looked at Dr. Rietbrock again. The hallway checkers were a blur as he moved towards the red door. The sunlight was bright on the outside. He grabbed for his sunglasses and shoved them on his nose for his walk to the waiting truck.

Everyone else was already gone, but Warrick was grinning at him, "Hey Nicky, what about breakfast? Tina doesn't get off work for another two hours and I'm starving."

"Sure, bro. Let's hit the road," Nick smiled as he hopped into the truck.

!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()+

Alright, so I seem to be the only one making progress on this writing thing. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. Makes me feel kinda weak or something. Like I need more hand holding than any of the others. I don't care how much more I've been through then them. Just don't like to be treated differently because of it.

Being home, in the relative safety of my bedroom, I should feel more open and ready to tackle things on my own. But I just feel more alone and scared. Still have those dark corners everywhere that have to be avoided. And the frog is singing…

I just got off the phone with Texas. My mom's voice is always a nice thing to hear when I'm feeling down. And it does help that my father is off to work so he can interject his thoughts into a one-sided conversation. My second oldest sister did that enough.

Seems they were having a little family get together, kids were out running around in back. I dunno, just seems like I miss a lot. Just can't get myself to go back.

She talked to me a little, but not long enough before she had to book it outside to yell at someone. Always made me smile, my sisters as mothers. It is impressive on how much those other children of my parents help mold me. I just wish they had made me a little bit stronger.

Overall, it had been a tense day. That so called meeting was just a waste. I really don't see the point of making us all suffer when no one wanted to be there or do anything. Nice thought that we were going to put things back right, but impossible. I see that now.

Breakfast was fine. Warrick always seemed to know when to not push so hard. And pancakes were a great comfort food, especially with a lot of syrup. Then came the phone call.

Now, just wanting nothing more than to write in this thing. It as confusing to me as I'm sure it is to most people. But I've been thinking all morning about that case in the desert. With the bunker.

Everyone had been called to the scene at one point or another. Thought I really don't get why I was called so late in the day. Everything at the house had been well underway, that I remember. No, I was to help out with the bunker. That made a hell of a lot of sense!

Things like that make me wonder if anyone really saw me anymore at that time. I mean, I was buried under ground for about a day's worth of time and then, a few months later, they want me to process a bunker, that is underground. I did it though. Threw it all back into their faces.

I remember this day clearly. It's one of those that I've forever got engrained in the deepest parts of my memory. There will be a couple more by the time this journal is complete. Sadly, so few of those are happy, or even just normal and calm.

It had been hot, and I had the air cranked in the SUV. There were a lot of cops milling around, walking the sand. Most of them had looked bored since there wasn't much going on.

Greg had been there of course, He had been called to the scene before me, by Grissom himself. It had pissed me off. I had seniority, but I've been screwed over with that before in my CSI career. And I bet it'll happen again.

He was looking over some car. I had no idea what it was part of since no one had really told me what was going on with the case anyways. I waved, trying to act normal. Didn't want to let anyone know that I was nervous. Hands had been sweating and everything.

But I'm sure one of the uniforms noticed. I was sweating on my face as well, but more than should have been warranted. And I can still feel how my hands had been shaking as I walked closer to the darkness that was starkly black against the yellow sand.

Time was something I was never a good judge at. Even as a kid I could never tell how long I was at a place without having a watch on my wrist so I could check it over. So I can't really be too sure of how long I had been standing outside the entrance to the bunker. Though I'm sure it should never have taken so long to get down there.

After being buried alive, I can remember the smell of dirt that has never seen the sunlight before. It had been more stairs than I had been expecting, that was for sure. But one or fifty, they all took ya down. I think I only stopped once or twice on the trip. Passed a couple of cops, but didn't know who they were, still don't.

If I close my eyes and think hard enough about it, I can still see some of the artwork that covered the walls. It was well done. I've never had much talent with the arts. I still can remember the book ends I had to make in high school pottery class. Nothing looked more like a mix of hedgehog, elephant, and sea monkey before. My mom still has the damn things though. I would'a thrown them away.

But there was Catherine at the end of the tunnel. I don't know if she saw through my act or not, never mentioned a word of it. And I sure as hell will never bring it up. But I tried. I know I did.

I took the job of processing the bottles that had been next to each bed. It was an easy way to get out of the place. Catherine could stay and handle everything else. She had help if she needed it. And I can recall she looked just fine in that cement hole.

Of course, I didn't get out of that place as quickly as I thought I would. My CSI skills had still been kicked in and I couldn't have missed that blood on the ground by the elevator. Being the only one there, I forced myself to process it. And even took a trip in the elevator. It had creaked and shook on the way up, but I still got my evidence.

No one ever did comment on what that stuff helped with. And no one, even to this day, mentions how well I did on going down there. I haven't had a case since the involved the same things, but still, hearing job well done every now and then would be nice.

It had been a long case with lots of turns throughout it. Sophia and I had found where they got the drugs to kill themselves with. It had been a big piece of the puzzle.

To this day, killing yourself is something I just don't get. I admit, I have tried/thought about it…twice. First time, yeah, I mean come on. I was in a DAMN BOX! How in the hell was I supposed to know if I was going to get out or not.

I knew everyone was looking, but I wasn't awake for most of what had happened. I didn't even know where I was. How could someone else fine me? I didn't know about the clues, the video. I was just aware of the brown, the heat, and the bites.

Second time, well, we're still getting there. I really have a lot of issues to work out, don't I? Seems sad now that I'm writing it all down. Didn't realize I needed to go so far back. My brain is a tricky bastard when I let it be.

But several things needed to happen yet. And besides, I don't know if I can even write about what had happened, under his hands. Hell, I can't even write his damn name.

TBC…