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: Hello all! Back a little sooner than seemed to be the norm. Hope this is worth the wait and read. Thanks for sticking around and reading. And double thanks to my reviewers. Thanks for the good wishes on the toe. It's getting better (slowly, but surely)! Alright, enough from me. Enjoy!

Chapter 10:

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
--- Frank Herbert, Dune - Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear

"These bullets don't match the one the suspect used on himself."

"Figured as much Bobby," Nick mumbled as he watched the ballistics expert study the remains of the bullets from the two scenes.

"Have to look for another gun."

Bobby Dawson walked away from his microscope towards the table where he had the bullets and cartridges set out for examination. He had pulled out the others found from the other two scenes from earlier to see if he could get matches that way. Not too much so far.

"We found another gun," Nick looked over at Warrick with confusion darkening his brow.

Warrick nodded in agreement, "Yeah, Nicky here pulled another from the car."

"Ya may 'ave pulled another gun from the car, but it doesn't match anything pulled for this case. Gun's a nothing."

"It's a gun man. Never a nothing," Nick shifted his weight, leaning his hip against the steel counter against the wall.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't used for anything you can prove at this point. But your bullets from the other scenes have a few things in common."

Warrick's annoyed look dimmed a little at the new comment, "And those would be?"

"Well, they're all common bullets for handguns. The one Mr. Johnson used on himself was a hallow point, designed for high expansion on impact. From what I can tell of what remains, you're looking at Powerbelt .45 calibers, 195 grain," Bobby picked up the labeled gun, "Matches this weapon found covered in the vic's blood. The others, all types of roundnose lead. Meant for good penetration, but little expansion. But, no luck on finding a weapon to match a suspect. The other gun can't use those bullets."

Bobby picked up one of the other weapons on the table, "I used this in my match tests for impact. It's a 9 mm using one type of the bullets pulled…from the first scene, single girl. Your other gun, caliber 357 Magnum."

"So we're looking for more than one gun. Great," Warrick threw his hands in the air. His left foot stomped at the ground in his frustration.

"I'll keep working on it. Let ya guys know if I find anything new," Bobby looked apologetic, but he couldn't make a lie out of this to please the two CSI's.

"Sure thing, 'daws."

Neither man said a word as they left the ballistic lab into the main hallway of the crime lab. Nick rubbed at his burning eyes. A yawn had been trying to escape for about an hour. He was sure it looked funny when he pulled a face to ward it off.

The hallway was busy. People were running too and fro, fixing the crimes happening all around the city. Sometimes Nick would forget that other crimes would go on when the graveyard shift was hard to work on one of their own.

"Wanna go talk to Hodges," Warrick asked as they moved closer to the trace lab.

Nick winced, "Do we have to?"

"Nah, really don't have the energy to deal with him and his crap today. Man gives me a headache through the damn glass. But I could really use something to drink."

With a nod from Nick, they headed off to the break room. The smell of stale coffee hit their noses. Two voices from within proved that they wouldn't be alone to bask in the comfort of the two couches within the room.

"Hey guys," Sara nodded at them as they walked in the break room, "How's it going?"

"Just perfect. You two?"

Greg shrugged, but didn't look up from the magazine he was leafing through. Nick walked over and collapsed onto the couch next to the younger man. Now that he was off them, the Texan finally realized how bad his feet were aching.

Sara ran a hand through her dark hair, "We're just waiting to hear from Grissom. He said to wait for him in here."

"Break in the case?"

"Not as far as I understand. But Catherine was going with Sam to speak with the two families we were able to locate."

Closing his eyes, Nick sank into the cushions of the couch. A slight throbbing had taken up residence behind his temples. It was distracting his attention from the noises around him in the room. He could sense the others, but didn't have the energy to place them and their activities.

"Glad to be out of that room," Warrick sighed as he took a seat on the other couch with a cup of coffee now held in his hand. Not quite as tired as Nick, but he was feeling the strain of a long day, long shift. "Just never ready to take on a grieving family after a long shift."

"Just have to know how to talk to people," Nick mumbled through slack lips.

"Ah yes, I always forget that. Just should have you, Mr. Sensitivity, do all the interviews and all would be good in the world."

Nick lifted his right shoulder only in his shrug, showing his thought on that comment. He knew everyone watched his empathy. Grissom had made comments in the past about it, warned him about it. Hell, he himself had warned Sara about it with some cases. But in the end, he was the one labeled the "people's helper" with all its curses. Now he didn't have any ambition to argue with Warrick about it.

They all fell quiet, lost in their own thoughts. Warrick yawned, lips stretched tightly over white teeth. His eyes watered a little forcing him to blink them rapidly to clear them. No one was looking at him, but he had an image to keep up. And yawning tears weren't going to be the death of him.

Several minutes, long moments of time, clicked away on the clock on the wall. Sara kept glancing at it, impatient on having to sit in that room. None of the other occupants seemed concerned with how long their colleagues were taking. In fact, she was sure Nick had just fallen asleep.

After an eternity, two human forms walked slowly into the break room, observing the remains of the team. Catherine smiled and walked with light footsteps over to one of the waiting chairs. She could feel Sara watching her, but knew the boys hadn't even realized she walked in. Turning to face Grissom, she could see the man wasn't about to do the same thing.

"Alright, everyone, to the table," Grissom declared in a tight voice.

Greg quickly threw down his magazine onto the side table by the couch and bounded his way over to the opposite side of the long table. He spared a small grin to Catherine before looking down at his hands. Sara sat next to him, but managed to keep her eyes up.

Coming back from his drift, Warrick opened eyes he hadn't realized closed. The light helped spur on the headache pounding around his brain cells. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet once he figured out what he was supposed to be doing. No one said a word, just watched him shuffle to his feet. But his way was blocked by a slumbering Texan.

"Hey Nicky," Warrick kicked out his left foot slightly, tapping Nick on the side of his leg, "Wake up, bro."

Nick's body jerked slightly at the touch, his eyes fluttered open slowly. In the short nap time he had taken, a crick had worked its way into his neck. A groan slipped past his lips as he pushed himself up straighter. Warrick's hand dropped into his sight and he took it with a nod of thanks.

The lead CSI watched the two men with no emotion showing on his face. He knew what they were all dealing with. And Grissom also knew what Nick had seen on the stretch of highway. When he had gone to the station to pick Catherine up and talk with Brass, he had learned about what had happened in the SUV between Nick and Sophia. But now was not the time to bring it up.

Once everyone was seated, eyes blurry, Grissom cleared his throat, "Alright. We have the bunker case solved and finished. I want everyone to focus on this serial."

"What'd you guys find out from the families?" Sara asked looking directly at Catherine.

Catherine sighed and rubbed her hands together before laying them flat on the shiny table surface. She could still see the grieving mothers; hear their cries of pain and loss. As a mother herself, in two ways actually, it had hit hard and deep. But this was part of the job and she would have to tell them.

"Both sets of parents showed up. Mr. and Mrs. Boettcher arrived first. Their daughter was living on her own, across town so they hadn't realized anything had happened to her until we called them in. She works in the Mirage as a waitress. No one at work reported a thing, didn't think anything of it. Sam talked with her boss. She had a good record and everyone let it slide, thinking she was sick."

No one said a word. They all absorbed the information, not seeing anything helpful. Nick's head bobbed a little with exhaustion, but he managed to keep it together. His ears perked a little as Catherine kept up the one sided conversation.

"Second girl, one in the alley way. Samantha Wilson, age 25. ULV student, master's program according to her mother."

"They know why she was in that alley?" Greg asked quietly.

"No. They never lived in those parts or knew of a friend she had around there. But like the first victim, not living at home, doesn't call everyday so they didn't think anything was wrong. And I talked with Mia on my way down here, the samples you guys took from her nails, matches our dead suspect. Only his DNA found on her."

Nick looked up, eyes suddenly sharp, "And the suspect?"

"Sophia is still looking into it," Catherine couldn't look the Texan in those hard brown eyes for long, "He has a clean record, no hits on anything. And with such a common last name, might be a bit before locating family."

Whatever wind was left in their sails, was now completely gone. It was going no where fast. Grissom could see his team slump downward, losing any hope of getting this thing solved quickly. He knew what he had to do.

"Alright. We're not thinking with clear heads anymore. I want everyone gone, at home, for a minimum of twelve hours. Sleep, eat. When you get back, then we'll look at this all again, new perspective."

Only Sara seemed ready to fight the suggestion. Everyone else looked extremely relieved at the idea. Nick was the first on his feet, "Alright. See you all next shift."

He didn't wait for anyone else, feet moving him into the hallway quicker than he thought possible. His entire being yearned for the cool sheets of his bed. Nick kept his head down and moved along through the throngs of people in the hallway. He was forced to close his eyes when he pushed open the lab doors and stepped out into the sunlight.

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

Getting told to go home and take a nap during a case like the one we had should have been something I protested. Hell, I'd done it in the past. Almost got into it with Catherine once about being pulled off a high profile case.

But I just got up and left. Didn't say much, just walked out. And it was one of those autopilot things. Truck just knew the roads to take, which turns I needed. Cause I sure as hell wasn't paying much attention to what I was doing.

Being a CSI, you learn the different levels of tired. Sure, I thought I knew about insomnia and exhaustion from college. Those nights of partying, studying, and just being an ass. Not too much sleep during most of those years. But this was all new.

Working graveyard had taken a little getting used to. Sleeping with the sun out wasn't something encouraged by my father. There was too much work to do to sleep the day away. And if my brother or I were caught doing it, unless we were ill, then man, did we hear it. Mom always stood up for the girls, but not us. We were boys and under our father's rules more so.

But, like everything that came with moving to Las Vegas, I adapted, got used to the new schedule. In fact, it seemed to be the best thing at first. The nights were cooler, smoother. And the people I started to work with at the crime lab weren't bad people to work with. In fact, now they are some of the best people I know.

I got blackout curtains, heavy shades. Even got a fan in the room to help circulate the warmer air. Being awake at night was nothing after a few weeks. Took to it like a fish.

Then came the promotions, the advancements. Suddenly, there were doubles, triples. Staying awake for more than twenty four hours, keeping the game face on for all of it. That's when I learned the new levels of being tired.

Insomnia wasn't something you could call it. Hell, when I was allowed to sleep, I took it. Didn't matter anymore whether it was the sun or the moon in the sky. Sleep wasn't something I used to take for granted.

Then the nightmares had begun. But I don't have to write those down in this notebook. I live them almost every time I shut my eyes now. Some are new, some are old. Old monsters coming to play with new haunts. Yeah, it's messed up, but what the hell can I do.

I take the damn pills, listen to the doctors the best I can, but it really doesn't make a difference. I learned a long time ago that sometimes you just had to suck it up and take whatever got thrown at you. And now, it's a struggle, yes, but I'm doing it. On some level of my own terms.

So, when Grissom told me to go home, drop the case that I had seen a part of with my own eyes, I didn't fight. I went home. I slept. Not well, but I slept.

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

It was always a phone that seemed to wake him up before his alarm clock. Nick slowly opened his eyes, caked with sleep. His slight stubble scratched at the pillow top, sounding loud in his ears. At first, he couldn't figure out what woke him up.

The noise had stopped. It was quiet in his room. The darkness was soothing for his sore eyes, but he wanted to see what woke him. Nick fumbled for the lamp next to his bed. It lit quickly with a flip of the tiny knob up by the bulb.

Nothing was in his room. Nick's face crinkled up in confusion. Something had woken him up. He had heard something. It took a couple of seconds for his brain to sort through the fog and make the connection to the phone.

He groped around the top of the bedside table looking for the phone he had placed there. But found nothing. Nick lifted his head, resting his upper body weight on his right elbow as he looked down at the table with eyes only half open.

'Well, where I thought I left the damn thing.'

Nick yawned, his head slammed back down onto the softness of his pillow. It moved to cradle his head. But the damn light was still on. Nick turned his head away from it, but could still see a faint yellow tint through his eyelids from the offender. Groaning, he moved his body so he could turn it off.

The ringing started up again. It was just a boring ringtone. Not one of those custom ones. Just one he picked from the tiny selection the phone provider offered him. It was one of the least annoying ones he could find. And it was ringing from his pants.

Nick shook his head, trying to figure out why his phone was ringing from his pants when he was sure he had placed it on the table by his head. He pushed his form upright, swaying a little as the room spun. Shaking his head, he tried to shake the remains of sleep from his brain. It worked a little.

He walked over to where he had thrown the jeans before he collapsed into bed. The phone had stopped again. Nick wasn't moving fast enough to catch it as the person remained on the other line. A pop sounded from his back as he bent over to grab at the denim.

Searching the pockets, he found the phone in the front left one. He looked at the tiny screen in the front. Two missed calls. So he hadn't been deep enough asleep to miss more. Nick moved his fingers to flip it open, to see who had called him. He almost dropped the phone when it started to ring again.

Fumbling, Nick managed to get it open and up to his ear, "H'llo?"

"Nick? Hey, it's Sophia. I need you to meet up with Warrick and me here at the station."

Nick frowned and looked over at the clock on his dresser. He had only been off nine of the required twelve hours signed out by Grissom. "I can't. Grissom sent us home for twelve hours."

"Yeah, well, he needs to listen to his own rules then. He's been in the lab for about two hours now. Catherine not far behind. I just got off the phone with Warrick before I called you. You two are coming with me."

"Where to?"

"High Desert State Prison."

His jaw dropped a little, "Wha'? Why there?"

"Well, seems Mia was on a roll tonight. She was able to find something with our suspect. And you'll never believe what. So I need you to get dressed and move it."

"What won't I believe?"

"Who his brother is. Now move," Sophia hung the phone up before Nick could even blink.

He stood, looking down at the phone in his hand. Nick didn't even know what to think about that last comment. Looking around the room, he tried to figure out why they were being called in already. Sleep still clouded his head. And he really wished he could stay in bed.

TBC…