To Whom It May Concern

by duffshel

Sequel to Poisonous Fear. There’s evil once again in the city of sin. Whatever happens in Vegas…might just kill ya. Now Complete!

29. Chapter 29

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, Shooting Stars, Gum Drops, 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: Second to last chapter here! Almost over. Mostly a chapter with our two favorite guys so I think everyone will be happy. Do they live, do they die? Oh who cares! They're both in it for a good chunk! Anyways, last chapter should be up sometime over the week, pending on the fact that I survive through my four midterms this week. Enjoy!

Chapter 29:

The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.
The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference.
The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference.
And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.

-Elie Wiesel

Nick closed his eyes. For some reason, he didn't think he wanted to see the bullet. If he closed his eyes, he wouldn't be able to see it ripping through his skull, the pink brain matter. To his frozen mind, it made the most sense.

But then, so did something else. Something told him that he wasn't in a box or a tiny room. He was in a larger room and he wasn't alone. People were with him, waiting for something. But the reason for it was completely escaping him. And it was giving him sudden doubt in what he was doing. This was all wrong.

His eyes opened slowly. Nick could see something, but there were no hard edges. He could still feel the gun he had pressed against the underside of his chin, tightly held there by a locked hand. But he could feel the wear and tear on that hand. It was his highly unused hand. Nick wasn't a leftie and he didn't know how long he would be able to keep control of it. It also helped to remind him of the condition of his right arm.

The blue lips parted, a soft cry escaping. Something was different then his mind was telling him. He had done something, not by his choosing. And now he sat with a gun pressed against his chin. It was nothing really new to the CSI. He'd done such a thing before. But last time he had been saved. Nick knew that wouldn't happen this time. Deep down, he knew he was the one that was going to have to get out of this on his own.

Now the hand started to shake. It was hard to keep it into place. Unconsciously his index finger tightened on the trigger. The sounds the chamber made with such an action helped Nick to realize what he was about to do. He was about to put a bullet into his brain. And it was going to look like the other two he had seen. It wasn't something he wanted.

The gun began to lower. Something moved off to his right, a jerky sound. He could see the figure move a bit through the green haze covering him in the room. And from the shape and size, he was pretty sure it was a person.

All the joints in his arm creaked and strained as he lowered the freezing limb. It got about to the point where the gun was shoulder level, still pointed in his general direction. Nick couldn't get his finger off the trigger. It was locked into place. He could have sworn his body was settling into riga mortis before he was even dead.

Whatever was coming at him was getting bigger. From the walk, he knew the person, yet really didn't. Nick's mind slowly put the events together, trying to figure out what to do. He couldn't seem to do much. Everything was getting foggy. But he got that feeling that he wasn't even close to being safe.

"Now, now Nick. What are you trying to do? Have you forgotten what you wanted to do? Remember Nick. You are going to provide to destiny."

Something wrapped around his hand. His nerve endings barely registered the heat radiated off of it so he couldn't quite figure out that it was another hand. All Nick knew was that it was trying to force him to do something. It was pushing his arm, the gun back in the direction of his face. The smell of gun powder got steadily stronger.

"No," Nick wasn't even sure he made a sound, but it was enough for the force to stop for a moment.

"No? Whatever do you mean Nick? You asked me to help you do this. Why now stop? Let's go all the way. Trust me. I'm your friend."

The pushing was back. His hand, the gun were only centimeters from his quivering, blue chin. Nick grunted, trying to make his own muscles work and react to what was happening to him. It was a losing battle. He could feel the barrel touching the edge of the soft, dying flesh. The hand was relentless.

"It's going to be okay, Nick. Just trust me. This is the best thing. The best way."

It was back in place. Nick could almost feel the newest round of tears running down his cheeks. His left hand shook from the pressure he was trying to exert on it. But he didn't have the strength to move his body much on his own anymore. His feet felt like they weighed a ton and his right arm was completely useless. He was going to die.

"Oh, it's okay. This will be painless, quick. Hard to believe I'm offering you this, but it has to be done. Justice needs to be served and you'll do it by your own hand."

But Nick knew this wasn't right. His brain jumped started a little. Justice was something he worked with and this wasn't it. Slowly he lifted his eyes from the void he had been starring into towards where the voice was coming from. Blinking rapidly, he managed to get his eyes to focus better than before, but no where near perfect. But it was enough.

Nick whimpered as he took in the smirk on Tenner's face. This was Jacob Tenner forcing the gun under his chin, trying to make him pull the trigger. It was the man that tortured him, not once, not even twice, but three times now. And Nick couldn't fight back anymore.

It was harsh against the soft, saturated skin. The barrel was managing to slice into his gray flesh, the red blood a harsh contrast. There was a slight tickle from where it was running down his neck to soak into the collar of his shirt. Nick was worried that it felt cold to even his frozen skin.

He looked back at Tenner, those old eyes. They were chilling. Nick had dealt with the man in some of his worst moments, but some reason this was the worst he had ever seen him. And his hand was still over Nick's on the gun. He was shoving it upwards, hand hard.

Thinking hard and as fast as he was able, Nick tilted his head back slightly. It gave him a little leeway between him and the gun, but not a big enough one for his personal comfort. Making sure Tenner was looking him directly in the face, Nick tried to lift his right foot. It was harder than he would have thought. It seemed to barely get up off the ground. Someone had tied his entire gym onto his shoe laces. Nick couldn't get it to really do what he wanted. It was beyond frustrating. More tears came.

"Just pull the trigger Nick. So simple, nothing to it. Bliss awaits you. Nothing can touch you then, nothing at all. No ants, no dirt, no bullets. You'll be free."

Tenner released his hand, stepping back only one step. Nick tried to glare at him through watery eyes, only half succeeding. But he had more room to move now. Though it was going to have to be right on the money because now the man could see everything he was up to. Nick took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"That's it Nick. Just do it. So soon."

His blue lips parted, a soft breath releasing itself from his lungs. It was chilly against his teeth. Nick pulled in another deep breath, the air burning a hot path through his chest. He counted to three, another. This appeared to be making Tenner happy.

But Nick wasn't about to worry about that anymore. On his fifth inhale, he tensed whatever muscles that were obeying him. It didn't feel like many, but it was too late to go back now. He was going to have to do this if he wanted to survive. Well, longer anyways.

"Pull the trigger!" Tenner was getting impatient now, it was clear in his voice.

On his last countdown to one, Nick spurred his body into motion. Every fiber of his being protested these actions, but he wasn't about to sit there and take this any longer. Now it was his turn to make his own destiny even if it killed him.

His right leg jerked up, harder than planned due to the jerky movements. The solid foot connected with something, but he couldn't tell. All Nick knew was that it sent a wave of agony up into his body. But Tenner did shout out. Nick could almost see him go down to his one knee.

Pushing against the back of the chair, Nick got himself upright more. His spine crackled, but it held his weight. It was more work getting his hand and arm to move where he wanted them. The gun didn't want to leave its position under his chin. It had fired once and it wanted to do so again.

It was almost too heavy when it finally got suspended in the air. His fingers clung to it as best they could, but the barrel still pointed too far down. Nick gritted his teeth, splitting open his tongue in the process. Copper filled his mouth, draining down his throat. He gagged slightly, but in a twisted way it helped to clear out some of the fog. Not much, but enough for now.

He could see Tenner clutching at his leg. Nick had hit him hard, jamming out the older man's knee. But he didn't know that. All Nick could see was an opportunity. He could hear the cursing, the mumbled yells of the man, but wasn't able to decipher them all out. All he was worried about now was getting the gun to work in the way he wanted.

"Nick! Stop! You aren't supposed to do this!" Tenner ordered in a strained voice. He could see the Texan struggling against his own body and knew he had some time to get back to his feet. There was no way Nick was going to be able to do anything in his state. "Just stop. You can't do anything anyways. It's over. You're going to die anyways. Guess I'll just have to put that bullet in the back of your neck."

The gun lifted slightly. Nick turned his head slowly with the angle the gun took. He knew the aim sucked, but there wasn't too much he could do about it. All he could hope for was the thing did what he was seeing in the back of the murky waters that had taken over his brain. Coughing a little, he cleared out enough crap in his throat.

"Not today. Today I live," Nick croaked out, one word per minute it seemed to his own ears. But it was enough. He could see clearly the wide eyed look Tenner gave as he tried to lurch forward. The gun blasted, hard enough to thrown Nick hard back into the chair.

Nick closed his eyes, head thrown back as he gasped out his pain. The sound of the shot echoed around his head, pounded on his spinal cord. His shoulder seemed to have dropped even more, his right hand lower than humanly possible. But there were noises around him. He needed to pay more attention to it.

His eyes opened slowly through the crust to see what was happening around him. Two black figures dashed in front of him, cutting off any view he had of Tenner. Nick tried to aim the gun at them, but they both quickly ran off. Neither said a word or did a thing to the Texan. Both had decided to flee at that moment since there was nothing more they could or knew how to do. It was beyond both of them.

Curious through the blood in his mouth, Nick looked down towards the floor. Tenner had fallen on his back. The right side of his face was missing. All that was left was part of the top skull, part of the ear, and a gaping hole. Nick swallowed thickly the copper that had filled up on his tongue. That had been better than he ever had hoped for. But he had little time to celebrate.

Tearing his gaze off the dead man on the ground, Nick looked for the person he had forgotten about for a few moments there. All he could see of Warrick was the man's feet hanging over the edge of the chair. For some reason Warrick was on his back. Nick couldn't figure out why he was like that and didn't want to waste time looking for those answers. He needed to get him and get the hell out of there.

"'Rick. Hey!"

It was pathetically weak and slurred, heavy with exhaustion. Nick groaned, working at getting his body forward in the chair again. Pain caused white stars to appear in front of his eyes, but he chased it away with a blood chaser. His body balanced on the very end of the chair, swaying slightly to both sides. Now was the hard part.

Nick attempted to drop the gun from his hand. His fingers wouldn't open from around it. The index finger was stuck around the trigger. And he couldn't use his other hand to help. There was only one thing he could think of and he prayed it wouldn't take his head off. He brought the gun up a little, enough so he could reach his fingers with his lips. Cold flesh worked against cold flesh, but Nick's lips and teeth were able to get his fingers off the gun enough that it dropped down. The blood from his mouth left a pinkish tone on the grayness of his fingers. It ran down his chin.

He held his breath as it fell, but it didn't go off. It just clanged and settled. But his hand was mangles, fingers looking like crow's feet. He pushed it downward until he could barely feel the solidness of the chair. Nick used what power he could to get to his feet.

"Hey! Help!"

The other man didn't move, didn't respond. Nick started to feel the tendrils of panic seep their way up his body, clinging onto him like tentacles. His steps were short, jerky. Twice he almost fell flat on his face as he made his way to those feet hanging oddly in the air. Nick finally got close enough that he could see that Warrick's eyes were closed.

"War.r…rick?" His lips were almost closed, his vocal cords choked with emotions. It sounded strange to his own ears. A soft sob worked its way up his throat from the very bottom of his lungs. Nick couldn't tell if Warrick was dead or not. All he make out was that the other man's eyes were closed.

Closing his own eyes, Nick tried to sort out his thought, find those with Warrick in them. They flittered around, none really staying in place long enough for him to really look at them. He could see pictures of them forced to sit knee to knee, heard something that resembled an argument. Taking a deep,. Vibrating breath, Nick tried to remember why Warrick was down on the ground.

He ignored the tears streaming down his face. Nick couldn't feel them anyways. His body was shutting down one cell at a time. He soon wasn't about to feel much. Death was knocking and he was expecting a prompt answer.

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

A hang over was supposed to be more pleasant than this. He wasn't supposed to be cold and sure as hell, his head wasn't supposed to be pounding just in the back of the damn thing. Headaches were supposed to spread so he could kill them with excess amounts of ibuprofen. That's what he was used to. And he never had a pain in his leg before with one either.

Well, not that he could actually remember.

His nose crinkled up as he sniffed, taking in the chilly air. It smelled funny. There was no trace of soft woman's perfume, vanilla body wash. His aftershave scent wasn't present deep in the feathers of his pillows. No, his head wasn't even on a pillow.

Warrick groaned softly, his head rolling to the side. Whatever was causing the pain in the back of his head wasn't happy with the move and argued back at him. It earned another groan from the fallen man. Which was something else that Warrick suddenly realized.

Both of his feet were dangling in the air. And his arms suddenly reminded him that they were uncomfortably being crushed by the rest of his weight. Warrick tried to pull his arms out, but was brought up short by both facts that they were completely asleep and that his hands were being held together by something.

He opened his green eyes slowly, assaulted simultaneously by both darkness and light, "Shit."

It was soft, barely riding out of his mouth. But it echoed back to his ears and suddenly was enough to slam the situation deep into his brain. He had been shot, by Nick. He was on his back when Tenner was somewhere around him, doing who the hell knows what. Warrick tried to move, but didn't get far. His body wouldn't let him do much and he made out something that both relieved and scared him.

"Nick?"

The man that had become his best friend was standing by his side. But Nick's eyes were closed, dark lashes resting on the white skin. And his cheeks were wet. Warrick felt a tinge of worry, but also something of déjà vu. It had been like this before. Nick had been in trouble due to something, but had a chance to save Warrick. And it seemed that Nick was doing the same thing as he had done the last time Tenner fucked with them.

"Hey, Nick. You hear me?"

A gasp was his answer, those brown eyes jumping open almost too quickly. Nick looked completely panicked, lost. His eyes scanned around, his body almost crumpling in on itself. Warrick knew the man wasn't going to be able to stay on his feet for too much longer. They had to get the hell out of there.

"Nick, man. Where's Tenner?"

Both his own name and the name of the other man startled Nick enough to get him to look down and finally meet the gaze of Warrick. His pale tongue reached out to brush against sickly gray lips. Nick tasted a salty substance there, but didn't pay it any mind. Something had been asked of him and he needed to find the words.

"H.help."

Warrick nodded as best as he could in his position, "Yeah, man. Help, we need that. My head is killing me. Think I got a fucking concussion. But where's Tenner?"

"Help. De…dead. H.help."

Those were the only two words that Nick suddenly seemed to have the ability to say. He repeated them, getting slightly louder as he went, but not by much. Warrick groaned as it drummed into his brain, sending more waves of pain through his scalp. Yeah, he really wished for a hangover compared to this.

"Alright Nick. I think I get it. He's dead. Right now, I don't need to how to, just some help of my own. Then I'll help you. Okay?"

Nick looked unsure, swaying slightly against the soft breeze in the room. Looking over his friend, Warrick could see the Texan's shoulder was still messed up. If he didn't get it looked at soon, there was going to be some permanent damage to that arm and the nerves. But he could see Nick trying to think something out.

"Come on Nick. Need ya to get down here and help me up. Can't get my hands free and my leg is killing me. Then we can get out of here."

Nodding his head dramatically, Nick shuffled a little more towards him. Warrick was alarmed even more by the way Nick was walking. It was almost as if he couldn't lift either of his feet more than a couple millimeters. Nick wasn't long until he smashed his own skull into the floor.

"Alright, bro. I need you to kneel down slowly. Use my legs as a brace so you don't go down too quickly, alright? Just take your time."

"O.okay," Nick stuttered as he reached out with his left hand and clasped at Warrick's legs with it. The fingers didn't really open, but he was able to grab up some of the material. His knees buckled out on his anyways. Nick had no choice, but to go down.

Warrick gasped at the cold of Nick's hand. He could feel it go right through his jeans. And he could do nothing more than watch as Nick slammed hard down onto his knees. He bit his lower lip as Nick cried out in agony. From the look on the CSI's face, his entire body had felt that impact.

"Hey, you're good Nick. Just don't focus on it. Help me get my hands loose and we are out of here. Almost there man. Then we can get you that help and get the hell out of here."

Those claw like hands came at him. Warrick frowned at the action, not understanding what was going to happen. Both slammed into the side of his torso. Nick cried out at the action, but threw his weight into it the best he could. Warrick gave a cry of his own as he was thrown off his back, onto his side. His weight and the chair hit hard against the wound in his leg.

"Damn! Shit Nicky. Trying to kill me!" Warrick moaned through his pain.

Nick shook his head, blinked his eyes hard. It was getting harder and harder to focus. And everything hurt, yet didn't. It was an odd feeling and he was finding that he just didn't care all that much anymore. But the complaints from the man in front of him helped him to locate the ropes and start pawing at them with both useless hands.

"T.twist."

"Huh? What?" Warrick was unsure for a moment until he felt something hard and cold slam down hard onto his fingers, "Shit. Alright. Just had to say it. No need to hit."

Warrick started shifting his wrists around the best he could, ignoring the pain. It would be nothing once he was loose, which he could feel might be sometime soon. Nick was gaining on getting his frozen fingers locked in the tangles of rope. Between his movements and Warrick's, they were becoming loose enough that the loops were coming off.

"Almost there….Just….right there!" Warrick ripped is arms apart with as much flair as he could muster. The loss of the stable hold behind him sent him tumbling the short distance from the chair to the floor. He managed to get his arms in front of him to take most of the fall. Since they were asleep, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"Hey, way to go man. We're almost there. Just let me get to my feet and then we'll walk," Warrick grumbled into the floor as he worked on getting his knees under his body.

It was awkward, but he managed to get upright. His leg throbbed, but he made it move. Both arms began to tingle harshly as the nerve endings woke up with the rush of fresh blood to the areas. Warrick turned his eyes to look at Nick. The other man hadn't even tried to move from his knees.

"Nick? Can you get up?"

The other man didn't even lift his head. He was swaying. Warrick growled and rushed his body to his feet. The sudden change swarmed his head, small lights blurring his vision. Closing his eyes for a moment, Warrick got used to the fact he was standing after who knows how long. But the worry for Nick got him to forget about himself and open his eyes.

Nick hadn't moved. Warrick limped over to his left side and reached down to grab him hard around the upper arm. The flesh was cold. His clothes were still slightly wet.

"Nick. Come on. I'll help you, but I can't do this all on my own," Warrick bent his knees a little, most of his weight centered over his good leg. He pulled back, using his own body weight as leverage against the slightly smaller man. It worked to some degree, but it wasn't until Nick scrambled to get his own legs under him that he got to his feet.

Leaning heavily on Warrick, Nick could feel something different. It was almost painful. There was something scorching his skin. He hissed through his teeth, the cool breath hitting Warrick in the neck. Nick was forced to move. His feet barely moved.

Warrick wrapped one arm around Nick's waste, the other holding hard to his left arm. He spared a small glance at what was left of their tormentor. They shifted slowly, almost falling several times. It was a long journey, one Warrick wasn't ever interested in taking again.

There were several hallways in the building. And there was little light. It was hard to figure out where they were and where they had to go. Warrick knew that Nick had driven himself to that place. He only hoped that Tenner hadn't done anything to the truck.

Speaking of Tenner, "You kill him Nick?"

"Hmm?"

"Tenner. Did you kill him, man? I saw his head. You did that with the gun didn't you?"

"Hmm."

There was no question to it that time. It sounded like pure satisfaction. Warrick grinned a little, shifting his hold on his friend, "Gonna have to tell me that story. Want to hear that over several rounds of beer. Now, let's find where your fool self parked the truck."

Warrick could see an outline of something ahead of them. It looked like an orangish outlined rectangle in the darkness. He pushed them to it, his one hand letting go of Nick to reach out in front of him. The wood was solid under his hand. Warrick groped around for the handle. It clicked as it turned.

The light was fading outside. Warrick's mouth dropped as he realized it was almost time for a new night to fall. He didn't even want to really know how much time had passed. Not yet anyways. He pulled on Nick, moving them out into the cooling dusk.

Nick was leaning on him more and more. His frozen body was nothing more than dead weight. But Warrick could feel the cool breath on his overheated skin. And there was a slight tremor working its way into Nick. He had a feeling it was from his body heat working on the Texan. At least, he hoped.

"You know where the truck is?" Warrick asked, looking to their right first. Nothing. He turned to look the other way. The truck was about fifty feet away, in front of a white door. "Finally, something works for us. Now, just a little more walking, man. Then you can sit down."

It was hard, but he got them there. He was sure he had left a blood trail behind him. Warrick could feel the warm blood flowing out of his wound to soak into his soak and shoe. It was disgusting, but it could be worse. Warrick suddenly thought of something that might actually be, "You got the keys man?"

There was no noise or movement from Nick. Warrick reached over to grasp Nick's chin in his hand. Both eyes were closed. Nick had finally given in to it all. Panic made Warrick react, his hand sweeping down to feel Nick's pockets. The left one turned up empty, but there was a bulge in the right one. Wriggling his fingers in the denim, Warrick smiled when he felt metal.

"Man, didn't even take these from you did he. Glad the guy wasn't all there to think of something like that."

The keys clinked as he pulled them free. Pushing the lock release, the truck chirped happily at him. Warrick nodded and shifted Nick over to the rear door on the driver's side. He wasn't going to try to get the man around the truck. This was good enough. He managed to pull the door open, only slightly losing his hold on Nick.

"No more burritos for you after this, man. This isn't any sort of picnic let me tell ya," Warrick grunted as he got Nick up and into the rear seat. The man fell onto his side and Warrick quickly turned Nick so he was more on his back, off the injured shoulder. He didn't know a whole lot about dislocations, but he had a feeling sleeping on one was a bad thing.

The door closed loudly in his ears. Warrick got into the driver's seat, working the keys into the ignition. He reached over quickly and turned the heat on as high as it would go. The warm air hit his face. Warrick clamped both hands on the steering wheel.

Everything shifted in front of his eyes. It all hit him at once. His leg began to throb, bleeding the same as before. The wound to the back of his head pulsed. Warrick managed to tear one hand off the wheel and reached back to the back of his head. His hair was wet and sticky.

He suddenly felt very tired. Warrick wanted nothing more than to take a nap. His sore green eyes looked out the driver's window. He couldn't see much other than desert with a haze of lights in the distance. A nap was sounding better than ever. Both eyelids began to shift down. As did his foot which kicked something small.

Warrick's lips puckered out a little. Curious suddenly, he reached down and felt around on the floor. His fingertips came into contact with something smooth, small. Yawning, he managed to grasp it and brought it up around the seat so he could see it. It was Nick's phone.

Becoming slightly more alert, Warrick flipped it open, speed dialing. He shifted it up towards his ear, his other hand reaching for the shifter. The truck went out of park into drive. Warrick had to drive with care not to move his injured leg too much. There was a ringing in the phone. A pick up.

"Nick!" Grissom's voice filled out of the speaker into the truck.

Licking at his dry lips, Warrick smiled and depressed the gas petal harder, "Gris. Need help. Injured. Hypothermia."

"Warrick? Where are you? Is Nick with you?"

"Yes. Help. Driving to Vegas. Meet us. Ambulance. Hypothermia."

"Both of you?" Grissom asked. Warrick could hear him yelling at people, others yelling back at him over the phone. He recognized those voices. A small smile came to his lips.

"Nick. Gonna die."

"No, neither of you are going to die. Just keep driving. Do you know about where you are?"

Warrick shifted his gaze around through the glass a little. He had never seen this stuff before. Or he just couldn't remember if he had right then. "No, but I can see the lights. On a dirt road. Far."

"Alright. You keep driving. Brass is getting ready. I'll be coming with him. You stay on the phone and as soon as you see something you know, you tell me. We'll be there with help. You hear me!"

"Sure thing boss," Warrick mumbled around a yawn. He was so tired and wanted to just rest his eyes. But he kept them open, plowing his way towards Vegas. There were lights in the sky.

"I see planes."

"Airplanes? You're by the airport?"

"Lights in the sky. Getting lower. Dirt road."

There was some muffled conversation on the other end. Warrick made the truck go faster. It jumped and bounced hard, but he wasn't about to slow down. Vegas was almost there. Help was coming. That's all his tired mind could think of now. All the adrenaline from the stress was wearing off and Warrick was running on empty. His fear for Nick's life kept him driving.

It was a long time before he saw several headlights coming at him. There were flashing red and blue lights along with them. Warrick's head pounded at the sight of them, but his heart felt lighter. He managed to come to a stop, put the car into park. The lights were getting closer.

Warrick felt his eyes close, his head falling forward. It collided softly with the steering wheel. His ears took in the sound of gravel flying under screeching tires. People were shouting, yelling around at each other. All the doors of the truck were thrown open. A hand rested on his neck, a whisper in his ear, "You're going to be okay. Just hang in there."

"Nick?" It was mumbled out of the side of his mouth, but the hand squeezed at the skin of his neck. He barely heard Catherine tell him help was there and Nick was going to get as much help as he needed. Warrick simply let himself give in.

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

No one spoke. It was quiet in the waiting room. Even the hospital staff seemed to know something was up and they didn't bother to make more noise than was needed. It was still too early to tell right now. Everyone could only sit there and wait.

Catherine patted her fingers against her lips as she ran through the events that had led her into that same room as before. At least this time she wasn't going to have to worry about Nick getting out that place without her seeing him doing it. The man would be lucky to make it out of there at all if what the doctors had been saying was anything to go by.

Day shift had picked up the warehouse on the commands of Ecklie. He hadn't said more than a few sentences to Grissom over the phone, telling him that graveyard was off for the next twenty hour time period. No one complained. It was the very least the man could offer than after everything. Catherine knew she would have taken it no matter what the lab supervisor had said.

But her body trembled a little as she thought about the condition they had found the guys in. It hadn't been long before their train of cars and ambulances had found the SUV. She was surprised at how little each was actually injured, but could tell things were really wrong.

Nick's skin had been freezing to the touch, yet had a damp feeling to it. Every inch of his skin was almost a perfect shade of gray. He hadn't responded to anything anyone did or said to him. And he was completely swarmed with guys in white uniforms.

So Catherine had taken her place at Warrick's side. She noticed right away the differently dilated pupils. Warrick had a pretty bad concussion from the looks of it and she almost screamed when his eyes closed and his head drooped to the side. But a paramedic was there and gently moved her away. Through the hustle she had only been able to make out small pieces of her two guys. Now they were behind some doors that they couldn't go through.

The four police detectives had split up, two coming with to the hospital, two going to the warehouse to figure out what had happened. Brass and Vartann stood off the side, whispering amongst themselves. Each was waiting for their phone to ring with the good or bad news. They all wanted to know the same thing. Was Tenner still there?

It was going to be a long process ahead of them. The families of the girls would have to be re-contacted with the new information. Catherine could only hope there would be someone for them to face in trial, someone to pay for what happened to their children. Having Shaun would help, but having Tenner would be even better.

A tall nurse ran from the rooms that Warrick and Nick were being held in. Her pace was quick, her eyes staying away from the people she knew would be watching her. She grabbed something from a different room before sprinting back. When the door opened and shut behind her, there was beeping. It was a good thing to hear. Beeping in a hospital meant life.

Greg shifted at her side. He had taken the chair on her left and hadn't moved since they had gotten there. His upper arm and thigh rested against her own, a sign he needed some physical contact, comfort. Catherine wasn't about to deny him that. She needed some of her own as well.

She lifted her eyes and sought out Grissom and Sara. They were sitting slightly off to the side, away from the main walkway. Each was sitting straight in the respected chairs. Both sat next to each other, but there was no contact. Each was wrapped together in something of their own. And Catherine was too tired to try to figure out what each of them was doing.

The trill of Brass' phone made her look away. She watched as the detective reached down for his suit jacket that he had placed and the chair to pull out his phone. He answered it in a low tone, his head turned downward a bit. Vartann shifted his attention directly on the other man.

A hand grabbed hers tightly. Catherine tightened her own hold on Greg's hand, the free on reaching over to rest on top of the knot. Her breath stopped for a moment as she watched Brass' shoulders drop. There was no way to read his expression. It was that same frown that could mean good news or bad. She bit her tongue as Brass hung up his phone and looked at Vartann.

"Well?" Greg asked, voice louder than he intended.

Sighing, Brass turned to look at them, "They found Tenner. He's dead. Shot in the head at the scene. No one else present though there are signs of several people being there. Several cloaks were found in various sizes. It seems to be the place of his hide out. Well, until those two can tell us more about what happened there."

"So, it's over? Really over?" Greg asked, looking directly at Catherine.

She looked at the hopeful, young eyes. It brought out her maternal side and all she wanted to say was yes, that it was going to be okay now. But the CSI in her wouldn't let those words come out. She was tongue tied as she tried to figure out what to say. Catherine was saved by Grissom.

"Yes, it's over. It's all over."

No one bothered to say more. It sounded so clinical, so impersonal. Each knew it was far from over. It was going to be like before. Only this time, there were two CSI's that would need the help, not just one. And Catherine could only hoped they did a better job with their dealing of this situation compared to the last one. This time, they all would need some sort of help to get over this.

But, for the here and now, it was over. The nightmare was laid to rest and the boogey man was taking his eternal nap. Physically, they were free from his tortures, his menace. But like all good bad things that go bump in the dark, screams would continue to cut through the darkness of night. Fears would be back. Fear would be all consuming.

TBC…