A/N: Woohoo, another chapter! Rock. And this one's back up above 2000 words. Yay. Um...not too much to say about this one. Fairly self-explanitory, if you ask me. Just one thing: this chapter covers the span of two days instead of the usual one. Just so you know. Oh, and the line thing still doesn't work, so "CSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATIONCSI:CRIMESCENEINVESTIGATION" indicates a break in the chapter. Also, I don't own Grass Valley, CA. It is an actual place, though. So yay. Usual disclaimer applies. Onward, faithful ones!

Chapter Seven

"Oh-oh, Livin' on a prayer"

Nick strolled into the crime lab at eight o'clock that morning, whistling and sipping his coffee. He smiled at Judy before making his way to the break room to find Catherine, Warrick and Sara. "Morning, everyone," he said cheerfully as he slid into a seat.

Warrick gave him an appraising look and a small smile. "You look happy, man," he commented.

Shrugging and grinning, Nick said, "I went home, showered, changed, shaved, got some breakfast. Having hope changes your entire outlook on things."

Sara blinked at him, bleary-eyed. "Well, hope may be good, but it is certainly not helping us solve this. There is no connection between Vince Doziglia and Patrick O'Neil. As far as we can tell, they've never even met before."

Nick frowned. "There has to be a connection," he reminded her. "He wouldn't have fled if he hadn't written the note. We just have to find that connection." He sighed and leaned forward. "Walk me through his life. Maybe we can find something."

Sara sighed as well. "Alright…Vincento Giovanni Doziglia was born September 24, 1974 to Carmine and Juana Doziglia in New York City. Carmine wanted to name Vince after his father, Vincenzo Doziglia, but Juana wanted to name him after her father, Vicente Rodriguez. They compromised."

"Fascinating," said Catherine dryly, running a hand through her hair, "but I doubt the roots of Vincent's name are really going to help us."

Giving Cath a dirty look, Sara continued. "Carmine Doziglia died when Vince was 6, and that year Juana and Vince moved to LA. Juana worked three jobs to put Vince through school, and he got a full ride to UCLA in 1991."

"Wait, that's a year early," interjected Nick, frowning. "He skipped a grade?"

"Um, yeah," said Sara, checking the file. "He skipped fifth grade. At UCLA, he majored in chemical engineering with an emphasis on biochemistry. Apparently, they didn't have Biochemical engineering major at that time. Uh…he moved from LA to Grass Valley, California and lived there until he moved back to LA in 2001. He got a job with CaliTech in 1998, and commuted from Grass Valley to LA while he lived there. CaliTech went under in 2005, and Vince has since been working at a cosmetics company."

Nick nodded slowly, a crease in his forehead as he tried to remember where he had heard of Grass Valley. "Did you pull up the records on CaliTech?" he asked absently.

"We have them," said Catherine, "we just haven't had a chance to look at them." She looked closely at Nick. "What're you thinking, Nicky?"

He didn't answer right away. "I'm thinking six degrees of separation."

"Right," said Catherine, nodding. "We're all connected through six people. Vince may never have known the Senator, but he might've known someone close to the Senator." She frowned at Nick. "But who do you think Vince knew?"

Nick smiled slowly. "Grass Valley is an awfully small town that's a little too far away from LA to make it a natural move for Vince if he had a job in LA. So what makes someone move away from their job?" He looked around at everyone's confused faces and grinned. "Because he moved with someone who grew up in Grass Valley, someone who wanted to move back home after graduating from UCLA."

"Who?" asked Warrick.

Nick smiled. "Marty Resner, the Senator's partner."

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Brass sat in the interrogation room and folded his hands in front of him, looking at the man across the table. Marty Resner didn't look any better than he had when Brass had interviewed him at the crime scene; if anything, he looked worse. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, ringed by dark circles that indicated lack of sleep. Brass cleared his throat. "Mr. Resner," he began, leaning forward. "We brought you in to ask you a few questions."

Marty looked at Nick warily as Nick paced behind Brass. "I've told you everything I know," he said hollowly.

Smiling disarmingly, Brass said, "We don't want to ask you about what happened on the day Senator O'Neil died. We want to ask you about when you lived in Grass Valley."

Frowning deeply, Marty shrugged, looking confused. "Sure, what do you want to know?"

Nick slid the file folder across the table to him, opened to Vince's picture. "Mr. Resner, do you know this man?"

Marty looked at the picture and shrugged again. "Sure. That's Vince, an ex-boyfriend. He and I lived together in Grass Valley until 2001, when I left him."

"If you don't mind me asking, why'd you leave him?" asked Nick, sitting down next to Brass at the table.

Marty sighed. "We wanted different things," he said quietly, staring off into the distance. "I wanted commitment. Vince was more committed to his job than me. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore, so I left. Two months later, I met Pat, and we've been together ever since."

Nick nodded once before asking, "Mr. Resner, after you and Vince split up, did he ever contact you?"

Nodding slowly, Marty said, "Yeah, a bunch of times when I first left. Then a couple of weeks ago, I got a letter from him, saying he wanted me back and he was sorry for everything he'd ever done." He paused and looked up at Nick, confusion on his face. "Why, what's this about? Did Vince have something to do with Pat's death?"

Nick and Brass exchanged looks. "Marty," said Nick gently, "we believe Vince sent Patrick a threatening note laced with poison. And you may have just given us the reason why."

Marty looked pale. "He killed Pat because he thought with Pat dead, I'd go back to him," he said quietly, eyes filling with tears.

Suddenly, Nick's beeper went off. He looked at it and said in undertones to Brass, "I gotta go. They found something. Marty can go."

He left and Brass turned back to Marty. "Mr. Resner, you're free to go," he said gently.

Marty looked up at him, eyes wet. "Why did you tell me this?" he asked. "According to the news, you haven't even ruled this a homicide yet. There's something you're not telling me, and I want to know." He paused before adding softly, "I have a right to know."

Brass sighed deeply. "You're right," he said. "You do have a right to know. The poison from the letter was accidentally ingested by one of our CSIs. We're trying to track down Vince, who has the antidote, before our CSI dies as well."

Marty paled even more. "He's dying?" he asked more to himself than Brass. Abruptly, he stood, eyes wide. "This is all my fault," he muttered. "All my fault." He looked at Brass, determination on his face. "I have to fix this," he said, crossing to the door. "I have to make this right before it's too late."

"Mr. Resner!" Brass called after him. "Marty, wait!"

Marty paid no attention as he strode from the police station. Brass sighed. He hoped Marty wasn't going to do anything stupid.

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Nick walked toward the break room. "Hey, Warrick," he called, frowning. "I was in the middle of something. What was so important that you couldn't tell me on the phone?"

"This," said Warrick smugly. "Vince worked for a highly secretive branch of CaliTech developing potential biological weapons for the United States Military, the same branch that initially developed the formula for Solution X. However, CaliTech was bought out by BioTech before they could produce the solution, and Vince and everyone working on it got canned."

.Nick stared at him, amazed. "That's great," he said, grinning. "BioTech cost him both his relationship and his job. He must really hate them. And he knew what the solution was for and how to use it."

"There's more," said Catherine, grinning as well. "Vince is currently dating a BioTech security guard named Brian Novak, the only security guard who happened to be working on the night the solution was stolen."

Nick smiled fiercely. "Let's bring him in."

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Greg groaned and tossed his cards down onto the examining table in the morgue that he and Doc Robbins were using for cards. "Doc, how are you so good at Pinochle?"

Doc Robbins smiled as he totaled their scores. "My grandmother taught me when I was little. Excellent woman, my grandmother. Anyway, final score is 135 to 19." He looked over his glasses at Greg. "Good news is, you didn't finish in the hole."

"Yeah, for all the good it did me," said Greg sullenly. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "So, have you got any other games to teach me that your dear, sweet granny taught you?"

"Sure, I could teach you—" started Doc Robbins, but he stopped when Greg started shaking.

Swallowing hard, Greg waved his hand at Doc to signal him to go on. "Don't…stop…just…cuz…I'm…shaking," he stammered, crossing his arms tightly in front of him.

Doc blinked and nodded once. "Anyway, I was thinking I could teach you Euchre. It's similar to Pinochle, so it shouldn't be that hard."

Greg nodded once. "Just…give…me…a…second…to…stop….shaking." Suddenly, he cried out in pain, arms tightening around himself. "Doc…it hurts! Do…something!"

Doc Robbins quickly helped Greg onto one of the tables. "Greg I need you to stay calm. Your serotonin levels are being affected by the poison, and that's why you're in pain. We got a morphine drip from the hospital, but I need you to stay calm so I can put it in, alright?"

Nodding quickly, Greg took deep breaths and tried his hardest to calm down, biting his lip to keep from crying out. Doc Robbins limped over to his desk as fast as he could to grab the morphine drip. He rushed back to Greg and grabbed his arm to look for a vein. "It's been a few years since I've done this, sorry," he said as he poked Greg with the needle. "Dead guys don't need IVs."

He finally found a vein and got it in, and then looked around for an IV stand. When he came up empty, he improvised with the coat rack from his office. "There," he said, looking at Greg carefully. "The morphine should kick in shortly, and you'll probably fall asleep in a few moments."

Greg nodded, his eyes already closing. "Thank…you…" he whispered before he fell asleep.

Doc Robbins looked at the young man with open concern on his face. "Nick, hurry," he whispered, hoping that wherever Nick was, he heard him.

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It had been eight hours since the police had brought Brian Novak in, and he was refusing to talk. Nick sighed and drained his coffee, tossing the paper cup into the garbage can.

Sara sat down next to him, handing him another coffee. "Here, I thought you might need some more."

Nick took it and looked gratefully at her. "Thanks," he said, drinking half of it in one gulp. He sighed again. "Goddamn fifth amendment," he muttered darkly, glaring at the interrogation room.

Setting her hand on his, Sara asked quietly, "Did you get a hold of Greg?"

Slumping down in his seat, Nick shook his head wearily. "Doc said he was sleeping. He's on a morphine drip, so he'll be out for awhile." He looked up at Sara, pain in his eyes. "I should be there for him."

Sara just wordlessly squeezed his hand. "You're doing the best you can, Nicky," she whispered soothingly. Finishing her coffee, she stood and looked down at Nick. "Wanna take another crack at this guy?"

Nick stood as well. "Sure." They both went into the interrogation room. Sara sat down at the table while Nick remained standing. Fixing Brian with a piercing gaze, Nick asked dryly, "Ready to talk yet?"

Brian just glared at Nick. "Fuckin' pigs," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not telling you anything."

Sara leaned forward. "Look, all we want to know is where Vincent is. If you don't tell us, you'll go down for accessory to felony murder."

Shrugging, Brian tilted his chair back onto two legs. "And if I do tell you, I'll still get slammed with at the very least obstruction of justice. The way I see it, it's a lose-lose situation."

Nick was starting to get angry. "Mr. Novak, someone else was infected by that poison. A life is at stake here."

Brain rolled his eyes. "So what? Dude probably deserved it."

He had hardly finished getting the words out before Nick had crossed the floor in two strides, picking Brian up by his throat and slamming him against the wall, holding him by his throat. "You have no right to speak against him," snarled Nick, face only centimeters from Brain's, unrestrained fury leaping in his eyes and etched on his face. "His is better than you will ever know, and he doesn't deserve this."

As Brian squirmed and whimpered in Nick's grasp, a knock sounded on the door. Brass poked his head into the room, raising an eyebrow at Nick. "Am I interrupting something?"

Releasing Brian, Nick turned to face Brass. "No," he said calmly, eyes still dark with anger.

"Good," said Brass, still looking at Nick worriedly. "We found Vincent."

Sara stood excitedly, hope on her face. "You did? Where?"

Brass sighed. "At BioTech. He's holding the antidote and Thomas Wilson, the CEO, hostage."

Nick and Sara looked at each other. It was Nick who vocalized what they were both thinking. "Shit."

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A/N: Bit of a cliffie...sorry...