I know I should probably pace myself and build up some suspense or something, but I just write as it comes to me and post when I'm satisfied enough with it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

--

The hours before Nick's shift were a premonition of the rest of Nick's night. The air was pregnant with it, so thick he could hardly draw in a full breath. It left a bad taste in his mouth and an even worse feeling in his stomach.

It all started when the alarm went off. Well it may have started before that, but Nick couldn't be sure, since he had -- briefly, thankfully, finally -- been sleeping. His feet hit the floor as he stepped out of bed, but instead of finding plush, beige carpet, they hit something cold and sharp.

"Fuck!" he shouted, lifting his foot as fast as possible. It was too late, blood hit the floor in dark red drops, and when he saw the culprit he cursed again, but this time at himself. Last night's late snack, half-eaten and still lying by the bed, fork covered in blood. Let it go. Move on, it's just a cut. A tiny, throbbing, mean cut.

"Let it go."

Bathroom. Just get to the bathroom. He hopped clumsily across the room, grabbing his toothbrush and shoving it into his mouth, taking the toothpaste and opening the cap. Squeezing the tube and...

"Fuck!" When had he run out? Whatever, whatever. Let it go, let it go. He'd brush his teeth when he got to work. Greg always had spare toothpaste in his locker. Nick had used it before, halfway through a long shift while thanking God that Greg was such a clean-freak.

Oh, yeah, he remembered. He was sure asking Greg for anything right now would go over well.

Don't think about that. Don't think about Greg. Just think about the nice hot shower that's waiting.

The shower was nice and the water was definitely hot. It felt wonderful against his aching muscles. The lack of sleep he'd been having over the past few days was starting to weigh his body down physically now, but at least he could have this slight bit of reprieve. He began to soap up his body and hair when he felt a shock of ice hit his body.

No. No, no, no, no -- "No!"

Why was this happening to him, he asked, looking up at the Heavens. Why? What had he done to deserve this? What had he honestly done to --

As if to mock him for asking a question so dumb, the water stopped. Just like that, it just...stopped. He pulled his lips into his mouth and bit down, nodding. Okay. Okay, he got it. He was a jerk and God didn't like ugly and he got it. Now could he please just have his hot water back?

Not even a drop came from the shower-head. He supposed he got his answer.

--

Nick entered the doors of the crime lab feeling sticky and gross despite the fact that he was covered in soap from this evening's failed shower. He'd used a bottle of water he'd had left in the fridge to rinse off as best he could. What was worse was the bottle of gatorade he'd had to use brush his teeth with. He was fairly positive that orange and mint were the most awful combination known to man.

He was relieved when the moment he walked in, Catherine was shoving a case file into his hands. She had worked the swing shift that day and was eager to get the Hell out of here, and Nick was just as eager to work a scene and avoid Greg Sanders for a few hours, possibly all night if he played his cards right.

"So what is this about?" he asked, moving to the side of the hall to allow others to pass. He eyed the address and frowned. "This is a nice part of town. Kind of out of the way, though."

"Ecklie wants us on the case," she replied. "The father is a judge. He's missing and the daughter and wife are dead. They were stabbed to death in the middle of the night. Grissom's already there, the bodies are being processed now. By the time you get there, all you'll need to do is work the scene."

"You got it," he said, ready to grab his gear and run before --

"Hey, Sanders!" she called, and Nick sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, trying to remain impassive, but Catherine saw his face, ever perceptive, and it showed on her own.

"What's up?" Greg's voice, as he approached them. If only the young man had been just five minutes late, but of course the kiss-ass never was. God forbid. He stood next to Nick but didn't regard him whatsoever, crossing his arms over his chest and standing at least two feet away from him.

Catherine looked at the two of them for one second too long, her eyes narrowed. "Uh...I have a scene I need you to process. You can ride in with Nick." She paused, waiting for a response, but there was none from either man. "Okay?"

"I have a lot of work to catch up on," Greg blurted out, too fast. One hand was on the nape of his neck, eyes downcast. Nick fought the urge to roll his eyes. The junior CSI would never pass up the chance to get out onto the field after working so hard to get there. Not only that, but he was a terrible liar. "Are you sure you can't get someone else to go?"

"No," Catherine said firmly, her expression showing her exasperation. "Bye."

She left as abruptly as her farewell, leaving Nick and Greg standing alone in the hall. Older man glanced at the younger, whose jaw was set as he stared at the empty space Catherine had occupied only moments earlier.

"I'll get my gear and -- "

"Whatever," Greg interrupted, still not meeting Nick's gaze. "See you at the car."

Nick looked up once more at the Heavens as Greg walked away, but this time, he didn't ask dumb questions. Instead, he expelled stale air from his lungs, trying to keep his cool. Great. A forty-five minute drive to the outskirts of Vegas was going to be fun. He could feel it.

--

Nick had always thought the phrase "the silence was deafening" was pretty lame. Since spending time in a tiny glass box six feet underground, he realized that that phrase made sense in certain situations. For example: spending twenty minutes of complete silence on the way to a crime scene with one Greg Sanders. Perfect fit. And if that wasn't enough, Greg was fidgeting like a five-year-old. Nick had always had a hard time believing that Greg could sit still, and now he had been proven right.

As if reading Nick's thoughts, which Nick could swear Greg could actually do sometimes, Greg looked at the radio. "Don't you listen to music while you drive?"

"Yes," Nick replied slowly, watching Greg in his peripheral. The young man didn't hesitate before flicking on the radio with almost a flourish. His fingers constantly moved over the buttons, pulling a face as he heard almost nothing but country in the pre-set channels. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" he asked, almost defiant.

"Mess with a man's radio."

The message went unheeded as Greg settled on a rock station, something indie playing that Nick wasn't familiar with. Greg sat back in his seat, satisfied for the time being as a mellow song drifted from the speakers, a female's breathy voice floating through the air and surrounding them. It was surprising, but Nick...actually...kind of...liked it.

"From that cloud, number nine...

Danger starts the sharp incline...

And such sad regrets...

Oh, as those starry skies...

As they swiftly fall, make no mistake...

You shan't escape...

Tethered and tied, there's nowhere to hide...from me...

All mine...you have to be..."

"Who is this?" Nick asked, intrigued. Was there really something else besides country and classic rock music?

"Portishead," Greg replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Didn't know what real music sounded like, huh?"

"Whatever, man," he said with a smirk, allowing the station to play through until the end of their drive, and the silence was almost comfortable. Almost. When they arrived at the crime scene, Nick flashed his badge at the police and drove to the front of the house. He parked the SUV at the curb behind Grissom's, his eyes traveling over the flashing lights, red and blue flowing over the neighboring houses like waves. Greg's hand was grabbing the car door when Nick put a hand on his arm, feeling the same heat he felt when he would push him up against the SUV. "Greg, listen," he began, but when Greg's eyes met his, he lost all words.

"What?" Greg asked, but Nick's vocabulary had shrunk in significant size as he wondered what Greg saw through those large brown eyes. He wondered if he was even handsome anymore to the younger man, or if the ugly inside of Nick was now reflected on the outside.

Breaking Nick's contemplation, Greg pulled his arm out of his grasp, narrowing his eyes. "That's what I thought," he said quietly, but his words were edged with anger. He stepped out of the car, and Nick could swear he heard him call him a jerk, but maybe it was the voice inside of Nick's head. He sighed, stepping out of the car himself and grabbing up his gear before heading up the front path to the house into the open door.

It was a large house and still dark, dimly lit as it had been when first entered by the police. They always left everything as they'd found it, even the lights, because they liked to see it as the killer saw it. Flashlights helped focus on small areas at a time, assuring that nothing was missed. Several eyes in one area, several points of view, several ways to see the same scene. It was clockwork, it was precise, it was the way they felt best to catch a murderer, and hopefully it would this time too.

"Hey, Nick," he heard, and didn't have to look up to know it was his boss. "You guys made good time. The bodies were just sent to the morgue. I'm going to hang around a little longer to help process the scene. It's a big house."

"Thanks, Gris," he said, his flashlight landing on the stairs, climbing up. "Where were they found?"

"The mother was found in bed," he replied. "She was shot. So was the daughter, in the hall. I think Mom was asleep, and the daughter came out of her room when the gunshot woke her."

"Any sign of a break in?" Nick asked, his brow furrowed.

"No. The doors were locked when the police came," he stated, indicating the busted frame of the entrance. "One of the neighbors heard the shots and called the police."

"Any sign of Dad?"

"No, either," was the reply he received. "I'm going to finish the kitchen."

"I'll head upstairs."

He made his way into the bedroom, finding a pool of blood on the bed and on the floor. He could almost imagine the gun, hear the blast and see the flash of bright light as it fired. She screamed and scrambled from the bed to find something, anything, to help her, but it was too late. She hit the floor and her breath was escaping her as blood filled her lungs, and her screams became quieter and quieter until she drowned, until she was still. He blinked as he focused on the floor again, her image vanishing before him as quickly as it had appeared.

Later. It was going to take a lot of work to get through the murder scene, and he needed something simpler first. So instead, he stepped into the large bathroom, his eyes traveling over the countertop. Make up, hairspray, perfume. On the other side, next to the other sink: hair products, cologne, deodorant. Perfect his and hers.

He caught another flashlight heading his way in the large mirror in front of him. Greg walked in slowly and carefully, his eyes meeting Nick's in the mirror for only a brief second before they cast back to the ground, up the wall and to an abstract wooden figure hanging there. Nick watched him as he pretended to examine the sink, watched as Greg's brow furrowed and his lips pouted in the way they did when he was puzzled.

"What is that?" Greg asked, and Nick knew he couldn't help it because he was pretty sure Greg didn't want to talk to him right now. "I mean, it kind of looks like a person, but maybe it's a..." Another pout. "A frog? Is that a frog?"

"The scene, Greg," Nick reminded him, smiling, and maybe if he, himself, had been paying attention to it, he would've seen it coming. There was a movement in the mirror, from the double closet doors behind him and beside Greg. Subtle, but there, and by the time Nick noticed it was too late.

They exploded outwards, one door clattering against the wall loudly, the other hitting Greg in his shoulder. He cried out, half in surprise and half in pain, turning his body towards the blow but he shouldn't have. Nick reached for his gun with one hand, reaching out for Greg with the other, but the man that had been hiding in the closet reached him first. Grabbed his vest with one hand, pulling him close, spinning him around at rapid speed, and Nick couldn't seem to move in anything except slow motion. The man pulled Greg close, Greg's back to his chest, wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed the gun to his temple. Brown eyes focused on Nick, filled with a sort of fear he'd never seen before, and almost immediately Nick lowered his gun, not knowing what else to do. Greg's breath was hard and erratic, audible in short quick bursts.

"What are you doing in my house?" the man asked, his eyes shifting, and Nick wondered if he was able to focus. There was a wound on the right side of his head, blood sticking in his hair and to his shirt. Blood on his hands and on the gun pointing to Greg's head. "I asked you a question!"

"Judge Walker, we're from the crime lab," he stated, as calmly as he could as he recognized the public official. He was trying not to look at Greg, into those eyes, but it was hard not to. They were pleading with him, begging him to do anything to stop this. He was trying, Greg. He was trying. "I'm Nick Stokes and this is Greg Sanders. We're investigating your family's deaths."

"Deaths?" he asked, and Nick realized it might not have been the right thing to say at this moment in time. "What are you talking about? Where is my family!"

"Just put down the gun and we can talk about what happened," Nick said, and to his right he could see officers approaching, guns drawn. "Just put the gun down, Greg is here to help too."

"Who are these people?" he asked, stepping back, pulling Greg with him. "What are you doing in my house?"

"Sir, my name is Gil Grissom," said his boss from the entry to the bathroom. "You're holding one of my men hostage when we're only trying to help figure out what's going on, just like you are. Can you please let him go so we can talk?"

"Get out of my house," he demanded, quietly. Suddenly, he pulled the gun away from Greg's head and aimed at the floor, pulling the trigger and blasting a hole into the tile, shattering ceramic into the air in a loud burst. Greg's gasp was audible, a choked sob following. "Do you think I'm joking? I said get out of my house!"

Nick jumped back, his heart jumping into his throat at the same time. He watched Walker push the gun into Greg's hair once more, watched Greg wince as the hot muzzle touched his scalp. He could see Greg's lips move for a moment but there were no words, just eyes wild with terror and wet with hot tears threatening to fall.

"Judge Walker, you're hurt," Grissom continued, indicating the man's head. "You're confused and you aren't thinking straight. You wouldn't hurt an innocent man, would you? Greg's innocent. He's innocent."

"No," he replied slowly. "No, I wouldn't."

And then he was lowering his gun, letting up on his grip on Greg, enough for Greg to scramble towards Nick. Quickly, swiftly, police officers were flanking Walker, turning him around and pushing him up against the wall, cuffing him and pulling him down the hall. He heard Grissom shouting, asking why the place had been cleared when there was a man hiding in one of the closets with a handgun, the same man that had just held that same handgun to his CSI's head. Nick looked at Greg, his hands gripping the sink as he panted, eyes closed. He opened them and closed them again, pressing the back of a gloved hand against his mouth.

"Greg, get some air," Grissom ordered softly, his eyes just as soft as he watched Greg carefully. The young man nodded, taking in a shaky breath before heading down the stairs. "Nick, go with him."

"Yeah," he said simply, and then made his way outside of the house as quickly as he could without damaging the scene. He stepped into the night, looking to the left and then the right before catching Greg leaning against a tree across the street. He was touching his head, his face contorted in pain as he carefully smoothed down his hair over the wound. "Hey, Greggo."

"What?" was the terse reply he received. He stepped away from the tree, his hands in his vest pockets, but Nick saw the tremble in them before he could hide it.

"You're okay, man," he stated, and felt like he was not only telling Greg but also himself. He reached out to touch him, but Greg pulled away before he could lay a comforting hand on him. "It's all right, Greg."

"Shut up," he snapped, an obvious anger on his face. He paced, back and forth on the sidewalk. "I know I'm all right. There isn't a hole in my head, okay? I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Nick asked this time. "I can take you back, Grissom can -- "

"I said I'm fine!" he exclaimed, one of his trembling hands making an appearance to rub his eyes. "What do you care anyway? You don't like me, remember?"

Nick opened his mouth but the question surprised him to a degree that he couldn't find an answer for a moment. "Greg, I didn't mean it like that."

"You just meant that you don't like me," he stated, eyes glaring. Nick noticed the fear had not left them, rather anger had just been added to them. If he could focus on Nick's dislike of him, then he didn't have to think about the gun pressed to his head. "You think you're better than me because you were some great Texas jock that was popular and smart. Don't mess with Texas, right? Well, fuck Texas, and fuck you too!"

Nick pressed his fingers into his eyes for a moment, trying to keep track of Greg's train of thought, trying to remember that Greg was upset and momentarily traumatized.

"Greg, calm down," he said slowly, but he heard the exasperation in his own voice. He was sure Greg heard it too."

"Calm down? You want me to calm down?" Greg asked, grasping the wrought iron gate surrounding the neighbor's yard with both hands. "You tried to get me killed! Go ahead and tell some guy with a gun to my head that his whole family is dead, you jerk! You're a jerk!"

"I'm sorry, Greg, I didn't know what else to say!" he exclaimed, remembering the childlike fear in Greg's eyes, remembering the lame words spilling from his mouth clumsily. "I wasn't trying to get you killed. Greg, I know I told you I didn't like you but I didn't know you. The past few nights of hanging out with you, I really...I really liked them."

"Do you mean that?" he asked, quietly, and Nick felt almost sad that he had hurt Greg in such a way.

"Of course I mean it," he said. "If something happened to you just now I would've never been able to live with myself for treating you how I did."

"So that's what this is?" Greg asked, sneering at him. "You're just trying to get some kind of absolution? Well, forget it. You're not going to get it from me. The world doesn't revolve around you, Nick."

"Oh, go get off," Nick spat. "I've had enough of this snotty attitude from you. The world might not revolve around me, but it doesn't revolve around you either. I'm trying to apologize. I'm trying to tell you that if something had happened to you I would've regretted not giving you another chance. I really...I really like you."

Greg shot him a look that told Nick he wasn't exactly buying it.

"I mean it, Greg," he pleaded. "You're...are you really going to make me say it?"

"Yes," he answered, almost before Nick finished his sentence.

"You're interesting, okay? You're smart and you're weird and you're fun and you have so much to say and I can't stop listening because everything you say and do is interesting. It makes me nervous and it makes me jealous and it keeps me guessing and I like it. I like you."

There. He said it. And he waited. And waited. Watched Greg's tongue slide over his teeth, watched him bite his bottom lip, and Nick wanted to bite it too. Greg looked at him, eyes searching. "I don't have to work tomorrow."

And, while the admission was confusing, Nick said, "Neither do I."

"I know." Greg lowered his eyes, looked back up. The fear was replaced by something new, still fear but different. "Do you wanna...have another drink?"

"How about dinner?" Nick asked, touching Greg's arm and this time Greg let him. "My place, about eight o'clock tomorrow? I'll cook for you."

"Yeah," Greg said, a new emotion flooding his eyes, but this time Nick couldn't recognize it. "Sounds good. What should I bring?"

Nick paused for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Dessert."

--

To be continued.