A/N: Unfortunately, I own nothing but the idea for this story.
Hope everyone enjoys it. As always, thanks to all of my loyal fans and to everyone who's read any of my stories, especially those who have reviewed them. :)
Time and Again
Prologue
July, 1999
Nick Stokes wasn't sure what had awakened him. It was one of those rare occasions when he was able to sleep during the night, instead of during the day, but he didn't think his waking had anything to do with the change in his sleep schedule.
The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and a sudden feeling that he wasn't alone in the room stole over him, causing him to move his hand towards his night stand, and the department issued Glock he kept there when he was sleeping. The feeling past almost as quickly as it had come – though it took several minutes, and flooding the room with light from the lamp on his night stand, to get the hairs to lay flat again.
Retrieving his Glock, he rose from the bed. He deftly flicked the safety off and chambered a round, then took the weapon in a two handed grip. Pointing the gun towards the floor in front of him, he began to move through the house – clothed only in a pair of nearly thread bare sweat pants with the Texas A&M logo nearly faded off on one leg – checking windows and doors, turning on lights as he went, ensuring everything was as it should be. When he was satisfied, he retraced his steps, extinguishing the majority of the lights as he went, until he was once again in his lonely bed.
As his eyelids slid closed over deep brown orbs, he couldn't help but think that something was coming that would change his life forever. He'd never been prone to psychic tendencies, but he couldn't seem to shake the feeling of certainty.
Just after Nick once more succumbed to sleep, the night sky was lit up by an unnatural display of lightning, followed by a deep rumbling thunder so low in octave it was more felt in the bones than heard.
The thunder finally fading away, Nick rolled to his side, facing the vacant half of his bed. His brow furrowed in his sleep, and one hand reached out, as though for someone who should have been there but wasn't. To anyone listening, the faint sound that escaped his mouth might have been Greg, though it just as easily could have been a nonsensical word any sleep talker might have mumbled. If asked about it while awake, Nick would have denied sleep talking, or knowing anyone named Greg.
By morning, the previous night's events seemed to be just part of a half remembered dream.
~~~CSI~~~
July, 1942
Pressing his chest and cheek against the wall as much as he could, Greg Sandler wished he could just melt through it. Grunts from the man pressed against his back – along with the slap of skin on skin – reverberated off the tile of the men's bathroom. This had happened so many times now, Greg knew there would be only a minimal of blood, but it still hurt terribly.
Not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of voicing whimpers of pain, Greg bit his lower lip, hard.
One final grunt signaled the release of the man behind him. Then Greg was left to slide down the wall, as the man pulled out of him roughly.
Squeezing his eyes tightly closed, Greg just huddled on the floor, afraid to move. The water was run for a minute, then he heard a zipper and the metallic sounds of a belt buckle being secured.
Before the door was opened, Greg heard, "Don't you have work to do, boy!" followed by a harsh, hardhearted laugh.
Unable to bring himself to care if he got into trouble and was punished, Greg just mumbled resignedly, "Yes. Right away."
As the door finally closed with the man's departure, Greg allowed a sob to escape his throat. It was quickly silenced, but the tears were harder to halt. Climbing gingerly to his feet, he grabbed a few paper towels and wet them to clean himself up, before pulling his trousers back up.
Looking into the mirror above the sink, he did his best to ensure there were no signs that he'd been crying, but didn't meet his own caramel colored eyes. He knew he had to escape soon, or he'd become broken, as so many others had. He was pretty sure his usefulness was coming to an end, anyway. They had promised him his freedom, for his cooperation, but he had figured out pretty quickly that the words were empty. As soon as they had no more need of him, they'd kill him, like all the rest.
There had been a time when Greg had been a highly respected man in Germany. He held dual doctorates in chemistry and physics. He had planned to use his genius to change the world for the better for all. Now he was being forced to use his genius to change the world for a select few. All because was the wrong religion, and had the wrong hair and eye color.
He had a plan for escaping, though.