Vega appeared when Warrick was battling the tiredness that seemed to have crept into his very bone structure, making his spine feel alien and stiff to him where he sat slumped on the chair. Aching to lie down and close his eyes to escape for a while. Guilty for even thinking that when his bud still hadn't come out of the exam room and certainly was not resting peacefully. So he battled the weariness with bleak and lukewarm coffee, Styrofoam cup after Styrofoam cup until his intestines screamed in protest.

But detective Sam Vega looked even worse. His and Warrick's Saturn rings were now in serious competition regarding darkness and girth.

He stopped in front of them, Warrick dejectedly thrown on a chair and Sofia leaned up against the wall, her eyes scanning the ER methodically.

"Seen Grissom around?" Vega asked, even his voice sounding drawn and worn out.

"Thought he was with you," Warrick remarked, wondering idly if the boss had forgotten to inform Vega and went on some solitary fact finding mission.

"He was but he went back to the lab with Sanders and some evidence. Where'd you get that coffee from?"

Warrick rose and stretched his legs, "I'll get you some, but I'm warning you, this stuff might be lethal. Take a chair and I'll bring you a dose of this venom they have the balls to call coffee in this place."

"Do I detect some bitterness?" Vega asked, managing a weak smile.

"It's more like burnt rubber actually," Warrick leered when he turned to walk the short distance to the vending machine of the beverage that really should be equipped with warning labels.

Returning with two more cups he immediately picked up on a sense of increased tension and graveness that had descended on the two remaining.

"What?" he asked, handing the cup to Vega with an alarmed glance inside the examination room; nothing seemed to have changed in there.

"I think you need to sit down," Sofia prodded, "this is bad news."

"Spill," Warrick ordered, his eyes still taking in the unaltered scene behind the windows.

Vega took a sip of the coffee and made a telling grimace. "Here's what we got so far. We lifted a print off the shredded glass from the bottle, and we now know that the hit man had ties to the Russian mob."

"Had?" Warrick asked confused.

"Cath was called out on a 419 earlier tonight. The fingerprints matched and the vic was killed execution style; a shot to the back of the neck with his own gun, probably retaliation for not fulfilling his murdering duties. He was left in front of out very own impound lot, dumped there as a warning. And the gun used was stolen in an B&E in at an officer of the 4th squad two years ago. Same gun that was fired at Nick in the alley, bullets match but gun's still missing.."

"Maybe we found our leak?" Warrick pointed out, turning his eyes to Vega as something akin to hope energized him.

"Except said officer was killed execution style in that same B&E, needless to add - execution style."

"Shit, I remember, the Nelson case. Hell, that one went cold in a week but IAB still has the case open, right? Something about him possibly being on the take?"

Vega watched him intently. "Yeah, see why IAB's not gonna lift your suspension after this piece of information's getting to them."

Warrick went cold as realization hit. He was a suspect himself, or at least likely to become one, just because he'd survived the attempt in the alley. The irony had him snorting with disbelief.

"We're keeping this all in the dark," Vega continued, "no evidence concerning this case will be logged into the system. The only ones concerned will be the graveyard and Sofia, Vartann, me and Brass. We're breaking every rule. And two of us will always be wherever Nick is."

"I'm really startin' to sport some serious paranoia here," Warrick ventured and Vega sighed tiredly.

"Welcome to the club. You know all those overdoses with heroine and roofies we've had lately is all but normal."

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, almost like old times."

"Roofies are flooding Vegas and the Russian mob is more than likely behind it." Sofia added thoughtfully. "That's probably what the FBI is investigating. It's like a couple of years ago but now roofies are put to calm the crooks instead of date-rape. A pop before the heist and you're cool as cucumber and ready to do just about anything. Suspicion is that the mob is hooking their cronies on it and will not charge for the benefit but they've got you by the balls."

"But why the secrecy?" Vega mumbled, rubbing his temples. "The Feds was flatly denying any operation until we identified the perp off Nick's photo."

"And somebody getting wind of that evidence before we release it just doesn't add up," Sofia remarked, "something's very off with this case."

"If it is that piece of evidence that is the key," Warrick pointed out, "it was probably something or someone Nick actually saw and they know he did. That's why he needs to die apparently."

"Mr. Stokes is stabilized but he can't have more than one visitor at the time," a voice announced from the door making them all jump.

The nurse looked surprised at their reaction and backed as three pairs of eyes moved like virtual weapons in her direction.

"I hope you have orders not to let just anybody in?" Sofia pointed out and crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed and pinned the nurse to her place.

"I have the list of allowed visitors," the nurse informed, shrinking a little at their intense stares. "I'd need to see IDs before I let you in."

Warrick had already made his way to the door and stopped long enough to flag the requested item. The nurse took it and made annotations to a form before handing it back with an insecure smile.

The paranoia must be painted on their faces, Warrick pondered as he walked the few steps up to the gurney and laid a hand on Nick's leg, just to feel him and reassure himself his bud was still there. Nick was pale and the tape closing his eyes for protection was back, as was the vent and the wheezing sound mingling in with the beeping.
Warrick had to swallow to rid himself of the all too familiar lump in his throat. This was far from over yet and Nick looked worse for the wearing. When he touched the hand with the IV the skin was clammy and the veins swollen from all the medications that was running through them. He let his thumb run over the knuckles, wanting more than anything for Nick to jump out of bed and yell 'Gotcha!' and fire off one of those grins. But Nick was all still, a stark contrast to his usual expressive self. The slackness of Nick's face was the one thing Warrick found utterly alarming. There were no creases from laughter, no talkative glares or pleading and warm orbs to tell him anything at all. There was just this eerie stillness that scared the living daylight out of Warrick.

"Shit Bro, you look like hell," was all he mastered as he sank down onto the rickety plastic stool that was provided and gripped the cold fingers to warm them.

And when only one nurse, occupied with replenishing the medicine stock, was left in the room with her back to him he lifted the slack fingers to his lips and felt the pulse throbbing. "Love ya Bro."

Sounds from outside alerted him and he turned to see Jillian and Grissom standing there, the former with red-rimmed eyes, face pale with mark of immense sadness and fear and the latter's blank and unreadable.

Warrick held on to Nick's hand and met Grissom's eyes that suddenly expressed a totally new realization. With a last squeeze of the limp fingers he rose and made his way out to let Nick's mother take his place. Thing's being as they were he had no right to stay by Nick's side, family always came first and right now he resented that deeply.