The sound of a car pulling into the driveway was Catherine's first sign that Nick had been able to get a replacement. She had left Warrick in the kitchen as he leaned against the counter, the faint glimmer of regret the only emotion his features betrayed. She only wished she could be half as calm. Lindsey's reaction had been expected, if not a little extreme. She could only imagine how Nick--Warrick's best friend--would react.

The knock at the door was her second sign, and as Carns--the burly agent that stood guard--went to open it, she tensed. Was this really the best way to tell Nick? She clutched the packet of photos in her hand firmly, watching as Nick presented the ID the agent required to allow him into the home. Carns stepped aside to let Nick pass over the threshold.

She smiles tentatively, opting not to be the first to speak. Lindsey, who was sitting beside Catherine on the couch, placed her arm around Catherine's shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Hey, Cath," he said, his gaze shifting between the two women. "I'm surprised to see you, Linds. I thought you were stranded at Harvard?"

"I thought so, too," Lindsey responded curtly, a result of her mood. She motioned to the three agents in the room. "I got dragged back to Vegas by these guys."

"I resent that." The man who spoke was a young, dark haired agent. Despite his relaxed position as he sat in the easy chair, every muscle breathed readiness and alertness. "There was no 'dragging' you anywhere. You came by your own volition, and you know it."

"Oh, shut up, Drake."

The young man's eyes widened imperceptibly, and he chuckled. "As you wish, Mi--Lindsey."

Catherine fixed a puzzled glance on her daughter, and the young woman only shrugged in response. She returned her attention to Nick, an equally confused expression contorting his features.

"Is anyone gonna tell me what's going on? Why are there a bunch of FBI agents guarding your house like Fort Knox?" Nick's frustration was plain in his voice.

"In a minute," Catherine answered. She held out the envelope containing the incriminating photos. "First, you should look at these."

"What are they?" he asked, taking the envelope from her.

"Pictures." She braced herself. "I found them in the front seat of my car, on the pile of broken glass." Before he could voice his disbelief at her actions, she said, "I know, I know. I tampered with evidence. But this is part of something bigger. My car getting busted apart is pretty trivial in comparison."

"What are you talking about?"

She motioned to the envelope in his hand. "Look at those. They explain most of it."

He stared at her for another minute before he opened the envelope, flipping through the pictures slowly, pain flitting across his face at the first few, then confusion. He'd reached the ones of Warrick and Grissom. He shook his head, and the uncertainty was clear in his expression.

"What do these even mean?" he asked.

"Look at the date on the ones of Warrick and Grissom." He complied, flipping through until he came to the photos in question. Shock followed by anger lit his face, and a faint flush spread to his cheeks. Even a moron could see he was pissed.

"How long have you known?" The question was spoken through gritted teeth.

"I found out after Gedda vandalized my car, when I was going through the pictures."

"Why the hell did you wait until now to tell me?" She could sense the effort it was taking for him not to yell in the timber of his voice.

"Because I barely believed it myself. I didn't even see the picture of them together until I got home." She looked him dead in the eye. "It's been three years. It was hard to accept that Grissom had lied to any of us for that long. I had to find out for sure."

"And?" He had relaxed slightly, but the bunched muscles in his jaw proved he was still angry as all hell.

She relayed everything to him in as much detail as she could: her trip to Pahrump, her conversations with Grissom and Brass, carefully omitting anything that involved her impromptu reunion with Warrick.

He was silent, and she could hear the gears grinding as he tried to wrap his head around it all. Finally, he asked, "So how does Nick Gedda factor into any of this?"

Catherine looked away, trying to find the best way to reveal what Warrick had told her. Before she could speak, though, she heard, "I'll tell him, Cath."

Warrick stepped into the room, his arms crossed defensively across his chest. And rightly so. After Catherine's and Lindsey's initial reactions to his presence, he had every right to prepare himself against another possible physical response. Especially with Nick Stokes.

Nick flushed scarlet, and Warrick could practically see the steam shooting from his ears and nostrils in a cartoonesque display of rage. But beyond the anger in his eyes, he saw something not entirely unexpected: relief and happiness.

"Why?" Nick asked, once again speaking through clenched teeth.

Warrick sighed. "If I hadn't done this, I would've put everyone I cared about in danger. Gedda's goons were gonna come after me, whether or not I killed the son of a bitch. After you killed McKeen, it got even hotter. At that point, though, pretty much everyone was convinced I was dead, so they eventually stopped caring. The only one that couldn't let it go was Nick Gedda. But he didn't get the chance to prove I wasn't dead right away, because I ran to Paris. It was only this year that he started to catch on.

"Somebody in the FBI leaked that I was alive. Because they have no idea who it was, they brought me back to the states so they could keep a closer eye on me." He looked away. "They said to stay away from Vegas, but I couldn't. I found my way back here without being seen, because I needed to make sure everyone was safe. I didn't trust anyone with that but myself.

"When I found out Gedda was targeting Catherine, I realized my plan to keep everyone safe was failing. So I'm taking matters into my own hands. That's why I'm here now." He fixed his gaze back on Nick, taking a step closer to him. "I know you probably hate my guts right now, and I don't blame you. But you gotta realize I was only trying to do what I could to keep you guys safe."

Nick didn't say a word. He only glared at Warrick, his breath coming harsh and quick. The restraint he was showing was holding on by an invisible thread, and Warrick had to force himself not to look away again. Slowly, though, Nick's breathing evened out, and the tension in his muscles ebbed. The anger was still there, but more controlled despite the continuing intensity.

"I just don't understand why you couldn't tell us. It makes no sense," Nick finally said, his voice shaking.

"Look at what Gedda did to Catherine, just because he thought she knew? It would've only gotten worse. I'd hoped that if you really didn't know, no one would bother you." The corners of his lips lifted in the smallest of smiles. "Shows what I know, huh?"

Nick stared for a moment, then, surprisingly, he returned the smile. "Yeah. You were never too bright."

Warrick made a rude noise, brushing off the insult. "Pot calling the kettle, Nicky."

The smile spread into a wide grin on Nick's face, and he punched Warrick good-naturedly on the arm in a show of friendship--one that Warrick never thought he'd experience again. No more words were exchanged for a good five minutes, as the full weight of the reunion hit home for everyone.

Unexpectedly, Nick pulled Warrick into an embrace, one of strong friendship. "I missed you, man," Nick said, his voice thick with emotion. The uncharacteristic display rocked Warrick to his core, and it took all his willpower not to choke up.

"I missed you too."

The two men stepped back, and a momentary sense of awkwardness followed. Then, suddenly, everyone, including the agents, burst into a fit of laughter. Warrick relished in it. God, it felt good to laugh again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done it with quite so much sincerity.

And for now, he could ignore the fact that it wasn't going to last.