Author's Note: Thanks for your patience, you interest, and, of course, your reviews. Had to wait for the beta on this one, but it's not her fault she has a lot on her plate right now (Love ya, Kels!). As you can probably see, things are beginning to spiral, and suspicions are being raised...

The lab was a thirty minute drive from Camellia's house, and Greg slowly returned to himself as he stared out at the scenery flashing by his window in Lyle's jeep. The trip had left him with a bit of a heavier headache than he was used to afterwards, and his stomach was twisting, though he doubted it was bad enough to make him throw up. He was worried again, mostly about his behavior in the past couple of hours. It disturbed him that he could only remember parts of them, and the rest was a blur of blissful feeling. He had enjoyed it, there was no question of that, but Greg was wary of the toll it had taken on his body.

He was relieved to remind himself that, compared to other drugs, cannabis was no big deal. It wasn't addictive, nor did it leave lasting damage on his brain or body if he did not continue to use the drug in the long term. The marijuana was not what concerned him. It was the Valium. He couldn't remember how many pills he had consumed in the last four hours, but he knew that considering the span of an average Valium trip (anywhere from an hour to two hours), he must have had more than the first dose he'd taken at the start, but he couldn't remember it.

He resolved that, while beautifully divine, mixing marijuana and Valium was a bad idea simply because he could not be held responsible for his actions afterwards. He probably shouldn't have taken a hit off of the joint in the first place, but it had seemed like a fabulous idea at the time. He didn't so much regret it as he felt guilty about it. If his body got too used to the Valium, then Greg was in for a whole mess of trouble.

He was so worried by the time Lyle pulled up outside of the Vegas Crime Lab, that he knew for sure that all of the Valium had worn off, and the effects of the marijuana were falling away as well. He realized that he didn't recall smoking that much, although he must have if he was still feeling it four hours later. Memory gaps were not one of his favorite side effects of Valium.

"This it?" Lyle asked.

Greg nodded, then turned to him. "Thanks, Lyle, I really appreciate it."

"No problemo, man," Lyle replied with a smug smile. "Just watch your mouth the next time you comment on the coke?"

"Coke...?" It took Greg a second to understand that Lyle wasn't talking about a black sugary soda. "Oh! You mean—"

"Yeah," Lyle interrupted, nodding. "Kinda the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say?"

"Valium is not cocaine," Greg insisted. "Believe me, I know the chemical make up of both, and their effects."

"Ah, you know all about every drug there is, don't you?" Lyle asked teasingly. "Smart little Rabbit."

Greg snorted at the use of his new nickname. He liked it. It made him feel like he was a part of something. And he had always been trying to encourage himself to make more friends outside of work. "Now I really want some coke..." Greg muttered.

"I can arrange that for you, you know," Lyle said seriously.

Greg laughed. "I meant a soda," he explained with a wink and the smile returned to Lyle's face.

"Ah. Right. You want a ride back to Cam's when your shift is over? I won't be doing anything later. I'm not on at Valhalla tonight, obviously, so if you call, I could give you a lift."

Greg was touched that he even offered. "That's cool of you, but I can find my way back there. Wouldn't wanna trouble you, after all."

"Hey, I just want to make sure you get home alright," said Lyle. "You smoked a shitload tonight, and the drunk pills didn't exactly make it nothing."

Greg nodded. "Yeah, but I'm good now. Thanks a lot, though." He meant it. It was rare to find people who actually cared, and Greg was surprised that someone whom he had classified as merely an acquaintance a few days ago was offering to go out of his way to give Greg a ride home if he needed it.

"See you around?" Lyle asked hopefully.

"Call me," said Greg, as he got out of the car. "Get the number from Cam."

Lyle grinned. "Will do," he promised, and then drove off.

Entering the crime lab, Greg was struck by the harsh florescent lights that bombarded his weary vision. He rubbed at his eyes and gave a meek wave to Judy.

"Grissom wants to see you," she informed him, to which Greg just grumbled and made his way to Grissom's office.

When he finally got there, he noticed Nick was sitting in the chair in front of Grissom's desk, and both men looked to the door upon Greg's entrance. Nick's brow furrowed in confusion while Grissom remained impassive.

"You don't look good," said Nick, rising to his feet and approaching Greg. "Your eyes are all bloodshot."

Greg waved him off, irritably. "I'm fine," he grumbled, then turned his attention to Grissom. "Judy said you wanted me?"

"I have a case for you..." said Grissom slowly. "Take Nick along."

"Still don't trust me alone, I see..." Greg whispered, approaching the desk and taking the file Grissom handed him.

"That's not it," Grissom said sternly. "I would have—"

"I don't blame you," Greg interrupted quickly with a sad smile. "I wouldn't trust myself either."

Grissom sighed loudly before finishing his sentence. "I would have sent you alone, but Nick solved his case unexpectedly earlier and he asked if he could go with you."

"Oh," said Greg, feeling sheepish. "Uh... right. Cool. What is it?"

"420 out on Berkley..." Greg snorted. "Is something funny, Greg?"

"No, it's just..."He sighed, realizing that he must have had some marijuana left in his system if he found that funny. "I didn't realize... the way we code things, it's..." He was digging a very deep hole. "Would you believe me if I said it's one of those 'you had to be there' things?"

"Had to be where, Greg?" Nick asked suddenly. "Why are you an hour late anyway?" He sounded accusatory and prodding, and it made Greg uncomfortable, and suddenly he wanted his Valium again.

"None of your damn business!" he snapped back irritably. "What I do on my own time is not your concern."

"Except you weren't on your time, you were on mine," Grissom said severely.

An uneasy quiet filled the room as every muscle in Greg's body constricted. What he wouldn't have given to be back in that amorphous armchair in Camellia's living room where nothing in the world mattered but pot and pizza.

"Nick, would you wait outside a moment please?" Grissom asked quietly, his eyes drilling into Greg.

"Sure..." Nick muttered, but he cast Greg a suspicious look on his way out.

When the door clicked shut, Grissom did not look away from Greg. "Sit down, Greg."

The young CSI obeyed. "What do you want me to say, Griss? That I'm shooting heroin in back alleys?"

"I know you're smarter than that," said Grissom. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"As attractive as I know Sara finds you, you're not exactly my type."

Grissom seemed momentarily confused before he inhaled a curt gasp and shook his head, his expression unchanging. "No, I mean like a therapist. A grief councilor, or something."

"Grief councilor?" Greg laughed. "Why would I need one of those?"

Grissom hesitated before leaning forward slightly over the papers on his desk. "Do you remember a while ago, when it was recommended that each of us speak with the department psychologist after what happened with Warrick? You didn't go."

Greg's lip trembled before he leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands, trying to feign comfort. "Yeah, I, uh, didn't see the point, really."

"Well, everyone else went," Grissom explained. "Including me. Including Sara, and she didn't even have to go. But you didn't go."

"I didn't know him that well."

"You didn't know him that well..." Grissom mimicked, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "You worked with him side by side for over eight years and yet... you didn't know him that well."

"We didn't do much outside of work," Greg explained. "I mean... he was a great guy, I know that he was, and I liked him a lot, I really did, but to be fair... we didn't really know each other. Like, I don't even know what his favorite food is. Was. Whatever. The point is... I guess... that we weren't friends. We were colleagues."

"You weren't friends?" Grissom repeated, and Greg was reminded of a broken record.

"Is there an echo in here?!" he exclaimed, annoyed. "I said we weren't friends, alright? Not like all of the rest of you seemed to be. I mean, you all had... I don't..." He struggled to explain without revealing the truth of what he thought about Warrick and the rest of the team. How even when he joined them three years ago, he had never really felt like he was a part of that inner circle. The experienced siblinghood of the veteran CSIs, who were much cleverer than Greg, really, who were wiser, who had done it longer, who had known each other longer... Even Sara, who had been the latest addition to the team, seemed to crack that circle whereas Greg was constantly hovering on the outside of it as the rookie ex-lab rat. A part of him wondered if he would ever be good enough for them.

"I think you should see someone, Greg," said Grissom quietly.

"I'm not fucked up about Warrick, OK?" Greg snapped, though it wasn't entirely true. "We weren't friends, so..." That wasn't true either, and both he and Grissom knew it. "So I don't have to talk about it if I don't want to. I'd much rather get on with things. Stop thinking about it. Stop worrying, stop caring, I just..." He sighed. "I just want to go back to how things were. You know? Can't we just laugh and speak for the dead and put bad guys behind bars and have none of this... darkness or fear or anger or... or... or..."

He heard paper slide against mahogany and looked down to see Grissom pushing a card across the desk. It said Dr. Laramie on it, followed by Psy.D and a phone number. Greg looked up at Grissom.

"I don't need this," he insisted, pushing the card back.

"Just take it," Grissom whispered pleadingly, sliding it towards Greg again.

The younger man sighed and decided it would be easier to get Grissom off of his back if he just took the damn card. "K," he said. "But I'm not making any promises."

"Of course not," said Grissom. "But please, consider it. Now, go on. Nick is waiting for you."

"What did Grissom want to talk to you about?"

Greg sighed and sat back on his haunches, a nail scraper in one gloved hand and an evidence bag in the other. He looked across the body at Nick, whose eyes were hidden behind the lens of a camera, which was focused on a strange discoloration by the victim's scalp.

"Nothing," said Greg. He figured he should have expected the question from Nick sooner or later, but he'd hoped he could get through the day without being nagged by him.

"Well, whatever he said, he was right," said Nick, lowering the camera to look up at Greg.

"You don't even know what it was!" Greg growled, aggressively.

"I know that Grissom is generally right, especially if he told you that you look like shit," Nick returned, casually snapping another photo as he said it.

Greg finished with the fingernail scrapings and rose to his feet. "I'm going to... walk the perimeter. See if there's any evidence left at the entrance point by the window."

"Whatever..." Nick muttered, although it was clear to Greg that Nick did not believe the conversation was over.

"What do you want from me, Nick?" Greg asked suddenly, tired of this dance. He offered his palms to the Texan, helplessly.

Nick looked up. "I don't want anything," he replied, calmly. "You're the one that seems to want to pick a fight."

It was then that Greg realized that all of Nick's questions had been quiet and almost casual. It was Greg's responses that had been defensive. He dropped his arms to his side again. "Oh."

"So... how are you doing?" Nick asked, carefully, and Greg knew that it was taking a lot of effort for the older man to remain so calm.

"I'm fine," Greg replied. "And you?"

"Fine."

"Good, then," said Greg. "I'm going to check out the window." He began to head off when he paused in the doorway. "Oh, and... Nick?" he asked slowly.

"Yeah?"

"Could you, er... give me a ride to a friend's house after work? I left my car there, and I need to pick it up."

Nick looked up, curiously. "How'd you come in, then?"

"A friend gave me a ride."

"Why?"

"Because he was being nice," Greg answered vaguely.

Nick's tongue shot out and licked his lips swiftly before he nodded. "Yeah, sure, I can give you a ride..." he said slowly.

Greg smiled. "Thanks."

It was raining when Nick pulled up outside of 6328 Maple Drive. Greg had been quiet the whole way over, and the two of them had each participated in what could only be described as small talk, if it was even that. Mostly, it had been a few awkward attempts at conversation on both of their parts before Greg had given up and turned on the radio.

"This is it, thanks," said Greg with a smile, opening the door. "You can head out now."

"OK..." said Nick, a slightly dazed expression in his eyes as Greg hopped out into the rain and closed the door. He jogged over to his car which was parked right in front of Nick's and fumbled for his keys. He dropped them once and muttered a curse under his breath as he stooped to pick them up off of the ground and stick them in the lock again.

Warm hands slid tenderly around his waist as a chin nested in the juncture of his neck and shoulder and for an earth-shattering instant, Greg actually thought it was Nick. Until logic kicked in and he realized Nick's hands were much larger, his embrace much more enveloping, and his touch much more welcome.

He twisted in her embrace and placed his hands on her shoulders to see Camellia smiling back at him, her blouse getting soaked by the rain as her hair was plastered to her face.

"Come clubbing with me, little Rabbit," she begged.

He shook his head and pushed her away, turning back to his car. "No, I need to go home. Besides, do you know any clubs who are still letting people in at five in the morning?"

"I know one..." she said slowly and nodded back at her house with a smile. "Come inside and stay awhile. We will have a little fun."

Greg gestured at his car. "Can't," he said. "I gotta sleep sometime. Besides, I don't think I'm going to be doing the weed and Valium mix again. I have no idea exactly what went on a few hours ago and... Well, I like being in control."

She nodded. "I understand," she said. "But here's a little sample..." She slid a warm, sealed plastic bag into Greg's palm. "In case you change your mind. And you know where you can always get more."

He pushed the weed back into Camellia's hand, shaking his head. "I won't change my mind," he insisted.

She nodded and closed her fingers around it. "OK," she said, and for a moment Greg thought he had won until she pushed herself against him again and slid the bag into the front pocket of his jeans. She slowly pulled her hands out of his pockets and moved them up his chest, his shirt drenched from the rain. The wet fabric moved against his skin beneath her hands until she slid them up his neck to cup his cheeks.

"I guess I'll see you around, Conejo," she whispered, and then let go, stepping back and allowing Greg to get into his car. She stood in the middle of the road as Greg pulled away from the curb and drove down the street.

Greg had been so distracted, he hadn't noticed that Nick hadn't driven away as soon as Greg was out of the car. The Texan had lingered, watching Greg fumble with his keys. Seeing the door of a house open across the street, the rectangle of yellow light pouring out into the street. Observing as she jogged across the street and slid her arms around Greg's waist as if they had belonged there. And at first, Greg didn't seem at all unhappy about it. Until he pushed her away. They seemed to have a small argument before he got in his car and drove away.

And now, Nick was out of his own Tahoe, and striding quickly towards the woman in the center of the street, who noticed him when he was a few feet away.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Nick, thickening his Texan accent as much as possible. "It's real late and I'm lost. Do you know this area well?"

"Sure," she said. "I live here. Where do you need to go?"

"Laurelhurst?" Nick tried.

She smiled. It was warm, helpful, and coated in caramel like a candied apple. It was the kind of smile you could bite into. But if you did, you could be poisoned. "Oh sure, sugar." She pointed down the road Greg had disappeared and gave him a few brief but accurate directions of how to reach Laurelhurst from where they were.

Nick faked a grateful grin. "Well, thank you, ma'am," he said. "If you don't mind me askin', who was that fine gentleman you were speaking to? You seemed mighty close. He your beau?"

She laughed. "Oh, no, no, no, sir, we're just..." She bit her lip, and her smile spread like an infectious disease. "Good friends, is all."

"Ah huh," said Nick nodding, still pretending it was just polite curiosity. "Well, it looked like you were very good friends, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, he's a sweetheart, but we have a strictly business relationship—" She seemed to stop abruptly, as if she was catching herself in some mistake. But she covered it up with that sugary sweet smile. "He's my carpenter, you see. Came over a while ago to fix my floors."

"Carpenter..." She was a liar. He had known that from the start by pure instinct, but the fact that she had assigned Greg to a job Nick knew he didn't have finally proved it. "You know, Jesus was a carpenter."

"Oh yes, and my carpenter was my savior," said the woman with a nod. "Termites, you see. Another day, and they may have eaten my whole house."

"You keep goin' to church now, ya hear?" said Nick with another overly enthusiastic smile as he moved back towards his car.

"Praise Jesus!" she replied, almost sarcastically as he reached his door. "You have a nice night, sir."

"You too, ma'am," said Nick before closing the door to his car. His smile evaporated instantly as he stared at the rain that splattered his windshield. He would need to have a talk with Greg about this woman. If he thought she was his girlfriend, then clearly the two of them had different perceptions of their relationship. He'd have to warn Greg that she was out to break his heart.

Little did he know, she was out to break so much more than just Greg's heart.