Author's Note: MAJOR apologies for this latest of late updates. I got distracted, and I stalled, and then I thought I had the chapter, but I didn't, so I had to have LaughableBlackStorm (my beautiful beta) re-send it to me, and it was all a fiasco. I hate missing deadlines, even if they are deadlines that I set for myself. Here's the long-awaited chapter sixteen. Hope it was worth the wait...

Chapter Sixteen: Past His Patience

Greg almost crashed his car on the way into work the next day. By the time he actually reached the office, he was running at full speed. The first person he saw was Catherine, who told him to slow down. He skidded to a halt in front of her.

"Where's Nick?" he panted.

"You just missed him," she replied, mystified. "He's on his way out the door to a scene—"

He didn't let her finish. He whirled around on his heal and doubled back to the lobby right as he saw Nick and Riley passing through the front doors. He screamed Nick's name so loudly that everyone in the room stopped.

"Greg!" Nick hissed, swiftly striding towards him as Riley maintained her curious stare. "What is the matter with you?"

"I get it!" Greg exclaimed madly, gripping Nick's shoulders. "Nick, I finally get it, I know what my dreams have been trying to tell me! It's you! It's always been you!"

"Greg, what's—"

"Don't ask questions," Greg interrupted. "Nick, please, you have to listen to me. Where's your scene?"

Nick was baffled, but humored him. "Some house out in Whitney, why?"

"Is there a pool?"

"How the hell should I know, I've never been there before," Nick returned.

"Well, if there is a pool, stay away from it," Greg insisted. "Stay the fuck away from it, OK, just keep your feet firmly planted on solid ground, do you hear me, Nick? Don't go near the water, not for anything, OK?"

Concern furrowed Nick's brow and he brushed the back of his hand against Greg's forehead. "Greggo, are you feeling OK? I told you, you've been looking pale the last few days, maybe you should lie down—"

"No," Greg insisted. "No, listen to me, I may be a shitty palm reader, but this is the third dream I've had like this in my entire life! I didn't understand it the first time, and the second time I thought that coincidences couldn't possibly happen twice, but this time, this time, I know, I know what's going on, and the fact that I know means I can stop it, I mean, why show me if I'm not able to stop it? So you have to let me stop it, OK, Nick? OK?!"

"OK!" Nick cried, visibly alarmed. "But Greg, you have to tell me what's going on."

At Nick's agreement, Greg calmed down a little, and nodded. His eyes darted to Riley who was still watching them, then back to Nick. He swallowed, then beckoned Nick closer. The Texan leaned forward.

"You'll drown," Greg said evenly and quietly. "You'll drown if you don't listen to me. I don't know when, I don't know where, I don't know why, I just know that you will. You will, and I can't let that happen, so just do me a favor and say that you will stay away from bodies of water of all kinds." He stopped to think. "Especially the ocean."

"Greg, when am I going to go to the ocean?" Nick asked. "How do you know this, anyway?"

Greg took even breaths. "Nick… I know you don't believe in this sort of thing. Neil didn't believe in it either…" He took both of the Texan's hands and eyed the palms of them. "But that doesn't mean it can't be real, right? And if it's not, it's not like you have anything to lose. So just humor me and stay away from water."

"You haven't told me how you know this," Nick said.

Greg let go of one of the hands and traced Nick's lifeline on his right hand. "Yes, I have. I told you. I dreamed it."

Nick's palm was course and calloused. It wasn't the smooth, traveler's hand that Neil had. It was larger, and rougher, and… warmer. His fingertips moved over the grooves etched into his palm. He looked for a break in the lifeline. He looked desperately hard. He saw a few deviations from the line… There were several lines intersecting it, and it forked at one point near his thumb, but came together again. He looked for the telltale signs. He looked for anything at all. The lines were troublesome, especially the one that formed a star on Nick's lifeline, and Greg wasn't sure what event the fork in it symbolized… Nick had been through quite a bit in life, but he'd survived it all so far. The frustrating part was, Greg couldn't determine if Nick's palm was telling him the past or the future.

"What do you see?" Nick whispered.

Greg looked up. "I don't know," he replied. "I know the dream thing sounds silly, but—"

"Look at my palm," Nick instructed. "Does it tell you I'm going to die tonight?"

Greg looked down again, his eyes moving over the line again and again. Despite the intersections, the star, and the fork, the line was deep and well-defined, and best of all, long. It wasn't short, or faded, or broken, at least not that Greg could see.

"No," he said quietly.

Nick took his hand back. "So there, you see?" he said, reassuringly. "I'll be just fine." He turned and nodded at Riley. "Let's go."

"I didn't see the break in Neil's line until it was too late," Greg called out when Nick was at the door again.

The Texan paused. Greg wished he could see Nick's expression. He heard Riley say in a stage whisper, "Who's Neil?"

Nick turned around and approached Greg again, taking both hands in his and squeezing them tightly. "I'm not Neil," he said. "And I'm not going to die tonight. OK?"

Greg stared at him a moment, and then found himself desperately embracing him, his fists gathering up Nick's shirt as he clung as tightly to the older man as he could. Though surprised at first, Nick returned the embrace and stroked Greg's back, breathing into his hair.

"Don't leave me," Greg whimpered.

"I won't," Nick said. "I promise. Now will you let me go?"

Greg released him, then tried to gather what was left of his dignity as he straightened out his shirt. He nodded at Nick, then turned to Riley. "Keep him away from the water!" he ordered.

She managed a sad, if a little confused, smile. "Yes, boss."

Greg looked at Nick and nodded again. "OK," he said. "You can go." He watched Nick turn to leave and did not take his eyes off of him until he disappeared around the corner. He closed his eyes and sighed, the tension melting away.

He hoped he hadn't sounded too crazy.

He considered his tone, the way Nick had held him, the way he had reassured him… almost like a father reassuring a child that there were no monsters under the bed. But fathers don't believe in monsters, so how would they know?

It sent a chill down Greg's spine. He knew that Nick didn't believe him. He knew that Nick only promised to stay away from water to keep Greg calm.

This didn't bother Greg as much as he'd thought it would. All he hoped was that Nick cared enough about him to keep his promise.

"This is simple," Nick said, looking at the wrecked house. "It's staged."

"You think?" Riley chimed, scanning the room.

Nick glanced at the teenager with his mother, talking to Detective Vega outside the sliding glass doors where the patio was. "What kind of burglar breaks into a house to steal a cell phone and a bottle of tequila?"

"Not just any cell phone," said Riley. "An iPhone. Those things'll catch you a pretty penny."

"Still," Nick said, eying the untouched HD Flat screen that hung on the wall. "There are easier and better things to steal. The kid is making up a story to explain to his mother how he either lost or broke his cell phone, and where all her tequila went." His phone went off. He smiled at Riley. "Hang on a sec." He held the phone to his ear. "Nick Stokes."

"Nicky, I need you down at the Lake Mead Marina, how soon can you get here?" came Catherine's voice.

"Uh…" Nick looked at his watch. "Well, if I leave now, maybe… forty minutes?"

"Perfect, I'm going to be there in an hour as soon as I get done with some of this paperwork. Brass'll brief you when you get there. It's messy."

Nick frowned. "How messy?"

"Messy enough. But nothing you and I can't handle." He heard the smile in her voice. "You sure Riley can manage there without you?"

Nick looked over his shoulder at the young CSI, who was holding a picture frame and examining a crack in the glass. "I'll ask, but I think she'll do fine. See you soon."

"New scene?" Riley guessed when Nick hung up, tilting her head to the side as she continued to stare at the picture frame.

"Lake Mead Marina," Nick said. "Catherine says it's messy."

Riley spun around so fast, her ponytail whipped against her cheek. "Lake Mead?"

"Yeah, Brass is waiting," Nick said, gathering up his kit.

Riley shifted her weight onto one foot and began to ring out her hands, anxiously. "What are you going to tell Greg?"

Nick stopped moving, his kit lying open on the floor. "Oh, man, I forgot about that…" he said. He shrugged it off and closed the kit. "He'll get over it."

Riley pursed her lips. "Nick, I don't think you should go."

Nick smiled at her. "Since when were you the superstitious type?"

She glared at him. "I'm not superstitious, but I can see the future, and right now it includes a very annoyed Greg Sanders. What do you think he'll say when he finds out that you didn't keep your promise?"

Nick gave her a helpless look and shrugged. "So what do you want me to do, Riley? Call up Catherine and say I can't go because Greg had a dream?"

"What's the matter with you?" Riley asked, her eyebrows knitting together. "A few weeks ago, you were falling all over yourself to figure out was wrong with Greg, but lately it seems like you can't get far enough away from him. I saw you at Henry's party. You spoke to him once all night, and you were all stiff and formal about it. And now, you aren't even willing to follow a simple request of his?"

Nick gaped, unaware that Riley had been so observant. "What have you been doing, stalking me?"

She folded her arms and gave him an irritated look out of the tops of her eyes. "Lately, you and Greg have been caught in some vortex that's swallowed you up, and all you've been seeing is each other, and yourselves. But the rest of us still have our wits about us, Nick, and we're crime scene experts. It's our job to notice these things. But recently, you haven't been noticing us very much, have you?"

Nick grew defensive at the accusation. "That's not true—"

"Did you know Archie's dog died last week?" Riley interrupted. "Or that Catherine's daughter broke her wrist in a minor car accident?"

"Lindsey?" Nick asked.

"That was in February," said Riley, proving her point. "So where were you?"

Nick didn't have the words, so he just shook his head at her. "I don't have time for this," he said, picking up his kit.

"Isn't that the problem?" Riley called as he retreated, making him grind his teeth.

He thought about her words as he climbed into the car.

In fact, he thought about them all the way to the crime scene.

What he didn't know, was after he left, Riley pulled out her cell phone.

"Greg? Thought you oughtta know now rather than later. Nick just left our scene. Catherine sent him over to Lake Mead. I couldn't stop him."

Nick was very irritated with Riley for putting thoughts in his head that he didn't want to deal with. He suddenly realized that while Greg had been alienating himself from Nick, Nick had in turn been pushing the rest of his friends out of the way, completely absorbed in Greg and his problems. He gripped the wheel of his car tightly, his eyes narrowing as they focused on the road ahead. His preoccupation with Greg bordered on obsession, and it was bothering him. Well, all the more reason for him to get over it and move on then, like he had told Catherine at Henry's party. So that's what he was trying to do. Get over it and move on.

But even as the thought occurred to him, he knew that it wasn't fair. His mind had always been clouded wherever Greg was concerned, and now that he had come so close, now that he had tasted the dream, he was struggling to live without it. It hadn't been that difficult before. He had accepted long ago that he and Greg were just good friends, and would probably never be anything more than that. But now that he'd received an affirmation that Greg cared for him, too, he felt like something should be done about it. The problem was, nothing was being done about it. Greg wouldn't even let Nick act as a friend anymore. And Nick deduced that it was his obsession and subsequent frustration with Greg that had driven him to knowingly break his promise.

And suddenly, his stomach twisted with guilt.

Until his phone rang.

Though it was not yet illegal in the state of Nevada to use your cell phone while driving, Nick tended to avoid it. But it was possible that it was related to the scene he was working. Maybe Catherine wanted to brief him on his way over. Absentmindedly, he held the phone to his ear.

"Nick Stokes."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" came an even but slightly tremulous voice.

Nick clenched his teeth, his defiance leaping up in him again. "My job," he said coldly. "You have a problem with that, Greg?"

"Why are you being such an asshole all of a sudden?" Greg demanded. "I asked one simple thing of you and you couldn't do that for me?"

"Catherine needed someone out here and to be honest with you, I forgot—"

"Bull shit," Greg snapped. "You were already at another scene. You could have told her you were busy. She would have found someone else, it's not like you're the only fucking CSI on duty here!"

"Look, I'm not gonna avoid a case just because you had a stupid dream, Greg!" Nick snapped. "I'm not going to die tonight, and to be honest, I am tired of holding your hand."

"Yeah, it's a bitch, isn't it?" Greg returned. "You've been doing it for, what, two months? Try doing it for a year, and then we'll talk!"

Nick had to pull over because he was losing track of where he was going. When he was safely on the shoulder, he stopped holding back. "This isn't a competition, Greg! You keep acting like these things you're going through, you have to go through them alone, but you don't!"

"Well, maybe I want to!" Greg returned. "You're right, I don't have to, but I don't have to tell you everything either, do I? Maybe I'm happy doing this alone."

"Great!" Nick exclaimed. "You're happy alone, that's great, Greg, in fact, I really needed to hear that, because I feel like I've been walking on egg shells with you, never knowing what you want or what you're thinking, and it feels great to finally know that that's what you want. At last, I know where I stand with you, and honestly, it's a relief. I don't know how much longer I could deal with your pitiful negative attitude!"

"You're calling me pitiful?!" Greg exclaimed. "Fuck you!"

"Witty," Nick said flatly.

"I'm really glad we had this conversation, Nick, because now I know what you really think about me," Greg spat. "I hope you fucking drown!"

"Don't be so melodra—" But before he could finish, the phone beeped at him, telling him that Greg had already hung up. Nick exhaled sharply through his nose, then raked his hands back through his hair. He took a few minutes to calm down before pulling back on the road.

Eventually he calmed down and for the first time in months managed to push Greg to the back of his mind. The phone rang a few more times, but Nick ignored it. Whoever it was, he was done with using cell phones while he was driving. It was too distracting.

By the time Nick had arrived, it was raining pretty hard, and there were quiet rumbles of thunder in the distance. Nick hoped the storm hadn't damaged the crime scene too badly, but he knew that Brass had the presence of mind to preserve it as much as possible.

"Hey, Nick," Brass greeted from beneath his umbrella as Nick pulled up to the marina and got out of his car. "Nice night for a massacre, wouldn't you say?"

Nick frowned at him. "Massacre?"

Brass nodded at one of the long docks. "Follow me," he said, and Nick obliged.

They reached a boat which was slightly larger and more expensive-looking than the rest. Brass stepped aside, indicating that he thought Nick should go first.

"Most of the damage is in the cabin," he told Nick, who went down a small flight of stairs and ducked his head to open the door. "A couple on their first anniversary with their sixth-month-old child."

"Oh no…" Nick sighed as he took in the scene. There were three things that occupied the cabin: a large bed, a bassinet which was overturned on the floor by the door, and a photo on the wall of the happy couple in pink and blue wetsuits making funny faces at the camera. A tiny, marble hand peeked out from beneath the blankets, unmoving and eerie.

On the bed was a woman who was bound and stripped. She had been gutted, and brutally. Blood stained the sheets crimson, and there was spatter on the window behind the bed. Nick noticed her organs as lumps that spilled out of her gaping stomach and shook his head.

"Where's the husband?" Nick asked.

"At the helm, like every good captain," Brass said. "It was him who called it in, actually. By the time cops got out to the boat, he was dead and the attacker was gone. Our boys checked every nook and cranny of this thing and towed it back to the marina."

Nick nodded and quickly left the room. The metallic, rotting stench of the blood filled the stuffy cabin and he needed some air. He appeared back on the deck and looked towards the control room where he could see the body of a man slumped over the wheel. His death wasn't nearly as gory as his wife's had been. Nick entered the room and realized that his throat had been slit. His eyes were frozen in death, a cold glassy gauze draped over them, never to be lifted from his icy gaze. There was a small blood pool at the base of the wheel. Nick crouched and examined it.

"David been here yet?" he asked, looking up at Brass who was standing in the doorway.

"'Fraid not," Brass said. "This call was made less than an hour ago, and he's at other scenes. He'll make it."

Nick looked at his watch. "Catherine should be here soon, too…" He stopped. He noticed a bloody footprint leading out of the room. He moved past Brass and stared at the water-covered white deck. Any blood would have been washed away by now. Nick frowned, slightly annoyed, then again, nothing could be done about it. And at least they had a footprint.

He walked to the stern and noticed some discarded scuba gear. The wetsuit had pink patches of fabric, and the mask matched it.

"Brass?" Nick called, hearing the detective round the corner. "Where's the other wetsuit?"

"I'm sorry?" said Brass.

"The photo in the cabin showed them both wearing wetsuits, but there's only one here," Nick explained. "Where's the other one?"

Brass shrugged. "Maybe she was the only one who went out today." He turned around, and they both saw headlights penetrate the darkness back on shore. "That'll be Catherine. There are officers on the dock, if you need anything while I'm gone. Back in a flash." He smiled, and disappeared into the dark storm.

Nick walked to the very back of the ship which contained a place for divers to slip into the water. He was curious about that second wetsuit, and it was possible that a mask or a flipper might have been left on the swimming deck. He climbed down the ladder and paused, looking out over the black lake, the waves snapping at the sky like hungry sharks in the storm.

And that's when he saw it. Bubbles, trickling up to the surface of the water. Even in the choppy waves, he could see them, and he shined his flashlight at it to get a better look, his mind trying to work out where they were coming from.

Seconds later, and without warning, there was a burst out of the water he was looking at and something seized his shirt and pulled him into the icy water.