After a few phone calls, they were all together. There was something about the way their eyes all turned to him that made him nervous. But he'd learned to suppress that long ago... Well before he'd been asked by Catherine to cover his first shift. It seemed like such a long time ago, though it hadn't been, of course, until after Grissom was gone... So no more than five years ago. And that wasn't so long.

Greg cleared his throat. "Uhm..."

Nick looked up. They were all still watching, and still waiting for him to get them started. So... "Right," he began, rather generically. "Thanks for coming in, Pip. And buddy..."

Their trainee from earlier was proving to be a real sport for the job. He had only been home for a couple of hours, and he'd agreed rather readily to come back. Just the makings of a true CSI, when a case was hot.

"And thank you, Greg, Morgan, for our latest finds. Did you wanna be the ones to fill us all in?"

Morgan made a dismissive hand gesture, and seized the stack of papers from Greg's hand. "I got this," she said, in what sounded like it was at least meant to be a reassuring tone.

Sara snorted. Though nobody else seemed to have heard it... Nick ducked his head a little, and hoped nobody would look at him until his thickly-masked grin went away on its own. Because there was just no controlling it by will, alone.

"So, I took the DNA we got from the original crime scene. The second male contributor to the alcohol bottle? It was Brandon."

She said it, and then looked at Nick like she expected him to be bothered. But that had worn off him, for the most part, and he indicated such with a simple nod, and a motion to continue.

But it was Greg who spoke next. "We've also got him in the vomit, from the upstairs hallway. He was... all over that house. And recently after the victim's death, too..."

"And he may have been involved in the break-in at the jewelry vault," the trainee chimed in. "Those tools hid some fingerprints beneath the blood, and they matched Brandon, as well as the blood, itself."

Morgan blinked. "Where did you get Brandon's fingerprints from? I don't remember any of us gathering them..."

The student looked a little worried for a moment... but spoke up with a confidence that Nick was sure he used to show his positions in a better light, at times. "I just got 'em off the table in the interrogation room. I saw where he put his hands on the security camera, and... I... went in, and gathered them. Was I not supposed to?"

Nick was impressed. "No...! That's... very resourceful of you! Very creative...! Exactly the kind of thing we need on this team... Good work on that!"

But Sara made a funny face. And she looked at Nick before she spoke to the triumphant student. "I already covered the blood, I thought."

"Oh..." He ducked his head a little, and not to hide any poorly-timed laughter like Nick had.

Nick... who shot Sara a panicked expression full of unspoken "fix it, damn it".

She shook her head quickly, and spoke up a little more quickly still. "Oh...! But good job on following leads! And being thorough... That's a good trait to develop. Keep it up."

Her smile was not entirely genuine. But it seemed to be enough for the young man on the learn. And Nick was satisfied, if their student was.

Greg and Morgan had not missed the oddness of this. And neither had Brass, who had not spoken yet, but was observing the whole meeting from the upper right corner of the room. The three of them moved their eyes between Sara and Nick like they were waiting for an out loud explanation for the sudden outburst. Irritated by their lack of understanding for people in new positions, Nick urged Greg and Morgan on with a harsh wave of his hand.

"Oh...! Right. The fingerprints on the deer trophy were a little less clear, though," Greg pressed on. "We ran it a couple of times to make sure we were seeing it right. But what they came up with was someone we've met before, Nick and Sara. From a few years ago... Guillermo Rice."

There it was. The one thing Nick had been waiting for. The piece of evidence that threw his stomach for the loop. Always telling him they were over the hill. Apparently, Sara felt something, too. She looked over at him, and then back at Greg.

"Wait a minute... Guillermo Rice. Will Rice...? As in, the son of Beatriz Salazar?"

"That's right," Greg reaffirmed. "I don't know how, but his fingerprints are in our case. And they're all over this deer trophy."

Brass had suddenly taken more interest, as well. He stepped over to them, and leaned around Greg's arm to look at the printed results.

"By God..." he muttered, and then looked back at Nick. "He's right, Nicky. Will Rice touched this trophy."

But Nick was thinking back a little to his interrogation with Madame Challal. And suddenly felt like an idiot... He had told her, after all, that fingerprints just didn't hang around for a long time, as a general rule. But there was no denying it, in this case; he had seen Will Rice's dead body almost five years ago, himself. He knew the guy was dead.

"'Brandon x Will forever'..." Sara repeated from the earlier plaque finding, in a whisper. "Brandon was involved with a man. Or, teenager. Or whatever... A male."

Nick scratched the back of his head, and let his hand slide down to his neck. "Yeah," he sighed. "And you'll remember, he didn't exactly speak too kindly of his 'uncle's' sexual exploits with males..."

"Then, what?" she posed in question. "It was all a cover up?"

"That's what it's starting to look like," Nick replied. And then to the others, "Anything else? Besides my tip Sara promised me?"

For a moment, there were looks of confusion around the table. But Nick's eyes didn't leave Morgan.

"She said you have a tip for me," he clarified, another off-timed urge to laugh rising to the forefront.

A light seemed to come on in Morgan's proverbial upstairs. She smiled, and nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I... I thought she was going to tell you."

In the corner of his eye, he saw Sara's gaze drop, first... and then divert to the hallway behind the glass walls. He made a mental note to ask her about that at the very first chance...

"Uhm, Richard and Clara offered some help," elaborated Morgan. "They said to check their family's storage unit for the missing evidence. Clara's mother was a plant person, and they kept one of them there. Maybe it's the missing evidence we're looking for."

"'Missing evidence'?"

That was not a voice Nick wanted to hear. Especially not in that tone...

But there it was, striding into the room with purpose in the body of its owner. "What missing evidence?"

Nick sighed. "Russell... There you are..."

"Yeah, yeah, here I am." The abrupt, clipped way he said it sounded almost rude. "But you didn't answer my question. What missing evidence?"

An instinct to look at Sara resurfaced. He didn't follow it... but he had to pinch his thumb between his pointer and middle fingers, and take a deep breath to avoid doing so.

"Some evidence was stolen," he answered, hoping to sound brave, and unconcerned. "We've been tracking it down, and it sounds like Morgan has just pinpointed it."

Russell folded his arms, and inclined his head to one side. "Did she...? Any reason she had to?"

Nick looked away with his eyes, but did not move his head. "It was just a lucky break for her. I would have found it, eventually. I've followed all the protocols."

"I'm sure you have," Russel answered. "I'm not accusing you. I'm just wondering how this could have happened on your watch."

"I was talking to a suspect," Nick shot back. "Someone stole it from the house while I was talking to a suspect."

"That's right," Brass added from behind Greg. "I was there when it happened."

Russell seemed to decide that two was too many to press the issue with. He held up a hand in a gesture of surrender, and waved it a couple of times.

"Alright," he said, in a considerably lighter manner. "Alright, I believe you. It happens. Like I said, I'm not laying any accusations. But we need to find that evidence, and quickly. I've been briefed on a few things with Ecklie. We can talk about them in a bit, but trust me when I say, we cannot afford to look bad to the I.A. right now."

A sudden feeling of relief came over Nick. Like a load had just slid right off his shoulders, and spread out on the ground around him. The whole thing was a mess... and now it was time for someone else to clean it up. Someone who was getting paid, much more than he was, to do it consistently.

"Got it," he said directly to Russell. "What do we do, then?"

Russell shrugged. "You tell me. It's your shift, still."

By the way her eyes widened, and her mouth came half open, Sara seemed just as surprised as he was. "What?" she asked, breathlessly.

"I didn't come to take over the case, Nick," Russell said to him. "I'm just here to help."

And in that moment, another bad choice in leadership sprung to the front: frustration got the better of him. "Well, then, why the boss-ish rant? I mean, I knew it was coming, but if you're not here to take shift off my hands yet, then what's the deal?"

An infuriating gift of Russell's came into play at once. Rather than respond to a direct remark in a direct way, he deflected it like a professional hockey goalie. "Alright, now, calm down. I swear, it's only for your concern. I'm sure you've done a great job as always, covering shift. And keep it up! We're almost there..."

It didn't help Nick's weariness that Russell sounded almost as eager for it to be over as he was.

"I'll tell you what: the office is yours until this is all over," added Russell.

Nick closed his eyes. And the pictures in his mind of home and family in Texas were overwhelming for a moment. He clenched his teeth together, and replaced it as fast as he could with something more immediately pleasing: images of his bed sheets turned up. Just waiting to welcome his tired body into their restful folds...

He yawned before he gave an answer. But an answer he did give: "Fine by me, then. I think we should divide and conquer. We're all picking teams. I mean, Jim has warrants for us, yeah?"

"Yeees..." Brass answered apprehensively. "Or, a warrant... I'm getting you into Madame Challal's. Home, not business... And I've got progress on Brandon: he was seen outside of town trying to hitch with an off-duty taxi driver. An old co-worker of his turned it in. I'm going to ask him some questions in an hour or so, here, and see if we can get into Brandon's place, as well."

Nick flashed a gruff, and insincere thumbs up. "Excellent. Everybody pick a partner, then. We're splitting up," he reiterated.

But just as Greg opened his mouth, Russell interjected again. "Uh... Excuse me... But who are these two?"

Nick looked at the two young men standing by the door, wide eyed and seeming very confused, and almost a little frightened, in their young maintenance man's case.

"That's Pip. And that's our newest trainee. He's pretty good. But Pip's in maintenance, so he's going to have to do outside duty."

"Oh...! Well, sounds great! You've got a good crew, here, Nick." And he turned to their student. "So how about you come with me?"

The student in question pointed at his own chest, as if to say: "Me...?"

"Yeah, you," said Russell. "Come on over here, we're going to have a good time. This career doesn't have to be as miserable as some people make it seem like. Lemme show you the fun side of dead people's life circumstances..."

Based solely on the trainee's looks to him, Nick was sorely temped to spring him from a partnership with Russell. But seeing the slight shake of the head given to him by Sara, he decided not to push his luck with their real supervisor, and instead gave a playful salute.

"And 'fun', he will make it. Who's next?"

"Sara!"

That was Greg. His bellowing voice had not waited for a second to get it out.

Nick's eyes narrowed, though his smile did not. "Okay... Sara, sound good to you?"

She brushed her palm over her eye, and nodded through a swelling yawn. "I'm sorry," she apologized afterwards. "I meant, yes, I'll go with him."

Though she did not seem as enthused at first – and Nick certainly was not – he gave it his seal of approval with a gesture he couldn't quite explain. Hoping that it wouldn't look too false. As Morgan claimed Pip, and that left him to himself, the dimness of the ongoing evening waned from setting sun to full blown night. He handed out their assigned duties on a basic checklist, and watched them all go without him in a starkly divided sense of relief, and irritation. It mirrored the inner turmoil he couldn't quite define... Something that was emphasized so very unpleasantly by his getting caught behind Greg and Sara in the hallway a few minutes later, on their way out. Where they were just steps ahead of him, laughing at something Greg had said as they headed for the parking lot with their gear.

Going out to a remote location on his own, in the beginning of night, was probably one of the least-wise things that he had done in recent times. But before dispersing the assignments, he had chosen this one because he figured it would look responsible to Russell. And it would give him a few minutes to respond to a few of his mother's text messages, which were building in number in his inbox quite furiously. As the GMC he was riding with wound its way out towards the storage area, Nick practiced the oh-so unsafe art of texting with one hand and driving with the other. But he didn't are as much as he probably should have.

It was a well lit road, for one so far out. Or rather, a well marked one... There really was nothing of note on it, save for the glowing lights of the storage grounds ahead. Signs told him he was going the right way, once he had decided to stop flirting with danger, and disciplinary action at work by putting his cell phone away.

The vast expanse of deserted sand lands was kind of a welcome change in place of the stuffy-feeling lab. He was trying not to think bitter thoughts, but as his head came to rest in his hand, he began to feel that there had come to be way too many people on the case. Dismissing Hodges and the other lab help for the night had been a pleasure for more reasons than just to get rid of Hodges for a bit... Though, if he were honest with more than himself, he would have had to admit that it was Greg he wanted to send home. Or Russell... Either one would have taken his mood, and presence of mind up a little bit. His failures were becoming increasingly hard to ignore, as it was... but nothing drove home a feeling of failure like being told you had failed.

"This plant had better be here," he whispered to himself, dangerously, and turned into the parking lot of the storage grounds. If it's not, I swear... I'll quit.

There was a guard on duty at the center of the grounds. Positioned within a rather solid-looking shack, and standing out on the porch with a lit cigarette in hand. As Nick withdrew his science kit from the back trunk of the GMC, he saw that the guard was putting his cigarette out. Very enthusiastically, actually... stomping it into the ground with much more force than necessary. And, perhaps because he was having a "Paul Blart" moment... approaching Nick with a hand on his holstered pistol.

Though tempted to roll his eyes, Nick lifted a hand in a "whoa, whoa" motion, and set his kit down in an effort to appear as non-threatening as possible. "It's alright!" he called out. "I'm with the Las Vegas Police! I'm here on an investigation!"

The guard appeared to relax a little. "Can I see some I.D.?"

Oh, yeah. The guy was definitely a Paul Blart... But given that he was within his rights to be as such, Nick produced a badge from his front vest pocket, and flicked his eyebrows up a little, to mimic the expression on the I.D. requested.

"Alright...!" the guard shouted back. "Okay...!"

Returning his gun to his holster, he came out towards Nick with a hand extended to shake.

You have got to be kidding me, Nick thought. But what he said was, "I'm Nick. I'm looking into the Jaffel's storage unit tonight. I've got written permission, here. Richard Jaffel said you compare signatures out here. Is that correct?"

"Well, we don't," the guard said, corny smile all over his face. "My computer does, though."

Nick forced the edges of his lips to turn up a bit. Certain that if he could see his expression at that moment, it would be unbearably unattractive to behold... "I know what you mean, man," he managed get out. "I do that kind of thing in my work, too. All the time..."

"Oh, yeah. It's awesome, isn't it?"

He was not entirely able to keep a formal smile on for that. "Sure. Uh... well, could you do that, possibly? I'm kinda in a hurry."

"Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sure... sure..."

He took the paper from Nick and disappeared into the shack for a moment or two. And when he returned with a key, Nick breathed a sigh of relief. Something easy... Until the rustling wind carried the smell of heavily-applied cologne to his nostrils. It made him sputter a little. There was way too much scent on that guy...

The Jaffel's storage unit was waiting in the back. But right outside the door was the first thing Nick spotted. And it looked familiar from the get-go...

"Hey... Do those cameras of yours record footage, or just display it for you in the guard shack?"

"Display. Why...?"

Nick bent over, and set about with the molding process. Again... "Because someone else has been out here... And judging by the size of those boots, it wasn't Richard Jaffel." And then, struck by another notion, he looked over at the feet of the guard. "Or, you," he added, more calmed than anything by the distinctly different boot prints left by the only other person around them.

"Probably some overgrown kid," the guard tried to be witty. "Thought it would be cute to break in to some poor people's private storage... And if it wasn't me on duty, then Frank was. And Frank doesn't mess around."

Nick began to tune him out. As the door to the storage facility came open, there was only one thing on his mind. He lifted his hand from his kit with a flashlight in it.

And what he was looking for showed itself right away. "Yes!" he all but shouted, and hurried over to pick it up.

But then, something caught his ear from the meandering diatribe of the guard behind him. "...could be Jason, too. The little bastard..."

A flash of memory returned to Nick's mind, like a blast of soda to the face after opening a shaken bottle. "Jason" was a familiar name... One he was sure he had heard used recently before.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute..." he cut across the guard. "Jason...?"

"Yeah. Our new janitor. Quite the worker, but who knows about the guy, you know? Seems too eager, if you ask me. I figure he's just another one of those looking to score some easy loot."

Reflecting how little sense the feeling of security to the place added to that argument, Nick waved a tired hand for quiet, and pursued his real interest. "Okay... But Jason. That sounds like a suspect in my case. Can you tell me where he is? Where I could find him, I mean...?"

"Well... what else could you mean by–"

But Nick had finally lost it. "–could you tell me where he is?!" he bellowed.

"Yeah," replied the guard, as if a strange man hadn't just lost his temper with him. "Yeah, I can. I got his address. I know where he's at. Just, uh... I'll go get it while you... clean up, or something. Whatever it is you guys do."

With a sigh, Nick inclined his head once. "Thank you."

And as the guard again retreated to his shack, his departing presence was the cause of another change in the way Nick saw his line of work.