Sympathy for the Devil

I do not own the characters in this story. They are the property of CBS and the writers and producers of the show “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation”. I also do not own the song lyrics which immediately follow.

Warning: if you are very sensitive, in a religious sense, please do not read this story.

11/24/05

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

Just as every cop is a criminal
And all the sinners saints,
As heads is tails,
Just call me Lucifer
‘Cause I’m in need of some restraint.

So if you meet me,
Have some courtesy,
Have some sympathy and some taste,
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I’ll lay your soul to waste.

Pleased to meet you,
Hope you guessed my name,
But what’s puzzling you
Is the nature of my game.

Excerpt from ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ by The Rolling Stones.


“I hope you’re feeling up to this,” Brass said, as he watched Grissom crouch and step under the yellow crime scene tape to join the detective on the front steps of the large, abandoned, old church. “I’ve seen some disturbing crime scenes in my time, but this one takes the prize.”

The entomologist quirked one eyebrow at this statement, but said nothing, preferring to reserve his judgment until he’d had a look at the scene for himself. Stepping past the detective, Grissom pushed one of the heavy, double oak doors open with a latex-gloved hand. The chain that had once been wrapped around the two door handles lay on the cement nearby, obviously having been cut off by some sharp implement. The doors bore several deep gouges, as though someone had hacked at them with an axe. Grissom glanced back at Brass, his eyebrow raised again, this time inquiringly.

“Oh, uh, the first officers on the scene reported that they found the doors like that,” the detective responded, correctly interpreting that look from long years of working with the notoriously taciturn investigator. “That must be how the suspect entered the building.”

Grissom nodded absently and stepped into the main lobby of the church. St. Barnabus was a very large, limestone, Episcopalian church, which had been closed for nearly ten years now. Directly across from the main entrance were three more sets of double doors, which presumably led into the sanctuary. The two middle doors were propped open and, seeing flickering light beyond, Grissom headed toward them.

The sanctuary was very large, with a high, soaring ceiling and a deep balcony at the rear. Darkly stained and once highly polished wooden beams ran up the sides of the stone walls to meet in intricate patterns at the vaulted ceiling. They reminded Gil of the ribcage of some giant beast, as though he were viewing it from the inside. Interspersed between the wooden beams were tall, graceful, and beautifully wrought stained glass windows.

Grissom continued down the center aisle, between the rows of wooden pews, toward the far end of the sanctuary. Just inside the chancel, in front of the altar, someone had dragged in and placed a large metal barrel. Much of the wooden railing which once separated the chancel from the rest of the sanctuary had been hacked away and dumped into the barrel, to be used as fuel for the fire which still burned brightly, illuminating the altar with eerie dancing light.

Looking up at the altar, Grissom saw that something had been painted on the stone wall above it. Walking closer, he saw that it was a very large, crudely painted image of the crucifixion, done entirely in red. The flickering light of the fire created a disturbing illusion of movement, as if the painting were alive, making it look demonic instead of holy. As he drew closer to the disquieting image, the distinctive smell of death and decay became more apparent, as did the sound of the numerous flies collecting on the graffiti, and Grissom realized that what he had taken for red paint was, in fact, fresh blood. He turned to look back at Brass.

“Where did the blood come from?” he asked the detective.

“The bodies are back this way.”

“Bodies?”

“Bodies. There are six.”

Grissom gestured for the detective to lead the way and the two men turned and headed toward the choir loft, just to the left of the chancel. Stepping through the wooden gate which opened into the enclosed, slightly elevated seating area, they found a doorway at the back, through which the choir could unobtrusively enter and exit the sanctuary. Stepping through the door, they found themselves in a large room with several tall, built-in cupboards, where presumably the choir’s robes would have been stored. The room would have been used as a sort of changing room.

Several of the cupboards had been thrown open and six bodies hung by their feet from the stout metal hangar rods. The bodies were all fairly small, obviously adolescents and pre-adolescents. Their heads had been cut off and large bowls and buckets had been placed beneath the bodies to collect the still dripping blood. This was apparently how the ‘artist’ had gotten his supplies.

“Where are their heads?” Grissom asked, in a quiet, slightly choked voice.

“We haven’t found them yet. But we do have a suspect in custody.”

The scientist turned to look sharply at the detective at this news.

“Officers Travis and Connors were on their routine patrol, when they noticed faint light coming from inside the church,” Brass continued. “Thinking that some neighborhood kids had broken in, they stopped to investigate. They found the chain on the door cut off. They entered and found the suspect still in the act of painting his ‘work of art’. He’s already been transported down to the station.”

“I want to talk to him,” Grissom said firmly.

“No problem.”

“Have someone call my team. I want all of them down here ASAP. I want every inch of this church turned upside down. I want these heads found.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Anthony Holbrook sat calmly across the interview table from Grissom and Brass, his legs crossed casually and his hands folded neatly in his lap. He looked as though he could have been sitting in on an interesting, coffee-house discussion, not being interrogated in a police station.

He was a handsome man in his late fifties, with shoulder-length, gray hair, which was tied back at the nape of his neck with, what appeared to be the wire twist-tie from a loaf of bread. He had a neatly trimmed black moustache and goatee, which made him appear rather distinguished, despite his ragged clothing. His clothes were well worn and dirty, like someone who has been homeless for some time.

“Anthony Holbrook, you have been arrested on six charges of murder. If convicted, these crimes would be punishable by the death penalty. Let it be noted, for the record, that you have denied your right to counsel,” Brass stated for the benefit of the room’s recording device. “Now, why did you kill those children?”

“I needed their blood for my painting,” the man responded calmly, as though this were the most reasonable thing in the world.

“And why did you need to make this painting?”

“Well, to show my devotion to my Master, to prove myself His faithful servant.”

“Your Master? You’re saying that God told you to kill those children?”

“Oh, no, Capt. Brass, not God. I do not serve God. I serve my Lord Lucifer. It was He who told me to kill those children. They were runaways, disposable, no one will miss them.”

“Oh...right,” Brass said, turning to look at Grissom, his expression painstakingly neutral. “And why would your ‘Lord Lucifer’ tell you to paint a mural out of the blood of runaways?”

“To get your attention.”

“To get the attention of the police? Well, you certainly got that.”

Holbrook smiled slightly. “No, Capt. Brass, not the attention of the police, Mr. Grissom’s attention.”

The two law enforcement officers exchanged quick glances. Grissom had not introduced himself when he and Brass had first entered the interview room. The detective had not introduced him either. The two men had chosen to simply let Holbrook wonder what Grissom’s role was. So, how had the man known the scientist’s name?

“Your Lord Lucifer wanted my attention?” Grissom asked quietly.

“Oh, yes, He’s quite a fan of yours.”

“A fan?”

“Yes, you’ve put away a fair number of His champions. He knows a quality adversary when He sees one. You should feel honored, Mr. Grissom, to have attracted His personal interest. He would like me to extend an invitation to you, to join His minions.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Grissom asked.

“Because, in return for your loyalty and service, my Master will grant you whatever your heart desires.”

“Oh, well, you’re in trouble then,” Brass commented dryly, “’cause Grissom, here, doesn’t even have a heart.”

The entomologist cast a disgruntled look at his companion, as unbidden, his mind conjured images of a pair of dark, soul-filled eyes and a smile to thaw even the frostiest heart...

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Nick, are you finished taking photos in here?” Catherine asked her fellow investigator, startling him out of his morbid reverie, staring at the headless corpses.

“Hmm? Uh, yeah, I’m done.”

“Okay, I’m going to release the bodies to the coroner.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Well, we’re done in here. Let’s head back to the sanctuary and see how Sara and Warrick are doing.”

Nick followed the red-head out of the choir’s changing room and out into the choir loft, leaving the six dead youths to the care of the M.E. and his assistants. They found Sara and Warrick just finishing up in the sanctuary.

“You guys find any sign of the heads?” Catherine asked.

“No, nothing,” Sara said. “We haven’t found the murder weapon either. The front doors show evidence of having been hacked at with something heavy and sharp, like an axe. Same with the railing here, but we haven’t found the axe or whatever was used.”

“No, neither did we, it looks like we’re going to have to search the whole church.”

“You know, big, old churches like this are like rabbit warrens,” Nick pointed out. “They have rooms within rooms, weird passages...”

“Okay, well, we’ll split up into pairs and maybe we can cover more ground,” Catherine said. “Nick, you want to take the west wing with me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Turning back to Sara and Warrick, the senior CSI said, “Okay, you two take the east wing and we’ll all meet back here in the sanctuary in say, an hour and a half? We’ll figure out what’s left to cover then. Is everybody cool with that?”

Seeing all their heads nod, she said, “Okay, let’s go. It’s going to be a long night.”

Leaving the sanctuary and returning to the lobby, Catherine and Nick headed to their right, down a short hallway. There were several doors on either side of the hall. Each taking a side, the investigators opened the doors and peered inside and slowly swung their flashlights around each room. They appeared to be empty class rooms.

When they reached the end of the hallway, the red-head turned to her companion and said, “Hey, Nicky, you okay? You seem a little distracted.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure? You’re family is kind of religious, aren’t they? I can understand if all this is bothering you.”

The young man stopped and turned to face his fellow investigator, his dark eyes clearly troubled, even in the dim light of their flashlights. “My family isn’t overly religious, no. I mean, growing up, we always went to Mass, but my father was a District Attorney. When you live and work in the Bible belt, it’s generally considered politically expedient to be perceived as a religious man. At home, we weren’t any more religious than the next family. But I do have to admit, this is bothering me more than I thought it would. There are just certain things you don’t do in a church, empty or not, you know?”

Catherine ran a sympathetic hand over the younger man’s back and said, “Brass already has the guy in custody. If we do our jobs right, we’ll nail this guy for sure. He’ll probably get the death penalty.”

Nick nodded and gave her a faint smile.

“Come on, let’s go find those heads. Those kids deserve to be buried intact,” she said.

They continued down a staircase at the end of the hallway and found themselves in an anti-chamber of some sort. Seeing a pair of double, metal doors to their right, the two investigators stepped through into a small, wooden-floored gymnasium, with a small stage area at one end. They climbed the wooden steps at the side of the stage and looked around, but found nothing probative.

“There’s another door over there,” Nick said, gesturing to the opposite side of the stage. “Let’s see where it leads.”

Crossing the stage, he opened the door and stepped into another large room, very similar to the choir changing room, where they had found the bodies. This one also had several tall, built-in cupboards and a couple of built-in vanity tables with mirrors.

“Oh, this must be where they stored all the costumes for their pageants,” Catherine said, looking around. “And this must be where they put on their make-up.” She gestured to the vanity tables.

Turning to her co-worker with a sly smile, she asked, “I’ll bet you were in all the little Christmas pageants, weren’t you, Nick? I can just picture you as Joseph.”

The young man returned her smile self-consciously. “Nah, I always got stage fright and froze up, forgot all my lines. So, they always had me be a shepherd. You just stand in the background and you don’t have to say anything.”

“Aww, poor Nicky. Well, I’ll bet you were a good shepherd.”

“I was. I was a damn good shepherd. I kept those sheep in line!”

Still chuckling softly to herself, Catherine began opening the cupboards and searching them. While she did so, Nick noticed another metal door with a plastic plaque reading: Mechanical Room. Opening the door, he found a very small room with a small, antiquated switch board for controlling the stage’s lighting system. This was also where the church’s breaker box was located. Swinging his flashlight around the cramped space, he saw nothing but a few monster-sized dust bunnies.

As he was about to leave the small room, his flashlight beam fell on yet another narrow, metal door. This one was marked: Furnace Room. Seeing a strip of light coming from the crack beneath the door, he moved towards it, only vaguely noting the mechanical room door clicking shut behind him. Reaching out for the doorknob, his hand brushed the metal door. It felt slightly warm to the touch.

Opening the door, he found a very narrow staircase, made of metal grillwork, leading downward. About ten feet below, the stairs made a sharp left turn around a corner and disappeared from his sight, but he could see light coming up through the grillwork and from around the corner. His curiosity piqued, Nick started down the stairs.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Let me get this straight, in exchange for my servitude, your Master will give me whatever my heart desires?” Grissom repeated, trying to make sense of this surreal offer.

“That’s correct,” Holbrook said, smiling.

“Am I correct in assuming that my soul will also be required for this bargain?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” Brass repeated, glancing at the scientist, his expression thoroughly amused.

Grissom, however, was not amused. He had sat in on countless interrogations in his career and he had never been made such an incredible offer before. The man was clearly insane, but the scientist was still intrigued.

“And just how is it that you communicate with your master?” the entomologist asked.

“I don’t need to communicate with him,” Holbrook answered. “He’s with me at all times. He is within me.”

“You mean, just as God is all around us...?”

“No, no, Mr. Grissom, I mean that literally. He is inside of me right now.”

“Oh, I get it!” Brass spoke up abruptly, smiling. “Gil, he’s trying to establish grounds for a plea of diminished capacity. He can’t be held responsible for the murders, he’s possessed.”

“Are you possessed, Mr. Holbrook?” Grissom asked, quite soberly.

“I suppose it could be described as such. But possession implies the use of force, with an unwilling host. I very willingly gave my body for the use of my Lord... You don’t believe me, do you, Mr. Grissom?”

“Well, you have to admit, it is an outlandish claim.”

“And if I prove it to you, will you believe me then? Would you like to speak to my Lord?”

“May I?” Grissom asked eagerly.

“Uh, Gil...” Brass cautioned, uneasy with the sudden turn in the interrogation. He really didn’t like the idea of provoking the possibly insane prisoner.

The scientist merely waved this objection away and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and staring intently at the prisoner. Anthony Holbrook was leaning back in his chair and as the two law enforcement officers watched, his eyes rolled back in his head, until only the whites were showing. His body gave a slight lurch and his eyes snapped back into place. He sat up, straightened his shabby suit jacket and smiled at the scientist.

“That’s it?” Grissom asked, dryly. “Really, Mr. Holbrook, I’m disappointed in you. This is Las Vegas, I’ve seen off-strip, street magicians put on better shows than that.”

Holbrook’s face broke into a wide smile and despite himself, Grissom had to admit that there was something wholly disconcerting about that smile.

“I do so like you, Mr. Grissom.” Holbrook’s voice had changed slightly. It was suddenly deeper and somehow richer, but any well-trained actor could alter his voice in much the same way.

“Am I speaking with ‘Lord Lucifer’?”

“You are.”

“Your ‘servant’ told me that you had him kill those children to get my attention. You have it. So, what is it you want with me?”

“As my servant explained to you, I admire you, your intelligence, your tenacity, even your self-righteousness. While these things make you a formidable adversary, they could also make you an invaluable asset... Come now, Mr. Grissom, we both know that you turned your back on your God a long time ago. What truly drives you isn’t a need to right wrongs, but the need to prove yourself superior to your opponents and any challenges they throw at you. You aren’t motivated by some puritanical desire to avenge these pathetic excuses of humanity, who allowed themselves to be slaughtered like sacrificial sheep. No, you are motivated by pure, unmitigated arrogance. And that, my dear Mr. Grissom, is my domain.

“Join me and I can provide you with challenges beyond your imaginings. And I can give you everything your God failed to give you.”

“And if there is nothing I need?” Grissom asked. “I’m quite content with my life. I don’t require riches or power to make me happy. If I had wanted those things, I could have had them.”

“No, you do not crave power and riches, and I admire that about you as well. But are you truly content with your life? It must get awfully lonely at night, in that sterile, little condo, excuse me, townhouse, of yours. You may not crave material things, Mr. Grissom, but is there, perhaps, someone you crave?”

Holbrook’s rich voice had dropped to an almost seductive whisper and Grissom found himself once again picturing those dark, liquid eyes, that flawless smile, those strong, capable hands... Holbrook was watching the investigator quite intently and slowly he let his eyes drift shut. A slight smile played across his face, as if he too was seeing what Grissom was seeing.

“Ah, yes, what lovely, dark eyes,” the man said, in that same seductive tone. “What a beautiful creature. I could give you what you desire... mind, body and soul, yours for the taking...”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Brass said, abruptly standing. “This interview is over!”

The other two men in the room simply ignored the detective. Their eyes were now locked across the table. Grissom noted that Holbrook’s eyes, which had previously been an almost watery, pale green, now seemed slightly darker, the green more intense. That was a good trick, Gil thought, but maybe it was just the light.

“You still don’t believe me, do you, Mr. Grissom?” Holbrook asked. “How can I prove to you that I am what I say I am, that I can make good on my promises? Shall I give you a demonstration? Shall I give you a taste of my power?”

The investigator said nothing, simply raised one eyebrow skeptically and continued to watch the suspect impassively.

“This body has served its purpose. I needed it only to gain your attention and deliver my offer. I have no more need of it. We will speak again, Mr. Grissom.”

Holbrook’s eyes once again rolled back in his head, but this time, he also began to gasp and gag, as though he couldn’t seem to draw air into his lungs. His body began to convulse and his face was rapidly turning a sickly shade of blue. While Brass ran to the door and yelled for someone to call 911, Grissom went to Holbrook, who had fallen from his chair to the floor, and began CPR. Within minutes, he realized the futility of his efforts. Holbrook was dead.

Several minutes later found Grissom and Brass standing in the observation room, watching through the one-way glass, as the coroner’s men took Holbrook’s body away. The detective kept casting concerned glances at his companion. He could see that the normally unflappable scientist was visibly ruffled by the recent interview.

“Are you alright?” Brass finally asked. “That was a pretty intense interview.”

“I’m fine,” Grissom said quickly.

“How did Holbrook know all those things about you? You know, about your condo... about Sara?”

“Sara?”

“Yeah, you know, your feelings for her...”

The investigator turned away and didn’t say anything for a moment. When he turned back to his friend, he said, “Find out everything you can about Holbrook. I want to know if he had a history of mental illness. I’m going back to the church. I need to check up on my team.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Descending the steps cautiously, Nick rounded the corner at the landing and found himself facing a small furnace room. The small square room was dominated by a large, old cast-iron furnace. It looked like a huge, metal box with several large pipes sticking out the top, which connected to several more pipes at the ceiling. There was a small, square door set in the center of the box and a bright, yellowish glow emanated from the cracks around the door, illuminating the room. The investigator could hear the dull roar of a fire from inside the furnace and could feel the heat emanating from it as he approached.

Why would a fire be going in the furnace? he asked himself. The building had been abandoned for years. Who had started the fire, the suspect? And what was he burning... the heads?

Pulling the sleeve of his denim jacket down to protect his hand, Nick reached out and grasped the handle of the furnace door. Pulling the stiff door open with a strong jerk, he found six skulls staring vacantly back at him from their nest of glowing coals. Orange flames danced around and above them, and heat waves made them shimmer with demonic pseudo-life.

As Nick stood staring in horror at the grotesque sight, a stench of rotting flesh and human excrement rose up from the flames. The wave of putrid air seemed to move like a sentient thing and it slammed into the investigator like a fist. He stumbled back a few feet before the fetid air seemed to suck the very oxygen from his lungs and darkness closed around him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“What? What do you mean, you can’t find Nick?” Grissom asked in confusion. “Where could he have gone?”

“I don’t know,” Catherine sighed, mildly irritated, not yet panicking. “He was right with me, not fifteen minutes ago. I turned my back on him to go through these cupboards. When I turned back around, he was gone. I looked in the mechanical room, the gymnasium, the stage... I don’t know where else he could be.”

“Alright, well, if it’s only been fifteen minutes, he can’t have gone too far. Sara, Warrick, check the stage area again,” Grissom said, as he wandered over to the mechanical room to check it again.

Moving his flashlight meticulously over every inch of the small room, the beam eventually fell on the door to the furnace room. The door was narrow and tucked back in a far corner of the room. Admittedly, it wasn’t very noticeable.

“Hey, Catherine! Did you check the furnace room?” he called to his fellow investigator.

“No,” she said, somewhat sheepishly, as she came to join him in the cramped room. “I didn’t even notice it.”

Grissom couldn’t resist flashing a smug smile at her as he opened the door to the furnace room. They both peered down the stairwell.

“I see faint light. Maybe it’s Nick’s flashlight,” Catherine said.

“Let’s go take a look.”

At the bottom of the stairs, they found Nick lying unconscious on the cement floor in front of the cold furnace. The door to the furnace was still open and the smell that was coming from it was unmistakable. Gil and Catherine hurried forward to check on their fallen comrade.

“Nick!” Catherine cried, kneeling beside the young man and reaching for his face.

Kneeling also, Grissom pressed two fingers to the side the other man’s neck. With relief, he felt the pulse, strong and steady, under his fingertips. Nick was beginning to come around even as Grissom withdrew his hand.

“Nick, what happened?” Gil demanded, as he and Catherine helped the younger man to a sitting position.

“I don’t know. I saw that there was obviously a fire in the furnace. I opened the door to look inside and I saw six skulls surrounded by flames. And then there was this smell... I don’t know, I don’t remember anything after that... Sorry.” Nick rubbed the back of his head, where it had apparently connected with the cement floor when he’d passed out. His head was pounding mercilessly.

While Catherine stayed with Nick, Grissom stood and went to the furnace. It was cold and filled with cobwebs, and six recently severed heads.

“Well, the heads are here,” he reported to his colleagues. “But they’re still quite fresh, not skulls. And this furnace hasn’t been used in years.”

“I don’t know, Gris. I know what I saw. I saw flames and skulls,” Nick insisted.

“Okay, okay,” Catherine said quickly. “Let’s just get you out of here, get you some fresh air.”

The red-head helped the younger man to his feet and led him up the narrow stairs. Grissom stayed behind to examine the furnace and its gruesome contents. The smell of decomp from the heads was rather pungent, being concentrated in such a small space, but as they were still relatively fresh, the smell wasn’t too bad. It was certainly not bad enough to be the sole reason Nick passed out.

Moving his flashlight around, looking for anything else which might be probative in the small room, the beam fell on a bloody axe, leaning against the side of the furnace. Pulling a pair of gloves out of the pocket of his nylon forensics jacket, he snapped them on and retrieved the weapon. This case was proving to be fairly cut and dried. All the pieces were falling neatly into place, everything except the strange interview with the suspect and his subsequent mysterious death.

------------------------------------------------------------

“COD for all six of your victims was a single, powerful blow to the neck, with a very sharp implement, which severed the heads. Death was instantaneous,” Doc Robbins was telling Grissom, as the two men stood in the county morgue a few hours later. “I found ligature marks on all the victims’ extremities, so they were bound when it happened. I sent molds of the marks on the vertebrae to the lab so your people can try to match them to the axe you found.”

“Excellent, thank you, Albert, and what about our suspect? What killed him?” the scientist asked as they moved to the metal exam table where Holbrook’s body still lay.

“His heart stopped.”

“That’s it? You can’t tell me why it stopped?”

“Nope. I found nothing to suggest he had a heart attack. His heart was of normal size and weight, looked perfectly healthy. He evidently hadn’t been homeless for very long, he was still in relatively good shape, physically. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you. His heart stopped. I don’t know why. I sent a blood sample to Tox, maybe that will provide us with more answers.”

Grissom nodded and left the morgue. As he was headed back to the lab, he ran into Jim Brass.

“I got the background on Holbrook,” the detective said, falling into step with the scientist. “He was a professor at WLVU, taught Comparative Religions. According to his department head, he had been on sabbatical for the past six months. He was doing some sort of research for a book, something about the religious beliefs of the homeless, or something like that. Anyway, it explains his appearance and why he was in that part of town. He was undercover for his book. Maybe he just took the whole thing too far.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Grissom said distractedly, not sounding convinced. “What about his mental stability?”

“I didn’t find anything to suggest any history of mental illness. He wasn’t married, no kids, and most of his extended family was all back east, uh Boston area, so the only person who could tell me anything about him, was the department head. He said Holbrook was a bit of a loner and tended to get ‘worked up’ over some of his little projects, but that’s about it.”

Grissom nodded, digesting all this information, but said nothing.

“So, how’s Nicky?” Brass asked.

“Hmm?”

“Nick? I heard he passed out at the crime scene.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m not sure. I was just about to go and check on him.”

They had just entered the lab and were passing the front desk, when Warrick joined them.

“Hey, I got a match to the fingerprints I lifted from the axe: Anthony Holbrook. I found his prints in a military database. Apparently he was in the Army Reserves a few years back,” the young man reported. “Looks like it’s a slam dunk, open and shut case. It’s just too bad the suspect managed to escape his punishment.”

“Yeah, good work, Warrick,” Grissom said, accepting the report from his fellow CSI. “Hey, have you seen Nick?”

“Uh, last I saw, he was working on those vertebral marks, checking to see if they match the axe,” Warrick said.

“Thanks.”

Leaving the younger man, Grissom and Brass continued on toward the labs. Along the way, they passed the break room. Glancing into the glass-walled room, Grissom noted Catherine and Sara both standing over a seated Nick. Both women had their arms crossed over their chests and looked distinctly unhappy. Nick was leaning forward, his head buried in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees. Grissom stopped and entered the room, Brass trailing along behind.

“What’s going on?” the supervisor asked.

“Nick almost passed out again,” Sara said.

“I’m fine!” the young man insisted emphatically, not raising his head, his voice slightly muffled by his hands.

Grissom moved to stand in front of the younger man. “Nick, look at me.”

Obediently, the young man lifted his head, to look up at his boss. Grissom immediately noted that Nick’s eyes seemed unusually bright and his cheeks were slightly flushed. The entomologist pressed the back of his hand to the other man’s forehead. Nick quickly jerked his head away, but not before the older man learned what he needed to know.

“You’re burning up,” Grissom said, his tone almost accusing.

“I’m fi-.”

“You’re not fine!” Gil interrupted. “You’re running a fever and you’re going home.”

“Gris...”

“Get your things, Nick, I’m driving you.”

Looking at each of the grave faces gathered around him and seeing that he was not going to get any sympathy from any of them, Nick gave a resigned sigh, stood and headed for the locker room.

------------------------------------------------------------

The ride to Nick’s house was long and very quiet. Gil had to glance over at the passenger side, to see if the other man was still awake. He was and he didn’t look happy. Gil sighed heavily.

“You’re angry with me?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, I’m angry. I don’t see you treating Sara or Warrick like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like a child, who can’t seem to take care of himself. Sara comes to work sick, you don’t send her home.”

“Sara has come to work with the sniffles, not a high fever,” Gil pointed out. Frankly, he was amazed that the younger man seemed to have the energy to argue with him. His fever had to be over 100 degrees. Shouldn’t he be too sick to be arguing? Shouldn’t he be asleep?

“I don’t need to be coddled.”

“I’m not coddling you, Nick. But I’m not sure that you’re thinking clearly right now... and sometimes, I think you try too hard to... impress me, to live up to some impossible standard that you’ve set for yourself. I don’t think it’s healthy. I’m sorry if you interpret my concern for ‘coddling’.”

The entomologist risked a quick glance over at his passenger, but the other man had his face turned away, looking out the car window. Gil sighed again. He honestly didn’t know what to do about this strange relationship he had with the Texan. He knew that at times his words to the young man had been unfairly harsh. Often, even as he had been saying the words, he hadn’t known why he was being so cruel. It wasn’t until the incident with Nigel Crane, when they had come so close to losing Nick, twice, that Gil had realized the true extent of his feelings for the young Texan. He realized that, on some level, he had been attracted to Nick all along. His harsh words in the past had simply been unconscious acts of emotional self-preservation. If he was rude enough to Nick, the young man would never realize that his boss was secretly lusting after him.

Gil had been quick to recognize that he didn’t stand a chance with Nick, who was heartbreakingly handsome, irresistibly charming, and hopelessly heterosexual. There was also the fact that Nick was Gil’s subordinate and was therefore off-limits, whatever his sexual orientation. The lead CSI had learned from the mistakes he’d made with Sara. It had been foolish and thoughtless of him to even hint at any kind of a possible relationship with the young woman when he’d had no intention of following through on those hints. He had no desire to cause Nick any pain, not even the pain of embarrassment from the unwelcome attraction of a co-worker. No, Nick would never know of Gil’s true feelings. And if it meant that Gil had to keep making the younger man angry with him, so be it. He could live with Nick’s resentment.

Arriving at the small house where Nick still lived, despite Nigel Crane’s best efforts, Gil parked his SUV in the driveway. Without a word, the younger man climbed out of the vehicle and started toward the house. Sensing that he was being dismissed, but feeling that he still might be needed, Gil turned the vehicle off and climbed out as well. It was just as well that he did. While Nick was fumbling with his keys, trying to unlock the front door, he seemed to lose his balance and almost fell, but Gil caught him around the waist just in time to prevent that mishap. Expecting the other man to immediately pull away, the entomologist was rather surprised when he felt Nick sag slightly against him.

“Got a little dizzy there for a minute,” Nick whispered, a little self-consciously. “Sorry, I seem to be determined to be a complete pain in your ass today.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” Gil said, trying very hard not to notice the vaguely citrus smell of Nick’s shampoo or the warmth and surprising solidity of the slender body pressed against him. “Here, let me get the door.”

Gently easing Nick back to a standing position, Gil took the keys from him. The younger man indicated which was the correct one and Gil unlocked the door. The two men entered the house and Gil closed the door behind them. As he was turning back around, he saw that Nick was in the process of shedding his denim jacket. He simply let it slide off his arms to land in a heap on the floor.

“Man, it’s really hot in here, isn’t it?” he asked, turning to his boss.

“No, not particularly, I think that’s the fever talking.”

“No, it’s hot in here,” the other man insisted and to Gil’s surprise, he began unbuttoning the light blue Oxford shirt he was wearing. Peeling this off as well, it quickly joined the jacket on the floor. As he started to unbuckle the belt at his waist, Grissom quickly intervened.

“Nick, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “I think you should stay dressed. Your body needs the warmth right now. You should go put on some pajamas and get into bed.”

“Don’t own any. Don’t sleep in ‘em. I sleep naked.” Nick’s words were slurred slightly, as if he was somewhat tipsy. His normally faint accent had become more pronounced as well. He was staring at the older man quite intently, almost challengingly.

“Uh, right, well, I’ll just leave you to it then, but you really should go to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon and see how you’re doing.”

As Gil was turning to leave, Nick’s voice froze him in place. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you just spent the night here? I might need you during the night.”

“Excuse me?” Gil asked, turning back to face the other man.

Nick was standing in the middle of the room, still staring intently at the older man and absently running one hand lightly over his stomach. Gil found his eyes unconsciously following the movement. Lord, the man had an incredible body, Gil thought, as his eyes traced the lines of small, but clearly defined muscles that crisscrossed the flat plane of that stomach.

“Stay,” the younger man said softly.

“What?” Gil whispered. Were his hearing problems acting up again? Was Nick Stokes, the man so homophobic that he wouldn’t even look at a victim’s penis during an autopsy, even when there was evidence probative to the investigation located there, actually asking him to spend the night?

“You heard me, stay. You want to, I know you do. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Tell me the truth, is that why you always coddle me, Gil, because you want me?”

Gil felt a slight shiver run through his body, starting in his groin, at the sound of his given name on the other man’s lips. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Nick call him by his first name, it was always ‘Grissom’ or ‘Gris’. Gil found that he rather liked the sound.

As Nick stepped closer to him, Gil felt his body tense. This whole situation was confusing him and throwing him off balance, while at the same time, he felt a sort of humming throughout his body. He didn’t understand any of this and he wasn’t entirely sure that he liked it. He didn’t like surprises and he didn’t like feeling unsure of himself.

“You want to touch me, don’t you?” Nick asked, his voice soft and low. “Go ahead, take whatever you want.”

Gil could actually feel his hands aching to do just that and he had to ball them both into fists in order to keep them at his sides. “Nick, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re running a high fever. I think you might be delirious. Maybe I should take you to the hospital.”

“I don’t need a hospital. I need you.”

Reaching out, the younger man took one of Gil’s hands in his and pressed it flat against his chest. The entomologist simply stood and allowed this to happen, all of his willpower melted away by the intense heat in the other man’s dark gaze. Nick’s skin felt hot and dry as he moved Gil’s hand over his chest, over one small, pert nub of a nipple. Nick slowly exhaled a slightly shaky breath.

“Fuck me, Gil, please...” he whispered.

The sound of those words seemed to by-pass Gil’s brain entirely and travel directly to his groin. He felt his penis twitch eagerly to life. Almost of their own volition, his fingers tightened on the nipple beneath them, giving it a sharp pinch. Gil felt, as well as saw, the shudder of pleasure that briefly jolted Nick’s body in response. His brain still left far behind, Gil brought his free hand up and grasped the back of Nick’s head, bringing their mouths together in a desperate, hungry kiss. As Nick pressed his body fully against Gil’s, the entomologist could feel that the younger man was in a similar state of arousal.

The kiss was frantic and almost violent in its need. Gil held Nick’s head firmly in place as he plundered the other man’s mouth with his tongue. The younger man accepted this invasion willingly and the occasional soft whimper that escaped his throat only fed Gil’s hunger. But even as they kissed, Gil’s brain began to catch up to his passion-ravaged body.

This was wrong, very, very wrong. Nick was not gay, had never shown any hint of being gay or even bisexual. Where was this strange behavior coming from? Was the fever bringing this on? Gil had never heard of unusual sexual behavior accompanying a fever, but there was always a first time. Regardless, if Gil took advantage of Nick in his current state, it would be tantamount to rape and Gil was not a rapist. Hell, it was his job to put rapists away.

With a supreme exertion of willpower, the entomologist placed his hands on Nick’s shoulders and gently, but firmly, pushed him away. The younger man looked at him in confusion. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were slightly unfocused.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nick, you’re ill. You need to take some aspirin and go to bed,” Gil said firmly, his tone much more determined than his churning emotions. “I need to leave.” And take a very cold shower, he added to himself.

With a deep, calming breath, Gil released the other man and started for the door. His hand was on the doorknob, when he was again frozen by the sound of a voice.

“I told you I could give you your heart’s greatest desire.”

The sound of that voice sent chill shivers down Gil’s spine, as though he had suddenly been dowsed in cold water. The voice had been very similar to Nick’s and yet it hadn’t been his. It was slightly lower, softer, and more seductive, and all traces of the faint Texas accent were gone. Gil didn’t know how it was possible, but he knew it was the same voice he had heard coming from Anthony Holbrook just before he’d died. Slowly the entomologist turned to face the other man.

“What did you say?”

“Come now, Mr. Grissom, did you forget our conversation already? I told you that we would speak again. I also told you that I would give you your deepest desire and I have delivered!”

Nick spread his arms wide and gave a slow 360-turn on the spot, giving Grissom an eyeful from every angle. When he was once again facing the lead CSI, he ran a languid hand over his own chest and stomach again.

“I must tell you, Mr. Grissom, you really do have excellent taste. He’s beautiful.”

Gil could feel all the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He remembered reading accounts of supposed possessions. Often it was claimed that the alleged victims manifested physical signs indicating possession. Was Nick’s strange, high fever a physical manifestation of a possession? It could explain why the fever didn’t seem to be affecting him the way it should be. Or was this odd behavior the result of delirium brought on by the fever?

But how could Nick have known about Gil’s conversation with Holbrook or what was said during it? Had the younger man listened to the interview tape? And why would he have done that?

“Have I left you speechless, Mr. Grissom?”

“What are you doing?” Gil whispered, at last finding his voice.

“Giving you what you want, showing you what I can do.”

“You think that one night of sex would be enough to make me turn my back on everything I believe in?”

“Who said it would only be one night? I can make it last as long as you like.”

Gil watched as Nick moved closer to him, to stand well within his personal space. He was close enough that Gil could almost feel the heat of the younger man’s fever radiating off his body. Gil wanted to take a step back, but the door was already at his back.

“Think about it, Mr. Grissom, you would never have to be alone again.” The voice that came from Nick’s mouth was soft and low, almost a purr. “Wouldn’t you enjoy coming home to find this amazing body waiting for you in your bed, ready and willing to do whatever you asked him to?”

Gil was finding it difficult to think clearly with Nick standing so close. The humming in the entomologist’s body seemed to have settled itself down in his groin. He needed to leave, but the door opened inward and he would have to move even closer to the other man in order to open it.

“Yes,” Gil said at last, “I would dearly love to have Nick in my bed, but I want him to come there of his own free will, not because you made him. I want Nick, not a soulless puppet.”

“But it would be him. I would just be... nudging him a little. I have access to his thoughts and, you know, I think he might actually be ‘up for it’, as they say. He respects you tremendously and he has a great desire to please you. I think with the right exertion of pressure on your part, you might be able to get him into your bed without my help.”

“I don’t want him ‘nudged’ or pressured. I want him to come to me clear-headed and un-coerced. And since I know damn well that will never happen; I’m leaving.” Gil pushed the other man back a few feet and wrenched the door open. As he was about to walk out, he heard the seductive voice once more.

“Are you sure you want to do that? Are you sure you want to leave me alone with him? Remember what I did to Anthony Holbrook.”

From behind him, Gil heard a gasp and then the sounds of someone struggling to breathe. Whirling around, he saw Nick clutching at his throat, obviously trying and failing to draw air into his lungs.

“Stop it! Alright, alright, I’ll stay!” Gil cried out, quickly stepping back into the house and closing the door behind him.

Immediately Nick’s breathing eased. He gulped down several deep breaths and swayed on his feet. Reflexively, Gil caught him by the shoulders to steady him. Nick collapsed forward into Gil’s arms and the entomologist held him, while the younger man breathed heavily into his shoulder. Gil was very much aware of the other man’s hot breath on his neck and, after a moment or two, he felt warm hands slide up under his shirt to begin lightly rubbing his back and sides. Still holding Nick’s shoulders, Gil quickly pushed him away.

“Stop it! I’ve already said that I don’t want this!” he hissed.

A low, throaty chuckle emerged from Nick’s mouth, but it sounded nothing like the young man’s usual warm, infectious laugh. Still laughing, he turned away from Gil and walked over to the couch. Abruptly, he turned back to face the lead CSI.

“Very well, I won’t touch you,” that smooth voice, that wasn’t Nick’s, said. “I won’t even lay a finger on you. Of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t touch him...”

Nick’s right hand slid up his flat stomach and began to rub lightly across his nipples. Gil watched as those tiny buds hardened. The hands slid back down over the 6-pack abs to the waistband of Nick’s pants. He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned the jeans. He slid the jeans slowly off the narrow hips, revealing a pair of gray boxer-briefs. Nick turned his body slightly, while he stepped out of the jeans, giving Gil ample time to admire the way the snug cotton of the briefs hugged the curves of the strong, slim thighs and the tight, round ass.

Gil was left speechless. While his brain was still reeling with confusion and his naturally skeptical intellect was battling with his conflicted emotions concerning the validity of this ‘possession’, his body was quite clear on its response to this new visual stimulus. His body felt flushed and hot, as if he was running a fever of his own, and he was beginning to feel increasingly confined by his suddenly uncomfortable trousers.

Nick was now lying sprawled out on the couch, both legs bent, one foot planted on the floor, the other leg leaning against the back of the couch. He reached down with his right hand to rub the bulge at his crotch through the cotton of the briefs, while he continued to run his left hand over his chest and stomach.

Gil was rooted to the spot. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the scene before him. He had no idea if Nick was aware of what he was doing. If he was in fact, somehow possessed, was he aware of how his body was being used? If he was, then Gil watching him was a terrible act of betrayal, but the entomologist just couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Arching his back and raising his hips off the couch, Nick slithered out of the briefs. Kicking them off one ankle, he settled back down on the couch, gloriously naked, a Greek statue come to life to taunt Gil. Nick’s skin was lightly tanned to a lovely golden tone and in the dim, warm light of the small house it seemed to glow like burnished bronze or sweet, liquid caramel. Gil found that his mouth was beginning to water. Would that lovely skin taste like caramel too?

With his highly trained skills of observation, he quickly noted the fact that Nick’s slim hips were just as tanned as the rest of him. This surprised Gil somewhat. Although Nick obviously spent much time and effort in keeping his body in top form, he had never really struck Gil as particularly vain, quite the opposite, in fact. While confident in his abilities, the younger man had always seemed modest, even somewhat self-conscious, about his looks. For some reason, the idea that Nick indulged in the minor vanity of nude tanning, made Gil even harder than he already was.

A soft sound, something like a cross between a whimper and a sigh, drew his attention back to Nick’s face. The young man had his head thrown back against the armrest, his eyes closed and his lower lip caught between strong, white teeth. He was breathing rapidly through his nose, his nostrils flaring slightly, while he pleasured himself and Gil stood watching the younger man’s face, utterly captivated. Abruptly Nick’s eyes opened and Gil found himself trapped in the darkness of that stare, like falling into a black hole... Oh, chocolate and caramel, my two favorite flavors, was the only coherent thought in Gil’s mind.

Without conscious thought or will, like a sleepwalker, Gil moved closer to the couch, to kneel beside it. He wanted, needed, to touch Nick, to feel that amazing skin. He laid his hand, almost reverently, along one hip. His sensitive, investigator’s fingers traced the slightly jutting outline of the pelvic bone beneath them. When Nick shifted onto his side, angling his body towards Gil, the entomologist was free to slide his hand around to caress the curve of one firm buttock. The skin beneath his fingers was as warm and smooth as he’d imagined it would be. Pressing his entire palm flat against it, he gave that little mound of flesh a quick, hard squeeze. A soft moan escaped Nick’s throat and he arched his body against Gil’s, his hand still moving along his stiff member.

Gil leaned down and kissed Nick, pulling the smaller man closer in a desperate, back-bending embrace. “Bedroom, now,” Gil whispered urgently against Nick’s lips.

Once again that sable gaze locked with his and for a split second, Gil thought he detected some dark triumph there, but then it was gone. Something cold seemed to trickle through the back of his mind, instantly cooling his ardor. Releasing Nick, he stood and stepped back from the couch, allowing the other man to stand as well. As he followed that tight, little ass back toward the bedroom, Gil’s mind was churning furiously again.

What am I doing? he demanded of himself. This is still not right! One of two things is going on here, Nick is being possessed, an idea the scientist inside Gil was still vehemently rebelling against, or he’s delirious from a very high fever. Either way, he’s not himself and not thinking clearly. You have no business laying a single finger on him, however much he might seem to want you to.

Entering the small, neat bedroom, Nick immediately went to lie on the bed. He gazed up at Gil invitingly. Stalling, the older man glanced around the room. His eyes fell on the open closet. A long, flannel robe of dark blue and green, Black Watch tartan hung on a hook on the back of the closet door. Glancing over at the bed, he noted that the headboard was a masculine, Mission-style piece, with several sturdy, square, vertical supports. Moving to the closet, Gil pulled the fabric sash from the belt loops of the robe.

Turning back toward the bed, he saw Nick’s eyebrows rise in surprise, but not alarm. A slow smile graced the handsome face and the younger man seemed quite pleased with this new development. Moving to kneel on the bed beside Nick, Gil took the younger man’s wrists and began looping the fabric around them. Tying Nick’s bound wrists firmly to one of the vertical supports on the headboard, Gil stepped back away from the bed.

“Well, you have me at your mercy, now what are you going to do to me?” The voice was still not Nick’s and it only confirmed in Gil’s mind that he was doing the right thing.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he said. “Except maybe call an ambulance.”

“What!” All traces of the seductive tone were gone now.

Nick was lying on top of the comforter, so Gil picked up a light blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed and shook it out. He tossed it over the younger man’s body, covering his nudity and thereby lessening his own temptation. Nick began squirming against his bonds, twisting his body and trying to kick the blanket away, but he only succeeded in tangling it up around him.

“Grissom, let me go! I’ll kill him! You know I can!”

“But you won’t,” Gil said calmly, with a certainty, he knew he had no right to feel. “He’s the only leverage you’ve got. If you think I was a tough adversary before, if you harm him in any way, I’ll make it the sole purpose of my life to see to it that you never succeed in anything again. And you know me, I’ve got no other interests in my life.”

Gil wasn’t really sure why he was arguing with Nick or... whatever. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing, but perhaps it was part of Nick’s delirium that he was convinced that he was possessed. Perhaps humoring him would help. Except that Gil wasn’t really even sure how to do that.

Leaving the other man still spouting threats and obscenities, Gil went back out to the living room and began looking through the bookcases. He found what he was looking for quickly enough and pulled it down from the shelf. It was a small Bible bound in cheap, imitation, black leather. Opening the cover, he found a date and a hand-written inscription. It read: ‘to Nicholas Stokes, in honor of his first communion’. Closing the cover, he took the book with him back into the bedroom.

Gil really had no idea what he was doing. He considered calling a priest, but what would he say? What if this was nothing, just Nick’s fever talking? He didn’t want to risk ruining his own, as well as Nick’s, reputations. According to the New Testament, any baptized Christian could perform an exorcism. As such, Gil was qualified. He had read that the most basic part of an exorcism was simply making the Devil feel uncomfortable, thereby encouraging him to leave.

The entomologist moved to stand at the foot of the bed. He gazed down at the man bound there. Nick was watching him warily, every muscle of his body was tensed and Gil found his eyes tracing the lines of those muscles as the younger man continued to strain against his bonds. Nick’s eyes fell on the book in Gil’s hands.

“You think you’re going to expel me?” that smooth, rich voice taunted. “Do you really think you can? Are you going to chant prayers and hymns over me, Grissom, prayers you stopped believing in years ago? Do you really think that’s going to work? If you want to drive me away, you have to believe in the words you’re saying!

“Only those who are pure of heart can perform an exorcism. Your heart’s not pure and hasn’t been for a very long time, certainly not since Nicholas Stokes came to Las Vegas. How can you presume to stand in judgment of me, when we both know you’re standing there, lusting after this body?”

With those last words, Nick began to writhe sinuously on the bed, soft moans, whimpers, and other sex noises coming from his mouth. “Fuck me, Gil! Fuck me, now!” he cried out.

Without even realizing what he was doing, thinking only of making the taunts stop, Gil moved quickly to the side of the bed and slapped Nick sharply across the face. “Stop it!” he commanded.

A stunned silence fell over the room. Glancing down at his stinging hand as if it was an alien thing, Gil realized that he was breathing heavily and his entire body was trembling.

“Did you enjoy that, Gil?” the voice asked, very softly. “Did it turn you on? Would you like to slap him around some more?”

A cold, righteous anger seemed to settle over Gil like a protective mantle. He felt calm, more calm and certain of himself than he had in a long time. He no longer felt any fear or doubt. He knew exactly what he had to do and say. Still standing close to the bed, he leaned down and held the Bible up for the other man to see.

“You’re right,” Gil said. “I haven’t believed in the words written here in a very long time and I don’t need them now.”

He paused for a moment and tossed the book onto a nearby chair. Turning back to the bed, he leaned even closer and placed his hands on either side of Nick’s body, so that he was looming over the younger man, their faces inches apart.

“I have no faith in religion, which also means I have no faith in you. I believe in science and science says that you don’t exist. You are a figment of my imagination, my over-worked brain, the product of fever-induced delirium. You have no power here. I’m not afraid of you and I’m not going to give in to your taunts.

“Yes, I want Nick, but I also care about him very much and I will not take advantage of him. That would be rape. I am not a rapist and I will not become one to simply satisfy my lust, even with the possibility that Nick might not remember it the next day and I would get away with it. I will not become one of the monsters I put away. Go home, you have no power here.”

“This isn’t over, Grissom! I’m not through with you!”

“That’s fine. Come back tomorrow or the next day, whenever. I’ll tell you the same thing then. I’m not interested.”

Nick’s handsome features were suddenly, horribly distorted by rage and his entire body tensed as he tried to lunge at the entomologist. Gil stepped back quickly and watched calmly and dispassionately as the younger man howled in rage and tried tear himself free of the fabric binding him.

“Is that the best you can do?” Gil asked in a slightly amused tone. “I’m not impressed.”

Abruptly Nick’s body stiffened. He gave a grunt of pain as his body began to convulse. And then, as quickly as the fit had started, it stopped, and the young man went completely limp. He lay as still as a corpse, his eyes closed and his skin now slick with sweat.

Despite his cold, dispassionate words, Gil felt a thrill of panic flash through him and he moved quickly to the bed. He felt for a pulse on the other man’s neck. Relief flooded him as he found it, strong and steady. He also noted that Nick’s skin felt considerably cooler than it had moments ago, the fever had broken.

Feeling utterly drained and exhausted, Gil moved to the empty side of the bed and lay down. He didn’t even bother to kick off his shoes, just closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Gil awoke a few hours later to sunlight flooding his vision. Glancing around at the unfamiliar room, it took him a moment to remember where he was. When he did, he rolled to his side and found Nick still asleep, still bound to the bed. Running one hand lightly over the other man’s forehead and cheek, Gil found the skin still slightly warm, but the fever had not returned while they slept.

With relief, Gil sat up and untied the younger man’s wrists, wincing slightly at the red chafe marks and faint bruises. Knowing there was nothing he could do about them now, he climbed out of the bed and returned the cloth belt to the robe where he gotten it from. As he did so, he stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. With one last look, to double check that the other man was still sleeping, the entomologist headed out to the kitchen to see what food he could find.

With only minimal snooping, Gil quickly found coffee, bread for toast and eggs for scrambling. He had the coffee brewed and was in the middle of cooking the eggs, when he became aware of someone watching him. He looked up to see Nick standing in the doorway to the kitchen, now wearing the plaid, flannel robe.

“Good morning,” Gil said, in what he hoped was a cheerful voice. He was suddenly feeling very apprehensive. He had no idea how much the other man would remember of last night’s events.

“Morning. Did you spend the night?”

“I, uh, crashed on the couch,” Gil said, feeling that he had never been so happy to hear that faint, Texas drawl. “You were pretty sick last night, so I thought I should stick around in case you needed something.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that. I’m sorry if I ruined your evening.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it.”

“Right... well, thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it... How’re you feeling?”

“Not too bad actually, a little shaky... Listen, I didn’t say anything rude to you, did I? For some reason, I feel like I owe you an apology.”

“No, you don’t owe me anything. How much do you remember?”

“I remember the crime scene... that church, but things get a little fuzzy after that. You sent me home and I didn’t want to go... You sure I wasn’t rude to you?”

Gil smiled. “You... weren’t yourself, Nick. I knew that. It’s alright.”

The Texan covered his face with his hands and sighed. “Oh man, I’m sorry.” After a moment, he removed his hands and looked up at his supervisor. “Uh, did you take my clothes off?”

“Actually, you did.”

Glancing behind him and seeing his clothes scattered around the living room, Nick’s face turned a rather fetching shade of bright red and he closed his eyes, perhaps hoping to block the evidence from his mind. “Oh, man, I am so embarrassed. This is like flashbacks to my college days. Waking up the morning after a big frat party, wondering what the hell I’d done all night.”

“Did you often wander around, taking your clothes off?”

“What, no! I ju-.” Nick stopped mid-sentence, seeing his boss grinning at him, obviously teasing him. “I am so sorry.”

“Nick, don’t worry about it. Like I said, you weren’t yourself.”

“Thanks, Gris. Listen, could you, please, promise me one thing, though?”

“Sure.”

“Please, do not say anything about this to Greg or Warrick. If you do, I will never hear the end of it.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Gil said sincerely. After all, who was he to reveal another’s secrets, when he had so many of his own.

He watched Nick surreptitiously while they shared their breakfast. The entomologist saw nothing to indicate any adverse side effects of his ordeal in the younger man, which was a relief. Gil was also relieved that Nick didn’t seem to remember anything. His own secret could remain hidden as well.

Gil knew that he should be feeling somewhat proud of himself. After all, he had come face to face with the embodiment of his greatest temptation and he had successfully denied it. He had remained true to his ideals and principals, though they had been sorely tried. Whether it had truly been reality or a fatigue-induced fantasy, he had faced his demon and he had come away victorious. He should be feeling good, shouldn’t he?

Instead, his mind drifted back to the lonely, sterile townhouse waiting for him and he found that he felt only emptiness, an emptiness made only more profound as he looked up into the warm, brown eyes across the table from him. Yes, he had won last night, but it had been a hollow victory.


THE END