Reposted with edits 9/04/12. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Just a B&E

Things seemed quieter than usual. Not eerily quiet, just too calm, like just before a storm breaks, or the noticeable silence when home alone. Every other night over the past few months had been leading to this single night, and even the weather seemed to be in on it. There was no wind, not even a light breeze. The small, tidy neighborhood on the outskirts of Las Vegas was dead silent as CSI Nick Stokes trotted down his front walk to the truck in the driveway.

He jiggled his key ring, anxiously using the metallic rattle to interrupt the quiet. He pushed the oddly unnerving silence out of his mind and hopped into his truck. It was simply a calm, quiet night, and there was nothing wrong with that. In fact, he could really use a calm, quiet night. He started his vehicle and headed towards the crime lab, feeling the need to turn up the radio just a little louder than usual.

The drive into work typically took anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five minutes depending on traffic and stoplights, but tonight the plain stone façade of the Las Vegas Crime Lab seemed to appear in the windshield in the blink of an eye. Highway hypnosis, or maybe something more. Nick brought a hand up and rubbed his eyes. His mind tended to wander, especially while driving, and lately it wandered a lot. He would be travelling a beaten path known so well he could arrive there practically on autopilot, his body and vehicle working in tandem to deposit him at his destination safely with very little effort on the part of his mind.

Nick wasn't exactly sure where it was his mind wandered off to, but if he had three guesses he would only need one. It was something he tried very hard not to consciously think about, despite the ramblings of any therapist. His subconscious, that was a different story, and he was really going to have to do a better job of reining it in. He didn't feel like snapping out of it wrapped around a telephone pole.

Nick pulled into the parking space he'd unofficially called dibs on long ago, and started for the glass double doors. It was quiet even here, and the same eerie silence hung in the air when he entered the building and made his way down the tiled halls. He cocked his head, straining to hear the curiously absent racket of ringing phones and frantic footsteps of CSIs and various law enforcement professionals. The halls weren't empty, not by any means, but those passing seemed to be doing so in slow motion, no one speaking. Nick vaguely wondered if someone had died; not a completely out of the question scenario in his line of work. For some reason, he found himself breathing a sigh of relief when he heard familiar laughter and shouts coming from the open door of the break room. Thank God.

"Oh! Wow, look at that! Is that where you're supposed to hit the ball? Into all that water?"

"The joystick…stuck. I tried to hit low on the ball."

"Well, you hit it right past the shot limit. Shoot, what's that put you? Twenty-three over par for the course?"

"Just hit the damn ball."

Nick leaned casually against the doorway and laughed. He really did have to side with Greg on this one. Golf, even video game golf, was just not Warrick's game. "You guys get tired of football?" he asked.

Both Greg Sanders and Warrick Brown looked up, Warrick with a bit more hostility. "Didn't think the little punk would be beating me so bad," he admitted, cracking a smile.

"That's right," Greg said with a confident jerk of his head. "Don't mess with the G-Man."

Nick laughed again as he pulled a chair from the table closer to the couch and TV. "Please tell me you didn't actually just call yourself that."

Greg tilted his head and grinned. "Yeah, that was pretty lame." He whipped back to face Warrick. "Not as lame as twenty-three over par, though," he gloated.

Warrick wordlessly tossed his controller to the ground, but Nick could practically hear his thoughts: screw this game. Showing the obligatory support for his best friend, Nick quieted his chuckling. "And how did you finish, G-Man?"

Greg grinned widely and turned back to the television screen. He pulled the joystick back and pushed it forward quickly, tapping furiously at one of the tiny buttons on the controller. Nick heard the thwack as the club connected with the ball. The animated crowd cheered.

"With a birdie, and seven under par for the course."

"Nice," Nick said, flinching under the look Warrick threw his way.

The lanky CSI shook his head. "I gotta hand it to ya, Greggo, you know your way around a video game golf course."

"And that surprises you somehow?" came the dry question from outside the room. The three CSIs looked up as Gil Grissom entered the room.

"It doesn't you?" Warrick asked, resting a hand on his leg.

Grissom paused, holding a small stack of assignment slips. "I've learned that Greg is capable of anything. I don't know if there's anything new I could learn about him that would surprise me."

Greg looked taken aback by the kind-of-compliment, and he silently accepted the slip of paper Grissom handed him.

"DB. You're meeting Catherine at the Sphere."

"Yes, sir," Greg said. He stood and tossed his controller to the floor next to Warrick's discarded one. "Good game," he said with a smile.

"Get on outta here," Warrick ordered, but smiled in spite of himself. "What do you have for me?" he asked Grissom.

"Another DB, out in Meadow Hills."

Warrick whistled. "Rich dead body."

Grissom nodded. "Expect some press. And take Sara with you, if she ever shows up."

"Here," Sara Sidle said somewhat breathlessly, materializing in the doorway. She paused to catch her breath, almost like she'd run all the way from her car. Which, being Sara, she very may well have.

Warrick slapped his thighs and stood. "Let's go, girl." He waved an arm for Sara to follow him as he accepted the second assignment slip from Grissom.

Sara smiled apologetically at the supervisor as they moved through the doorway.

"Where were you?" Warrick asked her in a somewhat accusatory tone.

"None of your business," she answered coyly, but knowing Sara, Nick figured she'd probably just overslept. Their light banter faded away as the two moved further down the hall.

It suddenly dawned on Nick that he was the only investigator left in the room, and that could end two ways. Either he was working a case with Grissom or working solo, something he hadn't done since the abduction. Truth be told, Nick would more surprised by the former. It seemed to him, and probably to everyone else, the supervisor was avoiding all possible scenarios where the two might be left alone. Even the numerous distractions that accompanied the processing of a crime scene didn't seem enough for Grissom to face whatever it was he was feeling and just spend some time with Nick.

But if what was about to go down was behind door number two…well, Nick wasn't quite sure how excited he would be about that, either. Not because he thought he couldn't handle it; there was no doubt in his mind that he could. It was whether or not the others thought he could handle it. He had this horrible mental image of them sitting around the table in the conference room, picking apart his case, showing him everything he'd done wrong, everything he'd forgotten to do without someone holding his hand. Nick was feeling a serious need to prove himself, to show that he really and truly didn't need them hovering over his shoulder all the time. He didn't need to be babysat, although past events might prove otherwise. He was a grown man and should be allowed to go out alone at night.

Nick found himself practicing the speech as Grissom was only moments away from telling him they would be working together that night. He frowned, trying to find a way to correctly put into words what he was thinking without pissing off the man, only to be taken by surprise by what his supervisor actually said.

"Nick, I want you to take this one."

Nick's head snapped up and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He hadn't bothered to prepare something to say in the event Grissom actually let him out of the lab alone. He stared at the paper in Grissom's outstretched hand and blinked several times. He felt like a complete fool, rendered speechless by the thought of a single solo case. God, it was like he was a damn rookie, again.

"Okay," he managed. How very intelligent of you, he chastised himself. He even sounded like a rookie.

Grissom gave him a small smile as Nick took the paper. "It's just a B and E. I'm sorry."

The apology seemed out of place to Nick, who was inwardly singing praises to the man, and he raised his eyebrows. "Nah, it's fine." He stared at the paper.

Grissom sighed, and Nick got the feeling it was solely to get his attention. He suddenly wondered just how long he'd been staring.

"I've got to get started on some paperwork for Ecklie," Grissom said. A long, awkward pause. "This is what I get for leaving everything to the end of the month."

"Sure." Nick nodded. Grissom started to back out of the room, but Nick stopped him. "Gris. Thanks."

It sounded strange, and just as out of place as an apology for the simple act of handing out assignments, but at the same time Nick felt a need to say something. Grissom gave him another small, however awkward, smile and, seemingly reluctantly, left the room.

Nick stood in the middle of the break room and found himself drawn to stare at the paper again, if for no other reason than to stall his departure from the building. He didn't really know why; he'd done this dozens of times. This was no different.

But it really, really was.

Nick was pushing open the glass doors to leave the lab at the same time Captain Jim Brass was coming up the walk. "Hey, Nicky," the detective greeted him briskly, though not unkindly.

"Jim," Nick responded with a nod. How many grown men still go by their childhood nicknames? Nick thought, and not for the first time. He couldn't ever recall, or even imagine, Warrick or Grissom calling out to Brass, "Hey, Jimmy."

Brass, being a detective, took in Nick's unaccompanied exit from the building, vest on and field kit in hand, and his eyes lit up. "You solo tonight?"

"Yeah," Nick said, trying not to sound too much like a sixteen-year-old girl just told by her parents she could stay home alone for the weekend while they were out of town. He again felt like a shiny new rookie, looking for the chance to brag about pulling a solo case.

Brass took it upon himself to take the assignment slip from Nick's lax fingers, slackening as his mind wandered off once again. "What did you get?" he inquired.

As the detective read the paper, Nick took note of his reaction. Brass gave a small shrug, probably to himself, and Nick saw a look of understanding come over his face: this was a pity solo assignment.

He looked up and smiled at Nick. "Just a B and E," he said sympathetically, but Nick had the feeling it wasn't sincere. Brass didn't seem to want him out on his own any more than the others.

Nick shrugged, unaware of what to say, of what he was expected to say. If Brass didn't understand how much this meant to him, if he thought Grissom was handing him a softball case, he wasn't going to tell him differently. He didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

"I'd better get going," Nick said, gesturing to his truck with his kit.

"Sure," Brass said, giving him another smile, which didn't have the desired effect. Unless the desired effect was to make Nick feel like a child who'd just gotten an A on his spelling test. And not the hard words, either.

Nick found this particular smile difficult to return but did the best he could. The muscles in his cheeks and jaw strained form what felt like a grin stretching from ear to ear, obviously forced, and Brass frowned as he walked away.

And now he thinks you're crazy, Nick thought. Well played. He shook his head and continued out of the door to his truck.

Apparently that bit of noise Nick had found inside of the building was misleading; the quiet hadn't really gone away. Nick studied the address on his assignment slip as he hopped up into the driver's seat. The house was in a nearby neighborhood, only a fifteen-minute drive from the lab.

Short leash, Nick though, immediately ashamed of himself. He should just take what he was given and be happy with it. He wasn't going to allow Grissom's hesitancy or Brass's sympathy get to him. This was his chance to prove he was…well, himself, again.

The autopilot kicked in again during the drive to the house; at least it was in a neighborhood he'd visited many times on other cases. Pulsing lights of bright red and blue from the top of the patrol car at the curb brought Nick's mind back into focus. He squinted and pulled his vehicle in behind the black and white. As Nick got out of the truck, his eyes strained to recognize the officer working the scene with him. Officer Cottingham was a nice guy, not a rookie but still relatively new to the force. Nick had seen him around at other scenes, and he greeted the man with a jerk of the head.

"Hey, Craig," he said.

"Nick." Cottingham matched Nick's stride as they approached the house. "Tough break, huh?"

Nick turned to look at him, brow furrowed. "How do you mean?"

Cottingham shrugged nonchalantly. "It's just a B and E."

Nick sighed. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Huh?"

Nick shook his head. "Never mind." He stopped on the front step of the cracker-jack suburban two-story and waited for the rundown from the officer.

Cottingham put his hands on his hips and jerked his head to the house. "House belongs to the Parkers. Carey and…Joan," he said, cocking his head to remember the couple's names. "Two kids. Whole family's out of town."

Nick bent to inspect the lock on the front door, which had obviously been picked. "Neighbor call it in?"

"Yup."

"Okay." Nick straightened and looked up to the second story windows. "Did they get away with anything?"

Cottingham shook his head. "Not that I saw. All major appliances and electronics seem to be accounted for. Little old lady next door called 911 before they had the time, I guess."

Nick frowned. "Then why am I here?"

Cottingham offered him nothing more than a shrug and opened the door for Nick to enter.

Perfect. There was barely evidence to recover from the scene. The most he could do was dust the lock and knob for prints and call it a night. The damned cop could have handled it.

Nick felt his shoulders sag. It really was a pity send-off. Grissom had dug up the most mundane crime scene he could find and given it to Nick, pretending he would be doing the man a huge favor by taking the case off of his hands.

Nick went through the processing motions – walk through the house; pictures of the lock, windows, and both front and back doors; dusted the lock and door; bagged the piece that had broken off. He did it all with his jaw set, not really focusing on his actions, his anger rising throughout the half an hour he spent at the house.

He'd been letting a lot slide recently. Overuse of the already nearly-annoying "Nicky," everyone looking over his shoulder but acting horribly like they weren't, being asked how he was doing about seventeen hundred times a day, nearly half of those inquiries coming from his constantly ringing phone. He responded each time with a smile. He played along and let Gris, Catherine, Brass, Warrick, Sara, and even Greg think he didn't know they were keeping tabs on him. He'd learned pretty quickly that if he didn't answer his cell phone or any page right away it would induce panic in whoever was calling. He'd gotten so used to unexpected visitors he kept extra beer in the fridge for the guys. What really bothered Nick was that not one of them seemed to notice how much work on his part was going into keeping them happy. And here was the one thing Grissom could have done to return the favor, and he didn't follow through. He could have given Nick one of the dead bodies. Nick remembered how long it had taken him to get his first solo DB; Warrick had gotten them first because Nick had been deemed "not ready."

It could only mean that Grissom once again thought he wasn't ready. He'd attempted to humor him, sure, and evidently thought Nick had the intellectual capacity of an eight-year-old, oblivious to this fact. Well, Gris, my man, I can tell.

Nick fumed silently on the drive back to the lab. He made sure he remained aware of what he was doing, that his mind didn't do the wandering thing now. He wanted to remain angry until he got back or he would talk himself out of what he really wanted to do, which was to talk to Grissom and resolve this, once for all.

It was no surprise to find most of the parking lot empty. Everyone else was running real scenes, working real cases, Nick noted bitterly. He swung the truck into the same spot he'd so recently vacated and stalked into the lab, going straight to Grissom's office in the back. In the back of his mind, Nick noted the lab wasn't nearly as quiet as it had been before. Now there were phones ringing and people chatting, possibly only more noticeable now due to the fact David Hodges was in the lab.

"And what did little Nicky bring home for daddy?" the tech asked in a mock childish voice.

Nick wasn't in the mood for Hodges, and didn't even spare a glance at the man as he passed, slinging his single evidence bag into a nearby table. He entered Grissom's office without knocking – a first – and caused the singing bass mounted above the door to croon. Nick usually gave the singing fish the courtesy of a small laugh, but not tonight. Tonight, it was annoying.

"Gris, can I talk to you a sec?" Nick asked, shutting the door before Grissom could reply.

Grissom appeared confused as Nick plopped himself into a chair. He set a few papers aside and took off his glasses. "Sure, Nicky."

Nick gritted his teeth. This was exactly what he was talking about. He leaned forward in his chair, and for some reason this action caused Grissom to lean back in his. "Why did you give me that case?" he asked.

Grissom frowned. "Because I felt that you were ready to be on your own again in the field."

Nick laughed darkly, steeling himself to speak his mind and not pull his punches. "Then give me a real case, Grissom. That wasn't even a freakin' burglary!"

Grissom calmly set his glasses aside and folded his hands in front of him, patiently assessing Nick's posture and demeanor, and Nick really hated when he did that. "I got the call about a B and E, and I thought it was the perfect case to give you, because it would only require one CSI. Apparently I was wrong."

Nick could detect a hint of sarcasm in his last words. Oh no, he thought, he is not going to turn this around on me.

"Bull shit," he blurted, and Grissom recoiled. Nick had never spoken this way with him before. Gotta go with it now, Nick thought, refusing to shrink back as Grissom's surprised expression morphed slowly to one of confusion and anger. "You knew this was a way for you to make me think that you think I'm ready when you don't, even though I think that I am." Nick sat back heavily in his chair and crossed his arms.

Grissom studied him for a moment, his mouth open. "I'm not even sure that I know what you just said, Nick."

Such a comment might have usually lightened the tension, even caused Nick to laugh, but not now. "Then listen to me, Grissom! I'm right here."

"I can see that, Nick."

"Again with the elusive sarcastic comments. Damn it, would you just talk to me, for once!" Nick could feel his face flushing, whether from the anger or the beginnings of the embarrassment he was sure to be feeling later, he wasn't sure.

Grissom sighed, and Nick steeled himself for a lecture. It'd been awhile since he'd had one of those.

"What is it you want me to say? It's been long enough since…you've been showing remarkable progress for what you've been through, Nick, and I know you must think we're all waiting around for you to fall apart, but it's not like that at all."

Nick snorted but waited for Grissom to continue.

He did. "I wanted to show you that I believed you were ready, and when I got the B and E, I thought it was a nice place to start. I guess I shouldn't have bothered."

Nick's jaw dropped at Grissom's ability to turn this into a fight over Nick's ingratitude. "A nice place to start? Hell, Grissom, Archie could have processed that scene. This isn't the way to show that you believe in me. Give me a DB, man." Nick felt his anger dulling down. He shouldn't have been surprised; this was just what Grissom did. Or better yet, didn't do. He didn't understand people. He didn't have any idea where Nick was coming from, and probably never would.

Grissom sighed, stared down at his desk for a long moment, and then finally said something Nick never would have expected. "You're right."

And Nick found himself suddenly at a loss for words.

"Tomorrow night, I'll get you a real case, Nicky. All yours." Grissom turned back to the papers littering his desktop, signifying the conversation was over.

"Okay," Nick said quietly. Maybe he should have thanked his supervisor, but he was still holding onto a miniscule bit of anger he'd had with him upon entering the office.

He waited in his chair for a moment, but Grissom was making a point to not look at him. Nick nodded to himself and left the office quietly.

With his single bit of evidence having already been picked up and without another case to work on, Nick wandered the halls slowly until he heard the cheery voices of the rest of his team, back from their crime scenes. Nick plastered a grin on his face as he entered the room.

"Hey, Nicky," Catherine said, moving across the room to give him a small hug, another little something that was getting on his nerves.

Nick smiled and returned the hug as he added the 'Nicky' to the tally he was keeping in his head. "You guys all back already?" he asked.

All four nodded. "Waiting on evidence," Sara said.

"Yeah, me, too," Nick lied. He knew Hodges wasn't going to get anything off the lock except maybe the type of tool used to pick it, and the odds of that actually leading somewhere weren't exactly in his favor.

"Yeah," Warrick said, clapping him on the back. "Heard you were Han Solo tonight, man."

"Too bad it's just a B and E, though," Sara added, scrunching her nose sympathetically.

"Yeah," Nick said, giving the same nonchalant shrug Officer Cottingham had given him earlier. "Too bad."

To be continued...