Looking up the long flight of stairs that led to a palazzo which would have been more at home in Venice than in the Las Vegas desert, Gil Grissom murmured to himself, "Nothing beside remains."
"Another quote?" Nick asked absently, hefting his work kit and staring up the same flight of stairs.
"On how fleeing power truly is." Gris waved at the building in front of him and added, "Marcus Denaria was decadent, even by Vegas standards. He was feared by half the politicians because of what he knew about, shall we say, their personal tastes, and envied by the rest for the freedom his money and influence brought. Yet he died, like any other man, and all his power amounted to nothing in the end."
"Good riddance," Nick muttered with such venom that Gris stopped mid-step to look at him. There was something in Nick's expression that he hadn't seen there before: a loathing and disgust that bordered on irrationality. "Why are we here, anyway?" Nick went on. "Bad enough that you had to pull a double, but this scene has already been processed. Brass even has a doer he likes."
"Eckley." Gris hesitated, but couldn't frame a question that wouldn't have been too invasive - and Nick wasn't his any more to question about personal involvement on a case. Instead, he answered the question asked. "Given his usual modus operandi, I'd say that he's getting pressure from the wealthy relatives of the young man being accused of the crime. Our presence is to guarantee a crossing of the 't' and dotting of 'i' before Eckley goes out on a limb and claims solid forensic evidence."
"He disses you by taking away your team, then counts on you for c.y.a." Nick shook his head, but started up the steps.
"What matters is what the facts say," Gris said, letting himself be drawn into the right mindset to study the scene as he followed him.
"What they say," Nick bit out, "is that he was wining and dining his current lover, an eighteen-year-old boy from a good family, with lies about where his wealth came from and what he liked in the bedroom. When kid discovered the truth, the hard way, he went off the deep end and slashed Denario's throat, which some could say was justifiable homicide. Denario built his empire by maintaining a stable of underaged to barely legal boys and girls to be used by the worst deviants in the country, let alone Vegas, and debauching innocents was a favorite past time of his."
That was too far over the line, and Gris pulled up short, stopping Nick simply by not moving himself. "Do I need to I recluse you from this case?"
Obviously angry, Nick bit back a reply, then made himself take a deep breath and consider. "No, no. I can do the job. I won't lie and say I'm not emotional. I've had cases that involved some of his 'toys,' and have a better idea than most what he does. Denario should be burned like so much garbage, in my opinion. But I won't let it get in the way; I promise. I want the right person to be accused; not another victim for his sheet."
For a moment, just a moment, Gris was tempted to probe to learn what really lay behind Nick's uncharacteristic rancor. The right words wouldn't come to him, and the right emotional tone that would encourage Nick to confide was absent as well, so Gris pushed the subject away, irritated at himself for choosing silence yet again. Once they'd finished the climb and undid the crime scene tape, both were absorbed into their profession, and they tediously inspected all twenty-eight rooms and seven baths.
It was thoroughness to be thorough; there was no indication that any area but the bedroom where the body had been found had any relevance to the case. It was also the sort of meticulous puzzle that Gris thrived on, and after a while he forgot everything but fitting together all the details. When they finally made it to the primary location, he would have been willing to testify that nothing of any forensic importance had happened elsewhere in the house.
He and Nick stood at the threshold to the, blood spattered room, automatically breathing through the mouth to minimize the overwhelming smell of violent death. First impressions were important, speaking of the method and mood of the killer, and they both took the time to mentally catalogue the impact of the carnage. The lush furnishings, carpet and walls were all done in whites and creams, accented with unexpected bits of black. Between the size of the room and the mirrors liberally lining the wall opposite the bed and behind the bed itself, the overall effect was one of a neutral stage arranged to emphasize the performers on it. The vast quantities of blood sprayed every where and pooled on the bed only added to the impression.
Of one mind, they stepped inside, being careful of where their feet landed, now looking for what could no longer be seen.
"What does the kid look like?" Nick asked absently. "Slender, effete, pampered, I bet."
"Denario's usual taste," Grissom agreed, just as distractedly. "Not the physical type you associate with chasing a man down and slashing at him until you can get to his throat."
"Blood spatter's wrong, too, but damn me if I can tell you exactly how it's wrong." Nick began taking shots with his digital camera, tracking what seemed like the flow of the splatters with the lens as he shot.
Trying to map the movements of the two men in his mind's eye, Grissom frowned, intuitively sure that Nick was correct but having the same difficulty. "Catherine's notes commented that the blood trail indicated an ongoing struggle for the knife until the mortal blow was made."
With a noncommittal sound, Nick continued shooting, and Grissom left him to it, kneeling next to a grouping to study the individual droplets up close. It was a standard scatter, yet the drops were distorted in a unique way, and he shifted position several times to try to gain a perspective that would help decipher the change. His concentration so intense, that he had actually been hearing a new noise for several seconds before survival instinct reminded him that any unexpected sound was not a good thing at present.
Jerking upright and racing to the window that overlooked the rear of the property, Grissom looked out as a car began discharging a group of young men. They looked to be teens, drunk or high or both, definitely in a dangerously reckless mood, and from the car parked skewed sideways against the stairs, they were the *second* load to arrive. Now that he knew to listen, he could pick up the faint echoes of revelry down stairs and moving their way.
Attention still on collecting evidence, Nick was oblivious to their growing danger, and Grissom ran to him, taking out his cell to call police dispatch as he did. Though he was startled when Grissom began describing the situation to the operator, Nick was on his feet a second later, turning for the door. Catching him by the shirt sleeve, Grissom shook his head once hard, and pulled him toward the wall-length closet beside the door.
Closing his phone, he whispered, "We don't know where they are; we could walk right into them."
"What if they come in here?"
"All they're interested in is vandalism or stealing, along with the bragging rights to being at a murder scene." Opening both closet doors - and sparing a split second to be stunned by the amount and variety of sexual toys and fetish clothing - he carefully angled them both to make them look as if they'd simply been left ajar. "By the time they reach this room, the uniforms will be here."
Swallowing hard and looking decidedly unhappy about it, Nick said in just the right tone of being put upon, "But the closet, Gris?"
"I know. I can hear Catherine and Sara now."
A loud crash sounded from somewhere on the lower floor of the house, and without any further discussion they both ducked into the closet, pressing back into the corner. Thankfully it was more than deep enough for the two of them, but since they were both trying to see through the opening Grissom had made, they couldn't help but invade each other's personal space. Taking it in stride, Grissom consigned the unexpected physical response to human closeness to its usual place far away from the matters at hand.
Nick kept jerking away from the casual contact, silently apologizing the first time, then hunching his shoulders as if expecting anger after that. His reaction was more disconcerting to Grissom than his own, and he was nearly grateful when two young men, barely out of their teens, if that, burst into the room, whooping. To his surprise, Nick immediately shrank as far into the corner as he could, every line of his body radiating misery.
Without thinking, Grissom eased in front of him, but with an eye toward future testimony, focused on the intruders. They were both slender, well-formed young men, and they shared the same fair skin, though one was a red head and the other had a cap of dark curls. The brunette was slightly taller, with vivid green eyes as opposed to his companion's darker blue ones, but his were lit up with what could only be called glee.
"Right here," he said, literally jumping up and down, curls bouncing. "The fucking bastard bought it right here." He spun in a tight dancer's circle, arms stretched out. "Isn't that just perfect? Isn't that the way some half-assed movie producer would have done it?"
"Theo," the red head said, voice small and worried. "How can you even stand to be in here, after what he did to you?"
"Because I made it! He tried to twist and warp and make me into what he wanted, not what I am. I'm still me, and he's gone." Theo flung himself backwards, landing on the stripped down mattress, heedless of the blood stains on it, and Grissom couldn't help a wince at what he was doing to the evidence. "You want to know what makes it even more perfect?"
"No, what?"
Leaning up on one elbow, Theo said, "This is where he did me the first time. Just grabbed me by the arm, dragged me up here and ripped off my clothes to stick that monster dick in me. I bled buckets, man."
Grissom felt Nick's flinch at the blunt description of the rape, and couldn't help the wave of sympathy for both the young man and Nick. It was one thing to listen to such confessions when the job demanded it; another to eavesdrop on a confidence shared. Forcibly reminding himself that the boys were both trespassers and criminals, he killed an urge to shuffle restlessly and went on watching.
Timidly sitting on the edge of the bed, the other boy said, "He did that with everyone who didn't have a family or somebody else to protect them. Liked it almost as much as he liked dirtying the pure ones. Me, my mamma gave me to him; not legal or anything. Just told me that she wouldn't be there if I tried to come back. And he was better than the old men she pimped me to."
"Hey, I know I had it better than some, Rickie." Stretching out a graceful arm, he trailed a finger tip over his companion's knee. "But I never wanted it up the ass; hated it, every time, and taking it because of being sexed up to the point that I'd make it with a stick shift didn't change that."
This time Grissom was the one to wince, the image provoked by the casual comparison startlingly vivid.
Gaze locked on his twisting hands, Rickie said, "How can you stand being with me, then? 'Cause I've always loved it, even when the trick looked like my grandfather."
With unexpected gentleness, Theo caught the tortured hands in one of his. "That's just you, and I love you. I won't say there wasn't a time when I was messed up because I was doing to you what I hated, but you make so good for me, make me so happy that I'm making it good for you."
"You don't have to do that, anymore." Rickie suddenly sat up straight, expression determined. "You can be straight, the way you want to be."
"Too late," Theo said cheerfully. "Com'ere, gorgeous. Let me show you how much I *don't* want nobody but you."
Surely, Grissom thought, a fine edge of apprehension and distaste coloring his thought, he's not suggesting….
"Theo…."
Smile wide and coaxing, Theo used their joined hands to pull him close, murmuring, "Where better than here? We're free of him; let's celebrate." He stroked a long, languid line from Rickie's shoulder to his wrist, mouth softening in a way that let his beauty shine through.
Shivering, Rickie said, "I…I don't…uh…"
Mind clearly on seduction and not conversation, Theo scooted close enough to trail his tongue down the same path his free fingers had just taken. At the end of his journey, he whispered into a palm, "Please? What better way to cover over old memories?"
Unexpectedly Rickie smiled. "A good beginning to replace a bad one. I can get into that." He turned and curled into Theo, offering his mouth, which was quickly and greedily taken.
Averting his eyes so that all he could see was the suggestion of movement from the bed, Grissom resigned himself to being a witness to an intimate moment. Hopefully it would soon be interrupted by police ; it couldn't have been that long since he put in the call . Of course, breaking and entering was a small matter compared to other emergencies reported. It was very possible they had been shifted to the bottom of the list, triage style. In that case, it would be a good idea to prepare to deal with the intruders on their own - perhaps take advantage of their distraction to find a better hiding place?
Grissom was pulled from his musings by a soft, strangled noise from Nick, and he carefully pressed back against him to remind him to stay silent. Whimpering this time, Nick tried to become a part of the wall behind him, the reason made perfectly clear by the burning ridge digging into Grissom's hip.
A wild cry of pleasure came from the other side of the doors, and Grissom felt Nick tremble in response to it. To his shock, his own libido surged past its restraints, and he grew hard and heavy in his pants. Irritated with himself, with the situation, even illogically with Nick, Grissom glanced over his shoulder, intending to show his displeasure with a cutting stare.
Nick's eyes were screwed tightly shut, misery radiating from every line of his body. Annoyance derailed, Grissom did something he rarely did; he acted on impulse. Shifting so that he was standing sideways to him, he cupped the side of Nick's face, weathering out the hard jerk of shock from him.
It took several seconds for Nick to gather his courage enough to take a wary peek at Grissom from under his lashes, but Grissom's patience and gentleness apparently got through to him. When he did finally look, Grissom gave me a small smile and indicated his own tented slacks with sweeping gesture. "Only human," he mouthed exaggeratedly.
Fear flowed out of Nick's lean form, shoulders relaxing into a more natural line. Trusting Grissom's ability to read lips, he said silently, "Always had a thing for the sounds people make having sex."
Nodding his understanding, Grissom shrugged eloquently to say, 'what can you do?'
Quaking with an inaudible chuckle, Nick grinned his agreement, then put his head against the wall and closed his eyes again.
Thinking that he was attempting to mentally distract himself, Grissom stole a glance at the lovers to gauge how preoccupied they were. They seemed completely involved with each other, hands and mouths busy every where, but they had moved to the floor between the bed in the door, directly in the path of any escape Nick and Gris could take.
Resigned, Grissom cast about for a diversion for himself, but couldn't put the image of the entwined couple from his mind. There was an unexpected grace and beauty in their actions. In fact, neither of those words had ever occurred to him in conjunction with the sex act; in his experience it was messy and awkward. Almost against his will, he was drawn back to watching, unable to deny the aching rise of desire.
Nick was in no better shape. Sweating, mouth half-opened for desperate pants, he was shaking, clearly at the edge of his self control. When the rhythmic slap of flesh into flesh, punctuated with gasps of delight, filled the air, Nick began to thrust with minute lifts of his hips.
Telling himself that he was being expedient; sparing a contamination of the crime scene, not to mention embarrassment for Nick if he had a wet stain on his crotch when the uniforms came, Grissom bent from the waist and quickly unzipped Nick's trousers. Fumbling a little, he took out Nick's erection, flashing his gaze upward to find Nick had jammed a fist into his mouth to silence himself. Taking that as a show of consent, Grissom took him into his mouth, sucking gently at the head.
The taste, Grissom decided analytically, wasn't bad. Better than a woman in some ways, but there was really only a hint of the flavor Nick could give him. Texture wise - and his own erection throbbed dangerously - there was something unbelievably erotic in the glide of the smooth column of flesh over his lips and tongue.
Hastily he gripped his testicles in a way Heather had shown him, staving off his completion. Nick went perfectly still, hardly even breathing, then his seed thrummed its way free to jet down Grissom's throat. It was as good as he'd hoped, and he willingly nursed the softening member until the last drop was gone.
Just as he would have had to lift his head and acknowledge the caressing fingers in his hair, someone burst into the bedroom, interrupting Theo and Rickie. "Cops coming, cops coming. Lookout says we've only got a few minutes."
Loosing an impressive string of curses, Theo carefully pulled free of Rickie and scrambled for his clothes. "Go, go. I've already got what we need; you guys take what you want."
It only took a few minutes for the bedroom, if not the entire house, to empty, which told Grissom a great deal about how well organized this seemingly impulsive party invasion really was. Despite the quick departure, he and Nick stayed where they were until the heard the shout of 'police' from downstairs, emerging with guns in hand, just in case, and announcing themselves loudly. To Grissom's relief, Nick was composed when they met up with the officers, no trace of their brief… encounter visible. They quickly gave a brief account of what happened, with some slight editing that did nothing to compromise their truthfulness, and soon were back to work.
The downstairs had suffered a great deal from the 'party;' almost enough to disguise that it was no where near as random as intended. Still, if he hadn't seen how in control Theo had been, Grissom thought he might have missed it, and it was a factor that he wouldn't have to explain beyond claiming professional experience. It called to doubt, in his mind, the strength of the evidence connecting the current suspect. Putting that opinion, along with any other unsubstantiated considerations, completely aside, Grissom sampled, bagged and tagged, working companionably beside Nick.
Eventually, though, they finished and left for the laboratory, and without the necessities of the job to keep him occupied, Nick became withdrawn, literally and figuratively. He scrunched himself against the passenger door, face disconcertingly empty of emotion save for the thin line of his lips. Holding in a sigh of the inevitability of a discussion, Grissom pulled into a busy diner parking lot where two men talking intensely wouldn't be notice amid the bustle. Not asking why they had stopped, Nick tensed, taking on an air of 'about to get my ass kicked.'
"Catherine has chastised me more than once for leaving the human factor out of my dealings with others," Grissom said matter of factly. "For the most part, she's right. In this case, I'm not, but a professional tone might make this easier for both of us." He turned in his seat enough to face Nick. "This can go nowhere, for reasons we both know all too well."
Letting out his breath in an explosive huff, Nick relaxed. "You don't shit where you eat, especially with a boss," he agreed, obliquely. "And I don't want to deal with the gay thing at work, at least partly because I don't see myself as gay. Or straight. Or bi. Mostly, I'm just confused, and the job is no place to have to deal with that, even with someone I trust otherwise."
Grissom considered, then said carefully, "If you need a listening ear, now is a good time, if possibly the last. Personally I've always though of myself as flexible, if for no other reason than a lack of serious experience one way or the other."
"Flexible. Sounds good, something you can live with." Nick looked everywhere but at Grissom, and then blurted, "It's never been right for me, male or female. Like today, it's been… I don't know, furtive, dirty, a snap of sensation that's hardly worth the turmoil you go through before and after."
"Turmoil?" Grissom let the softness of his tone, of his expression, make the question coaxing.
Realizing that he had said too much that was revealing, Nick plastered on a sickly grin. "Let's just say that if yours were less than serious, all of mine were way too serious."
Understanding dawned, and Grissom said, "Closer to Rickie or Theo's maybe?"
"Not that bad," Nick denied hastily.
"But enough to warrant being confused."
"Yeah." Nick swallowed hard. "Yeah, you could say that." Almost visibly pushing the whole topic away, he pointlessly adjusted his seat belt. "It doesn't really matter; the job doesn't leave much room for a personal life, and with Eckley breathing down our necks morning, noon, and night now, I can't afford to work on a personal problem that could ruin my career."
Understanding that the conversation was over, Grissom put the SUV in gear, and drove toward the lab. "There are therapists, Nick, and doctor-patient confidentiality, not to mention in this day and age blatant discrimination can lead to substantial lawsuits."
"I can't afford therapy on my own, and though the insurance pays for certain kinds of therapy, I have to go through my supervisor, Catherine, to qualify for it. Give her a reason to see one, which sucks, because if you *have* a problem, the last person you want to know is the woman who signs your performance reviews!"
"Which, despite Catherine's best intentions, might as well be the same as coming out to Eckley himself." Grissom tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The repercussions from his disinterest in political machinations continued to mount, and all because he had sincerely believed that Eckely could do nothing that would be of consequence to him. The human factor again, he said silently.
Off on his own chain of thought, Nick said as much to himself as to Grissom, "It's not the discrimination thing, it's being able to work with cops and co-workers who respect me for what I bring to the job."
"You can have a sex life, even a gay one, and keep that, too," Grissom said, then shook his head at himself. "Hiding isn't a very good option, I know. Not when you deal daily with trained observers who are accustomed to picking up on details and creating a scenario from them."
"And it's not like it's really an issue." Nick finally met Grissom's eyes squarely, if only for a moment. "I mean it. My life is good, and I don't miss any of the things that most guys think is so necessary."
Like companionship, Nick? Grissom thought, his own past decisions, so similar to Nick's, haunting him. Like family? Like the unique trust of being able to be yourself with another person, no apologies, no regrets?
Taking his silence as an end to the conversation, Nick peered through the windshield, studying the late afternoon sky. "My shift is over; I've court tomorrow, so I'm heading straight to bed."
"And I've got another one ahead of me," Grissom said, taking the conversational gambit. "If nothing pops, I've enough paperwork to keep me occupied the rest of the night."
By mutual consent they nattered on about nothings until they reached the lab, then Nick made his escape with clichéd haste, and Grissom couldn't even find the humor in it. Taking his time getting out of the SUV, he spotted Eckely and Catherine, laughing easily about something as they walked out of the building together. The smile on her face was the one she had once described as her 'working the crowd' smile, which was as false as the color of her hair.
Not that he seemed to mind, though with Eckley, who could ever really know, including, perhaps, Eckley himself. It irked Grissom though. No, it more than irked him, he decided. It angered him, angered him to the point that he could not rationalize it away or over-ride it or dismiss it as inevitable. Neither confrontation nor battle was his way, but it was an art he could learn if he must. For the first time in a very, very long time, Grissom thought that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something in his life worth fighting for.
finis