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Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, I’m just borrowing them for a while. I promise to return them when I’m done. Really.

Author’s Notes: This is an alternate ending/continuation to the season 2 episode “Stalker”…it goes semi-AU from where the staff is watching Nigel’s videos. Catherine did NOT see the Crime Stopper article on the wall. It kinda bothered me that it was that “easy” for them to find/catch Crane. Nigel Crane struck me as too smart a character to leave such a blatant clue to his whereabouts in a house that he knew they’d be searching following his attack on Nick. I didn’t really buy the ending. So I’m changing it. Besides, I really wanted to use Morris Pearson in this story, so I couldn’t have him killed off. Heh.

I have only seen a handful of episodes of CSI, so I apologize if I contradict things that have been established in the show…

Warnings: There is a high probability of n/c or implied n/c scenes (and possibly some m/m) later in the fic. I’m not inclined to be graphic or detailed about it, but if it squicks you, don’t read. (Also, my beta reader informs me that there seems to be some slashiness goin’ on with Warrick/Nick. It wasn’t intended, but…if you want to interpret it that way, go for it. Otherwise, they’re just friends…I don’t tend to write the romance thing, so probably it will be “slash-friendly” at best ;))

Prologue


“So, I’m sorry, Jane, but it’s over,” Nigel Crane spoke directly to the camera before stepping back and continuing with the task at hand: packing. “You’re just not good enough for me,” he continued, pausing to wrinkle his nose at the camera with apparent distaste. “You’re not disciplined, Jane,” he explained as he pulled a meticulously folded pile of clothing from the shelf and placed it in a large purple suitcase. Catherine Willows recognized the suitcase as a companion to several smaller suitcases they’d inventoried from Jane Galloway’s apartment. “You couldn’t even learn the simplest things like how not to bite your nails. You’re not smart, Jane. Not like my new love. How are we supposed to have intelligent conversations if you just don’t have the brain power?” He continued his “break-up” diatribe as he finished packing his belongings. As soon as he finished packing, he turned to the camera one last time. Reaching toward it, he signed off, “So, I guess this is goodbye, Jane.” And that was it, the end of the final tape.

Sara Sidle scowled. She loathed men like Crane, and she’d met far too many of them; always putting others down to make themselves seem more powerful. “Jane wasn’t stupid, Crane, she was just scared half to death.” Sara supposed that was just fine with Crane. What Jane thought or felt was obviously irrelevant to him. Pig.

“That’s it,” Catherine sighed. “Not much to go on.”

“Wait…” Warrick Brown mused, thinking back over the final tape. “New love. Damn, he said ‘new love’.” The implication of those two words made his stomach churn.

Gil Grissom nodded, unsurprised and sounding, to those who didn’t know him, unconcerned. “He’s found a new obsession and moved on.”

“Yeah, moved on into someone else’s crawlspace,” Warrick grumbled.

“So how do we find him?” Sara asked. “How do we stop him from doing this to some other woman?”

“He’s already doing it to some other woman,” Catherine replied quietly. “Brass has 24/7 surveillance on his house and so far, Nigel Crane has not returned there. That means he has more than likely already moved in with his ‘new love’.”

Sara nodded, grimly. “So how do we find him?” she repeated her question.

“In all likelihood, we don’t,” Gil admitted, sounding fairly indifferent. Sara gaped at him, her temper starting to flare up. “We know our culprit, Sara,” he explained, sounding slightly more compassionate. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about finding Nigel Crane, he just knew it was no longer their job to do so. They had the case solved, and the evidence ready for prosecution. “Archie will go over the tapes again to make sure we didn’t miss any clues to his next destination,” he assured her, sparing their video specialist a glance. “But it’s up to homicide and the surveillance team, now, to bring him in.”

Sara knew he was right, but she was still annoyed. She wanted this guy. And she wanted him NOW. She knew that everyone else in the room did, too, considering how close that the creep had come to killing one of the team, more specifically their friend, Nick Stokes. But Grissom was right. They couldn’t just shirk their other cases to pursue this one. Reluctantly, Sara got up and headed for the lab to ask their technician, Greg Sanders, if he’d gotten any results on the blood test from the Baker case yet. But there was no way she was going to totally give up on the Crane case. Not when she knew that there was another ‘Jane Galloway’ being victimized already. Maybe after work she’d unofficially go check up on the other women who’d recently gotten cable hooked up by Crane.

Warrick glanced at his watch. The shift was just about over, and he didn’t have any cases left open on his docket. “If there’s nothing else tonight, I think I’m going to head on over to Nick’s.” He still felt responsible for Nick’s injuries. He should never have let Nick go into the unsecured area alone. The door was unlocked, so they should have known that someone was there. He should have had Nick’s back, and he’d failed. History repeats itself. At least Nicky hadn’t been killed like Holly had been.

“You’re staying with Nick?” Catherine asked, surprised.

“Yeah. He has a concussion, so someone is supposed to wake him every couple hours. I ‘borrowed’ his keys so he wouldn’t get any ideas about leaving. The doc said he shouldn’t work for at least a week.”

Gil nodded. “Tell him to take all the time he needs.”

“And make sure he takes whatever medicines his doctor prescribed,” Catherine added.

“Yes, Mom,” Warrick teased her dryly as he headed to the locker room to change.

It was twenty minutes later that Warrick turned into his best friend’s driveway. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a strange figure standing on the front walk, looking up at the house.

“Excuse me?” he called, sounding somewhat accusing as he got out of his car and approached the man. It wasn’t Nigel Crane, he realized as he neared, and he relaxed slightly. The man looked at him with an odd expression.

“I saw this house.”

Warrick raised an eyebrow. “I think you need to go home and sleep it off, man.”

“No. No…I saw it. I feel…fear. And…pain.”

Warrick snorted lightly. This must be Grissom’s “psychic”. “Mr. Pearson?” he guessed. The man nodded and Warrick barely managed to not roll his eyes. Psychic, my ass. The guy had been in Grissom’s office. He’d probably seen the roster or something and gotten Nick’s address. And of course Nick would be feeling pain--he’d been thrown out a 2nd story window. The psychic chose the wrong guy to try to impress with his “visions”, Warrick could see right through him. “Well, I tell you what. I’m going in there now, and I’ll give him his pain pills.” He patted Morris Pearson’s shoulder patronizingly, dismissing him.

“No. There’s something else…a tea. Green. Green Tea.”

“Try coffee,” Warrick suggested dryly, unimpressed. “It has a much better sobering effect.”

The man didn’t take the bait, however. He shook his head. “Does that mean anything to you? A green tea?”

“I tell you what. If I go in there and Nick is in pain or fear, I’ll make him a nice cup of it.” With that, he turned his back on the man and headed up the front steps. The man was weird, but harmless, he figured. He didn’t bother looking back as he pulled out the keys he’d taken from Nick so he could let himself in. Once inside, he did spare a peak through the blinds to verify that the psychic had a “vision” of himself leaving before police were called to remove him. Fortunately, the man was no longer on the front walk, so Warrick turned and headed further into the house.

As not to wake his injured friend, Warrick did his best to be silent as he headed into the living room. He was completely taken by surprise as Nick jumped from the couch with a startled yelp and turned as if prepared to ward off an attack.

“Whoa. Nick. It’s just me,” he assured. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.” Warrick cursed his stupidity. Someone had snuck up on Nick once today and nearly killed him, and now he’d just about scared the piss out of the poor guy by creeping up on him.

Nick let out a ragged breath and closed his eyes. He raised a slightly shaky hand and wiped a little bit of sweat from his face. “Jesus. It’s okay. A little warning next time, huh?” he tried to make light of it and forced a smile. He sank back on the couch, his heart still racing.

“Uh, yeah,” Warrick agreed, guiltily. “I’ll get one of those collars with a bell, huh? Seriously, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just figured you’d be out cold by now.”

Nick shook his head. “Couldn’t sleep. Just a little…jumpy,” he admitted, looking embarrassed by the fairly obvious revelation.

“Hey, no sweat, man. Totally understandable,” Warrick awkwardly comforted him. “But you gotta get some sleep. Want me to get you some hot cocoa or t…tea--" damn that psychic “--or something to help?”

Nick’s smile became more genuine. “Warrick Brown making tea. Yeah, that I gotta see.”

“Ha ha.”

By the time Warrick returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea (yes, green tea, to his chagrin), Nick had managed to fall asleep on his own. Warrick smiled grimly as he pulled the blanket up over his friend. Warrick Brown, makeshift Mom, he mused silently. He checked his watch noting that it was slightly after one. The doctor had said that Nick should be woken at least once every two hours. It was going to be a long night.

He sighed as he picked up the controller for Nick’s X-Box. May as well keep himself amused. He turned on the console and sank down into the overstuffed lounger chair. He selected his favorite team (tonight anyway, it was the Bucs--he’d won a substantial bet thanks to them the other night) and hunkered down for the long haul.